The Shit Sandwich and the Sacred Calling

Last week’s budget was described, by at least one prominent politician, as a shit sandwich. In the days since, my feed has filled up with variations on that theme. Angry posts from farmers and farming families, several of them quoting scripture, most of them warning that the government is now taxing Australians in life and in death.

There is no death tax in this budget. There is no inheritance tax. What there is, among other things, is the end of the pre-CGT exemption for assets bought on or before 19 September 1985. From 1 July 2027, those assets get a market value reset, and any gain after that date becomes taxable. For a family sitting on land a grandfather bought in 1972, that is a genuine change. The pre-2027 gain stays exempt, but the planning assumption that the asset would never attract CGT is gone.

That is worth being angry about if you are directly affected. It is not the end of civilisation, and it is not a death tax, but it is a real shift in the rules for long held family assets. The small business and farm CGT concessions remain in place. The 50% CGT discount is being replaced by cost base indexation, which is a return to how the system worked between 1985 and 1999. Trusts get a 30% minimum tax from 1 July 2028, with several categories exempt.

That is the factual picture. The emotional picture is different, and it is the emotional picture that gets shared.

The post that prompted this one quoted Proverbs 13:22, a good person leaves an inheritance to their children’s children, and built an argument that modern tax policy is in tension with biblical stewardship. It is a familiar move in rural commentary.

Farming gets framed as a sacred calling, a multi-generational legacy, the soul of the nation. The argument runs that ordinary commercial rules should not apply to it, because what farmers do is not ordinary commerce.

Here is the problem with that framing. A farm is a small business. It happens to involve land and livestock rather than dry cleaning or panel beating, but the structural features people invoke to mark it as different, capital intensity, weather risk, commodity price exposure, thin margins, succession planning, asset values shifting under policy changes, exist across the small business economy. A suburban café owner whose parents bought the shop in 1980 faces the same pre-CGT change as a grazier whose parents bought the property in 1980. Only one of them gets Proverbs quoted in their defence.

Farmers already have a substantial suite of concessions that other small businesses do not. The small business CGT concessions, the farm-specific rollover, farm management deposits, primary producer income averaging, fuel tax credits, drought assistance and the farm household allowance.  By international standards Australian farmers are lightly supported. The EU and US are far more generous. But by domestic standards, against other small businesses, the deal is good.

Which brings me to the honest version of the argument, the one farm lobbies rarely make out loud because it undercuts the rugged independence branding.

The rebates exist because food has to stay cheap. Australian consumers pay one of the lowest proportions of household income on food in the developed world. That is not an accident. Production costs are subsidised at the input end. Fuel, finance, drought support, levies matched by government. The saving flows through to retail. Governments of both major parties have made the same political judgement for decades. It is cheaper and less visible to subsidise farm inputs than to let food prices float to their true cost. A $12 loaf of bread ends governments faster than a fuel rebate scheme that nobody outside agriculture understands.

There is a second piece, which is food security. Most developed countries support domestic agriculture for the same reason they support domestic steel or semiconductors. You do not want to be wholly import dependent for something essential. That is a legitimate public interest argument and it is the one that should be made.

What is striking is that this argument almost never appears in the angry posts. Instead the framing is persecution. City elites who do not understand us, governments that hate producers, taxes designed to crush the family farm. It is emotionally satisfying and politically effective, but it obscures what is actually going on. The rebates are not charity. They are not a moral reward for choosing a noble profession. They are a consumer subsidy delivered through producers, designed to keep retail food prices down and maintain sovereign production capability.

If the argument were made that way, it would be harder to dismiss. It would also be harder to wrap in scripture, which may be why it is not the version we hear.

The budget is not a shit sandwich. It is a set of policy choices, some of which deserve sharp criticism. Pretending otherwise does the people most affected by the real changes no favours at all.

A moment in The Choral that shows how lived experience changes everything

 

I recently saw The Choral . It is a magnificent movie. It broke my heart in a good way.

Partly because it is so beautiful. Partly because it is so powerful. And partly because of one moment that keeps opening out into other moments long after you leave the cinema.

A choir member who is also a Protestant minister stands and says there is no such thing as purgatory. In his faith, the soul goes straight to heaven or hell. No in between.

Then Clive speaks.

He has come back from the war with one arm. He says purgatory is real. It is the space between two sides fighting, the moment when you step forward and you don’t know whether you will live or die.

