I love being with mob on country, Barkindji country.
It rained not long ago; you can smell it in the air.
This means the emus would have mated.
My mob’s been coming to this spot forever.
You can still see where my great-grandmother used to cook emu eggs.
Now, Nan’s passing on the traditions to me.
Back in the day, our mob would hunt and eat emus.
Now we protect them and only collect the eggs.
We paint our stories.
When we head out, Nan makes us take the walkie talkies.
We get real competitive scouting for tracks.
You’ve got to be careful of them male emus, they’re really protective and can get angry.
Despite our best efforts, no tracks are found.
Nan thinks we may have come just a bit too early.
But that’s OK. It doesn’t stop us from enjoying our time together.
Usually, if eggs are found, we take them back home.
The yolk is blown out, and once the artwork is drawn on with pencil, a machine is used to carve the art in. Then we paint them.
It can take a week to complete.
I haven’t painted one yet. I feel a bit nervous as the eggs and the traditional stories they tell are so precious.
They have passed down through the generations.
I love looking at them, holding it in my hand, and thinking about the stories.
I’m proud to be part of the longest living culture on earth and to be continuing the traditions that my ancestors passed down.