An email sent to Lib and her sisters from cousin Druscilla in San Diego California came today. I copy it below as it has great sentiment.
I've been putting off this letter for weeks because I couldn't think how to say what I'm feeling about Oz. It seems like you've all been chosen as the poster children for global warming and yet I have the feeling, over here anyway, that no one is listening. Our national head is too deeply dug into the sand...I resisted saying where I really think it is. Now that I'm an old woman, I feel the occasional need to be dignfied. Anyway. First hand, I have no experience with rain as it was experienced up north. Honestly, the idea of a meter of rain in 24 hours is incomprehensible to me. Especially since I spend a lot of the year longing for rain. But I do know a little about fire and I can only say that my whole body grieves for Australia, for the animals and plants and people. I was first and will always be an Aussie. XXX
Dru's mum Pat, Molly's sister, alive and well in her mid nineties, grew up in Melbourne. She married a yank who was in Australia soon after WW11. He was a crew member of a US freighter berthed in Melbourne. He had the Browne's phone number if I recall correctly, how I don't know, it may have had something to to do with Molly's brother Lin who worked as a journalist and had OS connections, and in a communication at some point said to one, "If ever you're in Melbourne give us a call, I have five sisters." It's vague and I might have it wrong, come to think of it now it was Gordon the Canadian who had the phone number, I'm only going on recall of a conversation I had with Molly perhaps ten years ago. Anyway it doesn't change the fact that Molly's sisters Pat and Margaret met and married the two Nth Americans and relocated to that continent.
Dru came to Australia as a teenager say 1960's and stayed with Molly and Bill in Wangaratta for an extended holiday. In turn Lib's sisters, Pat and Margaret, went to California and stayed with Auntie Pat and second husband Jim in a big house on a hill in Los Gatos not far from San Diego. Lib and I visited in 1979. Jim was a wealthy surgeon, a staunch republican, and successful share market investor. Pat was a democrat true to her Australian Labour upbringing and the arguments were fierce. He smoked Salem cigarettes heavily and died of lung cancer many years ago. Pat had three children from her first marriage. The Meek girls, Lib and her sister's, have always had strong connection with these cousins and the two Canadians, sons of Margaret and Gordon. We visited Canada also in 1979, and Gordon and Margaret were at our wedding in 1981, January 31, thirty-two years ago to the day (in about 40 minutes). Gordon died many years ago but Margaret is well, in her nineties.
Dru is a successful novelist, a delightful lady who reminds me much of Jane Fonda. I'm glad that through Lib I have had these connections, to give me a more balanced view of the USA that I would not have perhaps enjoyed otherwise.
The sad thing is about Dru's email, if no one there is listening, well here, with it staring us down, half the political spectrum in this country does not listen and even strongly denies, and the better half of the spectrum is pretty gutless anyway. Politics is as sick here as it is there.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Monday, January 28, 2013
The Bear with the Fish
Meredith showed me an ornamental wood carving the other day, that of a bear with a fish in its mouth. What was interesting about it is that the wood came from an oak tree at the farm we had removed some years ago as it became too big for the situation. Meredith grew the tree from an acorn she collected in Melbourne Botanic Gardens way back in the early 1970's when we moved to Emerald. Jod sent a lump of wood to his woodcarver friend in WA, Don Neil? (there were twins, Don and Eric I think, at Syndal Tech with Jod). Some time later the wood came back as a bear with a fish in its mouth.
The Pictures, er Movies
One of Lib's work colleagues rang this evening, saying to me that she'd been trying to ring Lib this afternoon but no one was home. It was a public holiday of course as Australia Day fell on Saturday. Lib had the day off. I said Lib went to the pictures with Gord then passed the phone to Lib.
There was a lot of laughter as Zennia, a Fillipino lady, tried to work out what 'the pictures' was. But come to think of it, we always went to 'the pictures' when we were young, the term movies came in later I reckon. I think it started out as 'motion pictures' and was shortened to 'the pictures', however the 'movies' is certainly the term used now.
They saw Les Miserables and said it was very good. There was supposed to be some rain today but it didn't come, not here anyway. I picked green beech at Bob and Dawn Smedley's at Mt Burnett and weeded in the 'vegie garden' at the farm, which is more an annual herb garden, and watered some things late in the day in Nobelius Park.