The room goes completely still.

I am confident that minister would never stand up and say there is no purgatory again. I don’t think anyone else in the room would either and everyone who sees the film.

What moved me was not only the moment itself, but what it unlocked. How often lived experience cuts straight through belief. How two people can stand in the same place and see entirely different things, shaped by what they have lived, what they have lost, what they carry in their bodies.

It felt like a reminder to slow down in conversations. To listen more carefully. To leave room for the fact that someone else may be standing in a place you have never been.

Two trees, eight generations and a view that keeps calling you closer

There are two trees I think about a lot and they sit about five hundred metres apart.

The Witness Tree is a 200 year old plus Moreton Bay Fig

Down in the valley, on another working dairy farm, stands what I call the Witness tree. The tree has watched generations of stock, families and seasons pass beneath it and it keeps doing the same job it always has. On warm days the cows head straight for it, lining up in the shade as if there’s a roster. Farmers know where the herd will be before they even look.

The Witness tree has watched generations of cows come to the same conclusion. That spot. That shade. Case closed.

Up on the side of the mountain is our place. This farm has been worked since 1840 by two families across eight generations. Same land, different times, plenty of early mornings. The volcanic soil is rich but the rock shows itself quickly, which did not stop me fifty years ago from planting a lemon scented gum in the front garden. It took to the challenge. Today it marks the house, scents the air on warm afternoons and gives you a fair idea of what the weather is about to do.

Lemon Scented Gum on the side of Saddleback Mountain

I take photos of the cows in the front paddock the way other people take photos of their kids. Different light, different moods, different characters every time. They never ask why, they never pose, they never complain

The distance between those two trees tells you almost everything you need to know about Jamberoo. In a short walk the land drops from rocky hillside to deep valley soil. The shape changes. The work does not. Cows are milked, grass is managed, and people read the land closely because that is how farming here has always worked.

As I drive down to the road, I can see the Witness tree holding the valley together, paddocks stepping down one by one. Up on the side of the mountain, the sea sits at the end of my view, never the same twice. Some days it looks calm, other days restless, but it always feels like an invitation, come closer, see what I’m doing today. It is all close, layered, and slightly cheeky in how much variety Jamberoo fits into such a small space.\

This is the paddock I see from my front verandah. Well managed farms don’t just produce food, they shape the landscape we all enjoy driving past, walking through, and quietly admiring. The view is not an accident.

Eight generations on one farm teaches you this. The land has its own ideas. Trees know their jobs. Cows organise themselves beautifully. And Jamberoo keeps reminding you that practicality, persistence and a bit of humour travel very well together.

#JamberooValley #DairyFarming #WorkingFarms #LandscapeAndPlace #RuralAustralia #GenerationsOnTheLand #SouthCoastNSW #FarmingLife #SenseOfPlace #SaddlebackMountain

We get 2000mm of rain and still hold our breath every time it falls

What makes this time of year properly exhilarating, and exhausting, is that we are heading into a season where everything can flip overnight. We can go from 36 degrees one day to 20 the next, from cows seeking shade and water to cows standing in pouring rain wondering what just happened.

That swing matters.

In summer, rain is not about volume, it is about relief. Relief for pasture that is holding on. Relief for soils that dry fast on the hill. Relief for animals coping with heat stress one day and humidity the next. A cool change with rain can buy time. A hot northerly without follow up can undo weeks of careful management.

This is why summer rain is watched with such intensity. Not because we expect miracles, but because timing is everything. A storm after a 36 degree day can reset a system. A storm followed by another hot blast can vanish almost before it has soaked in.

So yes, we get excited when it rains, even averaging 2,000 mm on paper. Because summer reminds you very quickly that farming here is not about averages, it is about adaptability. One eye on the sky, one eye on the forecast, and a deep appreciation for every break in the heat that gives grass, cows, and people a chance to breathe.

#JamberooValley #DairyFarming #RainfallReality #AustralianAgriculture #SupportLocalFarmers #ClimateVariability #HighRainfallFarming #FarmingLife

The hero of today’s story is the photograph

Moos in the Mist 

The past couple of weeks have been full on, and my head has been running its own agenda. “The book” has taken over completely. It does not seem to matter if it is two in the morning or two in the afternoon. The scenes arrive when they feel like it, and once they land, I have no choice but to deal with them.

