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    Bones
    Bones
    Bones
    Ebook70 pages56 minutes

    Bones

    By John Wilson

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Sam and Annabel are visiting Sam's mom in Drumheller, Alberta. The farm she is living on is hosting a dinosaur dig. Annabel is thrilled to have access to paleontologists and spends as much time as she can near the dig, much to Sam’s dismay. But when they learn the dig has uncovered scientifically important bones, even Sam is curious. In fact, the whole town is talking about the discovery. When Sam and Annabel learn that Humphrey Battleford, a famous collector of stolen goods, is in the area, they realize they need to do their part to keep the ancient bones safe.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOrca Book Publishers
    Release dateApr 1, 2014
    ISBN9781459807006
    Bones
    Author

    John Wilson

    Qualified in agricultural science, medicine, surgery and psychiatry, Dr John Wilson practised for thirty-seven years, specialising as a consultant psychiatrist. In Sydney, London, California and Melbourne, he used body-oriented therapies including breath-awareness, and re-birthing. He promoted the ‘Recovery Model of Mental Health’ and healing in general. At Sydney University, he taught in the Department of Preventive and Social Medicine, within the School of Public Health. He has worked as Technical Manager of a venture-capital project, producing health foods in conjunction with the Commonwealth Scientific and Industrial Research Organisation (CSIRO). Dissenting from colonial values, he saw our ecological crisis as more urgent than attending urban distress. Almost thirty years ago, instead of returning to the academy, he went bush, learning personal downsizing and voluntary simplicity from Aboriginal people. Following his deepening love of the wild through diverse ecologies, he turned eco-activist, opposing cyanide gold mining in New South Wales and nuclear testing in the Pacific. Spending decades in the Australian outback, reading and writing for popular appreciation, he now fingers Plato, drawing on history, the classics, art, literature, philosophy and science for this book about the psychology of ecology – eco-psychology – about the very soul of our ecocidal folly.

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      Book preview

      Bones - John Wilson

      Chapter One

      My mom meets us at the airport, wearing a poncho, a long paisley skirt and cowboy boots. Her hair is in two braids that swing wildly as she envelopes us in an enthusiastic hug. Hi, Mom, I say as soon as I get a chance. This is Annabel.

      Wonderful to meet you, Mom says to Annabel, then looks back at me. But you mustn’t call me Mom. That defines me by the role of mother—a role I love, but I’m more than that. You must call me Acacia. It’s a healing herb. Very good for skin ailments, she says with a pointed look at the huge zit that has exploded on my chin. It also cures allergies, insect bites and athletes’ foot. And the beans are delightful with guacamole.

      I stand rooted to the spot, half overwhelmed and half horribly embarrassed. Annabel isn’t fazed. Yeah, she says, "it’s an astringent, like tannin. Did you know there are almost a thousand different Acacia species in Australia alone?"

      Really? Mom says, linking arms with Annabel. I must go there one day. Indigenous Australians have a wonderful history of using medicinal herbs. They have many more routes to healing than we do. Any worries I had about Annabel getting on with my weird mother vanish.

      Mom and Dad split up several months ago. Dad and I moved to Australia, where I met Annabel, and Mom moved to a communal farm outside Drumheller, Alberta. A couple inherited it and decided to dedicate it to alternative lifestyles. About fifteen people live there in a house and a couple of trailers, growing their own food, raising goats and chickens and making their own clothes.

      The idea for a trip to visit Mom during the July school break came from Dad. The money came from Annabel’s Uncle Bill. He paid for our flights to say thanks for the part we played in getting the Loch Ard peacock back to his museum.

      I was missing Mom, so I was fine with the idea. I was nervous that Annabel might not want to come, but the news that there was a dinosaur skeleton on Mom’s farm clinched Annabel’s decision to join me. The skeleton had been discovered by a local farmer in a small valley—coulee, it’s called in Alberta—and was being excavated by scientists from the Royal Tyrrell Museum. There was no way Annabel was going to miss out on seeing a dinosaur dig firsthand.

      I follow Annabel and my mom as they traipse through the airport deep in conversation about botany and folk medicine, leaving me to drag along behind with the luggage. I’m happy that they’re getting along. It’s going to be a great holiday.

      So these are badlands, Annabel muses out loud. We lean on our bikes, looking out over narrow steep-sided, cactus-filled valleys that go nowhere. We are at Horsethief Canyon on the Red Deer River. Dusty misshapen hills and weird spires of rock called hoodoos create a sci-fi landscape. Even on the edge of the badlands, it’s hot. I have trouble imagining what it must feel like down in those narrow valleys, sheltered from even the merest breath of wind. "Hunger Games country," she adds.

      "I wonder if there’s such a thing as goodlands? Annabel continues. If there is, it would be the opposite of this. There would be gently rolling hills covered in grass and fields of wheat. Maybe a few cows or sheep grazing happily in the distance between broad, shady trees."

      "Anne of Green Gables country," I suggest, and Annabel laughs.

      I guess we should head down to the museum if we’re going to meet that scientist, I say. Mom has arranged for us to meet Dr. Owen, the man who’s working on the dinosaur on her farm. He has agreed to show us around the museum.

      We push our bikes out of the parking lot and set off along the narrow paved road toward Drumheller. The wind whistles past as we wheel over the edge of the prairie and down into the wide, flat valley bottom. We slow as the road levels out, and we pass small farms and stands of willows. I can’t imagine being happier than this, cycling along on a beautiful summer day beside Annabel. I’m trying to imagine this moment lasting forever when Annabel powers off, yells Race you, over her shoulder and leaves me in her dust.

      I’m panting and sweating when we eventually pull in among the cars, campers and tour buses in the parking lot of the Royal Tyrrell Museum. We chain our bikes and join the tourists going through the main doors. We explain that we have an appointment with Dr. Owen and are directed through the exhibition hall

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