Sensing Environments - Callum Phillips: Dilkusha in the rain

6 ECHOES

Location: Sunshine Coast, Queensland, Australia

Callum Phillips

This walk is a quiet meeting point between two places I know well: Dilkusha, a rainforest property near Maleny where my grandfather lives, and the grounds of UniSC, where I study and think and walk every day.

Using sound, story, and memory, I’ve brought fragments of Dilkusha into the spaces of the university. Footsteps through puddles, the call of the Lewin’s honeyeater, water trickling over stone—each stop along the path carries a small part of the land my grandfather has tended for decades.

This is an attempt to listen more deeply. To walk slower. To consider the stories rooted in the ground beneath us—both those we inherit and those we’re still learning how to hear.

Put on your headphones, and take your time.

Welcome to Country

This piece starts the walkthrough by acknowledging the Traditional Custodians of the land, Jinibara and Kabi Kabi peoples, whose stories and care for Country have shaped this place long before us. You’ll hear rain and footsteps in the background — sounds recorded on my grandfather’s property, Dilkusha, just north of Maleny. I wanted to bring those elements in to make a connection between where I’m from and where we are. It’s a quiet moment to slow down, listen, and recognise that everything we do here is built on deep, ongoing relationships with land and culture.

1 sound

The White Fig

This piece centres on the white fig and its deciduous nature, how it sheds its leaves seasonally to make space for renewal. The background sounds from Dilkusha are kept slightly muted under its canopy, as we learn about the importance of this big Fig.

For me, this tree speaks to cycles of change and rest—how nature designs itself to adapt over time. It’s a gentle reminder to listen, slow down, and take cues from the landscape around us.

1 sound

I think it was a Lewin

In this moment, we hear the call of a Lewin’s Honeyeater, it's call, sharp, fast, unmistakable once you know it. My grandfather recognises it straight away, pointing it out like an old friend. The bird’s song stays with us as we walk, weaving in and out of the soundscape, a reminder that we’re always being noticed by the land, even if we’re just passing through.

It’s those small recognitions of place, of sounds that root us deeper in our surroundings.

1 sound

A Big Leaf Fig

This is what my grandfather calls a Big Leaf Fig, a Ficus macrophylla. He planted it 15 years ago, and now its massive roots hold together the corner of a path that used to wash away with heavy rain.

There’s something powerful about how it quietly does that work of stabilising, anchoring, protecting. It shows how a single planting decision can shape the land over time, blending care, memory, and design in one living thing.

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Native Ginger

Listener discretion advised: this clip contains a reference to the cultural practice of eating dog, which some listeners may find distressing.

In this moment, we’re introduced to native Australian ginger, Alpinia caerulea, often called blue ginger. My grandfather shares a memory of an Indonesian man he worked with years ago, who told him how this plant can be traditionally eaten.

It’s a complex moment that speaks to cultural differences and the way plants carry stories across borders and generations. The ginger itself is vibrant and resilient, thriving in the undergrowth. It reminds us that plants are more than just part of the landscape, they’re lived experiences, and often carry unexpected histories.

1 sound

The pace of water

This sound marks the slowing down of our walk, some soft, steady water flowing somewhere between a trickle and running. It’s calming, almost meditative, like the land is exhaling.

It invites you to pause, take a breath, and feel the rhythm of the place. As we near the end of this journey, it’s a reminder that even quiet moments hold movement and that stillness doesn’t mean nothing’s happening.

1 sound