And of course, in a book written by me you can expect strong female leads. That was always the plan. No Tess of the d’urbervilles anywhere to be seen. What I did not plan for was the problem I have now created for myself. I think I have fallen a little in love with the male lead. I am turning him into the perfect man and now I cannot stop thinking about him. If that is not a sign that I need to get out of my own head occasionally, I do not know what is.

And speaking of the male lead, my book might be fictional but it is based on true facts. On Friday I discovered that his first name was far too close to the real man’s name. Too close. A name I had used four hundred times. Thank goodness for Control F. I hit that button, held my breath, and watched the entire manuscript light up like a Christmas tree. Then came the not so romantic part. Control F Replace. Fictional man reborn.

It is much safer when these scenes arrive at two in the morning. Nobody sees me wandering around the house writing and rewriting them, half sentences in the dark. When they arrive in daylight, it becomes a public event.

A few weeks ago I went to Minnamurra for coffee with friends. I got out of the car thinking about a scene and stopped right there in the middle of the road to record it on my phone. Thank God it was Minnamurra and not Terralong Street. I can only imagine the commentary if I tried that in peak hour.

And then there are the drives home. A scene arrives, I need to catch it, and I start looking for somewhere to pull over. If you know the roads around here, you know how unrealistic that is. You cannot pull over. Not safely anyway. Ask the bicycle riders. They could give an entire TED Talk on the subject.

So yesterday morning, when I stood on my veranda, I felt grateful for my little piece of paradise. It gave me a short reset before diving back into all the things demanding attention, including one fictional man who is taking up far too much space in my head.

And that brings me to the hero of today’s story  –  the photograph. I have taken many photos from my front veranda, yet this one sparked something. A couple of people have already asked if they can paint it. I am not entirely sure why this particular image resonated more than the others, but it did.

What do you think, readers?

I am a bit partial to this one

#writinglife #novelinprogress #writersbrain #creativeprocess #rurallife #aussiestorytelling #amwritingfiction #strongfemaleleads #scenesfromtheveranda #lifeonafarm #writinghumour #behindthebook

Garry Disher’s Mischance Creek Review and Why Crime Writers Keep Getting Farmers Wrong

This review will be a work in progress. I’m a big fan of Garry Disher’s books, but I felt compelled to put my initial feelings down in writing. As someone from an eight-generation farming family, I find it hard to stomach when novels focus on only one element of agriculture. Mischance Creek opens with yet another bleak picture: lonely farmhouses, endless cups of tea, stale biscuits, talk of drought that never ends. The people Hirsch visits are tired, sad, and stuck.

I don’t dispute that life on the land can be tough. In Australia, a drought isn’t a once-in-a-lifetime event. It’s the average year. Every farmer I know assumes it’s coming. That means every year, wet, dry, or in between, we plan for it. Stocking rates, feed reserves, pasture management, water storage: you name it, it’s built into the system.

So when I read yet another story where farmers are painted as helpless, waiting until things are so dire someone has to come and shoot their stock, I wince. That’s not how we farm. It’s not how we’ve survived for generations. Yes, there are bad seasons. Yes, there’s heartbreak. But resilience isn’t just a buzzword, it’s a way of life. Farmers adapt, innovate, and prepare, because that’s the only way you last in this business.

What frustrates me is how rarely fiction captures this side of the story. The quiet pride in planning ahead. The foresight that keeps family farms alive. The fact that endurance in agriculture isn’t about waiting for disaster, it’s about being ready for it, year in and year out.

I have now finished the book and its clear while I’m super sensitive to the way agriculture is portrayed, I also realise that Garry Disher’s books often cast outback Australia, in a fairly depressing light. Yes, he gives you real insight into Hirsch, into what he feels, and even into his mother’s struggles in this book. But for me, it was hard to find someone in Mischance Creek who feels truly likeable and the book was more of the same.

#BookReview #MischanceCreek #AustralianCrimeFiction #LifeOnTheLand #ResilientFarmers #RealAgriculture

When $12 Million Becomes $2 Million, Trust Becomes Zero

This post is the part of a Follow the Money  series shining a light on Kiama Council’s ongoing failure to even interpret its own spreadsheets.

I am not an accountant. I am a community member, like the majority of our residents, reading the same public reports and trying to understand where our money goes. We should not need a crystal ball to interpret basic financial information. We deserve numbers that make sense.

