I have a love-hate relationship with the drive to my mother’s house. As an Indigenous woman whose family has been disconnected from Country due to colonial processes, I am on a journey of reconnecting, so I relish the opportunity to move through Country and connect the landscape with the cultural knowledge I’m learning. As I drive from my home in Gundungurra Country, I think about the stories I have been told. I think about the 330-million-year-old mountains created during the Dreaming, the rivers and hills formed by creator spirits awakening from their slumber. As I move through Mulgoa Country, I remember the stories of the Black Swan people that speak of their plight during the last ice age, 11,000 years ago. I admire the beautiful golden hills and plains, imagining the Dharug people cultivating murnong, hunting emu and burning the land. As I drive along roads that travel the same lines as ancient murus, I think about the songlines and the paths travelled by the Old People and wonder whether my ancestors were some of them. I look across
