There’s been enormous talk of Anzac Day this year, and what it means historically, emotionally, nationally and personally. You could say that it’s become heavily commercialised. From attending Anzac Day marches as a child to standing around the cenotaph with a rifle as a teenager, I’ve been involved. Yarning with diggers, listening to stories as the tears well in their eyes. One digger told of his desire to be at one with nature upon his return, bushwalking, fishing, reflecting – often alone. In recent years, I’ve become detached from the sense of community that Anzac Day inflicts and retreated to Tasmania’s highlands to spend Anzac Day on the water with mates. Beers, stories, mate-ship, unity. I may have performed the odd rendition of The Last Post on harmonica, albeit pathetically, but with good intention. This year, we will do the same, except we will start by attending a local dawn service on this, the 100th Anniversary, before heading into Tasmania’s wilderness. Whatever it means to you and whatever you do, be sure to take a moment to remember, reflect and respect. At the going down of the sun and in the morning.