It has been logically asserted that we're all hipocrites and hipocrisy is an essential basis of civilization, as a lubricant for the smooth running of private and public life. I don't disagree, however it should be considered that there are degrees of hipocrisy and the consequences of the different forms vary greatly from beneficial to extremely damaging.
There are probably numerous times every day when I conceal my real thoughts and emotions in the interests of tact and good manners. In so doing I maintain good relations with other people including family, friends and neighbours. Call it diplomacy or common sense, but without it I'd quickly become odious, obnoxious and objectionable to those around me, and therefore counterproductive. A bit like brother Jod on a bad day.
Now I don't say that to criticize Jod. Readers who have known Jod will understand me clearly, others may not, but I was discussing this very thing with my alter ego, sister Meredith, during the week. Bear in mind that for all of our respective 55 and 53 years we have shared Jod as older brother. For the first almost 20 years of our lives we lived in the same family home and for much of this time he was the archetype tyrranical bully.
Meredith's first husband was a local policeman. The marriage lasted ten years before Meredith left and, after some more years, a divorce was finalized. There was pain and trauma in that block of years and we, i.e. Meredith and me, have an insightful if somewhat cynical view of the police force. We discussed briefly last week the front page controversy raging in the Victorian Police Force, which has resulted in the resignation of two assistant commissioners and the suspension from the force of the head of the police association, amidst allegations of corruption and tipping off murder suspects.
Meredith told me that in the early 1980's she remembers one of the leading characters in the present controversy being awarded a police valour medal for shooting a dangerous criminal. His partner in the car at the time was the 'Toff'. The 'Toff', later to go on to the special operations group, was an Arnie Shwarzeneger body builder type and a gun freak. He was ultimately sacked from the force over a serious sexual indiscretion but he's in this story because he was married to a policewoman who worked at the same local station as Meredith's husband. (They are now divorced and to complete the musical chairs the 'Toff's ex wife is now married to Meredith's ex husband.)
Meredith, on the subject of hipocrisy, asked me did I remember the time in the early 80's when the new sergeant at the police station where Meredith's husband and 'Toff's wife worked was trying to find them during one night shift. The sergeant was straight, and therefore hated by the less than straight staff under him. He tried his best to get Meredith's husband and 'Toff's wife to do some work but hit the proverbial brick wall. There was a prevailing notion at the station, not shared by the sergeant, that if you were a 'twenty year man' you didn't have to actually do anything.
On this occasion, the sergeant became so frustrated, and worried, that he couldn't contact his senior constables on the car radio, he organized a car from another station to look for them. They were found inside the home of another policeman, who was off duty, where they couldn't be contacted on the radio because the car was unattended. This enraged the sergeant, who ordered 'Toff's wife to be breathalyzed, her being the listed driver that night. She was well over .05 and was charged internally with misconduct. There was a hell of a hullabulloo at the station but the sergeant stood his ground and proceeded, but somehow at the subsequent internal hearing there was no penalty.
We might all be hipocrits, but there's hipocrisy, and there's hipocrisy. Another contrast with the harmless type is that in recent times of Richard Pratt and Steve Vizard, found guilty of price fixing and insider trading, to skim hundreds of millions of dollars, while shining in the glow of philanthropy.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Galah Paddock Excavation
Well, I've been dreading it, but yesterday morning Nov 13 there was a bulldozer in my galah paddock pushing the rich chocolate brown earth into a heap. Last week fresh pegs went up, so I knew something was imminent. This morning an excavator was there as well, some serious earthmoving was underway.
My view into the Shepherds Ck west branch valley (beginning with three springs amongst trees to the left of the photo), which I've enjoyed so many times over the nearly two full years that I've been walking in the morning, will never be the same again. Sad for me.
But I musn't be hypocritical. I live in a house myself, and twenty six years ago I hired a bulldozer to knock down a heap of trees and scrub on our block to clear our house site. That no doubt was a sad day for some people, and birds and animals, who liked it the way it was before my house was built.
The thing is, I conclude, at some point we have to have less growth, no more houses, people, and all the cars, iron and concrete that comes with it. With the climate change factor it has to be sooner rather than later.
I'm voting 'Green' at the federal election on Saturday week. God, I wish more of our politicians could think like Bob Brown. And I say that with no intention of blasphemy. I mean it and pray to God for it. What about China?, you might ask. Well, as Kevin 07 says, we have to set an example. And, the Chinese have at least taken serious and effective measures to reduce population.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
The Humble Blackbird
I tossed in a fresh bone and locked little dog 'Pip' in the laundry with a hot water bottle wrapped in its favourite blanket, and took off down the steps. This morning I felt full to bursting with energy, wanting to power my way up the Quinn Rd. hill. 'Snowy' took off ahead of me as if sharing my impatience to scan the horizon from the top of the hill.
Just as I threw the carry bag up over my shoulder and felt the rhythm of my trekking boots taking over, I saw two blackbirds flitting around the window of the shed. I'm sure they were trying to catch my eye, fearful I'd forgotten them, which I had till I saw them. Every morning I put a handful of mini dog yummies on the windowsill of the shed and at a couple of other strategic places. The blackbirds love them and are there waiting every day. They come up close and almost take the titbits from your hand, as bold as you like.
On the weekend I disturbed a blackbirds nest. It had 3 speckled blue eggs inside and I had to remove it from my burning heap so it wasn't incinerated when I burn the heap, which I'll do in the next few days before the fire restrictions come in on the 12th of November, as has been advertised. I was glad it didn't have fledglings, I would have had to abandon plans to burn and have a dry firehazard heap there all summer. Even disposing of the eggs didn't come easily to me, the birds are a part of the garden and the whole ecosystem that keeps us alive and I have affection for their effort to raise young.
It made me think of Paul, a fellow who lives adjoining Nobelius Park. We had a discussion about blackbirds, and birds in general, a few weeks ago. Paul is a 'greenie'. He loves the natural environment and he approached me in the park to ask what vegetation was being removed. I'd put a sign up, in conjunction with the council, advertising the removal of vegetation and inviting objections. He approached me wanting to know what vegetation was to be removed and when I answered that in the short term the first things to go were the three Japanesese cedars near his place he asked could this be delayed because there were butcher birds nesting there at the time, could we wait till the fledglings had left the nest.
I replied this would be no problem, there was no urgency. I told him that once this permit to remove vegetation was obtained it meant that the vegetation management plan had been approved by council's planning section, which meant that over a period of years, as funding allowed, we would remove more things due to overcrowding, inappropriate siting, etc, without having to obtain a permit each time. I pointed to a prunus niger tree nearby suggesting it as an example.
Now you learn something every day. Paul said he'd be sorry to see the prunus go because the leaves were a good food supply for the ring tailed possums which had drays in the Thujya nearby. We went and looked and saw a blackbird's nest as well. I said "Actually Paul this Thujya is probably to go eventually, as this area in front of the packing shed is zoned for open vista, meaning there will be low growing plantation. The Thuju grows very large and will block the vista."
He said he understood the need to have a longterm plan but before anything was removed, could I let him know so that if the possums were in that dray he'd move them gently to another dray before the tree removal. He said he was unconcerned about the blackbirds, they were an introduced English bird and should not be here at all. He regularly searched the park for their nests and destroyed them.
This struck me as a bit odd. If the blackbirds shouldn't be here because they aren't native, neither should the Japanese cedars, which provided nesting sites for butcher birds and others, the prunus, which give food to ring tails, and the thujyas, where the ringtails nest.
I told him this, and added that if you followed that logic through, he and I shouldn't be here either as our origins are European, and the impact of our population has been devastating to just about everything indigenous over 150 years.
He saw my point, and we agreed that it's very important to maintain wilderness areas without European species and to preserve large areas of native indigenous bush but this couldn't apply to the whole country if you wanted to house and feed 20 million people.
The humble blackbird plays a part in the whiteman's food chain, establishing itself along with us, in our gardens. It has a role to play eating grubs and insects and I'm sure has a beneficial role in the scheme of things. I know they are territorial but so is nearly everything. I'll keep feeding my brave little blackbirds.
Just as I threw the carry bag up over my shoulder and felt the rhythm of my trekking boots taking over, I saw two blackbirds flitting around the window of the shed. I'm sure they were trying to catch my eye, fearful I'd forgotten them, which I had till I saw them. Every morning I put a handful of mini dog yummies on the windowsill of the shed and at a couple of other strategic places. The blackbirds love them and are there waiting every day. They come up close and almost take the titbits from your hand, as bold as you like.
On the weekend I disturbed a blackbirds nest. It had 3 speckled blue eggs inside and I had to remove it from my burning heap so it wasn't incinerated when I burn the heap, which I'll do in the next few days before the fire restrictions come in on the 12th of November, as has been advertised. I was glad it didn't have fledglings, I would have had to abandon plans to burn and have a dry firehazard heap there all summer. Even disposing of the eggs didn't come easily to me, the birds are a part of the garden and the whole ecosystem that keeps us alive and I have affection for their effort to raise young.
It made me think of Paul, a fellow who lives adjoining Nobelius Park. We had a discussion about blackbirds, and birds in general, a few weeks ago. Paul is a 'greenie'. He loves the natural environment and he approached me in the park to ask what vegetation was being removed. I'd put a sign up, in conjunction with the council, advertising the removal of vegetation and inviting objections. He approached me wanting to know what vegetation was to be removed and when I answered that in the short term the first things to go were the three Japanesese cedars near his place he asked could this be delayed because there were butcher birds nesting there at the time, could we wait till the fledglings had left the nest.
I replied this would be no problem, there was no urgency. I told him that once this permit to remove vegetation was obtained it meant that the vegetation management plan had been approved by council's planning section, which meant that over a period of years, as funding allowed, we would remove more things due to overcrowding, inappropriate siting, etc, without having to obtain a permit each time. I pointed to a prunus niger tree nearby suggesting it as an example.
Now you learn something every day. Paul said he'd be sorry to see the prunus go because the leaves were a good food supply for the ring tailed possums which had drays in the Thujya nearby. We went and looked and saw a blackbird's nest as well. I said "Actually Paul this Thujya is probably to go eventually, as this area in front of the packing shed is zoned for open vista, meaning there will be low growing plantation. The Thuju grows very large and will block the vista."
He said he understood the need to have a longterm plan but before anything was removed, could I let him know so that if the possums were in that dray he'd move them gently to another dray before the tree removal. He said he was unconcerned about the blackbirds, they were an introduced English bird and should not be here at all. He regularly searched the park for their nests and destroyed them.
