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!
