When Julieanne Ratz and her husband relocated from Canberra to Kiama, they didn’t expect to arrive the day before the COVID lockdown.Nor did they imagine how deeply they would embed themselves in the community they now call home.“We did our research,” Julieanne says. “We rented for three months, went to local meetings, talked to people at the library and the police station, even visited the Information Centre.Everywhere we went, people were welcoming. It wasn’t the stereotype we had heard.”Despite all their careful planning, arriving just as the pandemic hit made it difficult to build connections straight away.Julieanne had been looking for meaningful volunteer opportunities and had tried Vinnies, but it didn’t quite tick the box. That changed at the Kiama Volunteer Expo.“I went just to explore, but it completely changed everything,” she says. “I chatted to people from all sorts of groups, and two things stood out.I joined U3A, and I found my way to the Visitor Information Centre. That was my turning point.”Julieanne brought with her decades of experience in travel, tourism and events management, including senior roles in the Department of Treasury organising major international meetings.She found the perfect fit at the Visitor Information Centre.“I walked in, met Lauren and the team, and they welcomed me like an old friend,” she says. “Now, I get to use my skills, meet people from all over the world, and feel part of something.”Julieanne and her husband also walk regularly with others, which has provided connection, conversation and community from early on.“There’s something about walking and talking that just helps everything fall into place.”Her husband Andrew has also stepped up, volunteering with South Coast and Country Community Transport.But beyond the logistics of volunteering and local life, there is something deeper that motivates them both.“We came here with the intention of giving back,” she says. “Kiama has had its share of hardship, especially among young people. Community connection cannot solve everything, but it can save lives.”Julieanne sees every shift at the Visitor Centre as an opportunity to offer warmth and welcome. “Sometimes it’s a map. Sometimes it’s a chat. Sometimes it’s just helping people feel seen.”Her story is a powerful reminder that volunteering is not just about giving. It is about finding your people, your purpose, and sometimes, your place in the world.And it all started at the Kiama Volunteer Expo, which is on again next week.  

It was a full house at the Lions Club dinner on last Thursday, but the room fell into deep, thoughtful silence as retired palliative care expert Dr Michael Barbato took the floor.He brought a presentation that was anything but ordinary. His slides were simple, elegant and powerful, drawing the room into the quiet truths we often avoid.As one attendee remarked, “He could teach a masterclass in how to use slides.”Introduced by local GP Dr David Grant, Dr Barbato delivered a message that was both confronting and comforting.None of us want to die, but there is a better, kinder way to do it.He began by addressing the silence that often surrounds death. “We talk politics and religion,” he said, “but not dying.”It is a reticence he understands but believes our communities must face. “Telling the truth hurts,” he said, “but deceit hurts even more.”Among the many stories he shared, one stood out - author Cory Taylor’s reflection that the worst part of dying was not the pain, but the loneliness.In her final book, Dying: A Memoir, Taylor wrote not of fear or agony but of a disconnection from those around her, who often did not know how to simply be present.Dr Barbato described how, just 70 years ago, most people died at home, surrounded by family. Today, medicalised death can too easily isolate people at the exact moment they need connection most.That is why the emergence of End-of-Life Doulas, now a formally accredited service, is so important. These doulas advocate for the dying, supporting them and their families in navigating options, emotions and care.The key, he stressed, is comfort. “When people are in pain, all their energy goes to their body. Only once they are pain-free can they begin to deal with the emotional and existential reality of dying.”Then came the heart of his message - End-of-Life Visions and Dreams.These vivid, often symbolic experiences happen not in delirium, but in clarity. They are not hallucinations. They are gifts.A woman who saw her bags packed and a boat waiting, though no one had told her she was dying.A mother visited in a dream by her own late mother. A young man who saw a figure named Trent sitting on a chair by his bedside.A little girl gazing out the window and smiling moments before she passed.These are not rare, Dr Barbato explained. “They occur in 80 to 100 per cent of dying people.” They bring peace, open conversations and often allow for reconciliation and final expressions of love.But loneliness, he warned, still haunts the dying. Too often, visitors arrive with what one patient called coffin eyes - full of sadness and fear, unable to meet the moment.“The job of visitors,” he said, “is simple: Show up. Shut up. Listen. Be the friend you have always been. These people are living, not dying.”And truth telling? It does not mean announcing the end. It means giving people space to talk about dying, if and when they are ready.“If they are not speaking of dying,” he said, “they are not in denial. They are handling it the best way they can.”Dr Barbato closed by sharing his own near-death experience at age seven, and the moment he witnessed a dying patient sit bolt upright, arms outstretched, in a vision just minutes before she died.His final message was clear.The dying do not need pity or performance. They need presence, permission and peace. 

When John Stott first stepped into the Destination Kiama Visitor Information Centre, he wasn’t looking for a job, he was looking for a way to give back and embed further in the community.Two years later, he’s one of the town’s most welcoming ambassadors, offering tips, smiles and directions not just in English, but in fluent French and Spanish too.Originally from Yorkshire in the UK, John’s path to Kiama has been anything but linear.A former finance executive who once sorted out the financials for Neighbours on behalf of a London-based television company, he’s lived and worked in Paris, Amsterdam, Rome, and Madrid.Now settled in Kiama with his husband Tony, he brings a world of experience to his volunteer role.“I’m so proud to live here,” he says. “And I get the chance to speak to visitors from all over the world and showcase our beautiful home.”John is one of a small but mighty group of Destination Kiama volunteers who greet visitors, answer questions, recommend hidden gems, and make sure everyone feels welcome.But his gift with languages offers something extra.“Someone walks in speaking Spanish or French, and I can have a proper conversation with them. It really lights people up,” he says.It’s not just about the language. It’s the feeling. For many travellers, the experience of being understood, and warmly welcomed, can shape their entire impression of a place.“I’ve worked in customer-facing roles across the world, and I know how much a smile, a kind word, and some local knowledge can mean,” John says.His enthusiasm is mirrored by the team at Destination Kiama, which includes staff and fellow volunteers who genuinely care about visitors and each other.“We’re like a little family,” John adds. “We socialise outside work too, birthdays, Christmas parties. There’s a real sense of connection.”John’s work also extends to informal ambassador duties, participating in information tours to learn about local wineries, attractions and businesses, so he can confidently pass on up-to-date recommendations.“It’s front-of-house work, and it matters. We’re the first people visitors see. The first impression,” he says.Kiama’s visitor economy relies on locals like John, people who love where they live and take pride in showing it off.Whether it’s helping someone find a coffee, a beach, a coastal walk, or a slice of history, John brings both joy and sophistication to the role.And for him, it’s more than a pastime. It is purpose.“I’ll be here forever,” he smiles. “This is home now.”

