It seems tidy that 30 Jun is Friday. I am pleased with myself today, for two reasons that immediately come to mind.
1. Our family business has survived another year. No mean feat.
2. Since I started walking early each morning at the beginning of January I have missed only two days. That adds to 179 times 4km = 716km, about Melbourne to Goulburn NSW I reckon.
It was an unusual week, and still has most of today to run. I don't have time to say much because I have a long list of things to do before an optometrist appointment at 1pm at Fountain Gate. More later.
Guess what happened. I got stuck behind a slow truck, got lost in a new estate with lots of roundabouts and circular roads (and lots of bollards preventing anything but going round in circles, talk about 'gone loopy') then parked at the wrong end of the mall and took ages to find the optometrist. I was 15 minutes late for my appointment so they wouldn't do me, saying there was not enough time before their next appt. at 1.30pm.
With disgust I bolted out of Fountain Gate shopping centre quickly, vowing never to step foot there again, and drove to the small mall at Endeavour Hills where I knew I could get a good feed of Turkish food at 'Ali Baba', and where I wanted to buy new socks and underwear for me and the boys at the 'Best and Less'. I go there once a year. (The optometrist used to be there). 'Ali Baba' had closed down and was boarded up with a big sign pronouncing 'watch this space'. So I bought some curried chicken from the Chinee next door which was lukewarm utter crap that made me feel sick two minutes after eating it. On the way out after my shopping I bought a Tattslotto ticket thinking there had to some reason for all this.
Back in Emerald I found the new optometrist and made an appt. for an eye test next week, which I should have done in the first place and ignored the letter from the one at Fountain Gate offering 50% off new glasses. When I arrived at the farm my mum seemed a little upset and began to tell me about it. Thankfully she put the kettle on and we had a cup of tea which I needed desperately.
About ten minutes before my arrival an ambulance had left taking my father Lyle to hospital. He had been crook for weeks, kidneys struggling, and had endured some horrible medication directed by a specialist to overcome excruciating pain in his hands. The pain went but he was feeling terrible, and had no appetite or energy and was basically lying down all day wasting away. Very hard on everybody, especially Elvie (Mum) and my sister Meredith who had been caring for him. They felt he was no longer well enough to go to the doctor so they arranged for the doctor to do a home visit on Thursday. Doctor was busy and couldn't make it and was then coming Friday, but after lunch Elvie rang the ambulance to have him taken to hospital so they could get to the bottom of it. He takes a large amount of prescribed medication and she felt something was wrong and it needed adjustment or the poor bugger would die of starvation or depression in a matter of days.
I had some end of financial year stuff to do (including having to buy the new version of book keeping software fom my accountant, at a cost of $250, so that what I give him at the end of next year can be read on his computer - we are up to version 6 since GST started in 2001). I was leaving at 6pm. when the phone rang. It was Dandenong hospital. The doctor was ringing to say that it seemed Lyle had had a heart attack some days ago which explained his debilitation. This doctor at the hospital knew dad because a very similar thing happened late last year but that time there was chest pain and the whole thing a little more straight forward.
At least he's in the right place now. The time will be out on this post, as I saved the early entry and came back to it. I'll have to work that out better.
Friday, June 30, 2006
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Sunday Market
On my walk this morning the stall holders were setting up for the monthly market held in the Puffing Billy station. It didn't open till 9am so I decided to come back later and maybe buy some some vegies. So I went back home and took Lib breakfast in bed ( OJ, bowl of fruit- cantelope, mandarin, kiwi fruit and passionfruit, and followed by toasted fruit muffin and peppermint tea.) I put the washing on and did the dishes and cleaned the kitchen, tasks I actually enjoy on the weekend, and then cleaned the filters on the reverse cycle air conditioner which has been working hard on these cold mornings.
Back at the market later having this time driven up, I bought a pumpkin for $1 and a kilo of brown onions and a tub of fetta cheese, thinking Lib might like the cheese with her lunch at work next week. They went in one enviro bag and 3 sausages and onions in bread from the RSL stall went in another, carefully placed so as not to spill out, not so easily done while I also had 'Snowy' on the lead. Lib and I shared the sausages for lunch, the boys still in bed.
I met a friend at the market and made an appointment to go to his house Tuesday morning to see what he wants me to do while he is going away for 6 weeks soon travelling to Alice Springs. I look after his chickens and plants when he goes away which I'm happy to do because it keeps us in eggs and I pick foliage etc. in the garden.
