The wind finds its way through the gaps between the doors at the community centre, ruffling the papers on the long timber table set up at the back of the hall. I bunch my red coat securely around my legs and stamp my boots on the floor, wishing I’d worn thicker socks.
Almost everyone seated in the first few rows, probably fifty people, is wearing combinations of coat and scarf and gloves. The twice-yearly formal meetings are open to the public, but the same group of people usually turn up. It’s odd to see so many faces I don’t recognise.
Douglas Chambers, the state MP whose constituency takes in Dubbo and many other smaller towns like Horseshoe, strolls up and down the aisle between the rows, nodding and chatting. I’m filling water glasses for him and the other committee members when he walks to the table. He’s a middle-aged cyclist—short hair, super fit, whippet thin.
He indicates the woollen vest under his suit jacket. ‘Not at all.’
I sit on my chair. ‘Where did all these people come from?’
‘Many have an interest in water management, so Dr Laaksonen was a drawcard.’ He smiles politely. ‘How widely do you advertise these meetings?’
‘I post the agenda on our website, and also the pub and general store noticeboards, and I email it to those who subscribe to our newsletter. That covers everyone in Horseshoe and quite a lot of others.’
He raises his brows. ‘We could do more to attract community engagement.’
‘The committee members notify people and groups they think could be interested. And we welcome anyone who would like to come along.’
‘Excellent,’ he says, before walking away.
Hugo, sitting next to me, kicks my boot. ‘All Chambers is interested in is attracting more votes. Does he want you to knock on doors like he does?’
The committee member on Hugo’s other side, Cassandra Lewis, is a lawyer in her forties. She lives and works in Dubbo, and is active in wildlife preservation. Her hair falls in smooth silver waves either side of her face.
‘Now, now, Hugo,’ she says, smiling. ‘Our local member means well. We’re fortunate he hasn’t delegated his committee role to one of his staff.’
‘You’re almost as bad as Sapphie, the way you stick up for everyone.’
Cassie taps his hand with her pen. ‘Sapphie keeps us all in check, which is why this committee celebrates what the members, and the interests they represent, have in common. Everyone, our local member included, recognises that Horseshoe pulls its weight—socially and environmentally.’
A fresh blast of wind blows in as Gus Mumford opens the doors. When he struggles to close them behind him, I run to help, shoving the doors shut and fixing one of them with the bolt on the floor.
‘They always stick on the threshold,’ I say. ‘How are you, Gus?’
‘Well, thanks, Sapphie,’ he says, lifting his tatty Akubra. When he lowers the hat again, his wild and wiry eyebrows almost disappear. ‘Sorry I’m late. I was shutting my orphaned lambs up for the night. Even for winter, it’s chilly.’
‘Thanks for coming out. Did Freddie pick you up on his way through?’
Gus is elderly, and his eyesight deteriorated years ago. He relies on his tractor to get around his property and on friends to get him into town.
‘He was running even later than me.’
‘Sorry I can’t be more help.’
‘What? After the shock you had last year? I should be the one chauffeuring you about the place.’
‘It’s lucky I live so close to everything.’
‘You’ll be back behind the wheel soon, Sapphie. Just you wait and see.’
I nod woodenly before walking to the table with Gus. Luke Martin, a town planner who works for the local council, has taken his seat and is sorting through the pages stacked in front of him. He has a wide boyish smile.
‘Evening, Gus.’
‘How’s your dad?’ Gus asks. ‘Heard he’s been crook.’
Luke is a little older than I am, and his father is a vet at Dubbo’s open plains zoo. ‘The virus knocked him around, but he’s hoping to be back at work next week.’
‘Will do.’
I hold out a chair for Gus. ‘As you can see, we’re all here. Hugo as well.’
Gus rubs his hands together. ‘What about the Finnish bloke?’ He looks around. ‘Our MP will want to wait for his illustrious guest.’
As if on cue, the doors open and Matts appears, his hands deep in the pockets of his faded blue hoodie. When an elderly lady, rushing towards the bathroom, almost runs into him, he stands back politely. The stubble on his face is uniformly dark, but his hair changes colour depending on the light, from sable to far warmer tones.
Sometimes I use stains to get the colours I want for my paper. How would I replicate the colour of his hair? Strong coffee for the darker shades. Weak Darjeeling tea for the browns.
Most people have their eyes on Matts, some subtly and others not, as he walks towards the table. He looks neither left nor right, but his hands come out of his pockets. He yanks the hoodie lower, over his jeans at his hips. Compared to the others at the table he’s casually dressed, but I don’t think he’d care about that.
Mr Chambers holds out his hand. ‘Dr Laaksonen? I’m Douglas Chambers, member for Brindabilly. I’m delighted to meet you.’
‘Call me Matts.’