When Mark Burns stepped out for a walk with a few mates in Kiama, he wasn’t launching a movement. He was looking for connection.“I didn’t plan it,” he said. “I just knew I needed something simple, something that didn’t ask too much of anyone, but still gave people a reason to show up.”That first walk would become The Man Walk - now operating in more than 80 locations across Australia and internationally.Its formula is disarmingly simple: regular walks, no judgment, no pressure. You walk. You talk if you want to.Behind the easy-going tone is a deep sense of purpose. Mark, a physiotherapist by training, lost his father at 23.His mother later died of gallbladder cancer. Those losses made the mission personal.“If you’ve experienced grief or mental health struggles, you know how powerful it is to feel supported,” he said. “That’s what The Man Walk does. It creates a space where you don’t have to pretend, you’re fine.”Now full-time CEO of the growing charity, Mark’s approach is practical and people-first.“I’m not interested in being the smartest person in the room. I want to be surrounded by people who know more than I do, who challenge me, and who care deeply.”That thinking shaped his board, which includes professionals from tech, planning, media, and corporate leadership.“Whether it’s business or everyday life, you build better things when the people around you complement your strengths,” he said.Among those people is Judy Henderson, a long-time family friend and former policy advisor, who has mentored Mark through each stage of the journey.“She reminds me what matters,” he said. “She helps me keep going with care and purpose.”And then there’s Glenn “Ernie” Wright, a poet and long-time supporter who delivered a spoken-word tribute at The Man Walk gala that moved the crowd to tears.Mark sees both of them - and many others - as part of what makes the charity strong. “It’s never been about me,” he said. “It’s about the people who walk beside you. Literally and figuratively.”From a single walk in Kiama to a national movement, Mark is clear about one thing. “You don’t need fanfare,” he said. “You just need to show up and be willing to listen.”

A recent car fire near Kiama Public School brought more than just flames.It revealed how deeply community, employers and emergency services are connected in keeping Kiama safe.When a white Volkswagen caught fire beside Bong Bong Street, Kiama’s Fire and Rescue crew arrived within minutes.The fire station’s proximity proved vital. What many locals may not realise is that this kind of rapid response is only possible because everyday people, and the businesses they work for, make it possible.Station Commander Rhys Dawson leads a part-time crew. “We all have primary jobs,” he explained. “When the pager goes off, we drop what we are doing and come in to respond.” In this case, that quick response helped prevent the fire from escalating near one of the busiest parts of town. Car fires are rare on suburban streets. Most happen on the highway.Dawson said this incident is a reminder that emergencies can occur anywhere, at any time.What sits behind these responses is an important relationship between emergency services and local workplaces.Dawson said his team of 20 relies on employers who are willing to be flexible. “A lot of our members can only be available during the week because their employers let them go when needed.“Employers often tell us their staff come back with more confidence and better teamwork skills. It builds loyalty and pride.”With Volunteers Week around the corner, it is a timely opportunity to recognise the quiet contribution of the businesses, shift managers and co-workers who make space for this service to operate.It is often weekday availability that presents the greatest challenge, and many employers are stepping up to fill that gap.Some members, like Dawson, work in related fields. He is a full-time firefighter for Sydney Trains. Others have flexible jobs or work close to the station, which helps maintain coverage.In Kiama, Fire and Rescue focus on urban fire emergencies. The Rural Fire Service focus on bush fire and rural emergencies.Both organisations support each other across all the townships with Kiama LGA. “We are lucky in this region. Jamberoo and Gerringong RFS brigades are strong and proactive.”In the Bong Bong Rd incident, two members of the public also tried to put out the fire before the crew arrived.“When people feel supported, they step up," Dawson added."Whether it is employers giving staff the flexibility to respond, or locals lending a hand in a crisis, that community commitment makes all the difference.”

In a world built for speed, Slow Dough is an act of quiet rebellion.Tucked just off Kiama’s main drag, the little bakery with the Snail of Approval is proof that food made slowly, shared generously, and sourced thoughtfully still has a place and a devoted following.Richard and Lucy King didn’t set out to start a movement.They simply wanted to share their growing sourdough skills during lockdown, first in Melbourne, then by leaving loaves on the doorsteps of new neighbours in Gerringong.But what began as a friendly gesture has since blossomed into Slow Dough Bakery, a three-day-a-week operation with a five-day baking process, a rotating seasonal menu, and a fiercely loyal customer base.Their secret? Time, intention, and a commitment to local connection.From trading excess pumpkins and basil with neighbours to building partnerships with local food producers like The Pines and the Passion Project, Richard and Lucy’s bakery is more than a place to buy bread.It is a model of circular economy in action, grounded in a belief that great food should nourish people, place and purpose.That ethos has now been formally recognised with a Snail of Approval from Slow Food Saddleback, an international movement that champions good, clean and fair food.Slow Dough’s connection with Slow Food Saddleback began long before their Snail of Approval. While still baking out of their garage, Richard and Lucy were invited by a Slow Food member to provide bread for a community pickling workshop.That early collaboration grew into a warm, ongoing relationship marked by shared values around local food, sustainability, and community education.Since opening their bakery, they have continued to support and host Slow Food events, including a focaccia-making course, and have become enthusiastic ambassadors for the movement.The Snail of Approval they received is more than a badge, it is a reflection of their deep alignment with the Slow Food ethos and their commitment to nourishing both people and place."To us, the snail stands for intention," says Lucy. "Every step, from the flour we choose to the way we serve our customers, is done with care."The real revolution is not just in the oven. It is in how they have transformed their space into a hub where sourdough starters meet community starters, compostable cups tell quiet stories of considered choices, and Friday to Sunday service is backed by a five-day process of slow fermentation and fastidious care."Nothing we do here is overnight," Richard says. "We have built this by staying curious, listening to our customers, and staying rooted in why we started, to bring people together over beautiful bread."That guiding purpose is visible in everything from their rotating menu to their waste management system. Offcuts and compostables are collected weekly by Kerryn McInnes from the Passion Project, who turns Slow Dough’s scraps into garden gold.Customers, too, are part of the cycle: some bring lemons, tomatoes or rhubarb from home gardens in exchange for loaves. In a time of rising costs and environmental anxiety, this small exchange feels like a balm.Lucy brings her background in corporate sustainability to the heart of the operation. “We could not do what we do if we were chasing perfection,” she explains. “But we can make considered decisions, partner thoughtfully, and create an experience that reminds people why food matters."Their past lives in the corporate world also help shape the culture inside the bakery.Empowering their team, from casual weekend staff to young mums returning to the workforce, is as important to them as sourcing quality flour. "Everyone here is part of the story," says Lucy.Slow Dough’s approach is a reminder that value is not always measured in speed or volume.It is found in the long ferment, the imperfect peach Danish made with fruit from the Wednesday market, and the casual team member who feels part of something bigger.For Richard, who once worked in corporate change management, the bakery has become a different kind of leadership project, one where growth is measured in meaning, not scale."Sure, we’re a business," he says, "but we’re also building a culture, for our team and for everyone who walks through the door."Slow Dough’s snail may be small, but it carries a big message: local food made with care can still be delicious, inclusive, and economically viable. It just takes time, and people willing to bake the difference.