This struck me as a bit odd. If the blackbirds shouldn't be here because they aren't native, neither should the Japanese cedars, which provided nesting sites for butcher birds and others, the prunus, which give food to ring tails, and the thujyas, where the ringtails nest.
I told him this, and added that if you followed that logic through, he and I shouldn't be here either as our origins are European, and the impact of our population has been devastating to just about everything indigenous over 150 years.
He saw my point, and we agreed that it's very important to maintain wilderness areas without European species and to preserve large areas of native indigenous bush but this couldn't apply to the whole country if you wanted to house and feed 20 million people.
The humble blackbird plays a part in the whiteman's food chain, establishing itself along with us, in our gardens. It has a role to play eating grubs and insects and I'm sure has a beneficial role in the scheme of things. I know they are territorial but so is nearly everything. I'll keep feeding my brave little blackbirds.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Money Talks
Rain, sufficient today to prevent my morning walk for the first time in months, may well be tinkling on the iron roof, but it's the whispers from the betting markets that I'm hearing.
Last week I put $10 on Maxine McKew to rid the Australian parliament of you know who on election day, 24th November. The price at Lasseter's Sportsbook was $2.30 for a dollar, a bit lean I thought, but I like the lady's pluck, and this election promises to be the most interesting in a long time. So I win $13 if bold Maxine makes history. I liked her when she did Lateline, admiring her poise with political heavyweights. She's lost some personal appeal to me now she's a politician, but I still think she's a bit of alright.
The news bulletin this morning gave the results of a poll in Bennelong which indicated she was the preferred candidate on first preference, 48% to $47%, so I checked Lasseter's again and she'd drifted, surprisingly, to $2.40. I went to Centrebet, they have her at $2.60. I couldn't resist and put on another $10. So in total, so far, I'm risking $20, a chance to win $29. GO MAX BABY, I wish you well over the next three weeks and I'm trusting that your background journalistic professionalism will prevent gaffes, unlike nudenut Garrett.
I looked at the other NSW seats and according to the betting there are only three marginal or close- Centrebet has Page $1.83 Lib/$1.87 Labour, Paterson $1.50 Lib/ $2.40 Labour(hardly marginal) and Robertson $1.77 Labour/$1.95 Lib. Lasseter's has them Page $1.80/$1.90, Paterson $1.60/$2.20, and Robertson $1.80/$1.90. The other seats are shoe-ins if you believe the money.
In Victoria much the same applies. Our electorate, La Trobe, is the closest at $1.80 Lib/$1.90 Labour, then there's McMillan and Deakin both $1.72 Lib/$2.00 Labour, and Corangamite $1.65 Lib/$2.10 Labour. It's already over in every other seat if the market's got it right.
I haven't looked at the other states, but on the election result, the betting is Labour at $1.28 and the Coalition $3.50. Much can change in three weeks, the serpent pit is writhing, but that price is a compelling indicator that we may well have a change of government.
Should it happen I will be happy on election night to visit my friend Maria with a good bottle of red to drink in celebration. Maria, my writing teacher, has a strong interest in politics and a dislike for you know who and his politics. She has offered open house on election night. As I look out the window at the rain belting down I'm reminded of my wish, at the end of October, for a wet November. I'm sure Maria's wish for November would have been for the downfall of the Howard regime after 11 sad years during which social justice and much of what Australians were once proud has been degraded and diminished, while the rich and powerful and greedy have raked it in.
As for me, I'm for the Greens. Nature and the environment is my scene, for the good of us all, longterm. Raise taxes I say, especially at the higher income end, to protect the environment and help the needy. My second preference will go to Labour candidate Rodney Cocks. We need change and a new vision.
Aussies be brave!
Last week I put $10 on Maxine McKew to rid the Australian parliament of you know who on election day, 24th November. The price at Lasseter's Sportsbook was $2.30 for a dollar, a bit lean I thought, but I like the lady's pluck, and this election promises to be the most interesting in a long time. So I win $13 if bold Maxine makes history. I liked her when she did Lateline, admiring her poise with political heavyweights. She's lost some personal appeal to me now she's a politician, but I still think she's a bit of alright.
The news bulletin this morning gave the results of a poll in Bennelong which indicated she was the preferred candidate on first preference, 48% to $47%, so I checked Lasseter's again and she'd drifted, surprisingly, to $2.40. I went to Centrebet, they have her at $2.60. I couldn't resist and put on another $10. So in total, so far, I'm risking $20, a chance to win $29. GO MAX BABY, I wish you well over the next three weeks and I'm trusting that your background journalistic professionalism will prevent gaffes, unlike nudenut Garrett.
I looked at the other NSW seats and according to the betting there are only three marginal or close- Centrebet has Page $1.83 Lib/$1.87 Labour, Paterson $1.50 Lib/ $2.40 Labour(hardly marginal) and Robertson $1.77 Labour/$1.95 Lib. Lasseter's has them Page $1.80/$1.90, Paterson $1.60/$2.20, and Robertson $1.80/$1.90. The other seats are shoe-ins if you believe the money.
In Victoria much the same applies. Our electorate, La Trobe, is the closest at $1.80 Lib/$1.90 Labour, then there's McMillan and Deakin both $1.72 Lib/$2.00 Labour, and Corangamite $1.65 Lib/$2.10 Labour. It's already over in every other seat if the market's got it right.
I haven't looked at the other states, but on the election result, the betting is Labour at $1.28 and the Coalition $3.50. Much can change in three weeks, the serpent pit is writhing, but that price is a compelling indicator that we may well have a change of government.
Should it happen I will be happy on election night to visit my friend Maria with a good bottle of red to drink in celebration. Maria, my writing teacher, has a strong interest in politics and a dislike for you know who and his politics. She has offered open house on election night. As I look out the window at the rain belting down I'm reminded of my wish, at the end of October, for a wet November. I'm sure Maria's wish for November would have been for the downfall of the Howard regime after 11 sad years during which social justice and much of what Australians were once proud has been degraded and diminished, while the rich and powerful and greedy have raked it in.
As for me, I'm for the Greens. Nature and the environment is my scene, for the good of us all, longterm. Raise taxes I say, especially at the higher income end, to protect the environment and help the needy. My second preference will go to Labour candidate Rodney Cocks. We need change and a new vision.
Aussies be brave!
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Mary
October is nearly done and dusted. I didn't get my wish for a wet month. I've had some highlights though, notably-
1. Picking dogwood and philadelphus (mock orange). I'll expand on this another time.
2. Watching young Ella (niece Annie's 3yo daughter) run to Jod and leap into his arms. Again, this is worthy of a blog post on its own another time.
3. Seeing the beech trees come into new leaf.
4. Calling on Mary yesterday and having coffee with her.
I had a phone call Sunday morning from Blossom, who'd had a call from Mary. Mary told Blossom that she hadn't seen me for ages and she missed me and she wondered if I was alright, and also that she had a friend who wanted to buy some honey. I told Blossom to tell Mary I'd call on her tomorrow, yesterday. Mary has never rung me direct. I don't know why.
Mary lives in Emerald. I have known her for some 15-20 years and I call on her every 3 months or so and give her a pot of honey. I first met her when I was picking rosemary in the front yard of a house in Kings Rd. A little lady walking down the footpath stopped to ask me what I was doing. She was dressed in black and wore a head scarf pulled tight over silver hair and spoke softly with a European accent. She explained that she used to pick rosemary where it protruded through the fence as she went past, but she didn't need to now, as she planted a cutting in her garden and now she had her own. I was welcome to come and pick some at her place if I wanted to, she said.
I next met Mary at Blossom's place. Mary was of Polish origin and both ladies had been married to Polish men. They were friends who supported each other over many years, a friendship forged by the harsh bond of having alcholic husbands. Mary was a widow, having escaped her violent husband some years earlier and hiding through winter in another friend's garage. Blossom's ex husband also died and she moved away but the two ladies, despite numerous grave health difficulties over the years, support of each other in spirit by phone.
The coffee was strong yesterday and the mug filled to the brim. A plate of ginger biscuits and two slices of almond bread was put in front of me and Mary talked, glad to have company. I gave her two jars of honey and, having more in the van, asked her who it was that wanted to buy honey. She said a Polish name, adding that there was not really an English equivalent, but it was like 'Joanee'.
I asked where 'Joanee' lived and Mary said Altona, and that she comes up to visit a couple of times a year.
"How do you know 'Joanee'?"
"She was on the boat from Germany with me in 1949. She's Polish also but we'd been in Germany for nearly ten years after being sent there to work in 1940. I was fifteen. It was no good going home to Poland after the war. Many who went back were packed straight on to trains and sent to Siberia."
As soon as I'd drunk the coffee my mug was refilled and Mary continued. I knew most of her story. She was sent initially with her three year old daughter to Bonegilla migrant camp and then Maribynong migrant hostel where she met her husband who was to father her other four children. Her eldest son, Joseph, followed in the footsteps of his father, also becoming alcoholic. Much to Mary's misfortune, after the father died the son came to live with her, which inflicted on her more than another decade of abuse. He drank himself to death two years ago. He was the same age as me, and a strikingly handsome young man studying phsycolgy at Monash when we first moved to Emerald. He took sister Meredith on dates a couple of times.
Mary showed me photos of Joey's grave in Macclesfield cemetery. The headstone was made by a family friend who worked at a stonemason's in Darwin. He grew up playing with Joey in Sunshine and was a lifelong friend. He too had a problem with alcohol but beat it, and he often asked Joe to come to Darwin and stop drinking, offering to help him beat it. When he heard Joe died he made the headstone and came with it all the way from Darwin at no cost to Mary.
I asked Mary once did she mind me calling her Mary when everyone else called her Maria (Blossom introduced her to me as Mary). She said no she didn't mind at all. She liked it. The father of her first child in Germany called her Mary, she said, and I reminded her of him. He was to marry her but his wife, thought dead, reappeared.
Mary found a photo to show me of herself and her daughter taken in 1950 not long after arriving in Australia. A photo of a pretty young lady with a ready warm smile, the same smile that still comes so easily. I'll visit her again soon.
Oh for a wet November!
1. Picking dogwood and philadelphus (mock orange). I'll expand on this another time.
2. Watching young Ella (niece Annie's 3yo daughter) run to Jod and leap into his arms. Again, this is worthy of a blog post on its own another time.
