I've written before about the superb view from Launching Place Road into the valley on the north side of the town of Gembrook. The one Leo and Pat Buckley fell in love with at first sight when visiting their house as prospective buyers. Where I look across the paddock where the galahs and cockies love to feed to the houses and trees on the north side of the town; to the grazing paddocks, farmhouses, rusty sheds, and cultivated potato fields and copses of trees along the valley, which provide a patchwork of colour and shape. The valley extends several hundred metres westward then veers right and disappears to the north around another hill on the right side of the panorama.
The other day I counted 35 galahs and 12 cockies feeding. As I looked beyond towards the bottom of the V of the valley, which in the intermediate distance you can't see because the ground falls away sharply a little way down, it dawned on me there must be a spring rising about two or three hundred metres away where a cluster of black wattles lept up into view. I'd seen a dam in this valley from a vantage point behind the railway station on the Gembrook Hill, and I now realized it was fed by a spring that must be where I was looking. The amphitheatre view into the valley is enclosed by the ridge I'm standing on, the hill of Gembrook town on the left, the ridge in the distance along the top of which runs Ure Road to the north, and the hill on the right around which the valley escapes. So I'm at the top end of the valley, which is actually the one that runs through the rich farmland of Gembrook north between Ure Road and Launching Place Road. The original town, 'Silverwells', was located there before the railway came in 1901. By the time this spring meanders its way along the valley floor to Mrs. Busacca's place where I sometimes pick, a little way past 'Siverwells', it has grown into a creek, as she refers to it.
These things are obvious when you think about it, but how often do we? It's only by walking and watching that you think about it. It's not something that comes to mind while you drive a car thinking about other vehicles, or your destination, or your reason for driving.
A little further on my walk that day I met my friend Harry (post 21 June) and told him of my crop of honey. I said I'd drop in a couple of jars to his house later, which I did. He lives in Le Souef Rd., which runs off Launching Place Rd. along the north side of Gembrook town hill, or the south side of the valley. His house is on the low side with unobstructed views down to the valley floor and along it. Harry made us a cup of green tea and we drank it on his deck and discussed avocado, orange, and lime trees . From the deck you can see a series of dams all the way along the spring.
I said to Harry that it must be a good spring that rises somewhere up there in those trees. He said it is, he used to go up and watch it coming out of the ground. He went on to explain there's three springs very close here and this is the start of Shepherd's Creek West Branch which joins with the east branch somewhere downstream. It joins Woori Yallock Creek which flows into the Yarra River, which of course ends up in Port Phillip Bay.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
The Whipbirds, and others.
It's been a joy listening to and watching our resident whipbirds this spring. Early on they were not easy to see but the loud 'whipcrack' call of the male followed immediately by the double whistle of the female left us in no doubt of their presence.
Robbie spotted one of the young'ns first, some weeks ago near the woodshed, following an adult with a chitter-chitter noise wanting food. He said it was just like the adult but smaller and duller in colour and markings. Next day I was lucky enough to see the same.
Over the past month or so, as we've cleaned up long grass and pruned shrubs in readiness for the fire season it's been easier to see them and they've lost much of their shyness. I saw the whole family last weekend and followed them about as they foraged and scratched under leaves and debris. There are two juveniles, not the one as we thought. They are full size now but still haven't got the distinctive black colouring and the white throat patches.
They're almost comical to watch. They move in a follow the leader pattern, hopping across the ground and suddenly doing a jump into the air, before flitting into the next shrub. With their crests, and long, broad tail accentuating their sudden jerky movements, it's quite a theatrical dance around the garden. Dad and Mum 'whip' and 'choo choo' regularly and the two young follow, sometimes foraging for themselves and other times harrassing the adults with the nagging 'chit chit chitter'. I'm wondering whether they'll all move on together soon or will Dad and Mum stay and hunt the young off.
Lately we've had gang gang cockatoos feeding in the the tree tops, their creaky door calls giving them away. The bellbirds are attacking them, but they've been about for a couple of weeks. Also there's been corellas around, which is unusual. And the other day I saw a quail, a brown quail I think it was. I could make out brown or chestnut and white streaks and black marking. A beautiful little bird whose legs moved lightning fast.
Robbie spotted one of the young'ns first, some weeks ago near the woodshed, following an adult with a chitter-chitter noise wanting food. He said it was just like the adult but smaller and duller in colour and markings. Next day I was lucky enough to see the same.
Over the past month or so, as we've cleaned up long grass and pruned shrubs in readiness for the fire season it's been easier to see them and they've lost much of their shyness. I saw the whole family last weekend and followed them about as they foraged and scratched under leaves and debris. There are two juveniles, not the one as we thought. They are full size now but still haven't got the distinctive black colouring and the white throat patches.
They're almost comical to watch. They move in a follow the leader pattern, hopping across the ground and suddenly doing a jump into the air, before flitting into the next shrub. With their crests, and long, broad tail accentuating their sudden jerky movements, it's quite a theatrical dance around the garden. Dad and Mum 'whip' and 'choo choo' regularly and the two young follow, sometimes foraging for themselves and other times harrassing the adults with the nagging 'chit chit chitter'. I'm wondering whether they'll all move on together soon or will Dad and Mum stay and hunt the young off.
Lately we've had gang gang cockatoos feeding in the the tree tops, their creaky door calls giving them away. The bellbirds are attacking them, but they've been about for a couple of weeks. Also there's been corellas around, which is unusual. And the other day I saw a quail, a brown quail I think it was. I could make out brown or chestnut and white streaks and black marking. A beautiful little bird whose legs moved lightning fast.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Praise Bee
After a cool morning yesterday, it came to be a warm sunny day. Lib and I went to the Gembrook market where we browsed stalls and talked to people. We lunched as we walked. Lib had a corn cob and I broke my boycott of the sausage stall, having one in bread with onion. I'd stopped buying them because the RSL that ran the stall sold them for $2.50, an outrageous price. The CFA now runs the stall and charges $2.00. Mind you when I go to Pakenham you can get one from the fund raising sausage sizzle in front of the supermarket for $1.50. The sausage was entree, I progressed to a hamburger from the beef stall and was disappointed with the value at $6.50. I will now boycott the hamburger stall.
We were impressed by the market. There was lots of interesting stuff. We made a few purchases including some home made pasta and pesto, some bottles of sauce for presents at Christmas, and some fresh asparagus. Lib's doing voul-a-vents today, with the twin small chickens I cooked in the crockpot on Saturday. We had to do a bit of cooking up as I left the freezer door ajar slightly Friday night and some things thawed partly. We would have bought more at the market, but we thought generally the prices were too high. I may be a miser but my expectations of street markets is prices better than shop prices. Often the reverse is the case.
