Tropical Fruit

Gord bought a bottle of tropical fruit at Aldi recently. Lib packed it in our pantry box and we've enjoyed it with yoghurt for breakfast this past couple of mornings. We all commented on what a pleasant change it was from the usual peaches, pears, apples. It contained pineapple, red and yellow papaya, guava and passionfruit juice according to the label and it sparked my memory of our visit to Dave Dickson at Charters Towers last year.

Dave's a keen gardener, if of the bush variety, and has surrounded his house with fruit trees and gets about the cattle station sowing pumpkin and melon seeds in strategic places after rain. We were in the garden talking about the Brahman cattle that, along with wild pigs, eat most of his pumpkins and melons, when Dave made an interesting comment.

"These cattle are not much good really. I reckon the country around here'd be better for growing pumpkins and melons and fruit trees than rearin' cattle."

The comment came back to me recently during the live cattle export controversy. Maybe Dave has a point. On the one hand we have millions of cattle roaming about big stations in our north, doing a great deal of environmental damage if you accept what conservationists say, with no value according to landowners if they can't be exported live for the meat trade, which in turn devalues the land; on the other hand we have thousands of refugees who have no place to live trying desperately to get to Australia risking death and detention.

Could it be possible that there's land somewhere up there in the north that could be used to settle these refugees and give them a home and an opportunity to grow food and perhaps enhance our country and it's land use?

Just a thought that came to me after enjoying breakfast. Politicians are always on about growing Australia. The growth may be better in the far north where there's a fairly reliable wet season than further reducing good farm land in the south with residential development and building desal plants to cater.

The Rain Tumbled Down in July

We took the back way, turning off the Princes Freeway at the second Moe turn off, past the power station at Yallourn North, then, after stopping at Tyers to make sure the dogs hadn't had an accident because of a dreadful odour in the car, and refuelling, we skirted through Glengarry and Nambrok and picked up the highway east of Sale. It's probably further in distance but a far more pleasant drive through rich farming country with hardly another car to contend with, and no cops or cameras.

It was a good feeling, being on holiday and cruising into Bairnsdale knowing there was only half an hour to go to get to Lakes Entrance, where we've gone every year for the last thirty to stay in Lib's family's holiday house. It's a comfortable old friend. Leaving Bairnsdale the light rain that had just started became heavier and the visibilty ahead deteriorated.

"Look at that ahead," I said to Lib, "We're heading right into some really heavy stuff."

Reaching the house the rain was still heavy. The roof was leaking in the hall so a pot was put there to catch the drip. It rained on and off through the night.

I walked this morning to Lake Bunga, coming back along the beach, then cutting across the golf course. A chestnut brown hawk with a damaged wing ran up and down the fence next to the sewage farm trying to avoid swooping magpies. An omen perhaps? A penguin flapped its wings helplessly on the beach as I (and the dogs) approached trying to get to the water. It couldn't stand up or walk. I watched a wave wash over it, thinking it would swim away, but it didn't, it struggled to get back out of the water. Not knowing how to help either hawk or penguin I walked on having decided my interference would probably not be helpful in the scheme of things. Many times I have wished I was skilled or trained in helping injured wildlife.

Both beach and golf course were deserted. Mother Ocean growled and heaved her protest at dirty brown water assaulting from the land. The golf course was spotted with pools and puddles. The rain started again. I had an umbrella and good boots, the dogs were saturated but unconcerned.

After breakfast I sat looking at the rain through the window, which Robbie describes as an 'East Coast Low'. He studies the weather charts on his lap top, which I've borrowed to do this post. He says it extends from here to Sydney and brings weather from the east, usually with extended periods of rain.

The rain doesn't worry me, so long as there are some breaks in it so I can walk. I'm on holiday. For months I've run around finding this and that and responding to what the phone dictates. Now I have some magical days of freedom to admire and enjoy the world around me and every waking and sleeping minute.