3. Seeing the beech trees come into new leaf.
4. Calling on Mary yesterday and having coffee with her.
I had a phone call Sunday morning from Blossom, who'd had a call from Mary. Mary told Blossom that she hadn't seen me for ages and she missed me and she wondered if I was alright, and also that she had a friend who wanted to buy some honey. I told Blossom to tell Mary I'd call on her tomorrow, yesterday. Mary has never rung me direct. I don't know why.
Mary lives in Emerald. I have known her for some 15-20 years and I call on her every 3 months or so and give her a pot of honey. I first met her when I was picking rosemary in the front yard of a house in Kings Rd. A little lady walking down the footpath stopped to ask me what I was doing. She was dressed in black and wore a head scarf pulled tight over silver hair and spoke softly with a European accent. She explained that she used to pick rosemary where it protruded through the fence as she went past, but she didn't need to now, as she planted a cutting in her garden and now she had her own. I was welcome to come and pick some at her place if I wanted to, she said.
I next met Mary at Blossom's place. Mary was of Polish origin and both ladies had been married to Polish men. They were friends who supported each other over many years, a friendship forged by the harsh bond of having alcholic husbands. Mary was a widow, having escaped her violent husband some years earlier and hiding through winter in another friend's garage. Blossom's ex husband also died and she moved away but the two ladies, despite numerous grave health difficulties over the years, support of each other in spirit by phone.
The coffee was strong yesterday and the mug filled to the brim. A plate of ginger biscuits and two slices of almond bread was put in front of me and Mary talked, glad to have company. I gave her two jars of honey and, having more in the van, asked her who it was that wanted to buy honey. She said a Polish name, adding that there was not really an English equivalent, but it was like 'Joanee'.
I asked where 'Joanee' lived and Mary said Altona, and that she comes up to visit a couple of times a year.
"How do you know 'Joanee'?"
"She was on the boat from Germany with me in 1949. She's Polish also but we'd been in Germany for nearly ten years after being sent there to work in 1940. I was fifteen. It was no good going home to Poland after the war. Many who went back were packed straight on to trains and sent to Siberia."
As soon as I'd drunk the coffee my mug was refilled and Mary continued. I knew most of her story. She was sent initially with her three year old daughter to Bonegilla migrant camp and then Maribynong migrant hostel where she met her husband who was to father her other four children. Her eldest son, Joseph, followed in the footsteps of his father, also becoming alcoholic. Much to Mary's misfortune, after the father died the son came to live with her, which inflicted on her more than another decade of abuse. He drank himself to death two years ago. He was the same age as me, and a strikingly handsome young man studying phsycolgy at Monash when we first moved to Emerald. He took sister Meredith on dates a couple of times.
Mary showed me photos of Joey's grave in Macclesfield cemetery. The headstone was made by a family friend who worked at a stonemason's in Darwin. He grew up playing with Joey in Sunshine and was a lifelong friend. He too had a problem with alcohol but beat it, and he often asked Joe to come to Darwin and stop drinking, offering to help him beat it. When he heard Joe died he made the headstone and came with it all the way from Darwin at no cost to Mary.
I asked Mary once did she mind me calling her Mary when everyone else called her Maria (Blossom introduced her to me as Mary). She said no she didn't mind at all. She liked it. The father of her first child in Germany called her Mary, she said, and I reminded her of him. He was to marry her but his wife, thought dead, reappeared.
Mary found a photo to show me of herself and her daughter taken in 1950 not long after arriving in Australia. A photo of a pretty young lady with a ready warm smile, the same smile that still comes so easily. I'll visit her again soon.
Oh for a wet November!
Monday, October 08, 2007
Kids Fun Run with 'Thomas' (Get 'em Young)
When I reached J.A.C. Russell Park at 7.00am on my walk yesterday, Sunday, there was a hive of activity in progress. Barrier signs 'Road Closed' were placed across Inness Rd. and vehicles were unloading equipment such as an inflatable jumping castle and market stall tents.
The whole scene made me comment to Merle, who works for Puffing Billy, "I'll have to stay out of town today to avoid this lot."
"Why don't you come up about ten o'clock," countered Merle, "the kids love it, they have a great time." I walked off saying I had a lot to do but would see how I go, but had no intention of going anywhere near it.
Around the corner I met Norm Smith, as I often do, and I said to Norm, "Listen mate, am I getting to be a grumpy old stick in the mud, or am I right to be annoyed by this fun run hoo ha?"
Norm is not a big Puffing Billy fan, but he replied thoughtfully, "Oh Well, I suppose it's a bit of fun for the kids and brings a bit of business to the take away food shops and the pub."
This morning on my walk, with the benefit of a day to think about it, when I got to J.A.C. Russell Park there was a row of garbage bins lined up ready to be picked up and litter on the ground around them. I picked some up on my way past, including a number, dozens, of tickets printed 'Action Events Admit one'. On the back of the ticket in bold print, were the words, YOU ARE HERE AT YOUR OWN RISK. THE ORGANISERS ACCEPT NO RESPOSIBILITY FOR PERSONAL INURY OR PROPERTY DAMAGE.
Well, well, I thought, nice to see the organisers observing legalities.
I met Merle again and greeted her with the comment, "There's a lot more litter for me to pick up this morning Merle." As I spoke I was pouring coke, from a Coca-Cola bottle I'd picked up, into the garden adjacent to the station.
"Did you come up and watch?"
"No Merle, it's not my scene. I'm trying to get my head around it. I'm going home now to write down my feelings, while it's fresh."
"At least it gets the kids exercising," she came back.
So this is for Merle. It's not my habit to tip a bucket on do gooders like the Rotary Club, especially when 'proceeds are going to provide specialist medical equipment to Monash kids to help change the lives of some very special children', but I'm sticking to my guns.
I looked at the fun run website. Six fun runs, two for children 2 years and under, the other four graduating upwards in age to 9-12 year olds. The website showed scores of children with numbers across their chests running between plastic tape like sheep in a race, excited by a steam engine done up to look like the farcical British TV cartoon character and swooped on by by Puffing Billy for commercial promotion. Every fun run entrant, (entrance fee $15) receives a 'show bag' containing lollies and other 'goodies'.
If we need to do this to get kids exercise then something is terribly wrong. This is training children to behave herdlike. We are at risk of turning into a nation of idiots, that feeds unceasingly on big 'events' and entertainment.
As it said on the ticket, YOU ARE HERE AT YOUR OWN RISK!
The whole scene made me comment to Merle, who works for Puffing Billy, "I'll have to stay out of town today to avoid this lot."
"Why don't you come up about ten o'clock," countered Merle, "the kids love it, they have a great time." I walked off saying I had a lot to do but would see how I go, but had no intention of going anywhere near it.
Around the corner I met Norm Smith, as I often do, and I said to Norm, "Listen mate, am I getting to be a grumpy old stick in the mud, or am I right to be annoyed by this fun run hoo ha?"
Norm is not a big Puffing Billy fan, but he replied thoughtfully, "Oh Well, I suppose it's a bit of fun for the kids and brings a bit of business to the take away food shops and the pub."
This morning on my walk, with the benefit of a day to think about it, when I got to J.A.C. Russell Park there was a row of garbage bins lined up ready to be picked up and litter on the ground around them. I picked some up on my way past, including a number, dozens, of tickets printed 'Action Events Admit one'. On the back of the ticket in bold print, were the words, YOU ARE HERE AT YOUR OWN RISK. THE ORGANISERS ACCEPT NO RESPOSIBILITY FOR PERSONAL INURY OR PROPERTY DAMAGE.
Well, well, I thought, nice to see the organisers observing legalities.
I met Merle again and greeted her with the comment, "There's a lot more litter for me to pick up this morning Merle." As I spoke I was pouring coke, from a Coca-Cola bottle I'd picked up, into the garden adjacent to the station.
"Did you come up and watch?"
"No Merle, it's not my scene. I'm trying to get my head around it. I'm going home now to write down my feelings, while it's fresh."
"At least it gets the kids exercising," she came back.
So this is for Merle. It's not my habit to tip a bucket on do gooders like the Rotary Club, especially when 'proceeds are going to provide specialist medical equipment to Monash kids to help change the lives of some very special children', but I'm sticking to my guns.
I looked at the fun run website. Six fun runs, two for children 2 years and under, the other four graduating upwards in age to 9-12 year olds. The website showed scores of children with numbers across their chests running between plastic tape like sheep in a race, excited by a steam engine done up to look like the farcical British TV cartoon character and swooped on by by Puffing Billy for commercial promotion. Every fun run entrant, (entrance fee $15) receives a 'show bag' containing lollies and other 'goodies'.
If we need to do this to get kids exercise then something is terribly wrong. This is training children to behave herdlike. We are at risk of turning into a nation of idiots, that feeds unceasingly on big 'events' and entertainment.
As it said on the ticket, YOU ARE HERE AT YOUR OWN RISK!
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Exochorda or Pearlbush
A couple of weeks ago I blogged about the brilliant yellow flowering forsythia. I would also have mentioned the pearlbush or exochorda which was also flowering at the same time, and still is, but I couldn't remember its name so I didn't mention it. I asked Laurie Begg, who gave me the plant in the first place.
Our house faces the northeast, on a gentle slope, and the forsythia is at the east end, say at about one o'clock from the corner, and the pearl bush at the other end, say at eleven o'clock from that corner. Just as I'd never seen the forsythia so spectacular, the same has to be said for the pearlbush. It's been a 10ft. ball of white for weeks. I remember cutting it back hard, to about 5 feet high, February before last. The flowers are on the new growth since, all the way along the 5 feet or so which has grown from the old wood in every direction, creating a spherical effect. I'll cut it back hard again soon, now it's almost finished flowering, and wait expectantly for a repeat show next spring.
Prior to this spring I had little regard for it, thinking it was in the way, a vigorous grower needing pruning, with flowers not keeping in water, so no good as a cut flower. I've changed my opinion, it's well worth the space, and the pruning, just for it's show. I looked it up in the book. It's a native of China, as is the forsythia. So many of our ornamental plants originate from China.
Our house faces the northeast, on a gentle slope, and the forsythia is at the east end, say at about one o'clock from the corner, and the pearl bush at the other end, say at eleven o'clock from that corner. Just as I'd never seen the forsythia so spectacular, the same has to be said for the pearlbush. It's been a 10ft. ball of white for weeks. I remember cutting it back hard, to about 5 feet high, February before last. The flowers are on the new growth since, all the way along the 5 feet or so which has grown from the old wood in every direction, creating a spherical effect. I'll cut it back hard again soon, now it's almost finished flowering, and wait expectantly for a repeat show next spring.