There is no such thing as an ordinary day for Kate Bourke.One moment she might be sowing the winter crop, repairing a tractor on Jamie Hamilton’s dairy farm, the next she could be leading a prize heifer into the Sydney Royal Easter Show ring. Somewhere in between, she is raising calves, fine-tuning her cattle judging skills, and quietly building a future many young farmers only dream about.Kate’s journey into agriculture did not begin on the farm. It started in her father’s four-wheel drive workshop, where she completed a full mechanical apprenticeship before stepping onto the land.“I always wanted to work in agriculture. That was the end goal,” Kate said. “But I wanted mechanical knowledge first, so I left school after Year 10 to get the theory and hands on skills training needed.”It was a move that now sets her apart. When something breaks down on the farm, Kate can fix it.Her mechanical know-how has made her an indispensable part of Jamie Hamilton’s team, where she handles the tractor work and machinery maintenance, while her colleague Ebony Wilson focuses on milking the cows.But it is not just about what happens behind the scenes. Kate is also making her mark centre stage.Earlier this year, she came runner-up in the Sydney Royal Easter Show dairy cattle judging competition, an achievement that reflects her dedication to understanding livestock and presenting them at their best.It is a far cry from the early days, when she admits she was daunted by public speaking and unsure of her place in the industry.“I used to be really quiet. But participating in show competitions helped me so much. It taught me to project my voice, to back myself,” she said.Photo: Kayley Spowart PhotographyWhen she is not working on the dairy or showing cattle, Kate is competing in horse riding events across the South Coast.From barrel racing and campdrafting to team penning and stock horse classes, her weekends are packed with adrenaline and horsemanship.A proud member of her local pony club, Kate has been riding since the age of 12 and now competes at shows and rodeos in places like Milton, Moruya, Braidwood and Goulburn.For her, riding is more than a hobby, it is another way of living the agricultural lifestyle she loves.Kate’s approach to farming is practical, hard-working, and quietly ambitious.She sees agriculture as a long-term career, one built over decades rather than years. Like many young farmers, she dreams of leasing or managing a farm one day, but recognises the rising cost of land will make that path a tough one.“There is a lot of money in genetics, in tractor work, in farming,” Kate said. “You have got to work your way up.”She sees her involvement in showing cattle, riding horses and competing in farmers’ challenges as the perfect work-life balance, blending passion with purpose.“It is a lifestyle. You do it because you love it,” she said.With her mix of mechanical skill, stock sense, and steely determination, Kate is redefining what it means to build a future on the land - one tractor, one show ring, and one quiet triumph at a time.

When two gifted quilters answered a quiet call for help, they stitched more than fabric.They stitched memory, respect and community into every thread.The two quilted panels now hanging in Jamberoo’s RSL Hall began their journey in Broken Hill.Barbara Adams, president of the local Red Cross, saw them in a craft store and immediately felt their potential.Robyn Thomson (L) and Teresa MacPherson (R) at Jamberoo RSL Hall, where their handmade remembrance quilts honour generations of service and sacrifice.Photo: Linda FaiersShe brought them back home, hoping they’d find someone to bring them to life.That connection was made by Annette Hoskins, the Community Coordinator of the Kiama Quilters Guild and a long-time volunteer with the Children’s Medical Research Institute (CMRI). Annette is known for quietly connecting people and projects with purpose. She brought the panels to the Guild and asked if anyone might be willing to quilt them. Two members,Teresa MacPherson and Robyn Thomson, stepped forward.What followed was a labour of love, generosity and quiet pride.Teresa, who moved to Kiama five years ago, discovered the quilting group through The Bugle and has found a deep sense of belonging through her involvement.Though she modestly downplays her role, describing herself as “just one of a team,” it’s clear her contribution was heartfelt.“Anything that involves community, I love to be part of,” she said. “And being able to contribute to the Anzac spirit means a great deal to me. I lost relatives in the World Wars, so this was personal.”For Robyn, quilting has been a part of life for 30 years, but it wasn’t until moving to Kiama that she joined a group.Originally from Australia, she spent decades living in Scotland and the United States before returning with her husband, who now works remotely in immunology research.“It’s a pleasure, really,” Robyn said. “But it’s selfish too. I do it because I enjoy it.”Teresa MacPherson and Robyn Thomson in front of a commemorative poppy quilt at Jamberoo RSL. The quilt, stitched with teamwork and care, honours those who served and includes handmade poppies contributed by fellow community quilters. Photo: Linda FaiersThe pair are long-time contributors to community quilting projects, especially those that support the Children’s Medical Research Institute through the Genes for Jeans campaign.But last Saturday’s unveiling of their Anzac quilts in Jamberoo was something new. They were present. They were celebrated. “A little overwhelming,” Robyn said. “But very, very nice.”Each quilt, while based on a pre-printed panel, was brought to life by hand.Other members of the quilting group were invited to create beautiful crocheted and knitted poppies, which were then carefully attached to the quilts, adding a special handmade touch.The added details, including crocheted poppies and careful stitching, reflect a shared effort. It’s a striking example of what happens when quiet craft meets community care.As Teresa put it, “We thought we’d just send them off and maybe one day get down to Jamberoo to see them.🎥✨ A stitch in time... unveiled! Watch this beautiful moment as Barbara Adams, President of the Jamberoo Red Cross, unveils two stunning quilts honouring Vietnam War veterans.But then we were invited to the march and the morning tea. It was such a lovely acknowledgement.”Now hanging in Jamberoo’s RSL Hall, these quilts are not just beautiful.They are a reminder of those we honour, and of the people who quietly, lovingly, remember them.