Before I started up the whippy snipper and got into some overdue grass and weed control, I wanted to have a quick look at the bees, especially the queenlees hive that had swarmed. Last Saturday, before we went to Melbourne for the weekend, I'd put the sticky combs back on the bees and gave that queenless one a frame of young brood from another hive. I was curious as to whether they would be raising a new queen from the larvae I gave them or whether in fact there had been a virgin present that was now laying.
I lit the smoker, always a pleasant little task, the smell of the smoke evoking memories. I carefully put a small ball of messmate bark onto the burning paper in the bottom while gently squeezing and releasing the belows to blow air into the hole beneath the fire. I thought old Jack Tonkin who died this year aged 84. He said to me once, "Messmate bark is the best smoker fuel in the world. It can be a bit hard to get going but it lasts better than anything else and has wonderful cool white smoke." I spent most of the summer of 1974/5 camped in the South Australian mallee with Jack, in a caravan parked in a sandy lane, the stunted mallees giving scant shade, with every day above 35C and many into the 40's. We'd talk on and off all day, there was no one else, about bees, trees, honey, smoker fuel, ants, wasps, emus, rabbits, old bottles, anything. After lunch, which was nearly always cold lamb and chutney with bread followed by bread and jam and a cup of tea, Jack, a big man, almost too big for the caravan, would sit with his elbows on the table and his chin resting in his hands.
"Who would be a beekeeper?", he'd say.
When the flames puffed out the top of the smoker I put in more scrunched up bark, filling the barrell, careful not to pack it too tight and so choke it, then put the lid down and walked to the bees. I looked into the biggest one first, a five decker standing nearly as tall as me. I'd put two boxes of stickies on it 8 days earlier and could hardly believe the amount of honey the bees had gathered in that time. There was not much sealed honey yet but even the outside combs had honey in them. Another week of good weather and this hive would have 3 boxes chockas full.
The next hive was a four decker with a similar story. The hive that didn't have a laying queen last week now did have, a sturdy looking beauty with plenty of leather yellow colour, or Italian, in her abdomen. This was a single box of bees last week but it had cleaned up the box of stickies I put on it and started filling it. It may have close to a full box of honey next week. The fourth hive, a triple with the third box above a plastic queen excluder, had not put so much honey above the excluder, but was a bit honey bound underneath, so I removed the excluder and put a couple of the more empty outside frames down and lifted two full combs up to the top box.
The honey coming in must be blackberry. It tastes like blackberry honey and I've watched bees working busily on blackberry flowers. The peppermint trees are flowering heavily but despite watching closely the lower flowers with the naked eye, and looking higher up with the binoculars, I have not seen one honeybee working it, only a few native bees. I've never seen blackberry yield honey as heavy as this. Must be that the big freeze we had two weeks ago and the 75ml of rain and the hail and snow has triggered it. Let's hope the weather remains stable this week. Perhaps some rain one night to keep the blackberry going.
It looks like a clear sunny day today. I'll be extracting again next weekend, for sure. That'll be time better spent than last Saturday when I handed out 'How to vote' pamphlets for the Greens in the state elections. I spent most of the time talking to my 'Family First' counterpart who was good bloke. The parties we were working for are strongly opposed but he and I saw eye to eye on most things. Funny that. Perhaps we didn't touch on the area of major difference.
We were impressed by the market. There was lots of interesting stuff. We made a few purchases including some home made pasta and pesto, some bottles of sauce for presents at Christmas, and some fresh asparagus. Lib's doing voul-a-vents today, with the twin small chickens I cooked in the crockpot on Saturday. We had to do a bit of cooking up as I left the freezer door ajar slightly Friday night and some things thawed partly. We would have bought more at the market, but we thought generally the prices were too high. I may be a miser but my expectations of street markets is prices better than shop prices. Often the reverse is the case.
Before I started up the whippy snipper and got into some overdue grass and weed control, I wanted to have a quick look at the bees, especially the queenlees hive that had swarmed. Last Saturday, before we went to Melbourne for the weekend, I'd put the sticky combs back on the bees and gave that queenless one a frame of young brood from another hive. I was curious as to whether they would be raising a new queen from the larvae I gave them or whether in fact there had been a virgin present that was now laying.
I lit the smoker, always a pleasant little task, the smell of the smoke evoking memories. I carefully put a small ball of messmate bark onto the burning paper in the bottom while gently squeezing and releasing the belows to blow air into the hole beneath the fire. I thought old Jack Tonkin who died this year aged 84. He said to me once, "Messmate bark is the best smoker fuel in the world. It can be a bit hard to get going but it lasts better than anything else and has wonderful cool white smoke." I spent most of the summer of 1974/5 camped in the South Australian mallee with Jack, in a caravan parked in a sandy lane, the stunted mallees giving scant shade, with every day above 35C and many into the 40's. We'd talk on and off all day, there was no one else, about bees, trees, honey, smoker fuel, ants, wasps, emus, rabbits, old bottles, anything. After lunch, which was nearly always cold lamb and chutney with bread followed by bread and jam and a cup of tea, Jack, a big man, almost too big for the caravan, would sit with his elbows on the table and his chin resting in his hands.
"Who would be a beekeeper?", he'd say.
When the flames puffed out the top of the smoker I put in more scrunched up bark, filling the barrell, careful not to pack it too tight and so choke it, then put the lid down and walked to the bees. I looked into the biggest one first, a five decker standing nearly as tall as me. I'd put two boxes of stickies on it 8 days earlier and could hardly believe the amount of honey the bees had gathered in that time. There was not much sealed honey yet but even the outside combs had honey in them. Another week of good weather and this hive would have 3 boxes chockas full.
The next hive was a four decker with a similar story. The hive that didn't have a laying queen last week now did have, a sturdy looking beauty with plenty of leather yellow colour, or Italian, in her abdomen. This was a single box of bees last week but it had cleaned up the box of stickies I put on it and started filling it. It may have close to a full box of honey next week. The fourth hive, a triple with the third box above a plastic queen excluder, had not put so much honey above the excluder, but was a bit honey bound underneath, so I removed the excluder and put a couple of the more empty outside frames down and lifted two full combs up to the top box.
The honey coming in must be blackberry. It tastes like blackberry honey and I've watched bees working busily on blackberry flowers. The peppermint trees are flowering heavily but despite watching closely the lower flowers with the naked eye, and looking higher up with the binoculars, I have not seen one honeybee working it, only a few native bees. I've never seen blackberry yield honey as heavy as this. Must be that the big freeze we had two weeks ago and the 75ml of rain and the hail and snow has triggered it. Let's hope the weather remains stable this week. Perhaps some rain one night to keep the blackberry going.
