FROM THE EDITOR

WELCOME TO Vegan Voice – not drowning, waving. Yes, it’s been an old-fashioned wet season and we’re somewhat jaded by it all. When mildew is growing on the clothes in your wardrobe you know it’s damp. But VV stops for nothing and no one, and here we are with a spectacular lot of interviews and stories for you.

First up is Mr Dan Piraro, who tells the tale of how he was swept off his feet by the love of a good vegan woman (his feet still haven’t touched solid ground). Dan’s a funny man – he does it for a living, after all – and we can’t get enough of him. He’s a credit to his sex. We hope you feel the same.

John McCabe is a sunfoodist (raw vegan) from California who’s written a book on sustainable living. He too has an incredible story to tell and we decided to let him do it himself, without adding our own spin. He’s succeeded nicely.

JD Honeybrook-Carter is back with a second instalment of the story he began in our December issue. If you recall, JD was worried he’d be a forlorn and lonely vegan over the holiday season. That didn’t happen, and JD explains why.

James Adams hails from VV’s hometown of Nimbin. An avid cyclist, James is not enamoured of car culture and can do without the sight of all the dead and injured animals he sees on the road each day. He promised to write something for us and he has. We hope you like it, because we do.

Kim Aukett is the proud mum of a new(ish) vegan baby. Her niece Laura is seven and has been vegan for a year, and Kim’s got three other nieces who are veggie. She wants everyone to know how nice it is to have an extended vegan and veggie family. We think it should be mandatory.

Four years ago Alice Leonard got married to Billy, interviewed in our last issue. (He was the shy, shrinking violet from America, remember.) Billy brainwashed Alice with vegan propaganda and now life has completely changed and she’s running her own vegan catering business. Have you noticed a slight theme to this issue? In a nutshell, being vegan makes you happy. If only everyone knew.

Kas Ward fills us in on what’s happening in Adelaide (a lot). Hope Ferdowsian talks about getting the vegan nutrition message out in the real world, and Freedom Bradbury says honey is for the bees – let’s leave them in peace. We couldn’t agree more.

Alison Waters is back with some more thoughts on raising vegan children. She’s not at all pleased with the stuff that’s being put into those delicate little heads. Being a vegan parent means being ever vigilant, but just look at the results.

Sue Belfitt’s cooking up a gluten feast in this issue, while Julie Mitsios from Conscious Choice provides some raw recipes for the colder months. Vitamin B12, anyone? You’re probably just as over hearing about it as we are. But Dr John McDougall insists on talking about it, calling it “the meat eaters’ last stand”. Thankfully he clears up a few misconceptions while he’s at it.

HERE AT WEBSTERS CREEK it’s been, well, kind of wet. The first gardenia appeared in November and it was just about the last one we saw. Rains came – flooding rains – for weeks, leaving us waterlogged and sorry for ourselves. The leeches came out of hibernation and rejoiced. The creek raged. Roads were cut off. All our tomatoes fell off the vines.

The wet didn’t stop the nonhuman dramas happening, either. Far from it. One morning we were woken by a melomys (hopping mouse) running across our faces. Another morning a redbrowed finch was actually buzzing around inside the mosquito net – a scout sent to tell us it was light outside and very wet and no seed had been put out and no one was amused.

The comedy never stops. The wild people keep us entertained even when we’re down. Especially then. One afternoon my partner was throwing slices of mango to Nigel, one of the land mullets (big black glossy lizards with smiley expressions). They have very pleasant natures, except when the males are fighting. Then they’ll wrestle and bite off a toe or a bit of tail without a second thought. So, a sloppy bit of mango got lodged on Nigel’s head and he couldn’t get it off. He did try, but with no luck. (Rudely, we took a photo.) Suddenly a friend appeared from under the steps and ate it off his head. You know I don’t make this up.

Very early one morning I was woken by a tip-tip-tipping sound. I got up to look, thinking it was water dripping through the roof. Nothing. The sound had stopped. I went back to bed. Tip-tip-tip. I fell asleep and got up a couple of hours later. For some reason I looked down at the bottom of the bedroom dressing table, which has a missing drawer. We’d scavenged it – nothing’s perfect – and covered the gap with fine wire to stop mice getting in. Not the most attractive look but you don’t know what our mice are like. Anyway, there, feet dangling out of the wire, belly well and truly sandwiched, was a young antechinus (for you city folk, marsupial mouse).

Remember the story of how Winnie the Pooh goes to visit Rabbit, eats too much honey and can’t get his stomach back through Rabbit’s hole? Exactly. This little guy was badly stuck and had been trying to chew his way through the wire, hence the noise that woke me. I had to pull back hard on his tail to stop him getting stuck any further while my partner tried to get the wire-cutters in against his belly without snipping him. What an ordeal. Free at last, and I’ve never seen anyone run so fast in my life.

Then, the very next night, we were woken by what sounded like a fire alarm but was actually a microbat telling us she wanted to go outside and could we open the window a bit more. The mosquito net was blocking her exit. Yes, they do speak and often very bossily. It’s just that we can’t understand the words. But we get the drift.

I’m slowly starting to know a little of all the wild people’s languages. For instance, the king parrot and his son come to the window for seed when the weather is bad. They call from the forest and keep tabs on each other with piercing whistles. But when they need a seed refill they have a very different call and they’ve succeeded in training us to come to it. And, I swear this is true, sometimes they do it telepathically. If you manage to ignore them, the parrot’s son crawls up the window pane, looking in, all wide-eyed and innocent and pleading. And if you still ignore him, he licks the glass with his tongue.

I know certain people would say that I talk about the forest creatures as if they’re human. But what I describe is indeed how they are.

It’s not anthropomorphism. It’s called paying attention.

Sienna

Read more 'From the Editor' in our March-May issue, due out in the last week of February.