"War is one of those stupid corruptions of mankind we keep repeating. You hated them, then peace came, and we turned around and got on with life. There’s no point holding hate. It doesn’t do anyone any good." – Harold WestHarold West served in what is now Papua New Guinea.From his home in Kiama, the 102-year-old reflects on the war that shaped his early adulthood, and the quiet strength that carried him into peacetime.He was part of the Anzac Day services in Kiama last week, riding in a car in the official march.When Harold talks about war, he doesn’t dwell on heroism.He speaks plainly, almost gently, of a time when he was 18, conscripted into the Australian Army, and sent to fight the Japanese in New Guinea, the eastern half of the island that is today the independent nation of Papua New Guinea.“You’re shooting at a bloke you don’t know because someone told you to do it,” he says. “That’s the way it was.”For four years, Harold worked as a wireless operator, keeping communications alive through dense jungle and harsh conditions.He remembers being in Wewak, in northern New Guinea, when the war ended.“We caught the surrender ceremonies up there,” he says. “And that was it. Four years, then peace.”But coming home didn’t mean picking up where he left off.“You miss a big chunk of your life,” Harold reflects. “You’ve lived by army rules, and then suddenly, you’re free. It’s strange. You’ve got to start from scratch.”Before the war, Harold had already begun training as an accountant.Without the interruption, he imagines he might have finished his studies, found a job, and married young. “But the war turned that path inside out,” he says.“When I got back, I just wanted to settle down. Find a girl, get married, have a family. That was my way of getting back to normal.”And that’s exactly what he did. He completed his qualifications as a Certified Practising Accountant, met and married Eunice in 1949, and together they built a home in Mascot.They raised three daughters, and now have seven grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. Many family holidays were spent at their much-loved getaway in Jervis Bay.In recognition of his longstanding commitment to community service, Harold was awarded the Order of Australia Medal in 2007.When Harold retired they moved to the South Coast, a decision they had long dreamed about. “We loved it down here,” he says. “We built a cottage and eventually moved our whole life here.”Now living in Kiama, Harold reflects often on peace and forgiveness.“They were the enemy then. Now we trade with them. There’s no point holding hate. It doesn’t do anyone any good.”Harold’s story is one of endurance, perspective, and quiet resolve.“War is just one part of your life,” he says. “When it ends, you turn around and get on with the next bit.”

From Sydney’s bay walks to Kiama’s coastal vista, Fran Barton has always moved forward with quiet determination. Now, surrounded by good company and morning light, she’s found exactly where she needs to be. When Fran first visited Cedar on Collins, it wasn’t just the ocean breeze that drew her in, it was the sunlight.Her daughter, who lives in Kiama, had noticed it too and gently encouraged her. “Mum, I think it’s time,” she said.  At 96, Fran had spent years in Sydney, where her social circle had thinned and the hills near her home were, as she puts it, “a killer.”Stepping into a sunny, north-facing unit that catches both the morning and afternoon light, Fran knew she had found her next chapter. Nearly a year later, she has no regrets. “I couldn’t be happier,” Fran says, with a matter-of-fact warmth that suggests she’s not one for fuss. “There’s something for everyone here, but no pressure. I’ve got my independence, but there’s always someone nearby.” Fran, who has three children and 10 great-grandchildren, is known among fellow residents not just for her friendly presence but for her fitness.She completed the City2Surf seven years in a row, all after turning 70. “I said to my sister, I’ll keep doing it till I’m 80 if we enjoy it,” she recalls. “And we did.”Her sister Val, her companion in many of those races, passed away at 89, leaving behind a legacy of laughter, loyalty, and a headline that still makes Fran chuckle: “City Sisters Smash the City2Surf.” “We were at the back of the pack,” Fran says, “but we finished.” She laughs easily now, even while sharing the more difficult parts of her journey, losing her husband in 2012 after a long battle with Parkinson’s, navigating the quieter, lonelier years that followed, and recognising when it was finally time for a change. “I was ready when I was ready,” she says simply. What makes life at Cedar on Collins so special for Fran isn’t just the building, or even the outings and exercise classes she enjoys with fellow residents like Hilton and Jan, it’s the little signs that her life still ripples outward. Her daughter, Sidonie, a horticulturalist, has even named a flower after Fran’s cardigan - “Fran’s Cardy,” a pink bloom that links generations through colour and love. Fran doesn’t own a mobile phone, doesn’t see the point in it, and jokes that her daughters think she lives in a “time warp.” But her clarity of thought and compassion are anything but out of touch. She worries about the future, yes, about technology outpacing humanity, and about respect becoming rare, but she believes in women’s equality and independence, and sees those gains as vital. The hills of Kiama don’t bother her much anymore. “I’ve walked to the chemist, down to Penny Whistler. I’m working up to the shops,” she says, describing her gradual reclaiming of confidence. “I don’t use a stick. I don’t need it.” And when asked about a photo, Fran waves off any worry. “I’m not photogenic,” she says with a grin, before pausing. “But I don’t care.” After all, there’s strength in being seen - and plenty of sunshine to go around.