It looks like a clear sunny day today. I'll be extracting again next weekend, for sure. That'll be time better spent than last Saturday when I handed out 'How to vote' pamphlets for the Greens in the state elections. I spent most of the time talking to my 'Family First' counterpart who was good bloke. The parties we were working for are strongly opposed but he and I saw eye to eye on most things. Funny that. Perhaps we didn't touch on the area of major difference.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
A Pain in the Arse
As Delta Blue and Poprock were fighting it out neck and neck down the straight to the finish line in the Melbourne Cup on Nov 7, a police car was making it's way toward our Gembrook residence. I was at work and learned when I arrived home that a summons had been delivered to the defendant, Gordon Williams.
There are two charges-
1. The defendant at Emerald on 21 May 2006 did enter as a trespasser a building or part of a building known as the Emerald Secondary College situated at Belgrave Gembrook Road with the intent to steal therein.
2.The defendant at Emerald on 21 May 2006 did enter a private place namely Emerald Secondary College situated 425 Main Street, Emerald without express or implied authority from the person authorized or on behalf of the owner or occupier or any lawful excuse.
We thought we'd hear no more of this incident after months of 'nothing'. I blogged about it at the time, Weekend Police Drama, back in May, when I was new to blogging.
We've engaged a solicitor in Melbourne who has advised me a to get a letter from the school along the lines of a character reference and also a letter from the psychologist who originally diagnosed Gord as Asperger's syndrome many years ago. Gord and I have an appointment with him at his home in Hurstbridge tomorrow as he wants to see Gordon again and talk to him after all this time has passed so that his letter will be accurate and specific.
After we have the letters,( the school is going to send me one, they tried to negotiate with the police to have the charges withdrawn but for some reason this couldn't happen) we then have to travel to Meelbourne to see the solictor one day to prepare the case or strategy.
What a pain in the arse!
There are two charges-
1. The defendant at Emerald on 21 May 2006 did enter as a trespasser a building or part of a building known as the Emerald Secondary College situated at Belgrave Gembrook Road with the intent to steal therein.
2.The defendant at Emerald on 21 May 2006 did enter a private place namely Emerald Secondary College situated 425 Main Street, Emerald without express or implied authority from the person authorized or on behalf of the owner or occupier or any lawful excuse.
We thought we'd hear no more of this incident after months of 'nothing'. I blogged about it at the time, Weekend Police Drama, back in May, when I was new to blogging.
We've engaged a solicitor in Melbourne who has advised me a to get a letter from the school along the lines of a character reference and also a letter from the psychologist who originally diagnosed Gord as Asperger's syndrome many years ago. Gord and I have an appointment with him at his home in Hurstbridge tomorrow as he wants to see Gordon again and talk to him after all this time has passed so that his letter will be accurate and specific.
After we have the letters,( the school is going to send me one, they tried to negotiate with the police to have the charges withdrawn but for some reason this couldn't happen) we then have to travel to Meelbourne to see the solictor one day to prepare the case or strategy.
What a pain in the arse!
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
George's 90th
At 2.53pm on Sunday, when Ian Thorpe apparently made his decision to 'discontinue' swimming, Libby, Robbie and I were in Brunswick at George Atchison's 90th birthday party. We were nervous on arrival, shortly after the starting time of 2 o'clock, Lib and Rob because they had never met any of the people who'd be there, and I because I had never met the hosts, George's son Ken and his wife Mary, or seen any other family members for over 2 years. It was a terraced house that looked across Park St. into the 80 hectares of Royal Park. Prime real estate.
In my arms was a Cascade Premium Light stubby carton filled with lemons from George's sister Ida's old lemon tree in Gembrook, while Robbie carried a green enviro bag filled with small jars of silvertop honey. They were presents for George, but I knew they would be distributed to the other guests. Lib said the trousers she was wearing were too big round the waist as she'd lost weight recently, and she didn't bring a belt. It was a self conscious, embarrassed trio admitted by host Ken after we introduced ourselves.
My own trepidations disappeared entirely when George's daughter Glenda greeted me warmly and led me to George who was seated in the louge room and smiled warmly as he shook my hand saying it was good to see me. He was smaller and frailer than when I last saw him and his hair whispy and even whiter, snow white. Lib and Rob slowly relaxed as we met other guests, enjoyed savouries, and looked through two books that Glenda had compiled. One of these, complete with photos, traced George's life from childhood in Wonthaggi, his move to Melbourne as a teenager after his father died, his working life at John Danks and Sons, his sporting interests, family life, and the six years in the army during WW2. The other was a collection of memories of George by his friends and family, which included one from me that Glenda asked me to write a couple of months earlier.
I met George through his sister Ida, who was a very good friend of mine who lived in Gembrook opposite the Community Centre. My use of the past tense may be inappropriate. Ida is still a dear friend, but she fell victim to the sinister disease that stalks the elderly, Alzeimer's. I saw her last on Boxing Day 2005 in the aged care facility in Sale where she exists still. She didn't recognize me and is now not capable of holding a conversation. Our friedship spanned nine years and began soon after Ida's husband, whom I never met, died of a heart attack. I met and befriended many of Ida's relatives, including her sons (and their spouses from multiple marriages), her grandchildren, nieces, nephews and even some long standing family friends that visited or rang her regularly.
In Ida's case, the onset and progress of the Alzheimer's was swift and cruel, catching her family off guard, bringing the fiercely independant lady to a scenario she detested, at least till her comprehension of all things was lost, which came immediately following her removal from her home. A difficult time all round for family and friends.
We stayed at George's party for a couple of hours before heading off home with Robbie driving on L plates. His licence test was the next day which was the reason he'd accompanied us for the weekend. Some last minute driving practise in city conditions. We stayed in a motel in Coburg on Saturday night, not being able to book anything in Melbourne itself because of the U2 concert. Lib and I had dinner at our favourite Lebonese restaurant in Russell St. while Rob went his own way and met friends.
I was so pleased Lib and Rob had come with me to George's party. In one of those strange coincidences in life Lib's father Bill Meek and George had spent six years together in the same anti aircraft artillery battery in WW2, and had met up every year since at a reunion around Anzac Day, till 2000 when Bill died. It just seemed to round things off nicely that George was happy that he'd met Bill Meek's daughter, and they could talk about some of the other old soldiers who are still friends with Lib's mum. Glenda knew these men too. There are 29 left out of the 250 in the battery.
In another coincidence, one of Glenda's best friends is the student co-ordinator at Box Hill Sec. college where Robbie just completed his VCE exams.
Robbie got his licence on the Monday. An email came from Glenda. I'll copy it here because it pumps my tyres up, and we all need a bit of that now and again.