Prior to this spring I had little regard for it, thinking it was in the way, a vigorous grower needing pruning, with flowers not keeping in water, so no good as a cut flower. I've changed my opinion, it's well worth the space, and the pruning, just for it's show. I looked it up in the book. It's a native of China, as is the forsythia. So many of our ornamental plants originate from China.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Cantaloupe
I bought a cantaloupe yesterday at the fruit shop, first one for months. They became too expensive for me during winter, reaching $7 or $8 each. I noticed they were $4.99 yesterday so I took one home as a special treat. I cut it up after my walk today and ate a good whack of it chopped up on my muesli. Man it was good! I store the rest of it in the fridge in a large snap tight plastic container and it will last me 4/5 days. Soon, as the weather warms and the season progresses they'll be cheaper and I'll eat cantaloupe everyday. I love it.
My cantaloupe habit began in 2005. On our way to Peru we stopped in Santiago Chile for two days and one night. We stayed at the Fundador Hotel in the city centre and breakfast was an extravagant buffet style with any amount of fresh fruit. The same applied throughout Peru, breakfast included loads of fruit and cantaloupe was my favourite. When we came home it was cheap in the fruit shops and eating it at breakfast reminded me of our wonderful trip. Still does.
My cantaloupe habit began in 2005. On our way to Peru we stopped in Santiago Chile for two days and one night. We stayed at the Fundador Hotel in the city centre and breakfast was an extravagant buffet style with any amount of fresh fruit. The same applied throughout Peru, breakfast included loads of fruit and cantaloupe was my favourite. When we came home it was cheap in the fruit shops and eating it at breakfast reminded me of our wonderful trip. Still does.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Allan and Shirley Home
My friends Allan and Shirley returned after 3 months in Queensland last week. They go up most winters, staying with their daughter who owns a florist shop at Noosa. I've mowed their lawn at Avonsleigh for years and do odd gardening jobs eg. cutting back and pruning.
There was quite a bit of work to do this winter. They wanted a number of large rhododendrons in the front garden and a golden cypress in the the back reduced as well as the usual maintenance, so when it was done they owed me a tidy sum. An hour here and there adds up over three months.
Almost every time they go there's a drama of one sort or another, usually involving Allan's health. The only winter since I met them that they haven't gone up there was a few years ago when Allan was recovering from a brain tumour operation. The Queensland sojourns are plagued by heart attacks, respiratory infections, and other buckshees, the particulars of which escape my recollection.
On the weekend they were due to return, by train, as for two years Allan's doctors have said that flying is too risky for him, he rang me from Noosa to explain they'd be delayed about a week. This time Shirley had gotten sick with a chest infection three days after they arrived. It turned into pnuemonia, she spent several weeks in hospital where her heart gave complications so the whole trip was dominated, again, by medical drama. Shirley was not well enough to travel home by train so another daughter flew to Qld. and drove them home in a hire car.
After mowing the grass last Thursday afternoon I enjoyed a couple of glasses of red wine with Allan and Shirley as they ran through the whole story. We all agreed that Queensland is that sort of place, a land of extremes of climate and where drama and surprise is always close. Expect the unexpected.
Allan then said that when he first came to Australia in 1949 as migrant from England he landed first in Brisbane and stayed at the migrant hostel at Kangaroo Point under the Storey Bridge. He walked the streets looking for work and after a period of no success he landed two in one day. He took one as a stores clerk with the Queensland British Food Company because they offered to fly him to Rockhamton and, being an ex RAF man during WW2, a plane trip appealed to him. He spent most of the war attached to Australian units in England and Scotland and therefore had many Australian mates, which is why he chose to migrate to Australia. He was an armourer, which meant his job was to make sure the machine guns and amunition were in good order before the planes took off.
The Qld. British Food Co. was a joint government venture set up to provide food to help end the post war shortage in Britain. Allan worked at a large farm at Peak Downs where they were growing 96,000 acres of sorghum in the rich black central Qld. soil. Thirty tractors worked together to plant the crop which was to be fodder for pigs on another farm. As bad luck would have it, a big frost burnt much of the crop, then shortly after it rained solidly for a week, the first rain Allan had seen in months. The crop turned black, ruined.
Allan could not stand the humidity for one more day and took off, heading south to stay with a mate in Melbourne. The rest I know. In short, he went to Lorne for a brief holiday before looking for work and walked into the Pier hotel where he met Shirley, who was on holiday with two of her nursing friends. He worked for some years as a cost clerk with a fuel company before starting with BP where he progressed to area marketing manager, working in rural Victoria till retirement, which led him to Avonsleigh after a twelve month world trip.
He's 85 now. Despite his health troubles over the years he's sharp mentally, a great conversationalist. The 'gift of the gab', stood him in good stead throughout his working life. It's something he acquired in the RAF, he says, where he needed to relate to people from all walks of life.
I look forward to mowing the lawn and enjoying the odd glass of red through the season.
There was quite a bit of work to do this winter. They wanted a number of large rhododendrons in the front garden and a golden cypress in the the back reduced as well as the usual maintenance, so when it was done they owed me a tidy sum. An hour here and there adds up over three months.
Almost every time they go there's a drama of one sort or another, usually involving Allan's health. The only winter since I met them that they haven't gone up there was a few years ago when Allan was recovering from a brain tumour operation. The Queensland sojourns are plagued by heart attacks, respiratory infections, and other buckshees, the particulars of which escape my recollection.
On the weekend they were due to return, by train, as for two years Allan's doctors have said that flying is too risky for him, he rang me from Noosa to explain they'd be delayed about a week. This time Shirley had gotten sick with a chest infection three days after they arrived. It turned into pnuemonia, she spent several weeks in hospital where her heart gave complications so the whole trip was dominated, again, by medical drama. Shirley was not well enough to travel home by train so another daughter flew to Qld. and drove them home in a hire car.
After mowing the grass last Thursday afternoon I enjoyed a couple of glasses of red wine with Allan and Shirley as they ran through the whole story. We all agreed that Queensland is that sort of place, a land of extremes of climate and where drama and surprise is always close. Expect the unexpected.
Allan then said that when he first came to Australia in 1949 as migrant from England he landed first in Brisbane and stayed at the migrant hostel at Kangaroo Point under the Storey Bridge. He walked the streets looking for work and after a period of no success he landed two in one day. He took one as a stores clerk with the Queensland British Food Company because they offered to fly him to Rockhamton and, being an ex RAF man during WW2, a plane trip appealed to him. He spent most of the war attached to Australian units in England and Scotland and therefore had many Australian mates, which is why he chose to migrate to Australia. He was an armourer, which meant his job was to make sure the machine guns and amunition were in good order before the planes took off.
The Qld. British Food Co. was a joint government venture set up to provide food to help end the post war shortage in Britain. Allan worked at a large farm at Peak Downs where they were growing 96,000 acres of sorghum in the rich black central Qld. soil. Thirty tractors worked together to plant the crop which was to be fodder for pigs on another farm. As bad luck would have it, a big frost burnt much of the crop, then shortly after it rained solidly for a week, the first rain Allan had seen in months. The crop turned black, ruined.
Allan could not stand the humidity for one more day and took off, heading south to stay with a mate in Melbourne. The rest I know. In short, he went to Lorne for a brief holiday before looking for work and walked into the Pier hotel where he met Shirley, who was on holiday with two of her nursing friends. He worked for some years as a cost clerk with a fuel company before starting with BP where he progressed to area marketing manager, working in rural Victoria till retirement, which led him to Avonsleigh after a twelve month world trip.
He's 85 now. Despite his health troubles over the years he's sharp mentally, a great conversationalist. The 'gift of the gab', stood him in good stead throughout his working life. It's something he acquired in the RAF, he says, where he needed to relate to people from all walks of life.
I look forward to mowing the lawn and enjoying the odd glass of red through the season.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
I Wish
Three times only this September I've walked early in light rain. With 26 days done it's looking unlikely there'll be more, although the forecast is for showers over the next few days. Often when they say that it doesn't happen. The rain we did have was most welcome after a drier than usual August but it was light rain only. I think about 30 ml for the month so far, if that. We haven't had the heavy spring rain we need. Oh, for a wet October.
Despite the dry, gardens are blooming marvellous. Cherrys are in flower and apples are breaking. Oaks are getting new leaves, as are liquid ambers, elms are flowering thier lovely pale green, pines have their soft light finger shoots. The spud farmers are out rotary hoeing their recently poughed paddocks. If your view of the world was restricted to my walk, without regard to the water levels of the reservoirs or the plight of croppers and irrigators in places less fortunate, you'd think we lived in a lush green paradise.
But if rain doesn't come soon, we're in for a long, horrible summer, with dwindling water supplies to keep new plantings alive. This is scary. Lib's sister Pat rang from Bendigo on the weekend and said it's like a desert there. Many farmers are going to the wall after good autumn rains gave hope and optimism.
Oh, for a wet October.
Despite the dry, gardens are blooming marvellous. Cherrys are in flower and apples are breaking. Oaks are getting new leaves, as are liquid ambers, elms are flowering thier lovely pale green, pines have their soft light finger shoots. The spud farmers are out rotary hoeing their recently poughed paddocks. If your view of the world was restricted to my walk, without regard to the water levels of the reservoirs or the plight of croppers and irrigators in places less fortunate, you'd think we lived in a lush green paradise.
But if rain doesn't come soon, we're in for a long, horrible summer, with dwindling water supplies to keep new plantings alive. This is scary. Lib's sister Pat rang from Bendigo on the weekend and said it's like a desert there. Many farmers are going to the wall after good autumn rains gave hope and optimism.
Oh, for a wet October.
Monday, September 24, 2007
September Action
I've never seen the forsythia flower so brilliantly. A blaze of bright yellow, 8 feet high and the same across, it has lit up the garden for the last 3 weeks. Spectacular. It's the one with the larger flower, that flowers after the smaller flowered type, and holds back longer shooting leaves. We first acquired it taking cuttings from a plant at 'Blossoms' old place in Emerald. Good old 'Bloss' knew her ecka.
And I don't think I've ever seen the camellias flower so abundantly. It really has been a wonderful spring show. The stachyurus and the magnolias were magnificent. The air is now filled with the scent of sweet pittosporum blossom and the buds on the dogwoods and lilacs are swelling. They're heavily budded and I anticipate another great show, one of the early white dogwoods is already showing.
