The Language of Wildflowers

There is a place of which where my heart grows fonder each and every time I visit. 

And I feel there is an constant, incessant, pull for me to return. 

I remember being brought to tears, not knowing exactly why, when I left this place at 15. I had spent the past four days trekking along the beaches and through the coastal bush above, with my class from school. 

Yamba was a place I grew up visiting almost every summer. And therefore gained a sense of a personal connection with not only the town, but Yuraygir National Park, that from Yamba extends southward down the coast. 

Only in recent years have I felt an immense appreciation for the expanse of idyllic coastal bushland that is Yuraygir. Where the wild shifting ocean meets the cliff faces and beaches; the wind coaxing trees into shapes almost parallel to the ground where they grow their roots. 

And in September, the park comes alive in colour. Blooming with flannel flowers, pink boronia, white swamp heath and so many more native flowers than I can even begin to learn the names of. Though, I am trying desperately.

In 2015, we visited a section of the park between Yamba and Angourie and simply in awe of what was before me I turned to capture it all on film, wound into an old Minolta SRT-101.

6 months (or more) later I have developed that film and I am reminded of not only this wonderful season in Yuraygir, but also of the beauty of film photography.