Season and Reason

Unusually, it's a bright morning, a pleasant change from the dank and miserable lack of light we have endured lately. Many days I've struggled to see what I'm doing right in front of me, which is no doubt exascerbated by now 60 year old eyes. Nevermind, the sun coming through the window is cheering.

There are four cordyline palms ouside the window, between which the sun streams. These are feral. There were two I bought in terracotta pots some years ago. They became too big for the pots, sending tentacle roots through thr drain holes and into the earth, so I planted them in the ground a little further down away from the house. Two 'babies' sprang forth from root left behind where the two pots were. Lib liked them so I left them. They are now over 2 metres high and the originals are approaching 4 metres.

It would not take long for vegetation to reclaim this site and leave little visible evidence our human intrusion, were we not here to keep it at bay. Plants retain moisture around them to help them survive, moisture brings mould and rot and slowly timber disintegrates and mortar crumbles and cracks, letting in more moisture and rodents and whiteants. Even roofing iron rusts away.

It makes me think of  MacchuPicchu in Peru, a city of the Incas lost for centuries beneath lush jungle vegetation. When discovered by archeologist Highram Bingham and the jungle removed, the city was largely intact because the foundations and walls are made of solid stone expertly cut and fitted using compression to hold the whole thing together and withstand the extreme wet of the east Andes jungle. Of course the rooves made of timber and thatch no longer exist.

I suppose our concrete cities will stand for a long time but I understand there are fungi that will consume concrete. Probably once these get a hold they'd proliferate and do their stuff. I'd like to think so. That's a pleasant thought on this last day of the financial year or the season 2011/12 as I like to see it. For today, I'm wrestling with the problem of removing wallpaper from soon to be renovated bathroom. Other bathroom is already underway, it had no wallpaper. It's all a bit stressful.



 

The Changing Landscape

I picked foliage today from the garden of the house opposite the Community hall where my friend Ida used to live. The garden is becoming overgrown with little cutting back done in recent years. When I first met Ida in the mid 1990's her husband had died some months earlier. She was a keen gardener, a real "cutter" she called herself who strongly believed in regular pruning. As she grew older and less capable she relied on me to maintain the garden and mow the lawn. Our friendship spanned nearly a decade until her family had to have her taken from her house (she refused to cooperate) when Alzheimer's had advanced to a point where she could no longer live alone. 

Another friend of mine bought the house, Pat Atzmuller. Pat's husband had been killed in a tree accident which forced her to downsize from their acres and big house. I continued to pick in the garden, and Pat had a large steel shed built in the back yard mainly for storage I think.
But Pat wasn't really happy there and moved into another house a year or two later. As it turned out the new owner was Gus Ryberg's granddaughter, Julia, who was happy for me to pick in the garden now and again when I needed something, mainly bay foliage from the tree on the boundary with the vacant block right on the main intersection corner.

The big steel shed that Pat had put up was removed some time ago and I was wondering why this was so today as I picked bay foliage and cast my eyes around the overgrown shrubbery and over the large concrete slab in the back yard that was the floor of the shed. As I worked Frank Failla appeared from somewhere so I stopped to have a yarn. He told me I should take as much foliage as I could because it's all going soon, starting with the concrete slab tomorrow. Workmen are coming to cut up the slab into portions that Frank can pick up with his bobcat and take to the tip.

Apparently the developer who subdivided the the five acres that was vacant land behind the house and converted it to Gembrook Views Estate, bought the house from Julia some time ago and the site is to be developed, which explains to me why Julia, who is now a tennant, has not bothered with the garden.

