Jack Daniel’s and The Miracle Fruit

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The beads of sweat on my brow were a constant reminder of the tropical heat. I was in far north Queensland. An Aboriginal healer named Mooksie had shown us poisonous bush plums earlier that day, which, according to my untrained eye, were indistinguishable from the edible kind. So, while I was happy to leave native Australian fruit firmly on their trees, the day was all about fruit. I’ll get to the fruit shortly.  Continue reading “Jack Daniel’s and The Miracle Fruit”