The morning light breaks across Moreton Bay as I board the Stradbroke Flyer at 6:30am. This journey to Quandamooka Country has become a pilgrimage of sorts—each visit deepening my understanding of a place where knowledge, strength, and discovery flow like the tides around the island.

Today feels different. I'm joined by companions whose presence creates a small constellation of purpose: Chris Baker, the Food Connect Shed Coordinator, seeking partnerships and oyster wisdom; and Leia Alex, ready to explore storytelling opportunities with local partners. Two fellow travelers open to experiencing all this Country has to offer.

The Caretaker

Shaun Fisher welcomes us with the easy warmth of someone deeply connected to this place. His brief departure to take his twins to school—a reminder that he moves between roles as visionary, entrepreneur, and father to six children with practiced grace. While he's gone, we walk through the cemetery, and I feel the accumulating weight of connection to this place, nurtured through conversations with Elders, community members, and young people who have generously shared their time and wisdom.

Upon his return, Shaun takes us to a clearing near his oyster lease—sacred ground for his dreams. In this space, he envisions community gathering places, boat sheds, training facilities, and healing spaces. It's not just infrastructure he describes, but a living ecosystem where economic prosperity intertwines with wellbeing and connection to Country.

History's Shadows

The drive to the protest camp offers a window into deeper complexities. Shaun speaks of Elders directing the creation of skeleton effigies—powerful symbols of ancestors standing in protection of sacred sites threatened by a proposed whale research centre. His words paint the layered reality of Quandamooka Country: centuries of disruption through disease that decimated 70% of the population, sand mining that claimed over half the island and destroyed dozens of sacred sites, and the ongoing pressure of privileged encroachment.

Our conversation in the car navigates the intricate channels of colonisation's impacts, ecosystem destruction, and the complex relationships between community members with different visions for their Country's future.

Waters of Continuity

Before heading to our meeting at with other partners, we pause at a natural stream—a place Shaun has visited for decades and now shares with his children. This water represents continuity and sustenance, a gathering place where generations have cooled themselves and harvested food from clean waters that still flow despite everything.

Convergence on Salt Water

The day takes an unexpected turn when we learn that Sally and Wapit from Country Connect are at the other ferry terminal. Shaun's boat skims across the water to collect them, creating a powerful convergence: Shaun, the local visionary; Chris, the social enterprise facilitator; Leia, the connection-maker; Sally and Wapit, knowledge carriers from another Country; and myself—still finding my place in this circle, perhaps as witness and reflector of the longer story unfolding through daily efforts.

At the oyster farm, Shaun works with patient explanation, sharing both technique and vision. The farm represents more than livelihood—it's a platform for cultural continuity, family support, and community prosperity. When Wapit speaks of taking these learnings back to his own community, I witness the ancient practice of knowledge exchange being renewed between First Nations peoples.

As we taste oysters together, the moment transcends a simple gathering. It becomes a ceremony of sharing wisdom, building connection, and continuing a story tens of thousands of years in the making.

Walking Together

When it's time to leave, Shaun supports Wapit as they walk back to the boat. I capture this image—two knowledge holders walking together—and it resonates deeply within me. In this simple gesture of care and respect, I glimpse the essence of what this work is about.

I still question my role in all of this. Will my storytelling, pre-dawn work sessions, constant travel, and efforts to create moments of visibility make any difference? Can I help ensure Shaun accesses the resources he needs? I don't know.

But I do know I want to keep witnessing moments like these—where small connections reveal profound possibilities. Perhaps the metrics of growth and resource accumulation matter less than showing up faithfully, ready to learn how to support young people and communities in seeing themselves in leaders who walk the full journey with them.

In a system ruled by power dynamics—from billions spent on "community safety" to media narratives that profit from fear—I'm here to understand, to build capacity, and to go where this ancient songline guides me. I'm here to keep leaning into uncertainty, to keep turning up without guarantees. Because sometimes, walking alongside others in their journey is enough to begin with.

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