I want my money back

It was a Goldilocks day. Sunny, but not too hot. A gentle breeze that cooled as we walked along the track. We passed a few others on the path, but not a crowd.

Just right.

Approaching the flying fox roosting colony along the single file bush track, I listened for their distinctive chatter. I also steeled my nostrils for the assault of their distinctive scent. They are cute but smelly.

Silence. Not a squeak. No wing flaps. And only the scent of eucalyptus.

A sign on the track had promised up to 50,000 flying foxes hanging out in the gum trees. But there was not one single cocoon-like shape in any tree. Talk about over promise and under deliver!

Ever had that feeling in a workshop? I have. When that tried and tested activity you always use doesn’t quite deliver for the group as you expected. More on this later. Now, back to the fruit bats, which is another name for flying foxes.

It was baffling. I’ve walked through this colony hundreds of times since moving to Melbourne in 2006. The flying foxes are a fixture, like the trees they hang in and the river below. It’s eye opening for visitors, especially if they’re not from Australia.

Cate, my walking buddy, was in Melbourne escaping a wintry Berlin. Keen to get out into nature, she was looking forward to seeing the first wildlife of her trip.

Photo Credit: Jacinta Cubis

She’d accepted, reluctantly, that she wouldn’t see a koala in these parts. She was happy to not see any snakes. Hey, did you know that clapping as you walk through the long grass and over logs can scare snakes away? We applauded our way along that track.

But where were those reliable furry fruit bats? Had they left their human-mandated colony for better climes due to the increased humidity over the past few summers?

Just as Cate joked that she wanted her money back, we started to hear a little chatter, which quickly grew into a crescendo. Overhead, they stretched, squawked (do bats squawk?), scratched and flew between trees. A few mums cleaned their babies. They’d just moved down river.

We stood and watched for ages. It was as welcome as the sight and sound of a group breaking their silence as they absorb your instructions and get started on their work together. Following your process just as you, and they, expected.

Photo Credit: Jacinta Cubis

I felt as stupidly proud of these little critters as if they were my own family, rolled out to put on a show.

And now to my point. If this walk had been a workshop, I would have reminded myself to just trust myself and the group. Our intentions are good. We have gathered to work something out together, I’ve put care and thought into co-creating a structure that supports them to do this with my client. We’ve done, and our doing, our best work. Our work will deliver – perhaps not when and where we expected.

Cate said she found it ‘mind blowing’. A refund was never on the cards for either of us, but I did shout her some freshly baked scones with jam and cream at the boathouse.

Be (fl)awesome!