But this isn’t just about numbers. It goes to the heart of governance. Councillors cannot make sound decisions without timely, accurate and complete information.

And it raises a bigger question: are governance bodies such as the Audit, Risk and Improvement Committee (ARIC), the Auditor-General, and the Office of Local Government (OLG) fully informed of these matters – particularly in the context of the Performance Improvement Order (PIO)?

🙋‍♀️If they are, why haven’t they intervened?

🤔If they aren’t, then Council’s failures go deeper than poor spreadsheets.

The Legal Fees Debacle

On 19 August 2025, Council tabled its agenda papers showing the following “quarterly update of current legal matters”:

  • June 2024 – $4.50m

  • September 2024 – $5.01m

  • December 2024 – $1.32m

  • March 2025 – $1.20m

Those four quarters alone add up to $12.04 million. That is the figure residents saw in Council’s own agenda papers.

Even when Council later admitted the reporting was wrong , claiming the total legal spend for 2024–25 was just $2.275 million and that earlier figures were “cumulative since 2020”,  the explanation did not stack up.

If the figures were cumulative, they would only ever go up. Instead, they go up and then down again, which looks exactly like quarterly spending, not a rolling total.

But that is not what the agenda papers said, and not what any reasonable community member would have understood.

🙋‍♂️Why wasn’t this identified earlier?

🙋‍♀️Why wasn’t it raised at the council meeting itself?

🤔Why wasn’t it fixed then and there?

We all look forward to these matters being clarified in the next agenda. But in the meantime, councillors, oversight bodies and the community are left making decisions based on faulty information. This is the very opposite of transparency and accountability.

Without corrected figures, councillors, oversight bodies and the community are left making decisions based on faulty information – the very opposite of transparency and accountability.

The Overcharging Fiasco

Lets not forget December 2024.

Council admitted that, between July 2022 and June 2023, around 20 development applications by developers were overcharged a total of $1.5 million under Section 7.11 because of a spreadsheet error.

  • Refunds totalling $625,000 were proposed.

  • Landowners were to be contacted, consents modified, or payments refunded.

  • The overcharges were only identified as part of a later review of Council’s processes.

This is not a minor slip. It is hundreds of thousands of dollars wrongly charged, only corrected after the fact.

The Pattern We Cannot Ignore

Whether it is legal fees or development contributions, the story is the same:

  • Shifting numbers.

  • Confusing explanations, offered only after the community starts asking questions.

  • Major financial consequences for residents and ratepayers.

Transparency is not about cleaning up after the fact. It is about consistent, honest communication in the first place.

Until Council learns how to read and report its own spreadsheets, the community will keep paying the price. And until oversight bodies such as ARIC, the Auditor-General and OLG demand accuracy and accountability, residents will be left wondering: who is really watching over Council, and when will they step in?

#KiamaCouncil #Accountability #Transparency #LegalCosts #PublicMoney #GoodGovernance #Audit #CommunityTrust #Oversight

What If We Spent Our Coffee Money on the Country We Want?

Most of us don’t think twice about spending $7 on a coffee, or $14 if it’s two a week. It’s a small indulgence in a busy life. But what if we all chipped in that same amount and chose to spend it differently?

What if that coffee money could fund the kind of country we actually want to live in?

Turns out, it could go a long way.

💡 Just $7 a year could change lives

A recent study found that if the federal government boosted mental health spending by just $7.30 per adult per year, around $153 million in total,we could prevent:
– 313 suicides
– 1,954 hospitalisations for self-harm
– Over 28,000 emergency department visits for mental health reasons

That’s the impact of one coffee.

But what if we gave up one coffee a week, or two, and asked the same question across different areas of need?

☕ A coffee or a future? Here’s what that money could do

If every adult in Australia redirected $7 -$14 a week to shared priorities, it could add up to $1.5–$3 billion annually. Here’s where that could take us:

🏘️ Affordable Housing

  • Fund tens of thousands of new social or affordable homes
  • Support rent relief for low-income families
  • Keep people safe, secure, and off the streets

📚 Public Education

  • Hire more school counsellors and learning support staff
  • Lower class sizes for better learning
  • Fund early childhood education in underserved communities

🚑 Rural Health Care

  •  Boost GP, nurse and allied health access in rural areas
  • Fund mobile clinics and regional telehealth services
  • Improve outcomes where help is often hardest to reach

🌿 Climate & Environment

  • Support renewable energy projects in the regions
  • Plant millions of trees and regenerate degraded land
  • Fund water security and sustainable agriculture

👵 Aged Care

  • Increase staffing and pay in aged care homes
  • Improve home care options so older people can age in place
  • Make dignity a baseline, not a luxury

💬 What if we had a say?