Late afternoon Lib's friend Raelene rang and asked us around for a bowl of whatever's going for dinner and a glass or two of red, but Lib declined. We had thawed a lump of bladebone steak and done the vegies for Sunday roast and were about to light the fire and going out on a cold Sunday night seemed to much of an effort. We had planned to go to Lakes Entrance for the weekend but changed our mind on Friday when the weather seemed so bleak. This has been the coldest winter for two decades and Lib hates the cold and doesn't like going anywhere when the weather's bad, I call it the 'winter blues'.
I started this entry early and saved it as a draft to finish later so the time will be out of wack, I think.
Back at the market later having this time driven up, I bought a pumpkin for $1 and a kilo of brown onions and a tub of fetta cheese, thinking Lib might like the cheese with her lunch at work next week. They went in one enviro bag and 3 sausages and onions in bread from the RSL stall went in another, carefully placed so as not to spill out, not so easily done while I also had 'Snowy' on the lead. Lib and I shared the sausages for lunch, the boys still in bed.
I met a friend at the market and made an appointment to go to his house Tuesday morning to see what he wants me to do while he is going away for 6 weeks soon travelling to Alice Springs. I look after his chickens and plants when he goes away which I'm happy to do because it keeps us in eggs and I pick foliage etc. in the garden.
Late afternoon Lib's friend Raelene rang and asked us around for a bowl of whatever's going for dinner and a glass or two of red, but Lib declined. We had thawed a lump of bladebone steak and done the vegies for Sunday roast and were about to light the fire and going out on a cold Sunday night seemed to much of an effort. We had planned to go to Lakes Entrance for the weekend but changed our mind on Friday when the weather seemed so bleak. This has been the coldest winter for two decades and Lib hates the cold and doesn't like going anywhere when the weather's bad, I call it the 'winter blues'.
I started this entry early and saved it as a draft to finish later so the time will be out of wack, I think.
Friday, June 23, 2006
2,4,6,8.....9
Each day this week after my early walk, I've noted the temperature on the thermometer at our back door. It is digital and also records daily max and min and humidity. Monday it was 2C, Tuesday 4C, Wednesday 6C, Thursday 8C. That would make you think it was going to rain and it did last night, but only 6ml. I was hoping for more, we've had very little rain for some weeks after a wet April.
It was 9C this morning. The rain had stopped. My walk was good as usual. I met three people and Glenda in the Post Office. All talked about the world cup football, Australia had just drawn 2 all with Croatia to go through to the second round. I watched the end of the match before going out.
Harry was one of the people I met. I asked him what was his name originally in Germany, thinking Harry was an English adaptation. (I have another Gembrook friend called Harry, born in Friesland northern Holland in 1935 who came to Australia to work on the Snowy Mtn. scheme in the 1950's. He confided to me once that Harry was not his real name, it was Huisse or something similar but he used Harry since coming to Australia.) Harry said it was actually Harry, it is a German name, and not short for Harold, which is also a German name. They are separate names in German.
I thought more about the missing wasp queens. It was a poor season for bees here and the nectar producing trees were 'off' in their cycle, as I said. But also with March so hot and dry then suddenly April wet and cold I think the wasps were caught unawares, like we were, with no time to do our usual autumn preparations for winter. I can't see the population of European wasps building up to be much of a problem next summer/autumn. I'll be watching. And for the sparrows.
It was 9C this morning. The rain had stopped. My walk was good as usual. I met three people and Glenda in the Post Office. All talked about the world cup football, Australia had just drawn 2 all with Croatia to go through to the second round. I watched the end of the match before going out.
Harry was one of the people I met. I asked him what was his name originally in Germany, thinking Harry was an English adaptation. (I have another Gembrook friend called Harry, born in Friesland northern Holland in 1935 who came to Australia to work on the Snowy Mtn. scheme in the 1950's. He confided to me once that Harry was not his real name, it was Huisse or something similar but he used Harry since coming to Australia.) Harry said it was actually Harry, it is a German name, and not short for Harold, which is also a German name. They are separate names in German.
