The profession I admire most is not one that seeks the spotlight, but one that leans quietly toward what is broken and begins the slow, patient work of making it whole.
I think of bush regenerators — the ones who spend hours under the sun, removing weeds, planting natives, and trusting that the land can heal. I remember a local council officer, the General Manager, who was surprised to be honoured with an Australia Day Award. He said he was only doing his job. Then he named my friend Margaret, who spent every day in the bush as a volunteer, unpaid, quielty regenerating the landscape simply because she loved the bushland and couldn’t bear to see it degraded. It was people like her that deserved an honour, he said.
And I think of people who rescue old furniture, coaxing beauty from what others would throw away. Antique pieces are beautiful, well made, and still capable of another generation’s use — if someone will see their worth and invest the time to restore them. It is tragic to see them end up in streetside rubbish, replaced by flat-packs that are neither truly cheap nor lasting.
These are the people I admire most: those who see potential in what is worn, neglected, or forgotten, and choose to restore rather than discard. They remind me that repair is an act of hope, and that the world is quietly made whole again by those who are willing to get their hands dirty for the sake of what they love.
The Afterword 
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