Christmas Eve/ The Massage

Our 5kg organic free range turkey from out the the back of Byron Bay is cooked and in the shed fridge, wrapped in alfoil. Lib, who's working today, and Christmas day, cooked it yesterday with Robbie as assistant chef. The house has been spring cleaned and bedrooms reorganised for our guests. Food and beveridge fills fridges and pantry for two or more days of feasting.

Hughesie's grass is last to cut today to finalize work for me for the time being. It'll be nice to have a rest. A highlight of my pre-Christmas was a session in Vilma's massage chair. Vilma is a lady who lives nearby. I do her lawn and garden. Gord and I mowed her place last Saturday. I said I'd come back on Monday to pull a few weeds in her front garden and plant some roses she'd bought.

Monday turned out hot. I cut and poisoned several elm suckers in the garden bed in front of the house and Vilma helped me weed a row of mini agapanthus I'd planted some months ago as a border on a bed at the back. She said Ralph next door wanted a hand unloading furniture from a trailer into the new house he'd just moved into and asked me would I help him. So we left planting the roses for a cooler day and went in to rouse Ralph.

Ralph is an opportunist. A builder of sorts but entering his twilight years as far as building goes, he has made use of my services a number of times during the house construction. We muscled the heavy furniture into the house, Ralph slipped me $20 for a previous job, then Vilma said to Ralph, "Maybe we could do the fridges while Carey's here?" There was an old fridge sitting outside the back door that needed moving to the laundry under the house and another one that was to go further down the road to Vilma's friend Rosemary-Beth.

Off we all went in Ralph's Suzuki Vitara with the fridge in the trailer behind. Rosemary-Beth opened her shed where the fridge was to go and Ralph and I inched in carefully through all the paraphanalia, trying not to trip over a blue heeler dog chewing on corncobs. I told Rosemary-Beth what the vet had told me recently, that in his experience of operating for bowel obstruction for dogs, 80% of them were caused by corncobs. She thanked me for the tip and took away the cobs, adding that the dog was her daughter's, and yesterday her daughter's partner had kicked her out and locked the house so she couldn't get in again, and there was nowhere for the dog to go, and unless she found a home for it it would have to be put down. Ralph and Vilma didn't offer, nor did I.

Back at Vilma's, having by now spent far more time than I intended, Vilma offered me a sit in her massage chair while she made me a fresh squeezed juice. Forgetting for a moment that I had yet to pick tricolour beech at Huit's and was therefore short of time, I accepted quickly, thinking the massage may loosen up the tightness developing in my upper back.

Vilma sat me up in her chair and clicked the remote control. Her son, a bloke about my age, but very sick with a terminal illness Vilma has never specified, made conversation. The juicer whirred busily in the kitchen.

The chair closed around my calves ang gripped and squeezed. The seat and back of the chair vibrated and moved and kneaded me all the way up my legs and body including the neck. It was sensational in the extreme. If you've experienced one of these things you'll know what I mean. It was a surprise to me. When Vilma told me months ago she'd bought a massage chair on ebay for a figure in excess of $3000, I thought she was batty. Apparently they are usually considerably more than that and after a session myself I don't doubt it, given the amazing engineering that must be involved to make a machine do such a thing. It seemed to have a brain.

Vilma came in with a big mug of juice each. Carrots, three fresh pineapples, garlic, I recall she said, God knows what else. She bought the chair and makes the juice to help her son in his last years. I sipped at the juice and enjoyed the chair. It was a half hour of heaven. Vilma showed me the jewellery she makes. I bought a red jasper necklace for Lib for Christmas.

"What do I owe you for today?," Vilma asked as I was leaving.

"Nothing today Vilma. A fair swap for my go in the chair."

"Have a good Christmas, and come back anytime if your back needs a go in the chair. I'll call you when the grass needs mowing."

I left feeling fantastic with a little Christmas pudding Vilma gave me and a bottle of orange marmalade, made from oranges from her tree.