I thought more about the missing wasp queens. It was a poor season for bees here and the nectar producing trees were 'off' in their cycle, as I said. But also with March so hot and dry then suddenly April wet and cold I think the wasps were caught unawares, like we were, with no time to do our usual autumn preparations for winter. I can't see the population of European wasps building up to be much of a problem next summer/autumn. I'll be watching. And for the sparrows.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Sparrows and Wasps
I haven't seen a sparrow at home for months. Not that I miss them, I can't stand the little beggars. But we have had masses of them for years, pooping on our deck and nesting everywhere. Now, none. I was doing a job in the the garden for Pat on the other side of town a while ago and when I mentioned it to her husband Mal he said the same was the case there, now that I had mentioned it.
Also, I have not had one European wasp queen come in the house with the firewood this winter. Other years on most armfulls of wood there is one or more of them, which are hibernating, and they come 'alive' when warm temps inside thaw them. None this year. There were very few flying outside in the late summer and autumn come to think of it, which is usually their peak time. And I only had to poison one nest in the garden last summer, normally it is several.
It must have been a lousy year for wasps, which fits, because it was a lousy year for bees, I didn't extract any honey as there was no surplus,I had to leave what the bees had on them to overwinter them. And it was extremely dry in late summer and March. Hot too. Maybe the sparrows died off. Must have. They are a species introduced from England and I've heard they can die off in the heat.
But I'll bet there will be some breeding in spring somewhere not far away and they'll soon be back.
Also, I have not had one European wasp queen come in the house with the firewood this winter. Other years on most armfulls of wood there is one or more of them, which are hibernating, and they come 'alive' when warm temps inside thaw them. None this year. There were very few flying outside in the late summer and autumn come to think of it, which is usually their peak time. And I only had to poison one nest in the garden last summer, normally it is several.
It must have been a lousy year for wasps, which fits, because it was a lousy year for bees, I didn't extract any honey as there was no surplus,I had to leave what the bees had on them to overwinter them. And it was extremely dry in late summer and March. Hot too. Maybe the sparrows died off. Must have. They are a species introduced from England and I've heard they can die off in the heat.
But I'll bet there will be some breeding in spring somewhere not far away and they'll soon be back.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Happy Solstice Harry
I met Harry at the post office on my walk this morning. We cross paths now and again and we chat sometimes for a few minutes, usually about the weather or daily events. Slowly you get to know someone this way and now our greeting is warm. When we break to continue our separate walks, he says "See you, mate." I like that.
I don't know Harry's surname, but he was born in Germany in 1932, and migrated to Australia in 1952, the year I was born. He came by boat, three boatloads of young Germans men, totalling 661 in number (one boat did two trips) and all had a contract to work for the Victorian Railways for two years. Apparently there was a big strike the year before and the railways were having trouble getting things done. It must have been hugely controversial at the time, bringing in all those migrants on contract, especially from Germany which, only 7 years earlier, was defeated finally after 6 years of world war. Post war Germany must have been a harsh place for so many young to be willing to leave at the one time.
Harry remembers the war, as a boy he said it was exciting, the air raid sirens would go off and everybody was herded into large bomb shelters of about half an acre in size and with thick concrete walls. Then when the raid was over they'd come out and some houses would be ruined or on fire. His father was away somewhere in the war and when the bombing became really bad he was sent away with other children to the country where they worked on farms.
Harry told me this one Sunday morning after I asked what he had 'on' for the day. He was going to a get together of Club 52 which was a club formed by the 661 German migrants that came to Australia to work for the VR. There are 30-40 who still meet three or four times a year, which includes one annual reunion to which more attend from different parts of Australia and sometimes from other parts of the world.
Harry's first job was assistant stationmaster at Newport station. He went on to different stations around Victoria and then on to the signals section, where he stayed and became a signals inspector, finally in charge of Gippsland. He retired in 1992 after 40 years continuous service. He said when he went to signals there were 2000 people employed there but with the advent of automatic signals the number at the end had dwindled to 200. Similarly there used to be three people on the country trains, a driver, fireman and guard. Now there is only a driver.
I asked one day had he been back to Germany and he said that in 1957 he went back to see his parents. An uncle he visited told him a local girl Hannah had signed up to migrate to Australia the next year and asked, "what is it like in Australia, are there kangaroos and aborigines everywhere?" He was worried for the young Hannah and suggested that Harry go and see her and give her some advice, which he did. The next year when Hannah came to Australia Harry met her to help her find her feet. A romance blossomed and they were married a while later. They have lived in Gembrook for more than thirty years and have a daughter in Cairns. He is going back to Germany next year, 50 years after his last visit. It will be Hannah's first return.