The vacant block I referred to is not to be vacant long. There's a sign up offering for sale off the plan three villa units, with "gated" security facilities. I have wandered that block for many years picking wild carrot flowers for ourmixed posies in summer and autumn. My resources are steadily disappearing

I do not mention all this to gossip about Gembrook, it's just part of my day I wish to record. My friend Leigh Candy (Getadogster) is doing a blog post for everyday of 2012 as a sort of commemoration of his turning sixty, and a record of his life memories and feelings during this significant time. He sets a good example, and whilst I'll not commit to posting daily I intend to crank it up and do more regular posting during the next twelve months, lets say the 2012/03 year July 1 to June 30. I have found Leigh's blog so entertaining, and reading it such an enjoyable part of my year, that I'd like to think I can do similar for my few readers. I will need offer more of myself and show the courage Leigh has to put his opinions up.

The way the landscape's changing it may well be my last year as 'Carey at Gembrook'. Who knows, maybe one day it'll be 'Carey at Kaniva' or 'Carey at Coonamble'. 'Carey in Cairns'? Orbost? Pt McQuarie? My feet are getting itchy.

Rock on Leigh, Go Gunna.    

Writer's Block

I'm suffering it. There's many things I can think of to write about, but nothing appears as something I can put a meaningful thread to. We've had frost this morning, the earth tremor last night was a beauty, the announcement of the marine parks around the country was exciting, the days start lengthening after tomorrow, we attended nephew James's 30th party last Saturday night which was a great night catching up with family on Lib's side, I fed the bees on Saturday; but for some reason there's nothing that grabs me to expand on.

It may be a mid winter thing. I am enjoying reading 'Tobruk' by Peter Fitzsimons. I'm only about 60 pages in and most of it is historical so far leading up to WW11 and the Tobruk seige, but he has an enthusiastic style that I'm enjoying, and what I have read so far is balanced and not the flag waving stuff I was expecting. And I've learnt some things I did not know, or had forgotten. Like how badly Germany was treated by the Versailles treaty and that President Wilson wanted to give New Guinea to the Japanese after WW1. Yikes!

Speaking of enthusiasm, as I just did with Fitzsimons style, it is what is lacking for me at the moment. It's not something to worry about, I'll bounce up shortly, but just for now even the dogs are annoying me. 

Less is Best

Most of us in Australia, myself included, have never known real poverty and have plenty of food and and motor cars and Tv's and airconditioners, computers, and whatever else we feel we need, and much we don't need. Compared to much of Asia we are wealthy, and so far not greatly affected by the recent economic turmoil in other parts of the world.

I read recently how Australia's cricketers are to have their payments improved by $80 million over the next five years. I notice that Victorian teachers were on strike last Thursday demanding  pay increase above what the government is offering. This follows industrial action over the last twelve months by police, ambulance and nurses. All say they are underpaid by comparison to counterparts in other states and want pay increase.

It is my view that Australians generally are overpaid and housing is overpriced. We are becoming a nation of greedy people who want more and more. I think even the National Parks blokes are on strike now, refusing to clean the toilets.

We may be an affluent nation, but we are becoming impoverished of grace and compassion and manners and leadership. Politicians lie and scaremonger, unions demand and misuse. I'd like to see some selflessness and gratitude and determination to help the unfortunate who slip through the net, and more care for the environment.

I reckon Australia is going down the gurgler. Sorry, but I do. Sold down the drain by greed and self interest. It will hit the fan. Dig that coal man, get that gas, pour that concrete. There's no tomorrow. Give me more...and more.

Less is best would be better, before it's too late.

More Family Tree

Meredith told me today that our grandfather Edgar Wilson's grandfather was Joseph Wilson, who had a dairy farm in Chapel St. Prahran. Can you imagine that? This must have been around 1860 or so. For interstaters like Lesley who wouldn't know of Chapel St Prahran, it's a trendy shopping area a few kilometres from the Melbourne CBD. Obviously back then it was on the outskirts of the city.

His grandmother was a Crockett, an Irish English lady who hailed from the same place in England that the legendary American frontiersman's family came in the 1700's. So Jod reckons we are related to Davy Crockett?

A Sense of Place

Author and social researcher Hugh Mackay argues that "Place is crucial to all Australians. It's fundamental to the human sense of self, sense of community, sense of mortality and sense of destiny." He says it's silly to put cultural distance between aborigines and other Australians by attributing to indigenous people a mystical sense of  place, a special relationship with the land that transcends anything we urban types could comprehend.