Most of us get nervous when the roundabout near Woolies backs up, spare a thought for Carla Rogers. She lives on top of a hill in Jamberoo, runs a national business and relies on a single, temperamental creek crossing to stay connected to the world.When it floods, Carla doesn’t just miss brunch. She misses meetings, radio interviews and even the Central Australian Aboriginal Women’s Choir, which would have been her eighth time seeing them.Carla doesn’t complain. She laughs. And she documents the drama with the flair of a travel blogger who swapped Europe for electric fences and a possibly aggressive bovine.The same goes for Carla’s daughter Talise and Bardi Elder Aunty Munya Andrews, who, with Carla from the top of the hill, run Evolve Communities. It is an award-winning organisation building communities for a kinder, more inclusive Australia that values First Nations peoples and wisdom.When the floods roll in, their work doesn’t stop. They simply switch gears.Their flood tales are the stuff of local legend.There was the morning Carla promised her daughter she’d get her to a Year 10 school excursion no matter what. On the way to the shed to grab umbrellas, she found their pup, Rango, mid-mouthful of rat bait. She bundled him into her handbag, navigated paddocks and 99 electric fences, rushed to the vet in Albion Park to get his stomach pumped, then made it just in time to get Talise to the excursion. All before morning tea.There have been interviews with Radio National conducted while lying under a barbed wire fence because she didn’t make it back in time and daring return hikes through rising waters after late-night Sydney concerts or to meet with Stan Grant.Luckily, they made it through both trials and the HSC last year without a single flood run. Carla considers that her biggest achievement yet. Her beloved VW Van50H wasn’t so lucky.It was left at Fountaindale Road and succumbed to the rising creek waters. Vale, Van50H.This week’s challenge, with Talise now at uni, involved facing the classic “bull or cow?” dilemma. That is an important distinction when you’re on foot and trying to reach a waiting rescue vehicle so uni commitments can still be met.Still smiling, still stranded. Just your average Tuesday at the creek! Photo: SuppliedThanks to clever logistics like a second car stashed at a neighbour’s, community kindness from people like Alan and his tractor, Nick and his gator, Angela’s Subaru, Jen and Donna from the Jamberoo Rural Fire Service and the neighbours who helped get the rescue vehicle out of a bog with a cup of tea in hand and a bit of satellite magic, Carla stays online and upbeat.From the hilltop, they beam in to lead national training sessions where participants don’t just learn about allyship. They learn how to live it.Most people’s gap year starts in London. Carla’s started in the Kimberley. It was the beginning of a lifelong journey to listen, to walk alongside First Nations people, and to help others do the same. Rain, mud, runaway cows and the odd bull might slow her down, but they have never stopped her.In the end, Carla is all heart and steady footing. Come rain, flood or chaos. And if you’re lucky enough to be her neighbour, you’ll know. When the skies open, she’ll have chocolate, a smile and a story to share.Carla with Stan Grant.

When Deidre Henham first put down a deposit on Cedar on Collins, she wasn’t entirely sure how things would unfold.Now, settled into the newly built retirement complex in Kiama, she couldn’t be happier with her decision. “It's wonderful,” she says. “The people here are just lovely, without exception.”Deidre’s journey to Kiama began with a different plan.She and her daughters had purchased a house in Bong Bong Street, intending to create a multi-generational home where they could live separately yet together. But the uncertainty surrounding the property’s potential heritage listing dragged on for years.This process took more than 3 years to confirm whether it would be heritage listed,” she explains. “By then, I had already started looking at Cedar on Collins.”What was once an uncertain step turned out to be a perfect fit. One of the first residents to move in, Deidre quickly took the initiative to build a sense of community.“At first, it was just me and one other gentleman. We decided to meet on Friday nights for drinks, and slowly, more people joined in.”Many of the residents are local, making it easier for newcomers like Deidre to settle in.“They already know all the best places,” she says. “The only downside is that when the bus trips are planned, they have already seen most of the sights.”Originally from the Riverina, Deidre spent years in Wagga Wagga before making the move to Kiama in late 2023.A former rice farmer, she speaks with pride about the industry’s evolution.“Farming teaches resilience. If you are married to a farmer, you learn to do everything, from driving between paddocks to helping with livestock,” she says.Her connection to rice farming runs deep, and she still holds shares in SunRice, a company she praises for its success and support of growers.For Deidre, Cedar on Collins is more than just a retirement complex. It is a new chapter filled with companionship and opportunity. “It feels like a hotel,” she laughs. “But you bring your own drinks.”As Kiama’s newest retirement community grows, stories like Deirdre’s highlight what makes it special, a place where people can feel at home, surrounded by friends, and supported in a way that makes ageing an exciting new stage of life.

If you have ever wandered past the windswept headland south of Kiama’s famous Little Blowhole and paused to admire the flowering natives, the gentle stone path or the bridge at the base of the slope, you are walking through Jan Bloomfield’s legacy.After years of tireless coordination, Jan is stepping down from her leadership role with the Little Blowhole Landcare Group.She leaves behind not just a beautifully restored coastal site, but a strong, connected and quietly determined group of volunteers who continue to transform this once-neglected patch into something extraordinary.Jan was there at the beginning. She was one of the original volunteers when Landcare began at Little Blowhole in 2009, tackling an area choked with noxious weeds on neglected dairy pasture. Two years later, when the founding coordinator left, Jan stepped in without hesitation. She never looked back.With a background in the National Parks and Wildlife Service, she brought deep ecological knowledge to a team of eager amateurs. But it was her grit, warmth and wry humour that kept the group grounded and growing.“She might be very little,” fellow volunteer Gail Evans said with a smile, “but Jan is very determined. Some say like a terrier with a bone.”Jan’s commitment extended far beyond weeding and planting. She liaised with Council, secured grants, organised working bees, wrangled scouts and school groups, built strong relationships with the local Wodi Wodi community, and gently but firmly navigated differences of opinion about Landcare’s role. Even the snakes, Gail quips, seemed to prefer Jan’s company.The Little Blowhole Landcare team shared their appreciation for Jan Bloomfield's 20 years of dedication Kiama Council has supported the group over the years in practical and ongoing ways. From removing weed-filled bags after working bees to constructing the stabilised path and small bridge that now provide safer access, Council’s partnership has helped bring Jan’s vision to life. Council officer Peter Gill provided technical guidance, while Council's consistent backing made a tough, salt-swept site more viable for restoration.The group meets monthly, usually around 10 hardy souls who get their hands dirty for a couple of hours before sharing a cuppa and some cake. The terrain is not easy. Loose rock lies just inches under the soil, and the salt spray from the blowhole can decimate fragile plantings. But with Jan’s guidance, they have transformed the site into a well-loved picnic and wedding spot rich in native biodiversity.“She really was the leading light,” says new coordinator Chris Powell. “She organised everything, even when her own health was faltering and while caring for her husband Hilton, especially after his surgery. And she always made sure we had what we needed, from plants and gloves to Council bags for weed removal.”Jan also worked closely with Landcare Illawarra’s regional coordinator, Meredith Hall, and was instrumental in securing grants like the recent one to tackle invasive Golden Goddess lily along the site’s natural boreline. Though Jan is stepping back, her influence remains stitched into every shrub and sandstone step.“We’ll miss her guidance, her smile, her common sense and the fact that snakes didn’t seem to bother her,” Gail said. “She made us all feel like this was our patch to care for.”The group will continue to meet on the first Saturday of each month at 9.30am. New volunteers, young or old, are always welcome. As one supporter said, Landcare might just be “the older generation’s playground.”And thanks to Jan, the gate is wide open.