He's a nice bloke and if I don't see him on my walk for week or so, I quietly hope that he's OK. He said "see you mate," this morning.
I said, "Have a happy solstice Harry," at which he nodded and gave me a grin.
I don't know Harry's surname, but he was born in Germany in 1932, and migrated to Australia in 1952, the year I was born. He came by boat, three boatloads of young Germans men, totalling 661 in number (one boat did two trips) and all had a contract to work for the Victorian Railways for two years. Apparently there was a big strike the year before and the railways were having trouble getting things done. It must have been hugely controversial at the time, bringing in all those migrants on contract, especially from Germany which, only 7 years earlier, was defeated finally after 6 years of world war. Post war Germany must have been a harsh place for so many young to be willing to leave at the one time.
Harry remembers the war, as a boy he said it was exciting, the air raid sirens would go off and everybody was herded into large bomb shelters of about half an acre in size and with thick concrete walls. Then when the raid was over they'd come out and some houses would be ruined or on fire. His father was away somewhere in the war and when the bombing became really bad he was sent away with other children to the country where they worked on farms.
Harry told me this one Sunday morning after I asked what he had 'on' for the day. He was going to a get together of Club 52 which was a club formed by the 661 German migrants that came to Australia to work for the VR. There are 30-40 who still meet three or four times a year, which includes one annual reunion to which more attend from different parts of Australia and sometimes from other parts of the world.
Harry's first job was assistant stationmaster at Newport station. He went on to different stations around Victoria and then on to the signals section, where he stayed and became a signals inspector, finally in charge of Gippsland. He retired in 1992 after 40 years continuous service. He said when he went to signals there were 2000 people employed there but with the advent of automatic signals the number at the end had dwindled to 200. Similarly there used to be three people on the country trains, a driver, fireman and guard. Now there is only a driver.
I asked one day had he been back to Germany and he said that in 1957 he went back to see his parents. An uncle he visited told him a local girl Hannah had signed up to migrate to Australia the next year and asked, "what is it like in Australia, are there kangaroos and aborigines everywhere?" He was worried for the young Hannah and suggested that Harry go and see her and give her some advice, which he did. The next year when Hannah came to Australia Harry met her to help her find her feet. A romance blossomed and they were married a while later. They have lived in Gembrook for more than thirty years and have a daughter in Cairns. He is going back to Germany next year, 50 years after his last visit. It will be Hannah's first return.
He's a nice bloke and if I don't see him on my walk for week or so, I quietly hope that he's OK. He said "see you mate," this morning.
I said, "Have a happy solstice Harry," at which he nodded and gave me a grin.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
For Punjab
My friend Punjab lives in Whitehorse in the Yukon Territory, Canada. I have had no communication by letter, email or phone with him for more than six months and he wouldn't know I have a blog site, so I will email him after I finish this and tell him the site address. He may, like me until a month or so ago, have never heard of a blog, but it seems to me a good way for someone on the other side of the world to keep up with what's happenning here.
I was thinking of Punjab on my early morning walk. We have nearly reached the winter solstice so he is enjoying mid summer and days of about 20 hours because of the latitude of over 60 degrees north. The air was clear this morning, no mist, fog or drizzle and it was like a veil had lifted off my brain. About 250 metres from my backdoor, I turn south at the end of my street into Quinn Rd., a narrow dirt road about 500 metres long that cuts off a corner of the Launching Place Rd. There's a rise of about 300 metres to the top of the little hill. I pace quickly, enjoying the cold air filling the lungs and smarting cheeks, ears and nose tip. Snowy falls behind, searching with her nose. At the top of the hill the endorphins kick in and I often say to myself at this spot, "I feel fantastic." Visibility was better than any morning of the last six weeks and it was magically still, the leaves on the messmates, peppermints, mannas and mountain grey gums motionless, only birds moving, all graceful in their own way, currawongs rowing, blackbirds darting and dancing, ravens soaring high, rosellas arrowing, galahs weaving, flopping and feinting.To the east across a valley is another hill, timbered and with granite outcrops and above which the sky is lit by the rising but still hidden sun.