I had a look at the bees on Saturday. They were doing well, good strong doubles full of bees and hatching brood, drones included. Given that drones take 24 days to hatch from the laying of the egg, the queens must have thought things were shaping up well during that burst of warm sunny weather in the second half of August. I put a third box on each to give them more room.
Yesterday I was busy cutting back the lemon and lime trees, and I cut out the grapefruit altogether. One fruit in all these years and nothing last year isn't good enough. I planted a group of 11 daphnes where they'll get morning sun and afternoon shade and mowed most of the grass.
As for the footy, next Saturday Geelong and Port Adelaide will slug it out for premierhip glory. It's all the talk. Geelong are strong favourites. Tonight it's Brownlow Medal night. Lib asked me to put $20 on Port's Chad Cornes which I did on the computer (I have an account with Lasseter's Sports and also Centrebet) at 7 to 1 so I'm hoping he wins.
Silvan beat Woori Yallock in the grand final of the local footy and I also notice the Wangaratta Magpies beat Nth. Albury, to take out it's first OM flag since 1976. I watched that game at the Wang showgrounds 31 years ago, when I lived there. Twinkle toed captain Des Steele danced his way up and down the ground at his ballerina best as they triumphed over arch rivals Wang Rovers.
And I don't think I've ever seen the camellias flower so abundantly. It really has been a wonderful spring show. The stachyurus and the magnolias were magnificent. The air is now filled with the scent of sweet pittosporum blossom and the buds on the dogwoods and lilacs are swelling. They're heavily budded and I anticipate another great show, one of the early white dogwoods is already showing.
I had a look at the bees on Saturday. They were doing well, good strong doubles full of bees and hatching brood, drones included. Given that drones take 24 days to hatch from the laying of the egg, the queens must have thought things were shaping up well during that burst of warm sunny weather in the second half of August. I put a third box on each to give them more room.
Yesterday I was busy cutting back the lemon and lime trees, and I cut out the grapefruit altogether. One fruit in all these years and nothing last year isn't good enough. I planted a group of 11 daphnes where they'll get morning sun and afternoon shade and mowed most of the grass.
As for the footy, next Saturday Geelong and Port Adelaide will slug it out for premierhip glory. It's all the talk. Geelong are strong favourites. Tonight it's Brownlow Medal night. Lib asked me to put $20 on Port's Chad Cornes which I did on the computer (I have an account with Lasseter's Sports and also Centrebet) at 7 to 1 so I'm hoping he wins.
Silvan beat Woori Yallock in the grand final of the local footy and I also notice the Wangaratta Magpies beat Nth. Albury, to take out it's first OM flag since 1976. I watched that game at the Wang showgrounds 31 years ago, when I lived there. Twinkle toed captain Des Steele danced his way up and down the ground at his ballerina best as they triumphed over arch rivals Wang Rovers.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
When I Woke Up This Morning
I woke at 6.00 am, becoming aware my hand was on my penis. A male thing, I guess. It was reassuringly warm and plumpish. That first ever 'limp experience' recently was nothing to worry about, surely. I thought of September 35 years ago, at Puckapunyal, in the first weeks of national service training, where at 0530 some oafish buffoon NCO would come stomping through the hut, polished boots cracking on polished linoleum, yelling "PARADE 8, PARADE 8, HANDS OFF THE COCKS AND ON WITH THE SOCKS." It was freezing most mornings, the night seeming to have disappeared in two seconds. A wattlebird annoyed one recruit, waking him every morning with raucous 'chokking' outside his window, well before reveille. A flowering callistomen drew the bird to that spot each dawn.
I could hear the dogs playing on the lawn. Old 'Snowie' and young 'Pippa' get on well now and start early, romping around on the back lawn behind our bedroom window. It was the play growl I could hear, they running up and down competing to bite each other on the neck. Through this noise Mr. and Mrs. Whippy called to each other. Yes, our eastern whipbirds are back, not seen yet this season but heard daily, loud and clear. It's a wonderful sound on a Sunday morning, when you don't have to get up immediately. I lay snug and warm listening to the whipbirds, the wattlebirds, bellbirds, currawongs, magpies, blackbirds, and others I could not distinguish that made up the full concert.
On my walk I saw Harry talking to another man near the top of the hill on the main road. I hadn't seen him for a couple of weeks, and being Sunday I knew he was on his way back from the cemetery, where he visits his son's grave. His son died in a truck accident some 20 years ago. As he broke from talking to the other man and started walking towards me I could tell all wasn't well with him as his gait was slow and restricted.
He greeted me warmly, and I asked him how did the funeral go. Last time we spoke he told me a friend's wife had died of leukemia. He said it was sad, and added that he went to another funeral last week, that of Lettie from Station Rd. He said that was Heinz he was talking to just now, Lettie's husband. The first funeral was for a wife of one of Harry's 'Club 52', which is the group that has met regularly over 55 years, having migrated to Australia by ship in 1952. Of the 30 or so men originally in the club, seventeen have died, 3 are widowers, and there are 8 widows who attend. "There are a lot of funerals these days", he said.
Lettie and Heinz were not members of Club 52 but Harry knew them well. Lettie had bone cancer for 13 years and was the Peter McCallum clinic's longest serving patient. She regularly had chemo to keep the cancer under control but the treatment caused a blood clot in her stomach and despite an operation, she died.
A cold breeze was blowing, Harry said he'd better keep moving, he had a crook back, which explained his stilted walking. As we parted I said how good it was lying in this morning listening to the birds. Harry said he listened to them too and he loves to hear them when he wakes.
I could hear the dogs playing on the lawn. Old 'Snowie' and young 'Pippa' get on well now and start early, romping around on the back lawn behind our bedroom window. It was the play growl I could hear, they running up and down competing to bite each other on the neck. Through this noise Mr. and Mrs. Whippy called to each other. Yes, our eastern whipbirds are back, not seen yet this season but heard daily, loud and clear. It's a wonderful sound on a Sunday morning, when you don't have to get up immediately. I lay snug and warm listening to the whipbirds, the wattlebirds, bellbirds, currawongs, magpies, blackbirds, and others I could not distinguish that made up the full concert.
On my walk I saw Harry talking to another man near the top of the hill on the main road. I hadn't seen him for a couple of weeks, and being Sunday I knew he was on his way back from the cemetery, where he visits his son's grave. His son died in a truck accident some 20 years ago. As he broke from talking to the other man and started walking towards me I could tell all wasn't well with him as his gait was slow and restricted.
He greeted me warmly, and I asked him how did the funeral go. Last time we spoke he told me a friend's wife had died of leukemia. He said it was sad, and added that he went to another funeral last week, that of Lettie from Station Rd. He said that was Heinz he was talking to just now, Lettie's husband. The first funeral was for a wife of one of Harry's 'Club 52', which is the group that has met regularly over 55 years, having migrated to Australia by ship in 1952. Of the 30 or so men originally in the club, seventeen have died, 3 are widowers, and there are 8 widows who attend. "There are a lot of funerals these days", he said.
Lettie and Heinz were not members of Club 52 but Harry knew them well. Lettie had bone cancer for 13 years and was the Peter McCallum clinic's longest serving patient. She regularly had chemo to keep the cancer under control but the treatment caused a blood clot in her stomach and despite an operation, she died.
A cold breeze was blowing, Harry said he'd better keep moving, he had a crook back, which explained his stilted walking. As we parted I said how good it was lying in this morning listening to the birds. Harry said he listened to them too and he loves to hear them when he wakes.
Monday, September 03, 2007
What a Week!
It started badly last Monday morning. I noticed my neighbours' burning heap still smouldering as I went for my walk. They'd burnt off on the weekend on the burnsite on Bond's lane, taking advantage of the dry weather. It'd been a good burn, with just an old stump now flickering flame with a gust of wind. There was plenty of heat still in the ashes so I decided to drag my prunings from the fruit trees onto it after breakfast.
This done I went off to pick camellia bunches at Keith's and Huite's and returned before lunch to stoke the fire, that is, throw in sticks that fall outside the fire into the middle. Somehow while doing this a sharp stick burning at one end must have caught as I was throwing in an armful. The hot end stabbed me in the soft inner part of the right upper arm, below the bicep. Painful? Yes.
After lunch the bee stung me in the left eyebrow so the rest of the day was less than comfortable as I worked cutting laurel from the top of Steve's hedge, straining feet and lower legs balancing on the ladder, and hands, upper arms and shoulders reaching and twisting to bring the prunings down with the pole cutters. It was warm and windy, I forgot to take a drink and soon had a fierce thirst. I was buggered by the end of the day. It was in the bath later that my eye swelled up as a reaction to the bee sting.
Tuesday morning I was OK, if not full bottle. It was picking at Huite's again that I first didn't feel well. He was following me around, talking, and annoying me without meaning to. I had no energy. Huite suggested I look at his plum tree which was about to flower and his pieris bush at the back of the shed. I kept polite, despite wanting only to get out of there, and pushed on and picked the plum blossom and the pieris. It was a tough couple of hours. The rest of the day was the same, I dragged myself through at slow pace.
The nature of my ill feeling revealed itself that night. Gastric flu. I was sore all over and crook in the guts. Most of Wednesday I spent in bed, till I had to get up to meet the bloke the council was providing to help me the next day. Thursday was the big tree planting day in Nobelius Park. There were many hiccups. Some trees delivered were the wrong trees, some meant to be delivered at 1.00pm came at three, my helper had to leave before three so it was a long hard day. All the while the wind blew angrily, and being so dry lately made watering important. Friday I felt much better but crashed again in the evening and was crook in bed again Saturday. Sunday things picked up and I did some mowing.
Noone else in the house had the gastric flu. I'm suspicious that the bee sting had some influence. Perhaps all my antibodies went to fight the bee sting, leaving me vulnerable to the other thing. It's nice to be recovered now, and reflect that the week from hell I endured was better than being stung in the chest by a stingray barb. Steve Irwin died a year ago.
This done I went off to pick camellia bunches at Keith's and Huite's and returned before lunch to stoke the fire, that is, throw in sticks that fall outside the fire into the middle. Somehow while doing this a sharp stick burning at one end must have caught as I was throwing in an armful. The hot end stabbed me in the soft inner part of the right upper arm, below the bicep. Painful? Yes.
