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.