December Bonus

Well I never expected to be picking mushrooms in mid December. I had pinies for breakfast yesterday and field mushies this morning. The 80ml of rain that fell over the weekend after starting Friday afternoon has been the best rain for the year.

Our fig tree fell over with the weight of the water in the gusty wind. The trunk broke away from the roots just below ground level. I'll miss it but it makes a bit of space for something else, maybe a small flower bed. The garden was becoming a little crowded with trees and shrubs.

I worked through the weekend picking beech and holly, dodging rain and showers. The cool weather for this time of year is a big advantage for my line of work, the foliage not wilting quickly, and therefore giving more time before it needs to be in water. I certainly don't miss the searing sun and hot wind we get some years pre Christmas. This year it's been a bit of a dream come true, this last month. Today's another big beech day then I'm hoping it'll start to scale down as the wholesaler's sheds should be near full.

Then, if we have some nice weather, I can get into a few gardening jobs, like remove the fig tree and mow our grass and that of a few others. And if I get time and the weather's good I'll have a look at the bees. I've supered them twice, mid October and mid November, so they're 4 deckers. I haven't seen a swarm this season, The rain and cool has probably contained them some. The messmate is not going to flower this year so I don't expect a big honey season, but this rain should make the blackberry and clover and other ground flora give a kick. I'd hope to extract some honey after Christmas or in the new year given some settled weather from now on.

Native Frangipani

For a couple of weeks recently I enjoyed the fragrance of the native frangipani tree at the farm. It's on the bank of the old dam right near the shop and where every day I unload and often spend time bunching. A wonderful tree for its scent alone, it's a rainforest tree of NSW and Queensland which does well in the Dandenongs. It's botanic name is Hymenosporum flavum.

It's a slender inconspicuous tree that you don't even notice most of the time. It's the scent that strikes, making you look around for the source, then, every year as if a new surprise, there it is in full flower. Magnifiscent!

I asked Elvie did she plant it there on purpose. She said she got it in for a lady who asked for one, back when we had a thriving nursery business. The lady never came back, so rather than repot it, one evening she planted it in the nearest space she could find.

Sometimes good things happen by accident, or luck. My tree of the week. If you like a scented garden, it's a must.

Poor Little Pip

I could tell Pip wasn't herself yesterday on the way up Quinn Rd. She wasn't bouncing and sprinting here, there and everywhere as she usually does. She walked sedately close to me. At the top of Quinn Rd. she wasn't with 'Snowie' right there at my feet ready to be put on the lead but sniffing around in the grass nearby. She squatted to do a toilet. Neighbour Janice came down Launching Place Rd. on the other side with her two collies. Old 'Hannah' trotted along some metres in the lead. Janice called for her to stop at the roadside before crossing, "Wait", but 'Hannah' was on the way home and kept going, with Janice now in a jog to catch her. Young 'Bee', obedient at Janice's side, crossed with them, about level with where 'Pip' was.

"How are you today," she called to me from about 20 metres away.

"I'm good mate. And you?"

"Not Bad. I have to watch 'Hannah' here, she's on a mission to get home."

"'Snowie's the same, if she's not on the lead she just goes straight across the road on the way home, cars or no cars."

Pip had inched up to young 'Bee', without the usual frisky tail wagging exuberance.

"I don't know what's the matter with 'Pip' this morning, but she's not herself. Maybe she's sore like me."

"What've you been up to?"

"Oh, climbing trees and cutting foliage, twisting and reaching with the cutting pole. It's strained my hip and stirred up the arthritis in my foot."

"That's no good. Can you take a break?"

"No, I have a lot to do. I've taken anti-inflammatories, I'll be OK."

"Well good luck", Janice said as she turned and walked after 'Hannah' who was now 50 meteres down Quinn Rd.