Hi Carey,
Thank you so much for coming yesterday it was lovely to see you and meet Libby and Robbie.
I had so many other things I wanted to catch up but the time just flew.
Everyone Loved the honey and the lemons thank you so much for sharing them all with us.
You are a very very special person and my whole family are indebted to you for your klindness and generosity that you showed Ida. I know she was your friend, but even our dearest loved ones can expect too much from us.
I will never ever forget what you did for her and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Good luck to Robbie with his results and best wished to you all, Glenda
I repied-
Dear Glenda,
Thanks for the kind words you said about me in your email of last Monday. My friendship with Ida was special thing that I’m so glad I experienced. We shared many interests such as books and reading, gardens and plants, footy, a Baptist background and the love of a good yarn, a laugh, a cuppa, just to name a few. Ida is ten years older than my mother but I could relate to her as a best friend. As if we were at school together, learning and sharing lessons and experience of life, working our way through the joy and the pain.
Seeing you all on Sunday brought it back to me in 3D. Thanks mate for inviting me. Ida talked of her love for her family so often and I had met so many and know so much of the family history. And of course it was good to see George again and share in his birthday. I’m so happy that Lib and Rob came with me. They are both shy but enjoyed themselves and said what a great family and bunch of people and I think learnt from the day in their own way.
Catch you again one of these days,
Carey
In my arms was a Cascade Premium Light stubby carton filled with lemons from George's sister Ida's old lemon tree in Gembrook, while Robbie carried a green enviro bag filled with small jars of silvertop honey. They were presents for George, but I knew they would be distributed to the other guests. Lib said the trousers she was wearing were too big round the waist as she'd lost weight recently, and she didn't bring a belt. It was a self conscious, embarrassed trio admitted by host Ken after we introduced ourselves.
My own trepidations disappeared entirely when George's daughter Glenda greeted me warmly and led me to George who was seated in the louge room and smiled warmly as he shook my hand saying it was good to see me. He was smaller and frailer than when I last saw him and his hair whispy and even whiter, snow white. Lib and Rob slowly relaxed as we met other guests, enjoyed savouries, and looked through two books that Glenda had compiled. One of these, complete with photos, traced George's life from childhood in Wonthaggi, his move to Melbourne as a teenager after his father died, his working life at John Danks and Sons, his sporting interests, family life, and the six years in the army during WW2. The other was a collection of memories of George by his friends and family, which included one from me that Glenda asked me to write a couple of months earlier.
I met George through his sister Ida, who was a very good friend of mine who lived in Gembrook opposite the Community Centre. My use of the past tense may be inappropriate. Ida is still a dear friend, but she fell victim to the sinister disease that stalks the elderly, Alzeimer's. I saw her last on Boxing Day 2005 in the aged care facility in Sale where she exists still. She didn't recognize me and is now not capable of holding a conversation. Our friedship spanned nine years and began soon after Ida's husband, whom I never met, died of a heart attack. I met and befriended many of Ida's relatives, including her sons (and their spouses from multiple marriages), her grandchildren, nieces, nephews and even some long standing family friends that visited or rang her regularly.
In Ida's case, the onset and progress of the Alzheimer's was swift and cruel, catching her family off guard, bringing the fiercely independant lady to a scenario she detested, at least till her comprehension of all things was lost, which came immediately following her removal from her home. A difficult time all round for family and friends.
We stayed at George's party for a couple of hours before heading off home with Robbie driving on L plates. His licence test was the next day which was the reason he'd accompanied us for the weekend. Some last minute driving practise in city conditions. We stayed in a motel in Coburg on Saturday night, not being able to book anything in Melbourne itself because of the U2 concert. Lib and I had dinner at our favourite Lebonese restaurant in Russell St. while Rob went his own way and met friends.
I was so pleased Lib and Rob had come with me to George's party. In one of those strange coincidences in life Lib's father Bill Meek and George had spent six years together in the same anti aircraft artillery battery in WW2, and had met up every year since at a reunion around Anzac Day, till 2000 when Bill died. It just seemed to round things off nicely that George was happy that he'd met Bill Meek's daughter, and they could talk about some of the other old soldiers who are still friends with Lib's mum. Glenda knew these men too. There are 29 left out of the 250 in the battery.
In another coincidence, one of Glenda's best friends is the student co-ordinator at Box Hill Sec. college where Robbie just completed his VCE exams.
Robbie got his licence on the Monday. An email came from Glenda. I'll copy it here because it pumps my tyres up, and we all need a bit of that now and again.
Hi Carey,
Thank you so much for coming yesterday it was lovely to see you and meet Libby and Robbie.
I had so many other things I wanted to catch up but the time just flew.
Everyone Loved the honey and the lemons thank you so much for sharing them all with us.
You are a very very special person and my whole family are indebted to you for your klindness and generosity that you showed Ida. I know she was your friend, but even our dearest loved ones can expect too much from us.
I will never ever forget what you did for her and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Good luck to Robbie with his results and best wished to you all, Glenda
I repied-
Dear Glenda,
Thanks for the kind words you said about me in your email of last Monday. My friendship with Ida was special thing that I’m so glad I experienced. We shared many interests such as books and reading, gardens and plants, footy, a Baptist background and the love of a good yarn, a laugh, a cuppa, just to name a few. Ida is ten years older than my mother but I could relate to her as a best friend. As if we were at school together, learning and sharing lessons and experience of life, working our way through the joy and the pain.
Seeing you all on Sunday brought it back to me in 3D. Thanks mate for inviting me. Ida talked of her love for her family so often and I had met so many and know so much of the family history. And of course it was good to see George again and share in his birthday. I’m so happy that Lib and Rob came with me. They are both shy but enjoyed themselves and said what a great family and bunch of people and I think learnt from the day in their own way.
Catch you again one of these days,
Carey
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Just Have To Tell You
Tuesday was a dog of day for me. It was a mood thing. Most of us have one now and again. I think it was triggered by something I read in the bath on Monday night, an article in the weekend magazine of 'The Australian' newspaper of Nov 4/5. It was cleverly titled, 'The Sweet smell of EXCESS', subtitled, 'Greed may have been good in the 1980's, today it's glorified.' It was revolting as you can imagine. Two quotes that are repeated in bold type will give you the gist of it.
*Most recent figures show the top 1 per cent in the US owns 57.5 per cent of corporate wealth, up from 38.7 per cent in 1991.
*Between 1990 and 2005, the salaries of the CEO's in 51 of Australia's leading listed companies rose 564 per cent to an average $3.4 million.
