But these little memories are not wallflowers. They have no trouble coming forward when it's their time to shine.

One of those memories made a star appearance a few days ago when I realised it was NAIDOC Week.

I have no Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander background and, if it wasn't for a fair number of Indigenous students at my high school, I would have had zero early interaction with First Nations people.

About eight years ago, I met Janine, a Gugu Badhun woman. Gugu Badhun country is in the upper Burdekin River region of North Queensland. Janine and I met in very unusual circumstances. We were both chosen to be in an ABC series, Jillaroo School, where we were trained by horseman Bill Willoughby to be jillaroos. The experience, though invaluable, almost killed me. I gave it a good crack, but inevitably realised my talent was writing, not wrangling cranky cattle.

As all true mates do, Janine and I just clicked. The memory that I mentioned happened a few years ago when I visited Janine and her family in Townsville. I was curious to see Janine's country so she offered to take me up the range to Paluma on the edge of Gugu Badhun country. Janine's mum, Margaret, was coming along too.

On the way to Paluma, Margaret spied something from the car. "Look Janine, noni". All I saw was scrub. I can't remember the exact conversation, but Janine suggested that she was not pulling over to pick noni fruit as they were "stinky".

After much cheeky persuasion from mum, Janine agreed to stop on the way back. Margaret was happy, I was nonplussed, Janine was concerned. "Ummm, Deb, they really, really stink," she warned. I said I didn't care, but Janine warned me that they smelt "like fermented blue cheese".

As promised, we did a noni pit stop on the way back. Margaret showed me what to look for, and told me to get cracking.

This gardening tragic was in tropical heaven. It was also possibly the closest I will ever come to bagging some bush tucker. The haul was stowed in the boot. For the record, it did stink, but not as much as durian. As Margaret was unpacking her haul back home, I promised that next time I was up, I'd get her to make me a noni cocktail.

When Janine drove me to the airport a few days later she asked what was my favourite part of the visit. I said "collecting noni fruit with your mum".

She was surprised (probably because I didn't say seeing the statue of the king of Townsville, Johnathan Thurston).

Here's the thing. In that brief moment, on the side of the road, I was given the teeniest glimpse of an ancient culture.

That little thing was big . . . to me.

Coincidentally, my visit was made during NAIDOC Week. I pointed this out to Janine, like she didn't know.

She said, "Yeah, but Deb, it's NAIDOC Week every week for us".

I raise a glass (of noni juice) to Janine.

Bravo.

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