After lunch the bee stung me in the left eyebrow so the rest of the day was less than comfortable as I worked cutting laurel from the top of Steve's hedge, straining feet and lower legs balancing on the ladder, and hands, upper arms and shoulders reaching and twisting to bring the prunings down with the pole cutters. It was warm and windy, I forgot to take a drink and soon had a fierce thirst. I was buggered by the end of the day. It was in the bath later that my eye swelled up as a reaction to the bee sting.
Tuesday morning I was OK, if not full bottle. It was picking at Huite's again that I first didn't feel well. He was following me around, talking, and annoying me without meaning to. I had no energy. Huite suggested I look at his plum tree which was about to flower and his pieris bush at the back of the shed. I kept polite, despite wanting only to get out of there, and pushed on and picked the plum blossom and the pieris. It was a tough couple of hours. The rest of the day was the same, I dragged myself through at slow pace.
The nature of my ill feeling revealed itself that night. Gastric flu. I was sore all over and crook in the guts. Most of Wednesday I spent in bed, till I had to get up to meet the bloke the council was providing to help me the next day. Thursday was the big tree planting day in Nobelius Park. There were many hiccups. Some trees delivered were the wrong trees, some meant to be delivered at 1.00pm came at three, my helper had to leave before three so it was a long hard day. All the while the wind blew angrily, and being so dry lately made watering important. Friday I felt much better but crashed again in the evening and was crook in bed again Saturday. Sunday things picked up and I did some mowing.
Noone else in the house had the gastric flu. I'm suspicious that the bee sting had some influence. Perhaps all my antibodies went to fight the bee sting, leaving me vulnerable to the other thing. It's nice to be recovered now, and reflect that the week from hell I endured was better than being stung in the chest by a stingray barb. Steve Irwin died a year ago.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
The Spring Surge
As 'August Mine' sinks to 'August Lost', my winter life boat succumbs to the unstoppable spring ocean.
Good wife Elizabeth, if not puritanical and angelical-she smokes, drinks, and is prone to occasional outbursts of strong cursing-is a wholesome, well intentioned woman dedicated to the nutrition and wellbeing of her husband and sons, and the bringing of peace and dignity to the last days of the geriatric residents at Salibury House.
In a serious error of judgement, Elizabeth brought home an 8 week old Jack Russell pup on August 2, despite my counsel not to do so. I do forgive her. She is headstrong at times. I accept that we're all the product of a rich confusion of genes conflated by the passions of our parents. Molly and Bill in Lib's case, and it must have been late in 1955. We recently celebrated Lib's 51st birthday on the 22nd.
I simply don't have time to describe the household mayhem that baby dog 'Pippa' has wrought. She has grown miraculously in three weeks, doubling in size. If she develops a brain, over time, I may well have a new challenge- to take two dogs on my walk. For now, I lock her in the laundry with a fresh bone and make my escape.
The magpies warble before dawn, a joyous song. The hillsides, valleys and roadsides are splashed with the yellow of wattle blossom and puffs of pink and white prunus. Shocks of red and pink camellia and rhodie blooms bring gardens to life, teeming with nectar seeking wattlebirds and spinebills .
It's impressive, the baton change from winter to spring. It takes some adjustment. By mid morning I'm taking off my shirt and removing the T-shirt I'm still in the habit of donning first thing. And, out of the habit of taking a drink bottle, I develop a thirst along the way.
It's a bit of a shock after the cold of winter, as was the sting I copped yesterday. I was picking foliage at home for my mixed bunches and noticed the bees flying heavily in the 25C sun. There were dead bees at the entrance to the hive, which is not unusual at the end of winter as the bees are mostly old overwintered adults nearing the end of their lifespan. I bent over to have a closer sticky beak, not wearing my glasses, and a guard bee made the proverbial beeline the two or three feet to my face and stung me in the left eyebrow. It must have smelled a little sweat on my brow. As happens early in the season, before the immunity to stings returns, particularly on the face, I've swelled up and look like I've been fighting and came off second best.
The only thing missing is rain. August has been worringly dry and I'm about to plant heaps of stuff. But if the ants in the pantry swarming all over Gord's sauce bottles are an indicator, there's rain coming. Oh for a wet September!
Good wife Elizabeth, if not puritanical and angelical-she smokes, drinks, and is prone to occasional outbursts of strong cursing-is a wholesome, well intentioned woman dedicated to the nutrition and wellbeing of her husband and sons, and the bringing of peace and dignity to the last days of the geriatric residents at Salibury House.
In a serious error of judgement, Elizabeth brought home an 8 week old Jack Russell pup on August 2, despite my counsel not to do so. I do forgive her. She is headstrong at times. I accept that we're all the product of a rich confusion of genes conflated by the passions of our parents. Molly and Bill in Lib's case, and it must have been late in 1955. We recently celebrated Lib's 51st birthday on the 22nd.
I simply don't have time to describe the household mayhem that baby dog 'Pippa' has wrought. She has grown miraculously in three weeks, doubling in size. If she develops a brain, over time, I may well have a new challenge- to take two dogs on my walk. For now, I lock her in the laundry with a fresh bone and make my escape.
The magpies warble before dawn, a joyous song. The hillsides, valleys and roadsides are splashed with the yellow of wattle blossom and puffs of pink and white prunus. Shocks of red and pink camellia and rhodie blooms bring gardens to life, teeming with nectar seeking wattlebirds and spinebills .
It's impressive, the baton change from winter to spring. It takes some adjustment. By mid morning I'm taking off my shirt and removing the T-shirt I'm still in the habit of donning first thing. And, out of the habit of taking a drink bottle, I develop a thirst along the way.
It's a bit of a shock after the cold of winter, as was the sting I copped yesterday. I was picking foliage at home for my mixed bunches and noticed the bees flying heavily in the 25C sun. There were dead bees at the entrance to the hive, which is not unusual at the end of winter as the bees are mostly old overwintered adults nearing the end of their lifespan. I bent over to have a closer sticky beak, not wearing my glasses, and a guard bee made the proverbial beeline the two or three feet to my face and stung me in the left eyebrow. It must have smelled a little sweat on my brow. As happens early in the season, before the immunity to stings returns, particularly on the face, I've swelled up and look like I've been fighting and came off second best.
The only thing missing is rain. August has been worringly dry and I'm about to plant heaps of stuff. But if the ants in the pantry swarming all over Gord's sauce bottles are an indicator, there's rain coming. Oh for a wet September!
Monday, August 13, 2007
Roxanne and Ruby
As I tied 'Snowy' to the post outside the newsagency this morning, the 7.ooam news on the radio reported a poll had found that John Howard would struggle to hold the seat of Benelong in the upcoming federal election. Always an admirer of Maxine McKew when she was a TV presenter and journalist, this tickled my sense of humour as I thought of the great joy a Howard unseating would bring ALP supporters. And just desserts to George Bush's buddy.
I walked into the newsagency and said to Roxanne, who was filling in for Robin who usually does the early shift on Mondays, "Almost makes you wish you lived in Benelong so you could vote for Maxine McKew, doesn't it?"
Roxanne looked at me quizzically and said, "Who's Maxine McKew?"
Now Roxanne is a lovely kid about twenty years old, the same age as our boys. Not only did she not know who Maxine Mckew was, she didn't know what Benelong was. This was a an eye opener for me, showing what little interest many young ones have in politics. God love 'em and good luck to 'em.
Shortly afterwards I turned into Launching Place Rd. from the main road and could see a girl walking up the hill towards me on her way to catch the school bus. I recognized the bustling, serious gait as that of a lass who passes me sometimes and who always says hello with a warm friendly smile.
This time, more than our usual "hello", I asked was she Helen's daughter. Another time I thought I'd seen her come from Helen and Neil's house.
"Yes", she said, with her captivating smile.
"I'm Carey", what's your name?"
"Ruby." Our heads were now turned back as we walked on in opposite directions.
The name so fits the girl and the smile.
It was Roxanne and Ruby that got me in blogging mode today. I wrote about August first. I've been focused on work, to the point of agitation and irritability. Roxanne and Ruby broke the spell.
I walked into the newsagency and said to Roxanne, who was filling in for Robin who usually does the early shift on Mondays, "Almost makes you wish you lived in Benelong so you could vote for Maxine McKew, doesn't it?"
Roxanne looked at me quizzically and said, "Who's Maxine McKew?"
Now Roxanne is a lovely kid about twenty years old, the same age as our boys. Not only did she not know who Maxine Mckew was, she didn't know what Benelong was. This was a an eye opener for me, showing what little interest many young ones have in politics. God love 'em and good luck to 'em.
Shortly afterwards I turned into Launching Place Rd. from the main road and could see a girl walking up the hill towards me on her way to catch the school bus. I recognized the bustling, serious gait as that of a lass who passes me sometimes and who always says hello with a warm friendly smile.
This time, more than our usual "hello", I asked was she Helen's daughter. Another time I thought I'd seen her come from Helen and Neil's house.
"Yes", she said, with her captivating smile.
"I'm Carey", what's your name?"
"Ruby." Our heads were now turned back as we walked on in opposite directions.
The name so fits the girl and the smile.
It was Roxanne and Ruby that got me in blogging mode today. I wrote about August first. I've been focused on work, to the point of agitation and irritability. Roxanne and Ruby broke the spell.
August, Mine
After two weeks in the sun in Bali in July, and the urgency before and after, to enable it, I consoled myself that August was mine to do seasonal work that would be be put back a year if not done this winter.
My mission for August, while one of my customers is away giving me a chance to do something other than picking for orders, is to prune, cull, and clean up the bottom paddock at the farm, making room for new plantings. I have numerous plants in pots ready to go in, plants I've collected and nurtured through the long hot summer and autumn. Another target is at Nobelius Heritage Park. We have set August 31 as the date to plant maples, magnolias and heritage apples, the commencement of the (long time coming to reality) Vegetation Management Plan.
At the farm it's very much hands on chainsaw work, and I've made a good start, cutting out a number of wattles, ti-trees and bluegums, but there's more to do this week. Then it needs dragging to a site for burning off to clear the way for planting. The plan is, when it's done, to have a memorial service for Lyle and disperse his ashes amongst the new understory plantings around the beech and oak trees. This part of the farm is nearest the creek and furthest from the road, a peaceful refuge.
In NHP the task is more organising others, and therefore may end up the more difficult. The trees have been ordered and the contractor organised to remove some large trees to make room. A contractor engaged by the council is to provide a man and machine to help me with the planting. A possible hitch is the coucil planning section, as we've not applied for a permit to remove the trees. Instead, months ago, we submitted the Management Plan to be passed as a whole, in order not to have to get a permit each time something needs taking out. The work will be ongoing over a period of years. No joy yet.