There was a lot of laughter as Zennia, a Fillipino lady, tried to work out what 'the pictures' was. But come to think of it, we always went to 'the pictures' when we were young, the term movies came in later I reckon. I think it started out as 'motion pictures' and was shortened to 'the pictures', however the 'movies' is certainly the term used now.
They saw Les Miserables and said it was very good. There was supposed to be some rain today but it didn't come, not here anyway. I picked green beech at Bob and Dawn Smedley's at Mt Burnett and weeded in the 'vegie garden' at the farm, which is more an annual herb garden, and watered some things late in the day in Nobelius Park.
Leaf Tosser
I had more fun yesterday killing blackberries late in the day. There are more than I thought and I find those that I missed as I go back over the areas I did last week. Amongst the wilted canes and leaves the bold culprits stand defiantly green and strong, so I sight the direction of the cane back to earth and go in again fo the kill.
One of Lib's chooks, Myrtle, is broody again and to lock her up at night it's necessary to pick her up and carry her from her nesting spot on the deck and put her in the pen. Penny goes in by herself, she knows you have food to give and she's hungry. Broody Myrtle shows no interest in food but once locked in she picks up leaves from the ground and tosses them over one shoulder then the other, not that she has shoulders, but you get the drift I hope. Gord said he and Lib noticed her do this the day before and wondered why she did it. It really is quite a graceful action. I assume it's some sort of nesting impulse.
Henny hungrily devoured shredded cheese, lettuce, meat etc from her dinner pack then astounded Gord and I by going over to Myrtle and putting food in her beak, as if in some kind sisterly act of concern for her unwell friend. Strange things chooks.
One of Lib's chooks, Myrtle, is broody again and to lock her up at night it's necessary to pick her up and carry her from her nesting spot on the deck and put her in the pen. Penny goes in by herself, she knows you have food to give and she's hungry. Broody Myrtle shows no interest in food but once locked in she picks up leaves from the ground and tosses them over one shoulder then the other, not that she has shoulders, but you get the drift I hope. Gord said he and Lib noticed her do this the day before and wondered why she did it. It really is quite a graceful action. I assume it's some sort of nesting impulse.
Henny hungrily devoured shredded cheese, lettuce, meat etc from her dinner pack then astounded Gord and I by going over to Myrtle and putting food in her beak, as if in some kind sisterly act of concern for her unwell friend. Strange things chooks.
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Blackberry Hunt
Last Sunday I finally got my search and destroy blackberry mission underway. Only for a few hours, but begin I did and was most satisfied at the end of the day. It's something I enjoy, getting down on hands and knees, close to the earth, and crawling in under shrubs, hacking a tunnel with secateurs through wire grass and low growth on trees and shrubs to find the canes where they leave their roots, cut them off and paint the stump with straight roundup.
I think I enjoy it because you have to go slowly, deliberately, necessarily. Cut a few, paint the stumps, crawl in a little further. You can't cut a lot then paint later, you lose track of where the cuts were, and the roundup needs to be applied quickly after the cut or the plant begins to repair and seal itself the more seconds pass, making the roundup less effective. I use a small plastic bottle of roundup with a dabber sponge under the lid. I get them from the weed officer at Cardinia Council.
After two wet years and rampant growth, there was plenty for me to work with. I didn't do them at home last year, I did a lot at the farm. It's an ongoing thing, the small ones you miss become big ones in a year or two, and the birds always bring in seeds from outside anyway. They germinate and take root under shrubs and along boundaries where the mower or whipper doesn't go, and slowly and stealthily send out runners and build strength as they reach the light, then 'lookout' in spring as many feet of new growth appears almost overnight.
There's plenty of blackberries around the town for me look forward to a feed soon, but it's been so dry that without good rain much of the fruit won't develop into good eating. Each of the last four completed months, that is all of spring and December, provided about 60% of the 38 year average rainfall, and the three weeks of January, there's been nothing at all. Things are getting serious. The 30,000ltr tank at Hanna's that I use to water the vegies etc has about a quarter left. The tanks at the farm have been emptied twice and refilled by pumping from the creek but there's little water in the dam on the creek so we are greatly restricted.
