The Mighty Mountain Ash

On the weekend as I walked up Quinn Rd., two jackasses perching on a limb of a peppermint tree, beaks skyward, gave their territorial song all they had. A third bird flew over my head, landed next to them, and joined the vibrant song. I paused underneath until the performance was over, then as I moved off, the three heads turned as they watched me moving up the road. "Who's the jackass?" they seemed to be thinking.

How I wished Druscilla had been with me. Druscilla, who asked on the phone when she rang from Bairnsdale, "Will we see kookaburras in Healesville?" She was still looking for them when they came to Gembrook. She loves kookaburras.

Druscilla is the eldest of Lib's three Californian cousins. She and her husband Art live in San Diego. They spent a few weeks in Australia in April and May and visited us on a cold bleak Saturday afternoon in early May when they came to our house for lunch. Dru, who's 67 this year and daughter of Auntie Pat, Lib's mum's sister, looks 47 or younger. She talks freely of cosmetic surgery, following Pat's example. Pat is ninety but was recently photographed swimming with dolphins in Guatemala.

"I'm what you call a yellow dog democrat, meaning it doesn't matter to me who the leader is, Hilary or Barack." This, over lunch, a response to my question as to where their allegiance was in the current U.S. election campaign. Art said he was an independant, a swinging voter, who was in this instance so happy that the Bush administration was coming to an end. They both said that the invasion and occupation of Iraq was a national disgrace that had embarrassed them, and made them ashamed of their country. I sympathised, saying Australia was no better, having joined the coalition, and I'd struggled with the same shame as an Australian.

Dru, an author of novels, reminds me of Jane Fonda with her attractive open face and warm, honest conversation. 'American', but soft with it, she explained that after having a novel published quite early in her career, she spent the next 20 years working hard writing but having no success. Finally she discovered what the market wants, and has now had 13 published. If her career continues to flourish she hopes she can travel to Australia every couple of years on 'research trips' like this one.

Art, 4 years Dru's junior at 62, acted as her secretary, ever ready to take out the notebook to jot down Dru's ideas or thoughts, or names of plants, or an observation. He's a university lecturer in law, quite bald with a shaved head and a thick gold earing, perhaps reflecting his youthful attitude or the years on campus. They have a ranch out from San Diego where they run 80 horses that were nearly destoyed in the bush fires last year. Art plays polo, horse polo, as well as running long distance footraces. While we walked in the garden his love of trees and plants shone through, as did Dru's. He said often before a race he visits his favourite tree and meditates, hugging the tree for strenghth and energy.

We took them down to Gembrook Park, thinking they'd like a walk in remnant native bush. Along the hillside walking track we were soon amongst the mountain ash, and then at the base of 'big tree.' Dru stared at the massive trunk, then up at crown, beyond the stumps of several limbs torn off in wild storms years ago, then ran and embraced it, kissed it, and stayed pressed against the tree arms outstreched, her cheek resting on the fibrous brown lower bark.

I explained that it was a mountain ash, the tallest of the eucalypts, one of the tallest tree species in the world, the tallest hardwood and the tallest flowering plant. I wouldn't mind betting that a mountain ash tree turns up in one of Dru's books some time, such was her appreciation of 'big tree' and the bushland park.

My tree of the week is the mighty mountain ash. A native of Victoria and Tasmania, mature trees average 175-250 feet in height, but specimens have been recorded well over 300 feet. Apart from the Gembrook bushland park there aren't many left in this area. There's a few along the Cockatoo Creek, and some on the creek below the farm at Emerald on the Patch Rd. and some on Menzies Creek. There's a row in Nobelius park planted by Gus Ryberg, but these are not really in their natural environment of deep moist gullies, and are a bit stressed.

I've never failed to be exhilarated being in a forest of tall trees, but perhaps a stand of mountain ash, straight white trunks reaching up to the clouds, takes the cake.