When the 2019-20 bushfires tore through the South Coast, sending thousands fleeing north, Dr Neil Moss was heading in the opposite direction. Seconded by the Department of Primary Industries, he drove into the heart of the disaster in Bega, through thick smoke and chaos, to help dairy farmers whose livelihoods had been left in ruins.This week, the Kiama Heights resident's extraordinary service has been recognised with the National Emergency Medal.For two exhausting weeks, Dr Moss, senior consultant and co-director at Scibus worked up to 14-hour days, assessing the damage, ensuring farmers were safe and coordinating urgent supplies. Power was out, roads were blocked and cattle were stranded with no food or water. With the support of Local Land Services, DPI and agricultural industry bodies, he helped secure fuel, generators and fodder, ensuring every affected farm had feed within days. His work did not end there. Recognising that recovery needed structure, he brought together key agricultural groups, including the DPI, Dairy Australia, NSW Farmers, Local Land Services and Bega Cheese, to map out a long-term plan. By the time he left, industry and farmers had a clear path forward, knowing they were not alone in the struggle to rebuild. Even after the fires, Dr Moss continued his work, supporting flood-hit dairy farms in 2021 and 2022 and leading a major risk analysis project to help farmers prepare for future climate related disasters. Through it all, he has remained deeply aware of the emotional toll disasters take, urging people to listen to those who have lived through them. "You can see everything that needs to be done when you walk onto these farms," he said.“But the most important thing is to take the time to listen. Often, letting people tell their story is just as important as fixing the problem." The National Emergency Medal, established in 2011, honours Australians who have rendered significant service during times of crisis. Dr Moss joins a remarkable group of people who have stepped up in the darkest moments to help their communities.

It is impossible to meet David Butcher and not be completely enthralled. Here is a man who has spent his life working with animals, building institutions, and leading organisations, all while maintaining an unshakable sense of curiosity and ingenuity. And yet, when you ask him about the highlights, he shrugs.No big deal. Just built a zoo from scratch in the middle of nowhere, under budget and almost on time. Just fired the public works department when they became an obstacle. Just changed the way people think about conservation, animal welfare, and agriculture. Just.David Butcher and his partner Amanda Large are both heavily involved in their local community Born in New Zealand, David started his veterinary studies at Sydney University in the early 1960s. In those days, there was no veterinary course available in New Zealand, so students had to go abroad. He began his career in dairy practice in Taranaki at a time when the industry was shifting rapidly. The days of small family-run farms with 30 cows were disappearing, making way for larger-scale operations. New Zealand’s approach to pasture management was evolving, and David was in the thick of it, working with farmers as herd sizes grew into the hundreds.But his career wasn’t just about cows. After a stint working with thoroughbreds, he became disillusioned with the racing industry.What followed was a wildly varied career, each phase as remarkable as the last.Locum work at Taronga Zoo turned into a full-time offer to lead the establishment of what would become the Western Plains Zoo in Dubbo.In true David fashion, he took a haphazard, bureaucratic project and got it done. He became a quantity surveyor, a project manager, a civil engineer, and when needed, a demolitions expert.He worked with a crew of farmhands, bushies, and practical problem-solvers to build roads, enclosures, and entire animal habitats. And he did it all in 13 months, delivering the project for $2.7 million and $300,000 under budget.Transporting animals became one of the most fascinating parts of his career.Giraffes from Taronga had to be carefully lowered as trucks passed under low bridges. Elephants from England were transported on cargo ships, surrounded by stacked containers forming enclosures.Aboard planes, giraffes had to descend slowly to prevent fainting from air pressure changes. David worked with Qantas to fly animals across the globe, including the first koalas to Japan. Every transport was a logistical puzzle, requiring creative solutions and careful problem-solving.After eight years at Dubbo, he returned to Taronga Zoo, this time as Assistant Director. But the politics of big institutions never suited him. He soon moved on to run the RSPCA, where he worked to reform animal welfare enforcement and modernise the organisation.His career then took him to the World Wildlife Fund (WWF), where he spent a decade leading conservation efforts across Australia and the Asia-Pacific.Under his leadership, WWF tackled major environmental issues, including the preservation of marine habitats, reforestation projects, and climate change mitigation.His work with WWF took him to some of the most remote and fascinating places on the planet, collaborating with international organisations and governments to drive sustainable environmental policies. He played a key role in projects that addressed overgrazing in Tibet, the deforestation crisis affecting the Yangtze River, and sustainable farming practices that protected local ecosystems.Later, he led Greening Australia in New South Wales, pushing for streamlined national management in a sector that often tripped over its own bureaucratic complexity.Throughout these roles, David remained committed to veterinary practice.Except for his years at the zoo, he continued to work part-time as a vet at his practice until 2014 when Bankstown Veterinary Hospital was sold. His career also included a stint in North Yorkshire in mixed practice adjacent to that of Alf White, known as James Herriot. He still holds his veterinary registration, though today his continuing education is largely focused on wildlife issues.His stories are endless.Tales of solving a power crisis in Broken Hill by changing dairy cattle feed to disrupt a flock of 10,000 corellas. Of discovering an old army tip site by watching a bulldozer sink into the earth, spitting up army rations as it went.Of an elephant who, given medication disguised in a loaf of bread, promptly spat it out after rinsing her mouth with water.David’s approach to life is simple: trust people, empower them, and get the job done.And if something isn’t working he gets rid of the roadblocks and handles it himself.

