Kiama Assignment

It never ceases to amaze me how routine inspections of pestilence can reveal hidden gems. Recently we were called to a two story home because of a cockroach infestation and we found the place a mess of strewn packages of clothes, fabric, household-goods, newspapers, magazines, books, etc. But among the detritus we found a book entitled The Lives of Animals from 1893 and to my great surprise and excitement it contains a drawing of corals.

I am reminded of several previous engagements, such as the apartment in downtown Sydney where we found fabric imprinted with insects or the house on Robinson Street which was jam-packed with a huge variety of art works and other objects. I find myself increasing drawn to these artefacts and wish I had more time to understand their inner meaning and the place they held in the minds of those that created and collected them.

Cockatoo Inspection 2012 Crisis

Yesterday Laura and her team reported that some of the staff were concerned that the smells noticed in the vicinity of the cavernous areas where we set rat poison several years ago were an indication that these pests have returned. This has made the situation with Ted Wilson whereby we are prevented from inspecting these areas untenable. I spoke with John who tried to reach Ted and found him on the ferry headed home. It appears that Ted has become increasingly erratic and spends much of his time in the ‘cave’, even sleeping there.  The staff consensus was to forcibly remove the lock and enter in order to conduct the inspection, but nothing had prepared us for the experience that ensued.

Even as I write about this tonight I find myself immersed in the mysteries of this cave, reliving the experience as if I were still there.  The sweet smell of beeswax mixes with the odour of fertile, humid soil. My eyes resist the dimness of the cave and I rub my face. I look around in this uneasy environment and see a workspace, crammed with tools and a section of soil in the back. It looks like an excavation. The walkway I am on leads me past buckets, tubs and tools, piles of slabs of beeswax and a makeshift desk full of uncleaned, earthy artefacts. I find myself standing in front of a honeycombed section of soil, at eye-level with cavities and tunnels that branch deep into this earthen wall. The hollows compose a larger form, something like a mould of a human female figure. Am I the only one who is seeing this?  What is going on here?