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The One Eyed Woolly Giant (A modern fairy Tale)


Not that long ago a new threatened species was declared. A comedian from Gondwanaland was the first to make this discovery and declare it globally. ‘Vibe’ she announced from her hallowed Soap Box, was under threat.

 
Not that long ago a new threatened species was declared. A comedian from Gondwanaland was the first to make this discovery and declare it globally. ‘Vibe’ she announced from her hallowed Soap Box, was under threat. Her declaration echoed throughout the land. Her home town, Mullumbumble, where rainbow flags fluttered constantly in the breeze, harboured some of the last precious remnants of ‘vibe’. Sign posts were erected: “This town has vibe that is World Heritage listed.” However, a seductive, insidious, noxious pest, far worse than the cane toad, threatened to obliterate it.
 
 

The vibe Mullumbumble had was the result of many complex factors. One of those factors was the way the shops were organized. The main street of the town was lined with Bangalow palms and thriving healthy shops that were largely owned by locals. They had butchers, bakers, incence makers, great pubs, a farmers co-op, a hardware, book shops, lots of funky cafes and even a spa shangrila. There was everything a person could need except a knickers and socks shop. There were seats along the street where people could sit and chat and they did. A lot.

It was a child friendly place as the main streets had only light traffic and there were very rarely anything as beastly as large truck zooming through. The citizens ambled happily along the main street, breathing fresh air and walking in natural sunlight between shops. Buskers played and sang in the street, unharrassed by police or security guards.

 

It took a while to buy fruit and vege’s from the fruit shop, a paper from the newsagent and groceries from the small friendly supermarket, bumping into friends and acquaintances along the way, but the experience was generally sociable, happy and relaxing. The Mullumbumble residents believed in Slow Shopping.

 

But one Monday night, Francine the Fruiterer had a terrible dream. In the dream she saw a woolly one-eyed giant, stomping down the main street of Mullumbumble, smashing small businesses and farms with a terrible cudgel. The next day she couldn’t get the image of the Giant’s boots and swinging cudgel from her mind. But through the day, as she chatted to her staff and customers, she discovered that many people had had the same dream. This is the dream they had.

 

At first, when the Giant came to town, he wore a friendly smile and a handsome suit. He mesmerized the townspeople with glittering trinkets and baubles: jobs for young people, cheaper food prices, petrol discounts, landcare money and donations to the CWA. But once the villagers welcomed the giant in, he secretly built a great funnel into the coffers of Mullumbumble. Then slowly, while they slept, like a great silent leech, he sucked hungrily from the town’s economy to feed his ever hungry shareholders- who lived far above the clouds, atop an enormous beanstalk. Regularly another local business or farm would be sacrificed at the giant’s bloody altar.

It was Tuesday and that very afternoon, the terrible news broke in the Echo. A corporate giant, not unlike the one in the townspeople’s nightmare, was planning to come to town.

 
A community meeting was called.
They called for suggestions. Some the villagers said,
‘What can we do? This giant is extremely powerful. He keeps the state planning minister in his pocket.’
 “He’s not so bad. He’ll give jobs, cheaper prices.”
“It’s a fait accompli. I’m too busy to waste time on this. He’s not such a monster anyway. You guys should get a life!’

 ‘Even endangered platypus and EPA’s and a furious well-organised community couldn’t stop him from installing one of his children in Maleny. There aren’t even platypus in the way here.’

 
Then an old farmer stood up.

“I used to have run a big dairy farm, a family farm. Then the big agribusiness company’s squeezed us out. I had to sell up and I couldn’t pass the farm to my kids. Now there’s no dairy industry here at all. I was too busy just farming to do much back then. I don’t mind this Woolly giant so much, I just don’t want him in my town. I’ve seen the way other towns have changed when he moves in. The change may not come in a year or two, but in five, ten, twenty years, the centre of town will look like a ghost town. I think if there is anything we can do, then we should do it.”

 
Then a newer Mullumbumble-ite stood and spoke.

‘I agree. We have one of the most exquisite, yet delicate remnants of ‘vibe’ left in our country and maybe in the world. Some of us are escapees from vibeless cities and towns. Some of us have downshifted to live here, trading in our hectic urban lives to live in a fibro shack in a community with heart, a town with vibe. This vibe is more precious than gold. Certainly far more precious than the petty baubles and trinkets of cheaper groceries and discounted fuel. Once gone it may never return. We just have to look at Byron for a grim reminder.

‘Will we be able look our children in the eye and say ‘I did nothing to save our towns vibe, because I didn’t think we could win, so I didn’t even try.’

The people united will sometimes win and sometimes lose, but the people too apathetic to do anything will always lose, because ultimately they lose their self respect!’

 
What do you think the villagers did next?
 
What would you do, if it were your town’s vibe under threat?

 

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