Touch wood and cross fingers!
My mission for August, while one of my customers is away giving me a chance to do something other than picking for orders, is to prune, cull, and clean up the bottom paddock at the farm, making room for new plantings. I have numerous plants in pots ready to go in, plants I've collected and nurtured through the long hot summer and autumn. Another target is at Nobelius Heritage Park. We have set August 31 as the date to plant maples, magnolias and heritage apples, the commencement of the (long time coming to reality) Vegetation Management Plan.
At the farm it's very much hands on chainsaw work, and I've made a good start, cutting out a number of wattles, ti-trees and bluegums, but there's more to do this week. Then it needs dragging to a site for burning off to clear the way for planting. The plan is, when it's done, to have a memorial service for Lyle and disperse his ashes amongst the new understory plantings around the beech and oak trees. This part of the farm is nearest the creek and furthest from the road, a peaceful refuge.
In NHP the task is more organising others, and therefore may end up the more difficult. The trees have been ordered and the contractor organised to remove some large trees to make room. A contractor engaged by the council is to provide a man and machine to help me with the planting. A possible hitch is the coucil planning section, as we've not applied for a permit to remove the trees. Instead, months ago, we submitted the Management Plan to be passed as a whole, in order not to have to get a permit each time something needs taking out. The work will be ongoing over a period of years. No joy yet.
Touch wood and cross fingers!
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Six from Six Since Bali
Today is the sixth day home since Lib and I took our final evening stroll on the Bali beach on the last day of of our holiday in the tropics, before flying out at midnight. Since then.......
1. THE GRIPES.
On Wednesday night, two days after returning, I came down with diarrhoea. Fancy that, no hint of Bali belly while away but get crook when we get back. It lasted through Thursday and Friday. I took a dose of 15 drops of citrus seed extract on Friday night and Bob's your uncle. I should have taken it sooner but the Lipitor the doc put me on to lower blood cholesterol says on the packet 'avoid taking grapefruit while on this medication'. For why it doesn't say.
(Yes, I have to admit it, I'm back on the Lipitor after 4 years of resistance, I went to the doc, for the first time in 4 years, to organize a follow up colonoscopy I was supposed to have two years ago and before you know it I'm taking blood pressure tablets and the Lipitor. I got the all clear on the colonoscopy and from another gastric type specialist on Friday. My wallet is a lot lighter, as it was after three trips to the dentist before the doctor. Why tell you this? I wasn't going to, I loathe being self absorbed, but I need to explain the Lipitor. After Lyle died and I'd been so busy for so long I thought it was time for a bit of maintenance, under some pressure from Meredith and Elvie. Rick, who has been on blood pressure tablets for years,- both his parents died before they should have around 1980, and who's had a heart attack himself- said, 'why not just take them, they might give you another 10 or 20 years.' So I'm giving them a go but I'll keep an eye on the liver function when they take blood tests and give it all the flick again if I'm not comfortable.)
2. SICKEN ME BARNEY.
Also mid week, on page 3 of 'The Ranges Trader Mail', there was a picture of local MP Jason Wood and Federal Justice Minister David Johnson leaning on a police car with the Cardinia Shire police District Inspector in battle jacket, and local resident Dot Griffin, in Cockatoo, with the article heading "CCTV for crime spree".
Apparently hill's youths are "terrorising" the town with a continual barrage of vandalism, graffiti and bad behaviour."
I had just heard Justice Minister Johnson on the radio news talking about the doctor arrested in Brisbane for alleged collusion with those in Glasgow who tried to blow up the hospital. I wondered why on earth he would be in Cockatoo. Surely youth vandalism is a local police problem, and would be more effectively and economically solved by putting a number of undercover police, in close communication with mobile units, on the spot at night, rather than sending political heavyweights and highly paid 'brass' there during the day for photos, spruiking closed circuit camera surveillance. Of course, I understand La Trobe is a marginal seat, and there's to be a federal election later this year. Say no more.
3. STONE THE CROWS.
Another local paper reported that king parrots are being struck down by a dangerous infection spreading through the Dandenong Ranges. A single cell parasite-spironucleus- infests the bowel lining, weakening the birds as they can't eat enough to support the parasites, making them too weak to fly and falling to dog and cat predators. The spread of infection is being helped by birds feeding at backyard bird feeders.
Nature is marvellous at correcting population explosions such as that which has occured over the last couple of decades with the king parrot. Flocks of them destroy all our apples and plums every year, well before they're ripe, not to mention the tomatoes if they can.
I wouldn't mind if it spread to the white cockatoos which also are in plague numbers.
On the subject of bird populations, the number of bellbirds around the house reduced dramatically while we were away. I watched a group of about 8 gang gang cockatoos this morning after my walk and not once in half an hour were they harrassed by bellbirds. Normally the gang gangs are peppered constantly and don't stay long so I was happy to see them relaxed and comfortable. There was a freezing patch of weather while we were away, with snow, which may have killed many insects on the trees, causing bellbirds to move, but I'm guessing. There's a large number of currawongs around, that might be it.
4. HOW'S THAT?
On Thursday the Essendon Football Club announced it would not be renewing Kevin Sheedy's contract after the current one finished at the end of the 2007 season. Essendon coach for 27 years, Sheedy has worked the media like a master fly fisherman luring trout, all the the time building his public image. Within 24 hours the AFL CEO announced the AFL would create a job for him if he wanted.
5. ME TOO.
The next day, Steve Bracks resigned, effective immediately. Then the Minister for Water John Thwaites. I said to Lib, when recently the state government announced it was going to build the world's biggest desalination plant near Wonthaggi, that I didn't think they had the balls for it. It hasn't taken long for them to start jumping ship. But guess what? The AFL CEO has offered Steve Bracks a spot on the AFL Commission.
6. DISAPPEARING BEES IN THE USA.
This morning, Radio 621 had a segment on the disappearing bee syndrome in the USA and the parasitic varroa mite. There has been much publicity about the disappearing bees and speculation as to the reason. One US scientist said on the program that an Australian researcher, Graeme Kleinsmith, examined the crude protein levels of the pollen of different Australian eucalypts and similar work should be done in America on the nutritional levels of different pollens.
Graeme Kleinsmith was my instuctor and head of the Apicultural Research Unit at the Queensland Agricultural College when I attended in 1974. He was doing research on eucalypt pollen then, specifically on crude protein levels and nutrition of honey bee colonies on honey flows. Some eucalypt flows are notorious for dwindling colony strength and Graeme, or 'queen bee' as we called him because he looked like one, was convinced that Queensland, in particular, was pollen deficient. He was an advocate of 'building' colony strength and honeybee crude protein levels in 'build' areas where ground flora was abundant, especially high protein weed pollen such as turnip weed and capeweed, then moving on to the eucalypt flow with strong colonies. He maintained that bees draw on their their own body protein to rear brood when pollen is deficient, which weakens them and the bees they are rearing, which has greater consequence later. This was not applicable say for red gum which produces pollen of high crude protein and breeds strong bees as well as yielding large honey crops, but red gum is more the exception than the rule.
I'd not be surprised if the disappearance of bees in the US is a dramatic, extreme example of the dwindling or collapse of colonies we experience in Australia under certain conditions of poor nutrition. Throw in the varroa mites, and the treatment for their control, and the punishing schedule of crop pollination and monocultural agriculture, and probably it's just too much for the brave honeybee.
1. THE GRIPES.
On Wednesday night, two days after returning, I came down with diarrhoea. Fancy that, no hint of Bali belly while away but get crook when we get back. It lasted through Thursday and Friday. I took a dose of 15 drops of citrus seed extract on Friday night and Bob's your uncle. I should have taken it sooner but the Lipitor the doc put me on to lower blood cholesterol says on the packet 'avoid taking grapefruit while on this medication'. For why it doesn't say.
(Yes, I have to admit it, I'm back on the Lipitor after 4 years of resistance, I went to the doc, for the first time in 4 years, to organize a follow up colonoscopy I was supposed to have two years ago and before you know it I'm taking blood pressure tablets and the Lipitor. I got the all clear on the colonoscopy and from another gastric type specialist on Friday. My wallet is a lot lighter, as it was after three trips to the dentist before the doctor. Why tell you this? I wasn't going to, I loathe being self absorbed, but I need to explain the Lipitor. After Lyle died and I'd been so busy for so long I thought it was time for a bit of maintenance, under some pressure from Meredith and Elvie. Rick, who has been on blood pressure tablets for years,- both his parents died before they should have around 1980, and who's had a heart attack himself- said, 'why not just take them, they might give you another 10 or 20 years.' So I'm giving them a go but I'll keep an eye on the liver function when they take blood tests and give it all the flick again if I'm not comfortable.)
2. SICKEN ME BARNEY.
Also mid week, on page 3 of 'The Ranges Trader Mail', there was a picture of local MP Jason Wood and Federal Justice Minister David Johnson leaning on a police car with the Cardinia Shire police District Inspector in battle jacket, and local resident Dot Griffin, in Cockatoo, with the article heading "CCTV for crime spree".
Apparently hill's youths are "terrorising" the town with a continual barrage of vandalism, graffiti and bad behaviour."
I had just heard Justice Minister Johnson on the radio news talking about the doctor arrested in Brisbane for alleged collusion with those in Glasgow who tried to blow up the hospital. I wondered why on earth he would be in Cockatoo. Surely youth vandalism is a local police problem, and would be more effectively and economically solved by putting a number of undercover police, in close communication with mobile units, on the spot at night, rather than sending political heavyweights and highly paid 'brass' there during the day for photos, spruiking closed circuit camera surveillance. Of course, I understand La Trobe is a marginal seat, and there's to be a federal election later this year. Say no more.
3. STONE THE CROWS.
Another local paper reported that king parrots are being struck down by a dangerous infection spreading through the Dandenong Ranges. A single cell parasite-spironucleus- infests the bowel lining, weakening the birds as they can't eat enough to support the parasites, making them too weak to fly and falling to dog and cat predators. The spread of infection is being helped by birds feeding at backyard bird feeders.
Nature is marvellous at correcting population explosions such as that which has occured over the last couple of decades with the king parrot. Flocks of them destroy all our apples and plums every year, well before they're ripe, not to mention the tomatoes if they can.