It was a difficult day for work with a penetrating cold wind. Late in the day I had to climb a tricolour beech tree to cut foliage for a customer who wanted 10 tall bunches. The tall stuff was at the top, out of reach of my ladder and pole cutters. It was a difficult climb, congested branches and twigs restricting me and scratching my face. I had to cut a clearway with the handsaw as I went up, all the time struggling to find decent foot and hand holds. Brother Jod waited at the bottom of the tree, to pick up what I cut and threw out and down to him and carry it over to where I would later sort it and bunch it. It was his birthday, his 57th. He'd annoyed me with his nonsense chatter about the blue he'd had yesterday with his landlord. The landlord wanted to scrub the nicotine stains off the walls of his unit that evening before painting it today. It meant Jod had to move things around. He went on and on, and was still at it while I wrestled with the tree, swaying in the blustery wind, no longer able to hear what he was saying. I came down and he was agitated, it was nearly his knock off time. He had to go home, he said, he had to put everyhing back after the painting.
"You go Jod" I said. "Have a good birthday. Sorry I didn't get you anything, I'll catch up with that another day."
Yesterday morning the cold snap had worsened. When Gord left at 6.ooam I postponed my walk and caught up on some blog reading. By 8 o'clock I decided I would walk no matter what the weather was like, wanting to keep my batting average up. So Snow and I took off into the stiff southerly. I was still grumpy. As we reached the top of the Quinn Rd. hill, I noticed the new auction sign at number 16, the home of Richard and Sandy's neighbours. (post Nov 01) The lady and the girls are still living there but their house is being auctioned on the 9th Dec. I could not help but feel sad for them.
By now the rain had turned into light hail which kept up all the way up Launching Place Rd. Just as I reached the Jehovah's witness people's house an almighty crack of thunder split the air and rumbled away. This made me think of my mate Dave in Queensland, who turned Jehovah's Witness about ten years ago, and who is a helluva preacher if ever there was one.
Where there's thunder there's lightning and one really shouldn't be out walking. Somehow the thought of danger, combined with the driving hail and the biting cold, invigourated me. Thinking of Dave reminded me of the preacher in a movie I watched recently, the classic musical 'Paint Your Wagon'. I had laughed and laughed. They say that laughter cements a memory. Or is it, laughter cements a friendship? I have a sweet memory of watching this film with friends in the early 1970's.
"Got a dream boy, got a song, paint your wagon, and come along." My surly mood was blown away with the wind. I felt as if I'd come back to life.
But there's more! On my way back, the hail gave way to snow. Big snow flakes drifting down gently to earth peacefully and noiselessly. It kept up all the way home and was it was quite an experience.
I checked the thermometer, about 9.00am now, it was 3C. The highest it reached for the day at home was 8C and I heard on the evening news it was Melbourne's coldest November day for 50 years.
So what did I have to tell you?
With my 3/4 coat still on but my jeans wet through, I walked to the rain gauge. Another 22ml overnight to add to the 45 ml already over the past 2 days. I looked toward the lime tree and walked over. We'd pruned this tree some weeks ago and inadvertantly disturbed and exposed a blackbird's nest with three young. Over the next week we watched the young develop to the point of flying and leaving the nest. We were relieved they made it. Then we watched mother make some repairs to the nest and lay another clutch of eggs.
There, in the lime tree a metre from my eyes, was lady blackbird, calmly sitting on her nest, protecting her young from the rain, hail, snow and wind. Magic.
*Most recent figures show the top 1 per cent in the US owns 57.5 per cent of corporate wealth, up from 38.7 per cent in 1991.
*Between 1990 and 2005, the salaries of the CEO's in 51 of Australia's leading listed companies rose 564 per cent to an average $3.4 million.
It was a difficult day for work with a penetrating cold wind. Late in the day I had to climb a tricolour beech tree to cut foliage for a customer who wanted 10 tall bunches. The tall stuff was at the top, out of reach of my ladder and pole cutters. It was a difficult climb, congested branches and twigs restricting me and scratching my face. I had to cut a clearway with the handsaw as I went up, all the time struggling to find decent foot and hand holds. Brother Jod waited at the bottom of the tree, to pick up what I cut and threw out and down to him and carry it over to where I would later sort it and bunch it. It was his birthday, his 57th. He'd annoyed me with his nonsense chatter about the blue he'd had yesterday with his landlord. The landlord wanted to scrub the nicotine stains off the walls of his unit that evening before painting it today. It meant Jod had to move things around. He went on and on, and was still at it while I wrestled with the tree, swaying in the blustery wind, no longer able to hear what he was saying. I came down and he was agitated, it was nearly his knock off time. He had to go home, he said, he had to put everyhing back after the painting.
"You go Jod" I said. "Have a good birthday. Sorry I didn't get you anything, I'll catch up with that another day."
Yesterday morning the cold snap had worsened. When Gord left at 6.ooam I postponed my walk and caught up on some blog reading. By 8 o'clock I decided I would walk no matter what the weather was like, wanting to keep my batting average up. So Snow and I took off into the stiff southerly. I was still grumpy. As we reached the top of the Quinn Rd. hill, I noticed the new auction sign at number 16, the home of Richard and Sandy's neighbours. (post Nov 01) The lady and the girls are still living there but their house is being auctioned on the 9th Dec. I could not help but feel sad for them.
By now the rain had turned into light hail which kept up all the way up Launching Place Rd. Just as I reached the Jehovah's witness people's house an almighty crack of thunder split the air and rumbled away. This made me think of my mate Dave in Queensland, who turned Jehovah's Witness about ten years ago, and who is a helluva preacher if ever there was one.
Where there's thunder there's lightning and one really shouldn't be out walking. Somehow the thought of danger, combined with the driving hail and the biting cold, invigourated me. Thinking of Dave reminded me of the preacher in a movie I watched recently, the classic musical 'Paint Your Wagon'. I had laughed and laughed. They say that laughter cements a memory. Or is it, laughter cements a friendship? I have a sweet memory of watching this film with friends in the early 1970's.
"Got a dream boy, got a song, paint your wagon, and come along." My surly mood was blown away with the wind. I felt as if I'd come back to life.
But there's more! On my way back, the hail gave way to snow. Big snow flakes drifting down gently to earth peacefully and noiselessly. It kept up all the way home and was it was quite an experience.
I checked the thermometer, about 9.00am now, it was 3C. The highest it reached for the day at home was 8C and I heard on the evening news it was Melbourne's coldest November day for 50 years.
So what did I have to tell you?
With my 3/4 coat still on but my jeans wet through, I walked to the rain gauge. Another 22ml overnight to add to the 45 ml already over the past 2 days. I looked toward the lime tree and walked over. We'd pruned this tree some weeks ago and inadvertantly disturbed and exposed a blackbird's nest with three young. Over the next week we watched the young develop to the point of flying and leaving the nest. We were relieved they made it. Then we watched mother make some repairs to the nest and lay another clutch of eggs.