I’m sitting at the far end of the table. As Mr Chambers makes his way towards me, introducing Matts to the others, I look down as if considering the agenda. When Matts finally reaches my chair, I stand and smooth down my coat. All the buttons are fastened.
When I look up, it’s straight into his eyes. ‘Matts.’ The press of his palm does odd things to my heartbeat. ‘I’m Sapphie Brown.’
He nods stiffly. ‘Sapphie?’
‘It’s short for Sapphire.’
No friendship. No expectations. No how we used to be. It’s better this way. I watch him walk to the far end of the table to sit next to Mr Chambers.
Hugo bumps my leg under the table. ‘Agenda?’ he mutters under his breath. ‘They’re waiting.’
‘So …’ I clear my throat and pick up my pen, placing a tick next to the first item on the agenda. Introduction. ‘Welcome to the meeting, everyone. We’ll start with the committee member reports. After a tea break, our guests, Hugo Hallstead, a biologist working on an Armidale University project, and Dr Matts Laaksonen, an environmental engineer who works with the UN-sanctioned Ramsar Secretariat, will speak to us.’
Member reports. I tick again. ‘As usual, I’ve consulted with Leon Lee, the chair of the Horseshoe Chamber of Commerce, and he’s given me their report on how businesses in the town are limiting water usage already, and the plans they have to deal with projected water shortages …’
Mr Chambers’s report is next. ‘Our local member of parliament will give an update on the state government’s current water trading and licensing policies, and the impacts of these on current reserves in the Brindabilly Dam. He’ll also comment on the availability of government funding for those already facing hardship.’
Mr Chambers walks up and down at the front of the hall when he delivers his report, arguing that efficient water use facilitates economic activity, and results in more water for environmental use. Most questions from the audience involve criticisms of government policy, but that doesn’t seem to worry him. When he’s finished, I bring Luke’s report to the top of my pile.
‘Luke Martin from the local council will talk about existing dam levels and rainfall projections, and will take us through council and state government negotiations regarding water sharing for agricultural, domestic, industrial, cultural and environmental needs.’
Luke stands behind his chair and looks around the room. ‘The state government,’ he says, glancing at Mr Chambers, ‘is responsible for the Brindabilly Dam. The council is concerned that water-sharing decisions made by the government in good times leaves insufficient reserves in dry times such as these. We had reasonable rainfall the year before last. Far more of this water should have been kept in reserve, not sold off to large-scale irrigators for projects unsustainable in climactic conditions that have become the new norm.’
Besides huffing from time to time, Mr Chambers keeps quiet while Luke speaks. But in response to a question from someone in the audience, with a deferential nod in Matts’s direction, he says he’ll have more to say on water later in the meeting.
Gus never does a written report, just briefs me over a pot of tea. I put the notes of our conversation on the top of the pile as Gus takes off his hat and places it on the table.
‘Gus Mumford will summarise how primary producers are dealing with the drier conditions,’ I say. ‘He’ll also speak about the decisions already being taken by farmers. Some have been forced to reduce livestock numbers already, to lessen the costs of the hard feeding that might be necessary in the summer months.’
Grasping the back of his chair with his large, work-roughened hands, Gus stands. He speaks from the heart, and well past his time limit, detailing the difficulties farmers are likely to face.
‘That’s it from me, Sapphie,’ he says finally, plonking his hat back on his head. ‘You’re up next, Cassie.’
Cassie undoes the toggles of her coat and hangs it on the back of her chair. She’s wearing a jumper and cardigan in matching shades of green, and her skirt has a blue-and-green check.
‘As most of you know,’ I say, ‘Cassandra Lewis is a lawyer. But she’s also involved with numerous wildlife conservation organisations, and is a passionate advocate for living sustainably. Today she’s going to talk about the practical measures we can take, individually and collectively, over the next few months.’
Cassie beams at the audience. ‘Each dry day brings us closer to the much needed rain that’—she smiles at Luke—‘we’re told not to expect until much later in the year. But in the meantime, whether we live on a property of thousands of hectares, a market garden or a vineyard, or keep an apartment in the heart of Dubbo, we must do what we can to preserve the water we have.’
There’s a flurry of activity in the tea break as people rush to the counter in the back corner of the hall, where I’ve set up the urn and china cups, teabags and instant coffee. A CWA member joins us, holding a donations bucket in one hand and a container of homemade chocolate biscuits in another.
When Cassie rings a bell fifteen minutes later, suggesting that everyone return to their seats for Hugo’s talk, Matts and Hugo are still deep in conversation at the table. When Matts says something and smiles, Hugo throws his head back and laughs.
‘We’d better get back to work,’ I say to Gus, as I load the last of the cups into a bucket.
‘Sapphie!’ Hugo hisses, jiggling my seat before sitting down next to me. ‘What sort of chair are you? Did you listen to anything I said in the past fifteen minutes?’
