It was gratifying for Aboriginal people, particularly in south-eastern Australia, to realise that, finally, their traditional land-management practices were being valued, and that young people in their communities could engage with Country with renewed pride. Non-Aboriginal rural communities and farmers were also influenced by Pascoe’s research. Some have since forged partnerships with him.

Black Duck: A Year at Yumburra is structured as the story of a year’s activities on Yumburra farm, a property on far south-east Gippsland where Bruce Pascoe and his partner, Lyn Harwood, run the enterprise Black Duck Foods. It is a venture they were able to establish due to the commercial success of Dark Emu.

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The book visits the six seasons of Indigenous culture on the farm, from “late summer”, through “autumn”, “winter”, “early” and “late spring”, before ending in “early summer” the following year. We are provided with an insight into the commercial operation of the farm, and Pascoe’s poetic eulogising of the bread baked from harvesting indigenous grain. He sure loves his bread.

We also meet the many characters, both Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal people who have been drawn to Pascoe’s vision. But Black Duck is far more than a log of a farmer’s year on the land, a story of the occasional eccentricities of rural life, or Pascoe’s need to habitually mention the Richmond Football Club. (An annoying, decades-old tic of his.)

This is a deeply philosophical book. It is the story of a man and the woman he loves deeply, their growth as individuals, as a couple, and parents and grandparents, deeply respectful of Country and the need to live humbly with it. At its heart, Black Duck is a story of watching, listening, reflecting and hopefully, growing.

It may seem odd to describe the book as a “comfort read”. The book addresses the difficult issues of frontier violence and massacre, the heartbreak of seeing a loved dog in pain and having to shoot it, and the continuing damage done to Country by the ill-informed and wilfully ignorant. The concept of comfort could also dilute the power of Black Duck, particularly when the political etymology of the work conjures memories of ex-prime minister John Howard’s “relaxed and comfortable” recipe for engaging with the past.

Black Duck reinforces our need to actively care for Country. There are many people across Australia doing so, regardless of the obstacles they face. I take comfort from the fact that having faced damaging bushfires, droughts and the increasing occurrence of un-natural events, people such Pascoe, Harwood and many others reject a sense of helplessness. They are on the front line of ecological activism in the truest sense.

I take great comfort in my understanding that Aboriginal communities across the continent are the knowledge holders we need to protect Country into the future, and to fully value the non-human animal and plant species that create the balance we require to become genuinely inclusive.