There, in the lime tree a metre from my eyes, was lady blackbird, calmly sitting on her nest, protecting her young from the rain, hail, snow and wind. Magic.
Monday, November 13, 2006
A Honey of a Weekend
Well, it was, literally. There's about 85 kilos of silvertop honey in the settling tank in my tool shed and, importantly, I now have several supers of sticky combs to give back to the bees to clean up.
The candied honey in the stickies, which annoys beekeepers because it won't come out in the extractor, will be eaten by the bees as they clean up the combs in readiness for storing the next surplus they gather. For readers who have no knowledge of extracting honey, a honey extractor spins like the spin dryer of a washing machine, using centrifugal force to throw the liquid honey to the wall of the machine where it falls by gravity to the bottom. It is then drained out, into a bucket in my case, or into a sump from where it is pumped to a large settling tank in the case of the more serious beekeeper. Honey candied solid will not spin out. Honey semi-solid comes out partially and slowly, and the grains or crystals in it triggers all the honey to start candying in the tank.
I removed the honey from the hives on Saturday. Pleasant work on a warm, sunny day with a good lick of honey coming in so the bees were happy, not even slightly aggressive. I've noticed blackberries flowering on my morning walk and the peppermints are heavy with blossom. Peppermint doesn't usually yield honey in this area, but in an 'on' honey year like this one promises to be, it just might. The shake of nectar round the brood was sweet and light. Blackberry, I thought.
When I looked at the bees two weeks earlier two of the hives had no brood except for a small amount of eggs, yet they were strong colonies with no sign of having swarmed (reduced poulation, empty swarm queen cells). This was unusual and made me think they must have superceded their queen, both at the same time, and a new queen had commenced to lay in the last few days. It takes three days for an egg to hatch and become a small larva. What had me mystified was that usually the old queen keeps laying until the new one gets going so there is brood there of all stages up to 21 days old, which is how long it takes from the queen laying the egg till the young bee emerges from it's cell. The brood pattern is usually poor because the old queen is running out of gas, or spermatoza if you like it technical.
This time in these two hives, it was obvious a new young queen was off and running with large expanding brood nests of excellent pattern, but as yet no hatching bees. Another hive was strong, queenright, and had not swarmed, and the fourth was the one that had swarmed, the parent of the swarm I caught in my neighbour's rubbish heap. It was a dischevelled roar of queenlessness. I suspect it's virgin queen has not mated successfully, but I'll give it a little more time before uniting it with one of the others, which I may do anyway. I don't want my hive numbers to get higher, it's too much work. The swarm, which I had taken to my friends Mark and Jane's garden, had drawn out the box of foundation into beautiful new white combs, always satisfying to see, with the old queen laying hell for leather, right out to the combs at the edge.
I stacked the supers of honey in my cleaned out shed. All my tools etc will reside for now in the woodshed, which won't be required for wood till the autumn. A bee proof shed is advisable or the bees will come to get their honey back while you are extracting. A friend gave me an old glasshouse heater recently and I left this on overnight to keep the honey warm so it would extract more easily. It blew warm air under the supers, which I'd raised up on bricks, allowing the warmth to rise up through the honey combs.
Sunday morning was spent bringing the extractor and tanks from the other shed where they've been stored since I last extracted nearly two years ago, (last year was very poor and there was no surplus) and cleaning and setting it all up. After lunch I was into it, and despite slicing my thumb once with the uncapping knife, by 5 o'clock I was inside doing the vegetables to go with our roast lamb for the evening meal and enjoying a beer.
The next job is to transfer the honey, which has been through a coarse strainer on top of tank 1, bucket by bucket, through a finer strainer tied to the top of tank 2. I usually warm each bucket of honey in a hot water bath in the laundry trough so that it goes through the strainer easier. It's tedious. I'll be at it during the week in the evenings. Commercial packing operations heat the honey substantially to pump it through a fine strainer, and to give the honey a longer shelf life before it candies. My honey, having minimal heat, usually candies quickly. This isn't a bad thing. The more heat applied the more honey enzymes are destroyed.
It's a fairly strong honey in flavour, mainly silvertop, a eucalypt (E.sieberi), that grows in this area. On my morning walks during October I saw white blossom in the treetops on the hill to the east, and I knew it was silvertop flowering because there were numerous of them close to the road when I drove to Pakenham. It's a distinctive tree, with dark, deep furrowed bark like an ironbark on the trunk, and smooth white bark with a silvery bloom on the upper branches. When I was near the hives in October their heavy flight path was towards the blossom in the east. The nuisance candied honey, old overwintered honey, was not used by the bees in early spring breeding as it would be normally, because of the available nectar from the silvertop and the fine, settled weather.
I don't usually extract honey here before Christmas. This season's looks like it could be a bumper crop, if the budding on the messmate and manna and grey gum is an indication. That's why I'm happy to have this extract behind me and have the empty boxes to put back on the bees. The hope is they'll fill 'em up again. Some of the messmates are into heavy leaf growth on top of the flower buds which can be a bad sign, but we'll soon find out.
By the way, it has rained 28 ml overnight and it's raining outside now. This follows about 30ml ten days ago. A bit of good weather now could make the blackberry kick. The hives may fill a box before the messmate starts. And even if they don't, I'm looking forward to picking fresh blackberries in February at the outcrops along Quinn Rd. when I walk.
The candied honey in the stickies, which annoys beekeepers because it won't come out in the extractor, will be eaten by the bees as they clean up the combs in readiness for storing the next surplus they gather. For readers who have no knowledge of extracting honey, a honey extractor spins like the spin dryer of a washing machine, using centrifugal force to throw the liquid honey to the wall of the machine where it falls by gravity to the bottom. It is then drained out, into a bucket in my case, or into a sump from where it is pumped to a large settling tank in the case of the more serious beekeeper. Honey candied solid will not spin out. Honey semi-solid comes out partially and slowly, and the grains or crystals in it triggers all the honey to start candying in the tank.
I removed the honey from the hives on Saturday. Pleasant work on a warm, sunny day with a good lick of honey coming in so the bees were happy, not even slightly aggressive. I've noticed blackberries flowering on my morning walk and the peppermints are heavy with blossom. Peppermint doesn't usually yield honey in this area, but in an 'on' honey year like this one promises to be, it just might. The shake of nectar round the brood was sweet and light. Blackberry, I thought.