In his 2005 article that Maria gave the writing class for homework he continued, "It's all rubbish, of course. Not the special relationship bit; that's true enough. What's rubbish is the idea that the sense of place is unique to indigenous people, or even that it's more special, more "spiritual" for them than for us."

I have to disagree. He mentions the MCG, Flemington, the SCG, the WACA or the Gabba as places that symbolise deeply embedded cultural values. They don't do it for me. I see them as commercial venues designed to extract money from large numbers of people, and very successful at that they are. I have and do attend such places due to my sporting interests however I'm fully aware of the extravagant costs involved to park the car, gain entry and buy refreshments. There’s nothing sacred for me there.

He then says, "If sport doesn't do it for you, think of Gallipoli, Changi or the Kokoda Trail. Think of the Australian War Memorial, or the smaller memorials- parks, plaques, obelisks and halls scattered across Australia." Well they don't do it for me either. In fact war repulses me. I have not been to Gallipoli, Changi, or Kokoda but I have read of their historical significance. It puts these places no higher on my list of sacred sites than the bay in west Scotland where 1000 soldiers died in a storm on their way home after surviving the horrors of World War 1, or battlefields all over the world where loss of life has been high. Or Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Dresden, London, Falluja. So war doesn't do it for me either.

Hugh then goes on to suggest I visit my primary school playground, the suburb where I grew up, the house I lived in as a child, the places where we had holidays. "Go back and feel it. Sense it. Tell me it doesn't mean anything." I have gone back. It's all so changed it seems unreal, like my past never really happened. The people of my childhood are not there. It does nothing for me. Unless freeways and supermarkets where once cows roamed and birds sang turns you on, you will agree. Sorry Hugh. Going back doesn't do it for me.

So what does it for me, gives me a sense of place? I feel it it in my garden; where I have spent pleasant time over 30 years, where I have nurtured and fed, grown food, watched trees grow, listened to birds, played with children, buried numerous pets. I feel it in my house; where I have cooked and eaten so many meals, raised my boys from babies to adults, shared a bed with Lib as we have gone from young married couple to approaching old age, spent so many winter nights warming by the fire. You could say that my family has connected me to this place. No doubt if we sell up and move all will change. The town has already changed dramatically. There are new housing estates, more cars.

But I have felt it in other places. I felt it sitting on a park bench in the plaza in Cuzco, Peru, with Lib, having a picnic lunch of dry biscuits, tinned tuna and avocado, the sun warm on our backs. Around the plaza are shops and cathedrals built by the Spanish on Inca rock foundations four feet above the ground. Indigenous people in traditional costume go about their daily trading and the Andes mountains tower in the background giving the scene a feeling of timelessness.

I felt it on an afternoon stroll at Ubud on Bali, around ricefields where farmers work the same way they must have for centuries. In a corner of a field in a stone workroom an old man worked at woodcarvings which filled the building and must have been his life's work. There was nothing to be seen that suggested anything had changed in centuries.

I felt it looking down into the Grand Canyon, trying to grasp the immensity, and the impact this timeless wonder must have had on the human inhabitants of the area over thousands of years.

And I have felt it at Ayer's Rock. I was there as a young man in 1972, when a friend and I pitch our two man tent in the camping ground from where we watch the setting sun change the Rock's colour. There was nowhere else to stay if I recall. I went back a couple of years ago with Lib. We had to stay in the official resort accommodation. The cheapest room was about $200 per night. I bought a six pack of stubbies from the bar, the only place you could buy alcohol. It cost me $36.

I don't think we can possibly have the same connection to place that the aborigines have. Their ancestral families revered the landscape and the flora and fauna that provided sustenance. Their history is there for them in all that exists. Our history is twined with pursuit of money and material gain. In our quest we dig up, knock down, build, knock down, and concrete over. We have altered the landscape drastically in two hundred years, a landscape that was previously unchanged for so long.