Ahead the township stands on the next hill, houses and trees nestled together giving the scene a calm peace, fitting for a Sunday morning. The deciduous trees have mostly lost their leaves, a few crimson and purple stragglers are still on the liquid ambers and some dirty brown clings to some oaks. I walk down the main street to the Puffing Billy station and turn north and follow the tracks for a few hundred metres before heading into the woodland behind the station. Naked limbs of elms, planes and tulip trees tower above, contrasting with pines and cypress which provide the feeling of a concealed retreat. The pine mushrooms were plentiful last month. Underneath the canopy tree weeds holly, bay, cotoneaster, Portugese laurel and sweet pittosporum thrive. They are maligned as weeds but all are wonderful as a food source and cover for birds. I dug hundreds of bay seedlings out of here nearly twenty years ago and planted them at the farm and we harvest them every year heavily for restaurants and florists. It makes my walk rewarding to recollect this, as does seeing the young trees I donated to Puffing Billy some years ago, namely magnolia grandifora (2), Cornus florida (2), Cornus kousa, ginkos, birches and a copper beech which Merle planted in the wrong place and also has been badly damaged by vandals.
Once out of the woodland I go along Station St. to Launching Place Rd. I put Snowy back on the lead, because of the cars. She pulls slightly, she knows breakfast is close.
For you Punjab, my Mt. Waverley brother,and your family,I wish you peace and happiness, just as that I feel on my morning walks. Except for my blood family, you are the only contact I have from the 1950's and I treasure the connection that goes back to childhood and has always shared such pleasure in the trees, birds, mountains and all things in the natural world. You are three years older than me, and you must be even balder than you were when I last saw you. Ha! Happy birthday for last April. There will be some footy news in your mail box soon. Dare I say it. I'd better not. Yes I will, carefully. It looks like we MAY have a decent football team this year. Time reveals everything!
I was thinking of Punjab on my early morning walk. We have nearly reached the winter solstice so he is enjoying mid summer and days of about 20 hours because of the latitude of over 60 degrees north. The air was clear this morning, no mist, fog or drizzle and it was like a veil had lifted off my brain. About 250 metres from my backdoor, I turn south at the end of my street into Quinn Rd., a narrow dirt road about 500 metres long that cuts off a corner of the Launching Place Rd. There's a rise of about 300 metres to the top of the little hill. I pace quickly, enjoying the cold air filling the lungs and smarting cheeks, ears and nose tip. Snowy falls behind, searching with her nose. At the top of the hill the endorphins kick in and I often say to myself at this spot, "I feel fantastic." Visibility was better than any morning of the last six weeks and it was magically still, the leaves on the messmates, peppermints, mannas and mountain grey gums motionless, only birds moving, all graceful in their own way, currawongs rowing, blackbirds darting and dancing, ravens soaring high, rosellas arrowing, galahs weaving, flopping and feinting.To the east across a valley is another hill, timbered and with granite outcrops and above which the sky is lit by the rising but still hidden sun.
Ahead the township stands on the next hill, houses and trees nestled together giving the scene a calm peace, fitting for a Sunday morning. The deciduous trees have mostly lost their leaves, a few crimson and purple stragglers are still on the liquid ambers and some dirty brown clings to some oaks. I walk down the main street to the Puffing Billy station and turn north and follow the tracks for a few hundred metres before heading into the woodland behind the station. Naked limbs of elms, planes and tulip trees tower above, contrasting with pines and cypress which provide the feeling of a concealed retreat. The pine mushrooms were plentiful last month. Underneath the canopy tree weeds holly, bay, cotoneaster, Portugese laurel and sweet pittosporum thrive. They are maligned as weeds but all are wonderful as a food source and cover for birds. I dug hundreds of bay seedlings out of here nearly twenty years ago and planted them at the farm and we harvest them every year heavily for restaurants and florists. It makes my walk rewarding to recollect this, as does seeing the young trees I donated to Puffing Billy some years ago, namely magnolia grandifora (2), Cornus florida (2), Cornus kousa, ginkos, birches and a copper beech which Merle planted in the wrong place and also has been badly damaged by vandals.
Once out of the woodland I go along Station St. to Launching Place Rd. I put Snowy back on the lead, because of the cars. She pulls slightly, she knows breakfast is close.
For you Punjab, my Mt. Waverley brother,and your family,I wish you peace and happiness, just as that I feel on my morning walks. Except for my blood family, you are the only contact I have from the 1950's and I treasure the connection that goes back to childhood and has always shared such pleasure in the trees, birds, mountains and all things in the natural world. You are three years older than me, and you must be even balder than you were when I last saw you. Ha! Happy birthday for last April. There will be some footy news in your mail box soon. Dare I say it. I'd better not. Yes I will, carefully. It looks like we MAY have a decent football team this year. Time reveals everything!