‘I—’ I pick up my pen and put a tick next to Hugo’s name on the list. ‘It was enlightening. I thought you only knew about alpine frogs.’
He grins as he snatches the pen and draws a bold blue circle around Matts’s name. ‘Item four, sleepyhead. Introduce your guest.’
Matts doesn’t stand in front of his chair like Luke and Cassie, or behind it like Gus and Hugo. He doesn’t stride up and down in front of the audience like Mr Chambers. After I introduce him, hurriedly and briefly, he walks to the front of the hall and turns. He pulls at a thread on the hip of his jeans. The light catches his hair when he lifts his head.
‘Good evening.’ His smile is confident and personable. Charming. Even though he’s never even met these people. Not once in his life. ‘I was born in Finland, which is also known as “the land of a thousand lakes”. Seventy per cent of my country is forested and water is abundant. In winter, darkness in parts of the country falls two hours after midday. In summer, there is daylight at midnight. So what do our countries have in common? What can we learn from each other?’
It’s almost nine o’clock, and many in the audience have a long drive home. But no one is shuffling their feet or checking their watch.
‘The Ramsar Secretariat was set up under the Ramsar Convention, of which Australia is a signatory, to encourage the global protection of wetland environments and the sustainable use of water resources. Bogs, marshes, flood plains, peat lands, lagoons, channels, swamps, mires—these shallow bodies of water are classed as wetlands, and thousands are of international importance. Like the Macquarie Marshes, many are noted on the Ramsar List.’
When Matts walks to the table and takes a sip of water, his hand is perfectly steady. He smiles at the elderly lady in the front row and she smiles shyly back.
‘The Macquarie Marshes are extensive and diverse,’ Matts continues, ‘which is why they’re important. The habitats within them are unique, and they support nationally endangered bird and fish species, and a variety of other plants and animals. Particularly in times of drought, when other inland wetlands dry out, the marshes serve a critically important role as a wildlife refuge. They sustain many species of flora and fauna that might otherwise die out.’
When Cassie raises her hand, Matts walks towards her. ‘You have a question?’
‘Your term “refuge” is particularly apt. Thousands of water and woodland birds nest at the marshes. Plant species like river red gum, coolabah and water couch grasslands are vital to the ecosystem and biodiversity.’
Matts nods respectfully. ‘Yes.’
‘There’s a great deal of information available from academia and government, but I have other sources, mostly wildlife and environmental volunteers. Can we meet again? I’d like to share their perspectives.’
‘Certainly,’ Matts says.
Our eyes meet as he walks past my chair, but there’s no hint that he knows me better than anybody else in the room. What does he see in my expression?
Forget you ever knew me.
I turn away, but once he gets back to his spot at the front of the hall, I watch him like everybody else. He puts his hands in his pockets again.
‘River and creek diversions, dam construction, pipelines and drainage, a growing population and associated industrial development, have permanently destroyed what took millennia to develop—the natural flow of rivers, streams and other watercourses into wetlands. The secretariat assists signatory countries to restore, rehabilitate and maintain wetland environments, with the aim of returning them to, as far as is possible, their natural state.’
Hugo kicks me under the table. ‘Good speaker,’ he whispers loudly, raising his thumbs.
I frown and push his foot away. ‘Shh.’
Matts’s hands go from his hoodie pockets to the front pockets of his jeans. Could he be any more at ease?
‘The construction of the Brindabilly and other dams,’ he says, ‘permanently disrupted the flow to the marshes, not only the amount of water but how it arrived—the patterns of its flow. This had a catastrophic effect on the ecosystem. Irrespective of improvements in the past twenty years, the altered water supply poses a threat to the wetlands.’
‘Hear, hear,’ Cassie says.
‘A loss of any habitat leads to a decline in biodiversity, and of all habitats around the world, wetlands are the most threatened. The marshes contain a—’ Matts takes his hands out of his pockets and looks down at them, as if searching for a word that might be in his notes, even though he has none. ‘The marshes contain a mosaic of habitats. They also provide an important conduit for the movement of native fish and amphibians. Hugo? Could you expand on this?’
Hugo sits forward in his chair and links his hands. ‘Movement through the marshes is essential in terms of food and shelter, and also reproduction. Species rely on a variety of habitats in the wetlands to find mates, lay eggs and nurture their offspring.’
Matts turns to the audience again. ‘I was invited by your government to advise on a new strategic plan for Ramsar-listed wetlands. As an inland semi-permanent wetland, the Macquarie Marshes are of interest.’
‘In our most recent drought,’ Cassie says, ‘the marshes dried out completely, didn’t they?’
‘The shortage of environmental water for the towns and rivers had a devastating impact on the marshes,’ Matts says. ‘Which is why many stakeholders, including your government, are reconsidering water-sharing strategies.’ He looks at me. ‘Would you like to comment, Sapphire?’