Two weekends ago I managed to get a bit of honey off, not much though, it's another poor year. The honey is blackberry honey. There's a big paddock of mature blackberries west of here well within the range of my beehives. I saw it from Heinz's veranda in Station Rd while at his house a few weeks ago, interviewing him for 'Signpost'. It's in jars but already candied, such is the nature of it. Without the blackberrys there would have been zilch.
I walked around watering in shorts watering after I got home and the mozzies got into me. My feet and legs are itching to blazes. Pity it's an AF night, it could be hard for me to get to sleep.
I think I enjoy it because you have to go slowly, deliberately, necessarily. Cut a few, paint the stumps, crawl in a little further. You can't cut a lot then paint later, you lose track of where the cuts were, and the roundup needs to be applied quickly after the cut or the plant begins to repair and seal itself the more seconds pass, making the roundup less effective. I use a small plastic bottle of roundup with a dabber sponge under the lid. I get them from the weed officer at Cardinia Council.
After two wet years and rampant growth, there was plenty for me to work with. I didn't do them at home last year, I did a lot at the farm. It's an ongoing thing, the small ones you miss become big ones in a year or two, and the birds always bring in seeds from outside anyway. They germinate and take root under shrubs and along boundaries where the mower or whipper doesn't go, and slowly and stealthily send out runners and build strength as they reach the light, then 'lookout' in spring as many feet of new growth appears almost overnight.
There's plenty of blackberries around the town for me look forward to a feed soon, but it's been so dry that without good rain much of the fruit won't develop into good eating. Each of the last four completed months, that is all of spring and December, provided about 60% of the 38 year average rainfall, and the three weeks of January, there's been nothing at all. Things are getting serious. The 30,000ltr tank at Hanna's that I use to water the vegies etc has about a quarter left. The tanks at the farm have been emptied twice and refilled by pumping from the creek but there's little water in the dam on the creek so we are greatly restricted.
Two weekends ago I managed to get a bit of honey off, not much though, it's another poor year. The honey is blackberry honey. There's a big paddock of mature blackberries west of here well within the range of my beehives. I saw it from Heinz's veranda in Station Rd while at his house a few weeks ago, interviewing him for 'Signpost'. It's in jars but already candied, such is the nature of it. Without the blackberrys there would have been zilch.
I walked around watering in shorts watering after I got home and the mozzies got into me. My feet and legs are itching to blazes. Pity it's an AF night, it could be hard for me to get to sleep.
Saturday, January 19, 2013
A Beauty and a Great Old Bloke
After Lib left this morning I went soon after to water at Hanna's, intending to go next to Adrian and Rose's place to scrounge more green beech high up the trees if I could. Yesterday was exceedingly hot. The ground at Hanna's is red loam but like sand for holding water, this last six weeks of virtually no rain creating slow progress for the vegies, nothing really wanting to kick off like it should. All the summer stuff like beans, corn, pumpkins, even the potatoes and carrots and tomatoes are not really doing it like they should. The atmosphere is so dry.
On the way out from Hanna's I eyed a green beech tree I have picked from for every year for about the last decade. The house changed hands a little over a year ago, the new owners allowed me to pick but I was reluctant to go back this year, more to do with my reducing willingness to extend myself outside the comfort zone than anything else. It was obvious as I eyed the tree that it would be easier than that at Adrian's so I knocked on the door at about 9.15am.
The lady, whose name I remembered, came to the door with two large dogs. Now I'm sixty years old and despite my rather yokel lifesyle I have seen many things. This lady, less than half my age I'd say, is as stunning a beauty as I have ever seen, I kid you not. She was pleased to see me, said husband and she were discussing tree recently, saying it needed pruning again and she would be most pleased for me to do so. The outlook for the day lifted immediately.
I was home before 11am with a van load of green beech not yet trimmed or bunched. There were three messages for me on the phone, all from the farm. Wholesaler Shane had seen grande foliage picked for Fox and wanted thirty bunches. Same dude wanted as much green and copper bunches as I could do. Teacher lady Brenda wanted me there in one hour to sign paperwork for the training course for my apprentices ( Jod and Meredith- long story, some sort of skills training scheme we got sucked into, but with some financial incentives if we can pull it off).
