Deep Acts of Reciprocity 

Over years of walking with Ngunnawal People, I’ve learned that trees are not just part of the landscape—they are part of the relationship. When we listen properly, Country teaches us how to live, how to work, and how to hold responsibility far beyond our own lifetime.

 

One of the teachings that changed me came from a Ngunnawal water storage tree—branches shaped over generations, a stone placed at its centre to form a hollow that held water for future travellers. These trees were wayfinders and acts of care, tended slowly and with intention.

 

It taught me that restoration is not a project. It’s a relationship. Knowledge lives in the shape of a branch, in the hollow of wood, in the patience of intergenerational tending.

 

This echoes something in my own Irish lineage—where trees were portals, not resources. Sacred groves held ceremony; the Crann Bethadh stood as the world’s centre; and Ogham tied language to trees: birch for beginnings, oak for strength, yew for endings. Bent trees marked wells, pathways, and truths. Like the Ngunnawal water trees, they were invitations to pay attention.

 

These lineages—Ngunnawal and Irish—keep guiding my work. My consulting and creative practice move at that same pace: slow, relational, and shaped with care. I don’t direct people—I walk with them. I help craft the containers that hold water, story, and space for those who come after us.

 

This is the heart of Create and Sow. Not just consultation, but cultivation. Not just facilitation, but ceremony. A way of walking guided by trees—on this Country, and from my own.