Now imagine if we didn’t just guess where to spend it, we got to choose.

Picture a national system of participatory budgeting, where each adult gets a voice in how their share of “coffee money” is spent. The government sets out the priorities, and we vote.

It’s already happening in some communities around the world. Why not here?

We’re used to thinking of change as something big and distant. But sometimes, it starts with a small sacrifice,shared widely.

What could we build if we all gave up just a little?

I’m not a researcher, and these figures are estimates based on publicly available data. But the idea is simple: small individual choices, pooled together, can make a big collective impact.

Shout out to The Conversation for the original research and article that sparked this reflection. Their work continues to inform smart, hopeful conversations across the country.

#CoffeeMoney #SmallChangeBigImpact #MentalHealthMatters #ParticipatoryBudgeting #BetterSpending #InvestInCommunity #AffordableHousing #PublicEducation #ClimateAction #AgedCareReform #HealthEquity #AustraliaBudget #EveryDollarCounts #HopefulFuture #RedirectTheSpend

We don’t need a hero. We need collaborative leadership.

Most of my recent writing has focused on the Kiama Council Section 7.11 development contributions issue “How Kiama lost $970,000 in developer contributions and no one explained why”

Today I’m stepping slightly to the side, not away, to show how that issue fits into a broader pattern. Because what’s happening with Section 7.11 is not an isolated event. It is a symptom of a deeper cultural problem in how Kiama Council handles complexity, conflict and community trust.

These moments of tension, whether it is development contributions or surf club leases, often follow the same script. And the script is familiar to anyone who has studied leadership dynamics or conflict psychology.

The Gerringong Surf Life Saving Club issue in the Kiama local government area has become a textbook example of the Karpman Drama Triangle. A well-intentioned community concern has been turned into a stage production. The roles are locked in. The hero has claimed their spotlight. The victim is entrenched. And the villains? They shift by the day.

The moment someone questions the process or raises a legitimate concern, they are quickly cast in that villain role. Not because they are wrong, but because they interrupt the script. We have seen this dynamic before. And we will keep seeing it if we do not name it for what it is.

This is not about surf clubs. This is about how we lead.

At the last Kiama Council meeting, Councillor Imogen Draisma supported Motion 20.1 relating to the Gerringong Surf Life Saving Club. It was an emotionally charged moment, and like many, she likely acted with good intent.

But the motion itself was deeply complex. It involved land classification, leasing laws, native title implications and long-term planning risks, issues that most people in the Kiama local government area have not been given the time or information to fully understand.

Now, that decision has resulted in her integrity being questioned in state parliament.

This is exactly what happens when we let the Drama Triangle run the show. Someone is cast as the hero. Someone becomes the victim. And someone else gets labelled the villain, often unfairly.

It stops being about good governance. It becomes performance.

And good people become collateral damage.

More and more, the front and centre issues in the Kiama local government area are being played out through this lens, public theatre that pulls us into binary roles and distracts us from the real work of governance. The Section 7.11 development contributions issue is another clear example. Rather than work through complexity, we are fed simplified narratives that cast people as saviours or saboteurs.

It is too easy to get caught in it. The Drama Triangle has a gravity of its own. One person steps in to save the day. Another is painted as the problem. The community becomes the audience, applauding the performance but not always understanding what is at stake backstage.

But it does not have to be this way.

What if we stepped outside the triangle?
What if we paused before playing out the roles handed to us?
What if we chose something different?

In the Kiama local government area, we have the opportunity to lead in a more collaborative way. To slow down. To listen. To ask better questions. And to remind ourselves that not every story needs a hero, a victim and a villain.

Sometimes it just needs a group of people willing to work together, with honesty and respect, to get to the heart of the matter.

Let’s try more of that.

#Kiama #KiamaCouncil #LocalGovernment #LeadershipMatters #CollaborativeLeadership #CommunityTrust #DramaTriangle #PublicEngagement #Section711 #GerringongSLSC

The Power of Storytelling and Digital Legacy

Documenting history matters, not just to remember names but to honour lives fully lived and the impact they had on the world.