I had not eaten a proper breakfast but had to run to Emerald. Paperwork done I came home to pick grande. When picking green beech at in the morning I observed a copper beech tree across the road. I'd picked a bit of stuff in that garden years ago, notably garrea which no one buys anymore, but also a bit of the copper beech one time. The owner, an elderly man, told me it was his wife's favourite tree so I didn't ever ask him for it again. Now the tree had grown considerably in the decade since, obviously. I had run out of copper beech. The old chap, an ex WW11 vet, must be about 90, and his wife suffered cancer back when we met previously. I thought, well, I have nothing to lose. I rang him, explained all, suggested maybe he would like to have the tree trimmed where it might be impinging.
He said yes come and get some beech, it needs trimming. He wouldn't come out he said, his legs weren't much good, and he was watching the tennis. He didn't want my honey, he'd just bought a big tub, he didn't want a bottle of wine, he doesnt drink alcohol, he didn't want vegies from Hanna's shortly, but take the beech he said, in a raw way that told me he had no reservation at all.
I started the day thinking I'd I have no copper beech, ended up with 32 bunches. He came out before I left. I asked him could I do a profile on him for 'Signpost'. He declined, much to my regret. He has fingers missing from one hand, result of a truck roll over when he was in the army in WW11, near Darwin where he was stationed. Today he told me the air raid sirens would start and the Japs would come in strafing, for some reason they always seemed to pick on the provos, there was a tiny glint in his eye. He was gardener for Irvin Rockman, former mayor of Melbourne, who had a property near Gembrook, in the last years of his employment.
I'd love to to do a story on him, but as the man said, he doesn't want that. So be it, but he's great bloke as far as I'm concerned.
On the way out from Hanna's I eyed a green beech tree I have picked from for every year for about the last decade. The house changed hands a little over a year ago, the new owners allowed me to pick but I was reluctant to go back this year, more to do with my reducing willingness to extend myself outside the comfort zone than anything else. It was obvious as I eyed the tree that it would be easier than that at Adrian's so I knocked on the door at about 9.15am.
The lady, whose name I remembered, came to the door with two large dogs. Now I'm sixty years old and despite my rather yokel lifesyle I have seen many things. This lady, less than half my age I'd say, is as stunning a beauty as I have ever seen, I kid you not. She was pleased to see me, said husband and she were discussing tree recently, saying it needed pruning again and she would be most pleased for me to do so. The outlook for the day lifted immediately.
I was home before 11am with a van load of green beech not yet trimmed or bunched. There were three messages for me on the phone, all from the farm. Wholesaler Shane had seen grande foliage picked for Fox and wanted thirty bunches. Same dude wanted as much green and copper bunches as I could do. Teacher lady Brenda wanted me there in one hour to sign paperwork for the training course for my apprentices ( Jod and Meredith- long story, some sort of skills training scheme we got sucked into, but with some financial incentives if we can pull it off).
I had not eaten a proper breakfast but had to run to Emerald. Paperwork done I came home to pick grande. When picking green beech at in the morning I observed a copper beech tree across the road. I'd picked a bit of stuff in that garden years ago, notably garrea which no one buys anymore, but also a bit of the copper beech one time. The owner, an elderly man, told me it was his wife's favourite tree so I didn't ever ask him for it again. Now the tree had grown considerably in the decade since, obviously. I had run out of copper beech. The old chap, an ex WW11 vet, must be about 90, and his wife suffered cancer back when we met previously. I thought, well, I have nothing to lose. I rang him, explained all, suggested maybe he would like to have the tree trimmed where it might be impinging.
He said yes come and get some beech, it needs trimming. He wouldn't come out he said, his legs weren't much good, and he was watching the tennis. He didn't want my honey, he'd just bought a big tub, he didn't want a bottle of wine, he doesnt drink alcohol, he didn't want vegies from Hanna's shortly, but take the beech he said, in a raw way that told me he had no reservation at all.
I started the day thinking I'd I have no copper beech, ended up with 32 bunches. He came out before I left. I asked him could I do a profile on him for 'Signpost'. He declined, much to my regret. He has fingers missing from one hand, result of a truck roll over when he was in the army in WW11, near Darwin where he was stationed. Today he told me the air raid sirens would start and the Japs would come in strafing, for some reason they always seemed to pick on the provos, there was a tiny glint in his eye. He was gardener for Irvin Rockman, former mayor of Melbourne, who had a property near Gembrook, in the last years of his employment.