Robyn Atkins never expected to start a revolution. But in just two years, she has helped grow Jamberoo’s Country Women’s Association (CWA) juniors from six members to a staggering 55.It all started with a realisation: there were no young people entering the CWA’s famous handcraft, cookery or cultural competitions.“I was sitting here with my sister Wendy and my friend Robin Alexander, and I said, ‘There’s no juniors! No one’s learning these skills anymore!’” Robyn recalls. “We have all these amazing women with so much knowledge to pass on – knitting, sewing, cooking – and no one to teach.”Determined to change that, Robyn started spreading the word. She rallied support, reached out to local families, and before she knew it, the idea had taken on a life of its own.“We started with six. Now, we have 55 kids, from five years old up to 18,” she says.The community has embraced the initiative wholeheartedly. Parents have signed up to help, local businesses have donated supplies, and even a generous benefactor stepped in to buy four brand new sewing machines and overlockers.“The kids are learning to sew, put in zippers, bake scones, and do all the traditional crafts,” Robyn says. “One of our ex-teachers even dresses up in her chef’s uniform to teach them baking.”The impact has been enormous, not just for the children, but for the older members of the CWA too.“It has brought new life into our group,” Robyn says. “The kids make us smile. They keep us on our toes. And it’s wonderful to see them so excited to learn.”With strong community backing and a secured junior Facebook group to keep families connected, the program continues to thrive.“The best part is the enthusiasm,” Robyn says. “Just yesterday, two little girls turned up with a crate full of competition entries. Not just one entry – a whole crate!”For Robyn, the mission is clear. “These kids might grow up and move on, but they’ll never forget the Country Women’s Association,” she says. “Just like I never did.”

Kiama’s champion indoor rower, Nardia Guillaumier, has done it again - winning her second consecutive gold medal at the 2025 World Rowing Indoor Championships.The Indoor Rowing Championships are held virtually, allowing participants from around the world to compete simultaneously. However, because the event is scheduled on European time, it meant that at 2:38 AM on Monday, 24 February, while most were asleep, Nardia was on her rower at her home in Kiama Downs, securing her second gold medal.“We didn’t know right away where I’d finished, so we went through the names, and my husband said I’d won in my age group. I didn’t believe him, so I asked him to check again. He told me, Actually, they’re all behind you!” Nardia recalls.“I covered my mouth, looked at Alan (Swan, her trainer), and yelled, We did it again! I was so surprised I let out a little celebratory squeal - hoping I didn’t wake the neighbours!”Nardia Guillaumier competing in the World Championship. Photos supplied.Nardia clinched the world gold medal in the 2000m row for the open weight division for 45-49 year-olds. Even more impressively, she achieved a personal best time of 7 minutes and 16 seconds, which was her true goal.“I was thrilled to set a personal best of 7:16 at 2:38 in the morning,” she says. “I trained so hard to improve my time, and that was my real focus - making myself faster as I get older. Winning the medals is just the icing on the cake.”In addition to her gold in the 2000m, Nardia also earned a bronze medal in the 500m row, which took place a week earlier. She was just 0.1 seconds shy of her personal best, finishing in 1 minute and 33 seconds.Nardia credits much of her success to her trainer, Alan Swan of Swan Athletics, who designed her rigorous training program and supported her throughout her journey to her second gold.“Alan creates fantastic training schedules for me,” Nardia says. “I row five times a week at night and also train six days a week with weights at Oxygen Fitness in Kiama. So, I'm training a minimum of 11 times a week to get into the condition needed to compete against some of the best rowers, many of whom have been rowing for years, since they were kids.”She adds, “I’m just a country girl who trains in a converted dairy shed in Jamberoo, and I’m holding my own against these seasoned competitors. I think I’m doing okay!”Nardia Guillaumier and Alan Swan after her win. Photos supplied.Nardia’s motivation to keep competing and pushing herself comes from a desire to stay fit and age well.“My primary goal is to be the fittest and strongest version of myself, no matter my age. I want to be able to sit and stand up from a chair or the toilet when I’m 90! It’s the old saying - if you don’t use it, you’ll lose it. That’s what keeps me going.”She encourages anyone looking for a low-impact fitness activity to consider indoor rowing.“I would highly recommend indoor rowing as a fitness activity that anyone, at any age, can do. It’s low-impact, great for cardio, and really, you’re only competing against yourself,” she says.The Bugle congratulates Nardia on this remarkable achievement and looks forward to seeing what she accomplishes next!