Have you ever stopped to think about whose story in your life deserves to be told?

Have you considered documenting your family history?

When we want to learn about something, we turn to Google, but what about the stories that are not there?

The ones that exist only in memories, passed down through conversation but never written down?

My friend Gaye Steel, former marketing manager of McDonald’s and Telstra, once said,

“If you can’t be found on Google, you don’t exist.”

Of course, we know that is not true.

Our lives, relationships, and impact are not measured by search results. But in today’s world, if a story is not documented, it can be easily forgotten. That is why storytelling matters. It ensures the people and moments that shape us are remembered.

Many people throughout history are invisible in the digital space, and I have made it my mission to change that. The National Library has archived my blogs as part of Australia’s digital history, recognising the importance of recording our experiences. But you do not need to be a writer or historian to ensure that the stories of your loved ones are preserved.

One simple step is to label your treasured photos. Add names, dates, and locations to the back of old family pictures. Tell the stories behind sentimental objects in your home. Even a short note explaining why something matters to you can turn an ordinary object into a meaningful piece of family history.

My own family’s history is deeply tied to the Illawarra. My maternal ancestors arrived in Kiama in 1831, and my paternal family settled in Dapto in 1841. The men in my family were well documented, but the women’s stories were largely missing.

My great-grandmother’s obituary, which only refers to her as “Mrs John Lindsay,” speaks volumes about the era in which she lived. It highlights how women were often defined by their husbands with their own identities overshadowed. Despite being described as an “ideal wife and mother,” her individuality, accomplishments, and personal story were left untold. It raises the question of how many other women’s legacies have been reduced to a mere mention in relation to their husbands.

When my parents passed away, I realised there was no public record of them, no trace of their lives online. Growing up, we did not even have family photos displayed in our home. I only discovered a picture of my mother through a Jamberoo Family History Facebook post.

That moment changed everything for me. My cousin, Mark Emery, has been documenting our family history for The Bugle, and through his research, I found my parents’ wedding photo and a beautiful image of my mother at 15. By writing about my parents, I have not only preserved their names but kept their stories alive, ensuring future generations can find them, remember them, and understand their lives.

My own journey has been shaped by storytelling. After leaving home and marrying young, I unexpectedly became a farmer’s wife. Later, I managed a pharmacy, but a series of armed robberies deeply affected me – an event that forced me to re-evaluate my path.

Stepping away from pharmacy, I found purpose in community engagement. I helped establish the Kiama Wine Show, promoted dairy through school programs like Picasso Cows, and was ultimately named Kiama’s first Electorate Woman of the Year. These experiences reinforced something crucial.

For years, agriculture faced negative press, and a friend in marketing gave me invaluable advice. “If you don’t tell your story, others will tell it for you.”

Recognising the need to change this, I  was established a charity to support young agricultural advocates in developing their storytelling skills. Over two decades, the charity worked with top journalists to train young people in crafting compelling narratives, ensuring that their voices were heard and their contributions to agriculture were recognised.

If we do not tell our own stories, others will tell them for us, or worse, they will not be told at all.

More recently, I made the difficult decision to close the charity I had been running. The challenges of working with schools post-COVID, combined with my growing passion for local storytelling, led me to refocus my energy on my own community.

The Bugle covered some of my community talks, and before long, they invited me to write for them. What started as pro bono work turned into a contract role covering council and feature stories.

The most rewarding part of this work is meeting and interviewing fascinating people, uncovering stories that would otherwise go untold.

Throughout my career, I have learned that awards and recognition are not about personal validation. They are about elevating a cause. Every time I won an award, I nominated someone else the following year, and I encouraged them to do the same. I am particularly passionate about the Hidden Treasures Honour Roll for regional women. Last year, I nominated three local women. They were honoured to be included, and now they are eager to nominate others in turn.

We all have stories worth telling, whether they are our own or those of people we admire. So, I leave you with a few questions.

  • Who in your life has a story that should be shared?
  • Have you considered documenting your family’s history?
  • Would you like to learn how to record these stories?

Let’s make sure the voices of those we love are not lost to time. Whether it is writing a blog, labelling old photos, or simply sharing memories with the next generation, every story we tell adds to the rich tapestry of history.

#Storytelling #DigitalLegacy #FamilyHistory #PreservingMemories #LocalHistory #Kiama #TheBugle #CommunityStories #DocumentYourStory #HistoricalRecords