I link my hands in front of me like Hugo did. ‘Farmers, businesses that rely on agriculture, recreational fishers, tourists and tourism operators, people who live and work in the towns, they all suffered in the last drought, as did wildlife, livestock and the environment as a whole. We try to give a voice to all interests, and operate on the assumption that what is good for one interest is likely to benefit another.’
‘You seek a good outcome for the environment, including the river system, and recognise this has to be balanced by competing cultural, domestic, industrial and agricultural interests.’ He glances at Luke. ‘Do I have this right?’
Luke smiles. ‘Sure do. And as I understand it, river water should end up in the wetlands as well.’
‘Water distribution through catchments is highly regulated,’ Matts says. ‘To replicate the flow that the wetlands once had, in both wet and dry conditions, water must be maintained at minimum levels and not distributed to agricultural and other interests at the expense of future environmental demands.’
Cassie nods vigorously. ‘That’s right.’
Gus’s chair tips alarmingly as he gets to his feet. ‘What are you getting at, Matts?’ he says, crossing his arms. ‘Are you blaming the farmers for the rivers running dry?’
‘Farmers understand that agricultural production requires a healthy river system,’ Matts says. ‘Most farmers also acknowledge that adequate environmental water is fundamental, and large-scale farming dependent on irrigation is not sustainable.’
Gus nods. ‘Reckon you’ve got that right. When a man can’t feed and water his own sheep and cattle, there’s something gone wrong.’
‘How long have you lived here?’
‘All my life, and I’m going on eighty-two.’ Gus looks around the audience. ‘Which is why, like a few old-timers here, I like to think I see both sides of the argument. Some farmers, big corporations mostly, they suck the land dry. The rest of us want what’s best for it. We want to see the river like it was, back in the days when my grandpa sat at a desk in Sapphie’s old schoolhouse.’
‘When the river flooded,’ I say, ‘it reached the first step of the porch. That’s why the new school was built on higher ground.’
Gus clears his throat. ‘I don’t get to do much reading these days, Dr Laaksonen, my eyes not being what they were, but I listen to the radio and talk to the locals, and I reckon we’re thinking along the same lines. You’re saying what’s good for the wetlands will be good for the rivers. And what’s good for the rivers will be good for the farmers.’
‘Yes.’
‘In that case, Sapphie,’ Gus says, winking at me, ‘I reckon we have nothing to fear from this Ramsar business.’ His hat is on the table in front of him and he straightens it. He smiles at Matts. ‘You’ve won me over, Dr Laaksonen.’
‘Matts, please.’
When I pick up my pen, it hovers over the page. What I’d like to write isn’t appropriate for the minutes. Dr Matts Laaksonen is smart, knowledgeable and has excellent communications skills. He is also extremely attractive.
‘Item five on the agenda is question time,’ I say briskly. ‘Does anyone have any questions? If not, we can call it a—’
Mr Chambers clears his throat. ‘Your comments were most instructive, Matts. But I would like to stress that my government is doing its best to ensure that the original functions and values of the wetlands are preserved.’
‘Thank you, Douglas,’ Matts says. ‘But there are a range of outcomes and interests and these often clash. How do we balance them?’
‘Through government initiatives.’
Matts turns to me. ‘Do you agree with that, Sapphire? What is your committee’s position?’
I sit a little straighter in my chair. ‘We believe that all views should be taken into account, while recognising they change over time. It wasn’t too long ago that some in the community’—I resist the urge to look at Mr Chambers—‘didn’t believe in global warming.’
‘You meet regularly?’
‘We chat informally all the time, and try to reach consensus decisions that reflect our different perspectives.’ I count on my fingers. ‘Gus talks to the farmers. Luke lets us know what’s going on in Dubbo and other large regional centres, and keeps us up to date on council programs. I consult with private and public interests in the town. Cassie advises on environmental challenges and wildlife interests. Rain changes everything, but we try to think ahead about the water that’s stored and how it should be used in the future. We all care about where we live. More often than not, our interests coincide.’
‘Cooperation and consultation?’ Matts says.
‘Horseshoe is a small town, but this committee works well together, and other towns follow our lead. We believe our government, irrespective of other demands on its budget, should put more money into research and give additional financial support to country areas so we can use allocated water efficiently and sustainably. A number of the improvements the government has funded—river rehabilitation, targeted water distribution, conservation—are attributable to input from local committees like ours.’
‘Well said, Sapphie,’ Cassie says. ‘I second that.’
‘Third it,’ Gus says.
Luke nods. ‘Sure.’
Matts’s gaze moves deliberately along the table. Mr Chambers, Luke, Gus, Cassie, Hugo.
By the time his eyes meet mine, I’m tapping my pages on the table to line them up.
‘Sapphire?’
I put the papers in front of me. ‘Matts?’
‘I want to join your committee.’