Dylan Longbottom has surfed massive 50-foot waves in Nazaré and 30-foot waves in Teahupo’o, but in the documentary film The Blind Sea, he faces his biggest challenge yet - making sure a blind surfer can safely tackle big waves and make it home to his wife and children.Longbottom, who spent part of his youth in Kiama and now owns a surfboard manufacturing business in the Illawarra, specialises in big-wave surfing. His team ensures that every wave is tackled safely, including designing and shaping boards to handle those massive swells.It was this expertise that led Matt Formston, a paralympian and four-time World Champion Blind Surfer, to approach Longbottom when he decided to take on big-wave surfing as his next challenge."Matt was a keen surfer even as a blind athlete, and he started getting into bigger waves. Since I’ve always been into big waves and shaping boards, one of the guys he worked with connected us about five years ago," says Longbottom."Over the years, I’ve worked on his boards and taken him surfing in Australia, Fiji, and Indonesia. We developed a strong relationship, and Matt just kept pushing for bigger waves."Kyle Richardson with Matt and Dylan behind the scenes of the film. Source: Bonsai FilmsLongbottom was determined to help Matt reach his goal and even tried surfing blind himself. "I tried surfing blind, and it was probably one of the scariest things I’ve ever done - more terrifying than surfing the waves in Nazaré or Teahupo’o. It was seriously intense," he says.After gaining some experience surfing big waves, the idea emerged to take Matt to Nazaré, and this would become the focal point of The Blind Sea."The producer of the film asked me, Do you think Matt could handle Nazaré? We’d considered other waves, but they were too close to rocks, and with Matt being blind, it was too dangerous," Longbottom recalls."But Nazaré is a massive beach break that comes out of the canyon, and everything there is beach break. It’s probably the heaviest wave in the world for hold downs, but I thought if any big wave could work, it would be that one."With Matt excited to take on the challenge, the movie centered around the tension of whether a blind surfer could manage the brutal conditions at Nazaré.The film's drama was amplified when Dylan had an incident while testing the waters at Nazaré before Matt’s turn. Although it was a real moment, it added enormous tension to the narrative."After that happened, Matt said to me, Oh my God, if that can happen to you with your experience, what’s going to happen to me?" Longbottom says.Longbottom admits that the responsibility he felt was immense. "I had a lot of pressure on me because I knew how much Matt’s family depended on him. I really felt the weight of bringing him home safe - making sure he didn’t get injured or worse. I was terrified; I had a lot on my shoulders," he says.A still from the film. Source: Bonsai Films.To find out whether Matt succeeded in his big-wave challenge, you’ll have to watch the film. But for those wondering why anyone would put themselves in such dangerous situations, Dylan says it’s all about facing your fears.“If you can get through your fear, you can achieve things that other people can’t. Pushing yourself to the limit is an incredible feeling. It’s dangerous, but we’re experienced, and we know what we’re doing to handle these situations," he says.Dylan in his surfboard workshop in Port Kembla.The Blind Sea was Longbottom’s second major film experience - his first being in the 2015 remake of the classic film Point Break, where he worked as a stuntman and shaped the boards used in the movie."That was unreal. When they asked me to be a stuntman for the remake, I couldn’t believe it. The original Point Break is one of my favorite movies, so working on a Warner Brothers film was one of the best experiences of my life," Dylan says."Hollywood stars, giant sets, we were filming in Tahiti - one of the heaviest waves in the world. They wanted me to do this crazy stunt, and they also asked me to shape all the boards for the surfers. It was one of the best jobs I’ve ever had. You can spot me in the film because of my surfing style - they put dots on my neck and face and matched them to the actor’s face."The Blind Sea is available on Netflix now, but the film’s sensational sound design and depiction of giant waves should be seen on the big screen. If anyone is interested in screening the film, you can contact Bonsai Films at [email protected].

At over 60 years old, Kiama local Tony Panecasio thought his cricketing dream was a thing of the past. Yet, in the last 18 months, he’s stunned both himself and the sporting world, winning a World Cup in India while also taking the most wickets in the tournament. To top it off, he’s won an Ashes series against England.“You always dream when you’re young that maybe you could be good enough, but then you realise it’s probably not going to happen. No way. But the last 12 to 18 months have been a blur,” says Panecasio. “If you’d told me 12 months ago that I’d be in India playing in a World Cup, I would’ve thought you were crazy. I’d have said, You need to see a doctor!”Panecasio moved to the South Coast 30 years ago with his family, and at one point had all but given up on cricket. But when his kids were a little older, he decided to join a local team with Lake Illawarra.“When I first came back to cricket, it was really just to get involved, have fun, and enjoy that team sport experience again. I missed that camaraderie. It was also a great way to meet new people since we’d just moved down,” Panecasio says.Initially, he wasn’t too serious about it, but that changed when Jamberoo local Ian Bradburn encouraged him to join the over-60s Veterans Southern Highlands team. Though Panecasio had played in a few veterans' tournaments in the over-50s and over-55s divisions, he hadn’t expected much. But when he gave it a go, it turned into something extraordinary.“I went to a state tournament with my club, Southern Highlands, and I was picked for the NSW side. We played in Western Australia and won. Then, six of us from the NSW team were selected for the Australian team, which went to the World Cup in India. I was lucky enough to be one of them. That was my first Australian trip,” says Panecasio.The World Cup took place in Chennai, and Panecasio recalls how special it was to finally receive a baggy green - something he had dreamed of since he was young.The Australian Veterans over 60s team who won the Grey Ashes. Source: Tony Panecasio.jpg“They do a cap presentation at the ground, and it's a proper baggy green that says ‘Veterans Australia’ instead of just ‘Australia.’ I’m not usually an emotional person, but I was really emotional when I received it. It was a dream come true. And then, immediately, I was terrified - what if I didn’t play well?”Fortunately, Panecasio had nothing to fear. His over-60s Australian team went on to win the tournament, with Panecasio taking a combined 10 wickets in the semi-final and final alone. He ended up winning the World Cup trophy for the most wickets overall.On top of his cricketing triumph, Panecasio got the chance to explore Chennai and experience the vibrant culture of India.“We would never have gone to India as a holiday destination, but thanks to cricket, I did. It was amazing - 30 million people, 24/7. One of our bus trips was only about 10 to 15 kilometres, but it took 90 minutes to get there. The driver missed the turn and just did a U-turn - on the wrong side of the highway. “There were cows on the road, bikes weaving everywhere. It was so in-your-face. You’d see extreme poverty next to areas of great wealth, but everyone seemed happy. It was an unforgettable experience.”Tony Panecasio with the Ashes urn. Source: Tony Panecasio.Another highlight of Panecasio’s career was winning the Grey Ashes against England in December 2024, earning a replica urn for his efforts. Looking ahead, Panecasio has once again been selected to represent Australia in the over-60s team for a tour to New Zealand. The tour includes three One Day Internationals against the New Zealand over-60s team, scheduled for 21, 22 and 24 March.The replica urn. Source: Tony Panecasio.Panecasio hopes his story will inspire older generations to give cricket a go through veterans’ programs.“We’ve got an Illawarra Veterans Group now, with teams in the over-40s, 50s, 55s, and 60s. We’re gradually expanding to include over-65s and 70s. It’s only once a fortnight, and players can choose when they want to play. The games are 40 overs, and batters retire at 30, so everyone gets a chance to bat. Bowlers only bowl a maximum of 7 overs, which means a lot more participation,” says Panecasio.If you’re interested in joining, find the Greater Illawarra Veterans Cricket Association (GIVCA) on Facebook and get in touch with them.The Bugle wishes Tony the best of luck for his upcoming tour to New Zealand this March!