Pip kept stopping on the lead as we went up the main road, wanting to do a toilet in the grass. After I took her off the lead at Innes Rd. she stopped every minute or so and squatted, but could not manage it. Constipation, I thought, now a little worried, as she seemed a bit distressed. In the park where she normally jumps up on the bench for me to put her back on the lead she remained grounded with a sad look. As we went up the main street she decided she'd had enough and sat on the footpath, unwilling to walk.

I didn't fancy carrying her home with her in pain. We were only twenty metres past the new vet's surgery in Gembrook which only opened a week or so ago. Opening time,8.30am, was half an hour away, so I sat on the front step nursing 'Pip' on my lap. She was a bit shivery and dribbling and shifted every minute or so, which showed me she couldn't get comfortable. I hoped the vet wasn't late.

While we waited, 'Snowie' kept letting me know we should be on our way home, wanting her breakfast no doubt. Sam Mazzarelli stopped on his way back from the post office. I explained and Sam wished me well, saying it was good to have a vet in town now. Geoff Howard stopped, Big John McCann, then Glen Binstead. I explained to each in turn. I appreciated their concern. Glen asked me had I seen his copper beech tree lately.

"No I haven't Glen. I've been meaning to trim some foliage off where we did last year, to stop it encroaching too much into your neighbour's carpark, but I haven't made it yet."

"Well the contractors who clear around the power lines have butchered it. I didn't even know they were coming, they always used to let you know. Come when you like and get some, you might be able to tidy it up a bit."

Thanks Glen, I will."

The vet's nurse came and let us in. While I was filling in the new patient form the vet came in with an animal in a big carry cage, said gidday, and went into another room. I'd met Tom a number of times over the last two months as I walked the dogs past his soon to be opened surgery. He and his wife Kathy, a vet also and a bloody good sort I must say, have worked hard preparing their first business venture. There was a lot of work to do. The building, owned by Vince and Traudie Lamendola for all the 27 years we've lived in Gembrook, has been vacant for a year or so and was previously the venue of 'That Really Retro Cafe in Gembrook' which added buzz to the town but didn't last. Before that it was a gift/craft shop for a while and way back Vince and Traud had a pizza shop there. Good pizzas too, not like some of the crap around these days.

Pip squatted and arched and as I watched, dropped a rock on the floor. It made a noise like a heavy stone hitting. The nurse picked it up with a tissue and took it in to show Tom. Tom came out and we took Pip into a consulting room and onto the steel table. I had to pick 'Snowie' up to get her to come in. She hates vets.

Tom said she should come good now she'd dropped the rock. "Man, that was a big hard one", he said. "Do you give her fresh bones?"

"Yes, every day."

"I'd say she's getting too much bone marrow. It's a bit strong for little dogs and binds them up. Give her less bones and some good wet food regularly."

I bought a bag of 'Science' dry food, a bag of 'Dr. Natural' seed that you soak in water for 12/24 hours then add to fresh meat, and a worm tablet for each dog. I left the dog tucker to pick up later as I had to walk home. Pip was back to her normal self going home. Including the consultation, I spent $145 at the new vet's surgery. That's better than the $2000 it cost a mate of mine after his dog ate a corn cob and it got stuck in the bowel. Tom said 80% of bowel obstructions in his experience have been corn cobs, they just don't break down in the dog's gut.

You learn something everyday, as I've said before. The good story of the day for me came later when I went to Glen Binstead's and picked the most beautiful dark copper beech I'd ever seen. It was meeting him at the front of the vet's that jogged me to go. There was more beech for me than previously as the tree needed balancing up after it was cruelled by the contractors.

A Red Gum Flow?

I'd read in the bee journal that there was good budset on the red gum in central and northern Victoria but I was still surprised when Lib and I tripped to Wangaratta to attend Mark Kelly's funeral. The trees were hanging heavy with bud, some just breaking, into the heaviest flowering I think I've ever seen. When I stepped outside at Moll's house on the Three Mile creek on Thursday evening I could hear the hum of bees from 40 metres away. It would gladden the heart of anyone who has kept bees.