I'd love to to do a story on him, but as the man said, he doesn't want that. So be it, but he's great bloke as far as I'm concerned.
Tuesday, January 08, 2013
Serendipity
An email came from Blogger on New year's day telling me a comment had been left on a post I did on 13 June 2010, titled Greta Football Club reunion/ Leigh Candy.
It was flattering of my football ability as school boy, and not how I remember myself. I was handy yes but lacking in confidence and the older I got the less I applied myself, as in fact was needed more. I was not physically strong and needed hard training, the very thing I avoided most, the reason for which could use some research, but what the hell, it doesn't matter now.
The comment was posted as anonomous but the poster provided his name and email address. It was made by an old school mate Peter Prentice who now lives interstate. I was surprised to receive a comment on such an old post, additionally in that I've had friends tell me they've tried to make comments in the past but couldn't, it seemed you had to be a blogger yourself to get a comment up and most friends are not. It only bloggers that leave comments, few and far between.
I was so pleased to hear from Pete that I emailed him and told him so. I had not seen or heard from him in about 45 years. For about a week we exchanged emails. I will not divulge details of Pete's story here as it was given to me privately, but I will say that he's had an amazing life. We have similarities in our experience and thoughts on Malvern and Caulfield Grammar, both were called up for national service (different intakes). We are the same age, both have two fine sons from long standing marriage (most important to both of us). Hell, our wives drive I30 wagons, and Pete's great mate GSP dog who died recently reminded me so much of my 'Blitz', my great companion of many years. And of course we have differences, I suspect in temperament and philosophy. My personal wheels are a bent and binged Suzuki carryvan with a 1.3 litre engine. Pete's is a 6.0L SSV ute with 300 hp at the back wheels.
But the sharing of our stories and recollections has been wonderful, to shake me from my weariness and give me renewed confidence and enthusiasm. I'm not such a bad old bastard after all, and have come through pretty well.
We hope to catch up one of these days. He's warned me he's large, loud and opinionated, unlikely to agree with my Budhist-like thoughts. That's OK by me, we're all different.
I was a quiet, easy child I'm told, by my mother. I became different by necessity along the way. I'm heading back to my peaceful and quiet reality, no matter what the rest of the world is, does.
Thanks Pete, you have helped me heaps.
It was flattering of my football ability as school boy, and not how I remember myself. I was handy yes but lacking in confidence and the older I got the less I applied myself, as in fact was needed more. I was not physically strong and needed hard training, the very thing I avoided most, the reason for which could use some research, but what the hell, it doesn't matter now.
The comment was posted as anonomous but the poster provided his name and email address. It was made by an old school mate Peter Prentice who now lives interstate. I was surprised to receive a comment on such an old post, additionally in that I've had friends tell me they've tried to make comments in the past but couldn't, it seemed you had to be a blogger yourself to get a comment up and most friends are not. It only bloggers that leave comments, few and far between.
I was so pleased to hear from Pete that I emailed him and told him so. I had not seen or heard from him in about 45 years. For about a week we exchanged emails. I will not divulge details of Pete's story here as it was given to me privately, but I will say that he's had an amazing life. We have similarities in our experience and thoughts on Malvern and Caulfield Grammar, both were called up for national service (different intakes). We are the same age, both have two fine sons from long standing marriage (most important to both of us). Hell, our wives drive I30 wagons, and Pete's great mate GSP dog who died recently reminded me so much of my 'Blitz', my great companion of many years. And of course we have differences, I suspect in temperament and philosophy. My personal wheels are a bent and binged Suzuki carryvan with a 1.3 litre engine. Pete's is a 6.0L SSV ute with 300 hp at the back wheels.
But the sharing of our stories and recollections has been wonderful, to shake me from my weariness and give me renewed confidence and enthusiasm. I'm not such a bad old bastard after all, and have come through pretty well.
We hope to catch up one of these days. He's warned me he's large, loud and opinionated, unlikely to agree with my Budhist-like thoughts. That's OK by me, we're all different.
I was a quiet, easy child I'm told, by my mother. I became different by necessity along the way. I'm heading back to my peaceful and quiet reality, no matter what the rest of the world is, does.
Thanks Pete, you have helped me heaps.
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