Thursday, June 15, 2006
In the Neck
"Can you believe it", I said to myself out loud as I hurriedly swiped the right side of my neck strongly with finger tips and nails.
I was standing yesterday on the seventh rung of my 8 ft. orchardist's ladder, balancing myself by by bracing my shins on the top 8th rung as I picked green pittosporum foliage from a crinkly leaved bush in our back yard. Secateurs in my right hand and foliage in my left until it was enough for a bunch when I would put a rubber band round the stripped stems at the base and throw it to the ground, then start another, I was aware of a buzzing noise somewhere inside the pitto bush. How come there's a blowfly about in the middle of June I thought straight away. It sounded not quite right , like a plane with a sick engine.
Within a second, there was a thwack on my neck, and the unmistakable realization, at least to a beekeeper, even before the pain of the sting is felt, that I was under attack. There's a micro second between the thwack and the stinging pain. The secateurs were quickly transferred to my mouth and I scratched the bee and the sting from my neck. If you do it quickly less poison is pumped in and the pain is minimal.
AS I'd approached the bush with my ladder I had thought about the nearby beehive, the memory bank is very good at recalling painfull experience, and a couple of years ago I came under severe attack at that bush and had to put on a veil to determinedly finish the job. There's something aromatic about that crinkly pittosporum when you disturb and strip leaves from the stem and it smells a bit like perspiration. But this time in the middle of June in this cold spell I assumed it was too cold for bee flight and I would have no trouble. Wrong! I checked the thermometer at the house later and it said 11C. Either a solitary guard bee had sacrified it's life or a brave old forager had been passing and become enraged at the scent of the pitto. It was probably the latter, old bees fly and often die in the field or outside the hive entrance, to leave no work for the hive. And guard bees usually bring other guards with the pheremones from their sting.
But that's the sort of run I'm having lately. Stung in the neck by a bee on the 14th of June. It reminded me of that truck driver sleeping under a bush by the side of the road in Peru in the dead of night, held up for hours at a road block. He was pissed on by two tourists who'd come 10,000k's and spent thousands of dollars, to be held up for hours on day one with nothing to do but drink cerveza and walk off in the dark to take a pee.
I was standing yesterday on the seventh rung of my 8 ft. orchardist's ladder, balancing myself by by bracing my shins on the top 8th rung as I picked green pittosporum foliage from a crinkly leaved bush in our back yard. Secateurs in my right hand and foliage in my left until it was enough for a bunch when I would put a rubber band round the stripped stems at the base and throw it to the ground, then start another, I was aware of a buzzing noise somewhere inside the pitto bush. How come there's a blowfly about in the middle of June I thought straight away. It sounded not quite right , like a plane with a sick engine.
Within a second, there was a thwack on my neck, and the unmistakable realization, at least to a beekeeper, even before the pain of the sting is felt, that I was under attack. There's a micro second between the thwack and the stinging pain. The secateurs were quickly transferred to my mouth and I scratched the bee and the sting from my neck. If you do it quickly less poison is pumped in and the pain is minimal.
AS I'd approached the bush with my ladder I had thought about the nearby beehive, the memory bank is very good at recalling painfull experience, and a couple of years ago I came under severe attack at that bush and had to put on a veil to determinedly finish the job. There's something aromatic about that crinkly pittosporum when you disturb and strip leaves from the stem and it smells a bit like perspiration. But this time in the middle of June in this cold spell I assumed it was too cold for bee flight and I would have no trouble. Wrong! I checked the thermometer at the house later and it said 11C. Either a solitary guard bee had sacrified it's life or a brave old forager had been passing and become enraged at the scent of the pitto. It was probably the latter, old bees fly and often die in the field or outside the hive entrance, to leave no work for the hive. And guard bees usually bring other guards with the pheremones from their sting.
But that's the sort of run I'm having lately. Stung in the neck by a bee on the 14th of June. It reminded me of that truck driver sleeping under a bush by the side of the road in Peru in the dead of night, held up for hours at a road block. He was pissed on by two tourists who'd come 10,000k's and spent thousands of dollars, to be held up for hours on day one with nothing to do but drink cerveza and walk off in the dark to take a pee.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Coffee break blog
I have been busy as a bee on stringybark flow since an hour before first light but I'm determined to do a blog entry and to hell with the pressure I''ll be under for the rest of the day as a consequence. Having written nothing for many days was leaving me feeling miffed and the song 'What About Me', a hit for someone called Moving Pictures many years ago, which I heard on the radio the other day, seems like it should be my theme song.