When I looked at the bees two weeks earlier two of the hives had no brood except for a small amount of eggs, yet they were strong colonies with no sign of having swarmed (reduced poulation, empty swarm queen cells). This was unusual and made me think they must have superceded their queen, both at the same time, and a new queen had commenced to lay in the last few days. It takes three days for an egg to hatch and become a small larva. What had me mystified was that usually the old queen keeps laying until the new one gets going so there is brood there of all stages up to 21 days old, which is how long it takes from the queen laying the egg till the young bee emerges from it's cell. The brood pattern is usually poor because the old queen is running out of gas, or spermatoza if you like it technical.
This time in these two hives, it was obvious a new young queen was off and running with large expanding brood nests of excellent pattern, but as yet no hatching bees. Another hive was strong, queenright, and had not swarmed, and the fourth was the one that had swarmed, the parent of the swarm I caught in my neighbour's rubbish heap. It was a dischevelled roar of queenlessness. I suspect it's virgin queen has not mated successfully, but I'll give it a little more time before uniting it with one of the others, which I may do anyway. I don't want my hive numbers to get higher, it's too much work. The swarm, which I had taken to my friends Mark and Jane's garden, had drawn out the box of foundation into beautiful new white combs, always satisfying to see, with the old queen laying hell for leather, right out to the combs at the edge.
I stacked the supers of honey in my cleaned out shed. All my tools etc will reside for now in the woodshed, which won't be required for wood till the autumn. A bee proof shed is advisable or the bees will come to get their honey back while you are extracting. A friend gave me an old glasshouse heater recently and I left this on overnight to keep the honey warm so it would extract more easily. It blew warm air under the supers, which I'd raised up on bricks, allowing the warmth to rise up through the honey combs.
Sunday morning was spent bringing the extractor and tanks from the other shed where they've been stored since I last extracted nearly two years ago, (last year was very poor and there was no surplus) and cleaning and setting it all up. After lunch I was into it, and despite slicing my thumb once with the uncapping knife, by 5 o'clock I was inside doing the vegetables to go with our roast lamb for the evening meal and enjoying a beer.
The next job is to transfer the honey, which has been through a coarse strainer on top of tank 1, bucket by bucket, through a finer strainer tied to the top of tank 2. I usually warm each bucket of honey in a hot water bath in the laundry trough so that it goes through the strainer easier. It's tedious. I'll be at it during the week in the evenings. Commercial packing operations heat the honey substantially to pump it through a fine strainer, and to give the honey a longer shelf life before it candies. My honey, having minimal heat, usually candies quickly. This isn't a bad thing. The more heat applied the more honey enzymes are destroyed.
It's a fairly strong honey in flavour, mainly silvertop, a eucalypt (E.sieberi), that grows in this area. On my morning walks during October I saw white blossom in the treetops on the hill to the east, and I knew it was silvertop flowering because there were numerous of them close to the road when I drove to Pakenham. It's a distinctive tree, with dark, deep furrowed bark like an ironbark on the trunk, and smooth white bark with a silvery bloom on the upper branches. When I was near the hives in October their heavy flight path was towards the blossom in the east. The nuisance candied honey, old overwintered honey, was not used by the bees in early spring breeding as it would be normally, because of the available nectar from the silvertop and the fine, settled weather.
I don't usually extract honey here before Christmas. This season's looks like it could be a bumper crop, if the budding on the messmate and manna and grey gum is an indication. That's why I'm happy to have this extract behind me and have the empty boxes to put back on the bees. The hope is they'll fill 'em up again. Some of the messmates are into heavy leaf growth on top of the flower buds which can be a bad sign, but we'll soon find out.
By the way, it has rained 28 ml overnight and it's raining outside now. This follows about 30ml ten days ago. A bit of good weather now could make the blackberry kick. The hives may fill a box before the messmate starts. And even if they don't, I'm looking forward to picking fresh blackberries in February at the outcrops along Quinn Rd. when I walk.
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
"What Are You Doing at Christmas?"
I was asked this question a couple of weeks ago, about the middle of October. Lib's boss, the Director of Nursing, matron in earlier times, asked the question while we chatted in her office. I'd called in to deliver the medical certificate required by management while Lib convalesced her broken wrist.
It caught me off guard a little. Clumsily I answered that we hadn't talked about that yet, then added, "I feel like saying to Lib that I don't want to go anywhere for Christmas, and I don't want anyone coming to our house. I just want to bunker down with a couple of bottles of good stuff and have a few days peace and quiet, then catch up on some jobs around the house."
"You can't do that, not at Christmas," the DON countered, a little surprised at my candour. I left unconvinced.
Lib and I have been married for twenty-five years and for every one of them we've shared Christmas day with her family. She doesn't see them often, as I do mine, and they have a tradition of getting together at Christmas. But why, just once, can't I suggest that this year we have Christmas by ourselves? No tiring preparation, packing, travel, and no invasion of someone's house. Nor invasion of ours with all the accompanying work. No cooking a thumping big turkey. Sounded good to me.
I didn't say anything to Lib, but it played around in my mind for a few days. Then, last weekend, I pulled up outside the post office on my way home, needing to cross the road to get a litre of milk.
"Gidday Carey, how you doin'?". I turned to see a bloke in a leather jacket, a helmet on his head, and a big smile on his face. In the couple a seconds it took for me to recognize him, he lit a fag and took a deep drag, then resumed his smile.
"I'm well Richard. It took me a little time to place you, sorry. I don't often see you off your patch. How are you?
"Happy to be home, we had a busy day at work."
Richard is an ambulance driver. He and his wife Sandy, a nurse, live in the next house along from Olive's on my morning walk. I often see Sandy having a fag on the deck as I go past and sometimes Richard enjoying a cuppa after night shift, or riding off to day shift on his motorbike. He's slow till he reaches the bitumen at Launcing Place Rd. where he gives it full throttle. He rockets up the hill, engine screaming to each gear change.
"How's Merlin," I asked. Merlin is a great Dane pup they've had for a few months. I've watched him grow at a startling rate and seen him demolish all manner of stuff from boots to beanbags and garden shrubs. He often comes to the fence when Snowy and I go past and I give him a pat. Sometimes Sandy is out walking him when Snowy and I come the other way. Merlin is jet black, big and rawboned, all legs and feet and a big head. Snowy is almost pure white, small and stocky with short legs and tip toes, and a small head. The contrast is comical.
"He's fine, he made short work of the soccer goal net the other day."