River red gum is the most widely distributed of the the eucalypts in Australia. It has an aura that captures the imagination of painters, poets and writers, and therefore is probably the tree most easily recognized by Australians, and has a strong place in folklore. It is the quintessential tree of the Australian inland landscape.

A great thing about travelling is watching the flora change along the way. We left about 6.30 am and an hour later after the rise up and over Mt. Slide, we're on the north side of the Great Dividing range and soon into red gum country. There's a stong feeling of welcome in the nude trunks and sleek branches, in all manner of shape and contortion. A bit like going home for me, the sight of red gum fills me with nostalgia; swimming holes on searing summer days, beekeepers long dead and gone, mates interstate, and, oddly, travel in Mexico and Peru, where I've been astonished to come across huge red gum trees most unexpectedly.

It was good catching up with so many old mates. It was a bit like a football club reunion and a nurse's reunion rolled into one. We were all there to say goodbye to Kel, a good man, who will have a place in our hearts until we, in turn, reach the end. It was once many 21sts, then many weddings, then many 40ths, 50ths, I suppose we're entering the many funerals stage.

It was especially good to see 'Grub' there. He'd rung me a little over a year ago to tell me he'd had cancer of the face, and after extensive surgery and chemotherapy had been given the all clear for twelve months. He wanted to have a beer with me. I met him at his son's place in Wang. He'd lost an eye and half his jaw and the roof of his mouth, but he was in good spirits since he was well enough to have the odd stubbie or two and take pictures of his grandchildren. I rang him last weekend to tell him we'd lost Kel and he said he'd see me at the funeral.

After the service at St. Pat's church and again at the lawn cemetery, refreshments were at the Rover's clubrooms. I was sitting at a table with Grub. Des Steele, Pat McKenzie, Billy O'Brien and his brother Paul had gravitated to the table, there were others standing around, and Lib was next to me with a group of nurses at the other end of the table, some of whom I could place, some I couldn't.

"You remember Debbie Mead," said Lib.

"How are ya Gunna? Of course you remember me."

"Now I do, I saw you out at the cemetery. I knew I knew you, but couldn't put a name to you. It's been more than 20 years. Now it's obvious. How are mate? You're looking great."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I married again. You wouldn't know him. He used to chase me more than thirty years ago when I was with Lib at the nurse's home. I used to call him 'Mick the prick', now I call him 'darling'."

Deb always was a wag. She used to write humourous poetry, just had a talent for rhyme. She'd pull a poem out she'd written the previous night and have everyone in fits.

"How's Terry?" Her first husband was a friend of mine from the footy club. They went to Queensland. Nobody had seen 'Poo' in years. She closed her eyes and groaned and shook convulsively for a couple of seconds.

"Sorry. It's just that whenever he's mentioned I get this dreadful feeling of loathing. To answer your question, I don't know, and couldn't give a stuff. All I know is he didn't come down to his mother's funeral a couple of year's ago. Jean died slowly. She was in hospital calling out 'Terry, Terry, I want to see Terry.' She idolised him. She hung on. He didn't come. He didn't come to the funeral."

Grub stood up at the table opposite me. He'd been sitting there quietly chatting to Steely, having his third pot, his limit, as he was driving. He thrust out his hand. "It's been great to see you Gunna, I'm off now."

"Great to see you so well Grub. Next time I'm coming up I'll give you a ring and try to catch you out at the farm."

Deb heard this. "Is that Grub Younger? Peter Younger? You used to have the long beard." She got up and met Grub as he moved around the table. "Jesus Grub! What the hell happened to you?"

"The ants have had a bit of a go at me. But we're getting there, I just have a bit of trouble eating. I do a lot of dribbling." Grub showed no embarrassment.

"I love men that dribble. You poor darling." Deb said, as she stroked Grub's hair.

Later, that evening, when I stepped outside and heard the bees humming in the red gum, it was not just the thought of a honey flow that cheered me.