The weekend was wonderful. Saturday I was a free agent after my normal daily chores and I soaked every second like a pup suckling. I had collected a number of plants over some years which have been on the south side of the house under some tree ferns. Some of them, namely the Abies nordmanniana, I grew from seed several years ago, and after being potted into some crook soil after which they sat still and went yellow for two years, they have gradually come good after repotting and feeding and a few more years. They are Caucasian firs, a truly delectable tree with dense tiers of shiny dark green, soft needles, and their origin is the Caucasian mountains between Iran to the south and Russia to the north with the Black Sea on one side and the Caspian on the other. How I would love to go there one day! I got the seeds fom a tree in Cynthia's garden in Avonsleigh. (Cynthia sold up recently and went to Bali to live with a Hindu she fell in love with, but she's back renting somewhere in Dandenong I heard, it didn't work out with the Hindu, I suspect he was after the house money but I'll find out one day and it might make an interesting blog.)
I took these trees and several flowering magnolias, to Ian the plumber, who has developed a passion for growing things. He planted out 2000 rhododendrons on his block just down the way and they are thriving. He has 30 or so acres and is preparing for life after plumbing which he has had a gutful of.
I took several camelias which I had bought years ago as tubestock and a few magnolias and philadelphus (mock orange) and stachyurus (spiketail) to Geoff and Sylvia who used to live in our street but now have moved into the new estate and are starting their garden.
The rest I took to my accountants house. Again, camelias, magnolias and a few shrubs and a North American dogwood.
I was pleased to find these plants a happy home. It has been a nuisance having to water them every day in the hot dry weather and pot them on when they have needed it. And having someone water them when we are away has also been a hassle.
I spent the rest of Saturday digging and dividing clumps of yellow pokers and planting them about. There's still room in our garden for that sort of thing but space is limited and I had no room for the trees and shrubs.
Sunday we went to the footy in Melbourne. Robbie drove all the way there and back on 'L' plates. He did well. He has exams starting today ...Physics. I hope he gets a good start. His monthly reports have been excellent.
The weekend was wonderful. Saturday I was a free agent after my normal daily chores and I soaked every second like a pup suckling. I had collected a number of plants over some years which have been on the south side of the house under some tree ferns. Some of them, namely the Abies nordmanniana, I grew from seed several years ago, and after being potted into some crook soil after which they sat still and went yellow for two years, they have gradually come good after repotting and feeding and a few more years. They are Caucasian firs, a truly delectable tree with dense tiers of shiny dark green, soft needles, and their origin is the Caucasian mountains between Iran to the south and Russia to the north with the Black Sea on one side and the Caspian on the other. How I would love to go there one day! I got the seeds fom a tree in Cynthia's garden in Avonsleigh. (Cynthia sold up recently and went to Bali to live with a Hindu she fell in love with, but she's back renting somewhere in Dandenong I heard, it didn't work out with the Hindu, I suspect he was after the house money but I'll find out one day and it might make an interesting blog.)
I took these trees and several flowering magnolias, to Ian the plumber, who has developed a passion for growing things. He planted out 2000 rhododendrons on his block just down the way and they are thriving. He has 30 or so acres and is preparing for life after plumbing which he has had a gutful of.
I took several camelias which I had bought years ago as tubestock and a few magnolias and philadelphus (mock orange) and stachyurus (spiketail) to Geoff and Sylvia who used to live in our street but now have moved into the new estate and are starting their garden.
The rest I took to my accountants house. Again, camelias, magnolias and a few shrubs and a North American dogwood.
I was pleased to find these plants a happy home. It has been a nuisance having to water them every day in the hot dry weather and pot them on when they have needed it. And having someone water them when we are away has also been a hassle.
I spent the rest of Saturday digging and dividing clumps of yellow pokers and planting them about. There's still room in our garden for that sort of thing but space is limited and I had no room for the trees and shrubs.
Sunday we went to the footy in Melbourne. Robbie drove all the way there and back on 'L' plates. He did well. He has exams starting today ...Physics. I hope he gets a good start. His monthly reports have been excellent.
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