"Yeah, I saw him, so engrossed tearing it apart he didn't notice me and Snow go past." I've been meaning to ask you Richard, did your neighbour, the other side to Olive, did he die recently?" Early this year I'd seen ambulances at this house, quite regularly. Then district nurse's cars. And a wheelchair ramp was built up to the deck. Most mornings on the return from my walk I'd see the girls walking up to the bus stop in town. Some days there were three, more often two, and sometimes one. Sometimes they'd return my hello or gesture, other times they'd ignore me as if I was invisible. One time, one of them was crying profusely. I thought maybe an elderly grandparent in ill-health had moved in with them. Then Norm Smith asked me, while I was picking in his garden, did I know the person down my way that died recently. Norm said he met the lady in the cemetery. Her husband had died and there were three daughters aged 16, 14, and 10. I didn't know anyone had died, not since Olive, but that would explain the hearse and funeral procession I saw go up there a couple of months ago, making me wonder at the time why it would go up a little dirt road. It was like a few pieces of a jigsaw fitting together.
"Yes, our neighbour did die", said Richard. " He was as fit as you like this time last year. Before last Christmas, his legs went from under him one day. He just fell over, out of the blue. He felt fine, but he had a bit of a sore leg and went to the doctor, wondering why he'd fallen over for no apparent reason. Scans and Xrays followed and it was found he had cancer in the spine, which had spread to the liver and the bowel. Imagine how it buggered their Christmas. Within a month of going to the doctor he'd lost the use of his legs and the control of his bowels."
"His wife is broken," he continued. They had a big debt. He was a mining equipment salesman and used to make big dough, but the income stopped when he got crook. The cars went first, the house has been repossessed, they are only still there because they haven't been evicted yet."
"Shiiiiit. I never knew any of that was going on," I said, "but I knew something wasn't right because I never saw adults there, only the girls walking to the bus. It makes me wonder a bit about the back and rib pain I've been having."
"Well, I see it all the time, driving people about for treatment. You never know what the next trip to the doctor might bring. It's best not to worry though, just live."
"That's for sure" I said. "I reckon if I can walk every morning, thankful to enjoy everything around me, then I'm doing well. Take it easy on that motorbike mate." I made my way over the shop.
The story of Richard and Sandy's neighbours has made me think. Somehow I've lost my dread of all the Christmas hoohah and I'm going to treat it as annual special morning walk, happy that I'm part of it. Bring it on. All of it.
It caught me off guard a little. Clumsily I answered that we hadn't talked about that yet, then added, "I feel like saying to Lib that I don't want to go anywhere for Christmas, and I don't want anyone coming to our house. I just want to bunker down with a couple of bottles of good stuff and have a few days peace and quiet, then catch up on some jobs around the house."
"You can't do that, not at Christmas," the DON countered, a little surprised at my candour. I left unconvinced.
Lib and I have been married for twenty-five years and for every one of them we've shared Christmas day with her family. She doesn't see them often, as I do mine, and they have a tradition of getting together at Christmas. But why, just once, can't I suggest that this year we have Christmas by ourselves? No tiring preparation, packing, travel, and no invasion of someone's house. Nor invasion of ours with all the accompanying work. No cooking a thumping big turkey. Sounded good to me.
I didn't say anything to Lib, but it played around in my mind for a few days. Then, last weekend, I pulled up outside the post office on my way home, needing to cross the road to get a litre of milk.
"Gidday Carey, how you doin'?". I turned to see a bloke in a leather jacket, a helmet on his head, and a big smile on his face. In the couple a seconds it took for me to recognize him, he lit a fag and took a deep drag, then resumed his smile.
"I'm well Richard. It took me a little time to place you, sorry. I don't often see you off your patch. How are you?
"Happy to be home, we had a busy day at work."
Richard is an ambulance driver. He and his wife Sandy, a nurse, live in the next house along from Olive's on my morning walk. I often see Sandy having a fag on the deck as I go past and sometimes Richard enjoying a cuppa after night shift, or riding off to day shift on his motorbike. He's slow till he reaches the bitumen at Launcing Place Rd. where he gives it full throttle. He rockets up the hill, engine screaming to each gear change.
"How's Merlin," I asked. Merlin is a great Dane pup they've had for a few months. I've watched him grow at a startling rate and seen him demolish all manner of stuff from boots to beanbags and garden shrubs. He often comes to the fence when Snowy and I go past and I give him a pat. Sometimes Sandy is out walking him when Snowy and I come the other way. Merlin is jet black, big and rawboned, all legs and feet and a big head. Snowy is almost pure white, small and stocky with short legs and tip toes, and a small head. The contrast is comical.
"He's fine, he made short work of the soccer goal net the other day."
"Yeah, I saw him, so engrossed tearing it apart he didn't notice me and Snow go past." I've been meaning to ask you Richard, did your neighbour, the other side to Olive, did he die recently?" Early this year I'd seen ambulances at this house, quite regularly. Then district nurse's cars. And a wheelchair ramp was built up to the deck. Most mornings on the return from my walk I'd see the girls walking up to the bus stop in town. Some days there were three, more often two, and sometimes one. Sometimes they'd return my hello or gesture, other times they'd ignore me as if I was invisible. One time, one of them was crying profusely. I thought maybe an elderly grandparent in ill-health had moved in with them. Then Norm Smith asked me, while I was picking in his garden, did I know the person down my way that died recently. Norm said he met the lady in the cemetery. Her husband had died and there were three daughters aged 16, 14, and 10. I didn't know anyone had died, not since Olive, but that would explain the hearse and funeral procession I saw go up there a couple of months ago, making me wonder at the time why it would go up a little dirt road. It was like a few pieces of a jigsaw fitting together.
"Yes, our neighbour did die", said Richard. " He was as fit as you like this time last year. Before last Christmas, his legs went from under him one day. He just fell over, out of the blue. He felt fine, but he had a bit of a sore leg and went to the doctor, wondering why he'd fallen over for no apparent reason. Scans and Xrays followed and it was found he had cancer in the spine, which had spread to the liver and the bowel. Imagine how it buggered their Christmas. Within a month of going to the doctor he'd lost the use of his legs and the control of his bowels."
"His wife is broken," he continued. They had a big debt. He was a mining equipment salesman and used to make big dough, but the income stopped when he got crook. The cars went first, the house has been repossessed, they are only still there because they haven't been evicted yet."
"Shiiiiit. I never knew any of that was going on," I said, "but I knew something wasn't right because I never saw adults there, only the girls walking to the bus. It makes me wonder a bit about the back and rib pain I've been having."
"Well, I see it all the time, driving people about for treatment. You never know what the next trip to the doctor might bring. It's best not to worry though, just live."
"That's for sure" I said. "I reckon if I can walk every morning, thankful to enjoy everything around me, then I'm doing well. Take it easy on that motorbike mate." I made my way over the shop.
The story of Richard and Sandy's neighbours has made me think. Somehow I've lost my dread of all the Christmas hoohah and I'm going to treat it as annual special morning walk, happy that I'm part of it. Bring it on. All of it.
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