I wouldn't mind if it spread to the white cockatoos which also are in plague numbers.
On the subject of bird populations, the number of bellbirds around the house reduced dramatically while we were away. I watched a group of about 8 gang gang cockatoos this morning after my walk and not once in half an hour were they harrassed by bellbirds. Normally the gang gangs are peppered constantly and don't stay long so I was happy to see them relaxed and comfortable. There was a freezing patch of weather while we were away, with snow, which may have killed many insects on the trees, causing bellbirds to move, but I'm guessing. There's a large number of currawongs around, that might be it.
4. HOW'S THAT?
On Thursday the Essendon Football Club announced it would not be renewing Kevin Sheedy's contract after the current one finished at the end of the 2007 season. Essendon coach for 27 years, Sheedy has worked the media like a master fly fisherman luring trout, all the the time building his public image. Within 24 hours the AFL CEO announced the AFL would create a job for him if he wanted.
5. ME TOO.
The next day, Steve Bracks resigned, effective immediately. Then the Minister for Water John Thwaites. I said to Lib, when recently the state government announced it was going to build the world's biggest desalination plant near Wonthaggi, that I didn't think they had the balls for it. It hasn't taken long for them to start jumping ship. But guess what? The AFL CEO has offered Steve Bracks a spot on the AFL Commission.
6. DISAPPEARING BEES IN THE USA.
This morning, Radio 621 had a segment on the disappearing bee syndrome in the USA and the parasitic varroa mite. There has been much publicity about the disappearing bees and speculation as to the reason. One US scientist said on the program that an Australian researcher, Graeme Kleinsmith, examined the crude protein levels of the pollen of different Australian eucalypts and similar work should be done in America on the nutritional levels of different pollens.
Graeme Kleinsmith was my instuctor and head of the Apicultural Research Unit at the Queensland Agricultural College when I attended in 1974. He was doing research on eucalypt pollen then, specifically on crude protein levels and nutrition of honey bee colonies on honey flows. Some eucalypt flows are notorious for dwindling colony strength and Graeme, or 'queen bee' as we called him because he looked like one, was convinced that Queensland, in particular, was pollen deficient. He was an advocate of 'building' colony strength and honeybee crude protein levels in 'build' areas where ground flora was abundant, especially high protein weed pollen such as turnip weed and capeweed, then moving on to the eucalypt flow with strong colonies. He maintained that bees draw on their their own body protein to rear brood when pollen is deficient, which weakens them and the bees they are rearing, which has greater consequence later. This was not applicable say for red gum which produces pollen of high crude protein and breeds strong bees as well as yielding large honey crops, but red gum is more the exception than the rule.
I'd not be surprised if the disappearance of bees in the US is a dramatic, extreme example of the dwindling or collapse of colonies we experience in Australia under certain conditions of poor nutrition. Throw in the varroa mites, and the treatment for their control, and the punishing schedule of crop pollination and monocultural agriculture, and probably it's just too much for the brave honeybee.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
Back on the Morning Walk
I could see the sun rising yesterday through the window of the Garuda Airlines Airbus from my seat somewhere midship. We landed at Tullamarine about 7.30 am and, after a mixup in customs, when I discovered to my embarrassment, I had Shamus Haine's bag when I went to open the padlock to show the customs official the wood carvings purchased in Bali and declared on the customs form. Earlier, the beagle dog used to sniff out contraband 'sat down' next to Lib's hand luggage. She had to open it for inpection. According to the lady dog handler, the beagle smelt the apple Lib and I ate half an hour earlier on the plane, knowing we were not permitted to carry fruit into Australia.
After returning to the baggage carousel to get our identical padlocked bag, and replace poor Shamus's who must have got a bit worried, it was 8.20 when we stepped outside into the cold Melbourne morning which demonstrated the change in lattitude, from about 8 to 38 south, we'd had overnight. Also to jolt me back to earth was the $30 slug for 2 tickets on the sky shuttle bus to Southern Cross station, a speedy trip on the freeway taking all of twenty minutes. A few days earlier on Bali we'd hired a car and driver/guide for a tour, nine hours, which cost less than $40 AUD all up, converted from ruppiah. Welcome back to the real world. Or unreal? Buggered if I know.
I set the alarm clock early today, itching to do my walk after 2 weeks away. Starting up the hill at first light the gound was surprisingly dry, given that I'd tipped out a reading of 90 ml from the rain gauge when I got home. I laboured with a strained hip which was disappointing after having felt so well after two weeks R+R. I must have strained it lugging bags up ramps changing train platforms. Just the same, it was great to be back home walking, picking up cans for Jod, and talking to the excited 'Snowie'.
Temperate southern Australia is a stong contrast to tropical Bali. Messmates, peppermints, manna and grey gums, deciduously bare oaks, elms, and ash replacing the coconut and banana palms, banyans, cotapang, buwang buwang, tigwood, and plantipenny trees. Despite the change: from evening stroll on the beach followed by a beer, as the sun sank in the west into the Indian Ocean, to dawn walk at Gembrook in the winter cold before a bowl of porridge, it's good to be home. Drivers that hadn't seen me for a while tooted long and loud and neighbour Allison welcomed me back warmly, breaking from hanging out the washing to talk about Bali and local news.
Now back to work.
After returning to the baggage carousel to get our identical padlocked bag, and replace poor Shamus's who must have got a bit worried, it was 8.20 when we stepped outside into the cold Melbourne morning which demonstrated the change in lattitude, from about 8 to 38 south, we'd had overnight. Also to jolt me back to earth was the $30 slug for 2 tickets on the sky shuttle bus to Southern Cross station, a speedy trip on the freeway taking all of twenty minutes. A few days earlier on Bali we'd hired a car and driver/guide for a tour, nine hours, which cost less than $40 AUD all up, converted from ruppiah. Welcome back to the real world. Or unreal? Buggered if I know.
I set the alarm clock early today, itching to do my walk after 2 weeks away. Starting up the hill at first light the gound was surprisingly dry, given that I'd tipped out a reading of 90 ml from the rain gauge when I got home. I laboured with a strained hip which was disappointing after having felt so well after two weeks R+R. I must have strained it lugging bags up ramps changing train platforms. Just the same, it was great to be back home walking, picking up cans for Jod, and talking to the excited 'Snowie'.
Temperate southern Australia is a stong contrast to tropical Bali. Messmates, peppermints, manna and grey gums, deciduously bare oaks, elms, and ash replacing the coconut and banana palms, banyans, cotapang, buwang buwang, tigwood, and plantipenny trees. Despite the change: from evening stroll on the beach followed by a beer, as the sun sank in the west into the Indian Ocean, to dawn walk at Gembrook in the winter cold before a bowl of porridge, it's good to be home. Drivers that hadn't seen me for a while tooted long and loud and neighbour Allison welcomed me back warmly, breaking from hanging out the washing to talk about Bali and local news.
Now back to work.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Bali
Hello from Bali. This is our last day of two week's holiday. Best rest I've had in years. Interesting place and people, good food, there's much to recommend. Looking forward to getting home now. Funny how on the last day of a holiday you're mindset changes and you want to get home. Our flight doesn't leave till 11.55pm.
A sign out front of a spa/massage place near our hotel at Seminyak says-
"The energy of the volano, the solace of the rainforest, and the balance of the ocean, they come together in Bali."
The Balinese population is more than 3 million, the culture reflecting the warmth and abundance of the climate, the depth of devout religion and respect for tradition, and the richness of art expressed in many forms, including wood carving, painting, jewellery, music and dance.
I'm glad I came to Bali. I came with some negative expectation, that I'd find a playground for Australian tourists; boozy, commercial, exploiting. That is here, but so is genuine peace and beauty and friendly people adjusting to a modern world that brings jumbo after jumbo of tourists every day from Asia and Europe and a surging economy. Without coming I would have no grasp of it.
A sign out front of a spa/massage place near our hotel at Seminyak says-
"The energy of the volano, the solace of the rainforest, and the balance of the ocean, they come together in Bali."
The Balinese population is more than 3 million, the culture reflecting the warmth and abundance of the climate, the depth of devout religion and respect for tradition, and the richness of art expressed in many forms, including wood carving, painting, jewellery, music and dance.
I'm glad I came to Bali. I came with some negative expectation, that I'd find a playground for Australian tourists; boozy, commercial, exploiting. That is here, but so is genuine peace and beauty and friendly people adjusting to a modern world that brings jumbo after jumbo of tourists every day from Asia and Europe and a surging economy. Without coming I would have no grasp of it.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Thirty Years From Now
My old mate Rick visited me yesterday. We're the same age, 55, having started secondary school together in 1964 at Malvern Grammar. Forty three years have gone so quickly.
"Jeez mate", said Rick, after he took a sip of the tea he made himself while I was cutting up a lump of beef and vegies for a casserole, "if we live another 30 years we'll be 85. Can you imagine that?"
Well it's hard to imagine Rick and I reaching 85, (especially when you think of all those enraged blokes giving chase and threatening they would kill us if if they caught us in the old 'egg the shaggers' days) but it's a nice thought, two old mates yarning and reflecting on life. Hopefully our minds and bodies hang in there, and in the next thirty years we can be productive and useful, maybe in ways that are not seen now. As Tom Hanks said in the movie 'Castaway', when feeling complete desolation on his return to civilization, "you never know what the the next day might bring," after years marooned on his island where his survival and eventual rescue depended on what the tide washed up.
On my morning walks lately, progress on Stage One of the Gembrook Sewage Project is interesting. There's a tracked excavator with a large auger, about 1200ml wide, visiting each property in the main street and those surrounding, and boring a neat hole about 1800ml deep, into which a black plastic tank is neatly fitted. There's a mini excavator digging trenches from the road to these tanks which are to serve as pits for effluent from each household. The plug of removed soil is carried out by the auger excavator and dropped straight into a tip truck. There are men in flouro jackets busy delivering, laying and connecting pipes and tanks and backfilling. The activity is almost feverish, continuing even when it rains; the men simply don raincoats and keep going. Remuneration must be made on numbers of units installed or connected, and not by the hour.
The sewage works began some months ago with the main pipe installed from Gembrook to Cockatoo. Traffic was restricted to one way at a time by generator driven stop/go lights at places along the main road for most of summer. If you were in a hurry or late for an appointment you could count on copping one or more redlights on the normally unrestricted country road.
When Rick and I first met, sewage had not long arrived at Mt.Waverley in Melbourne where my family lived. Prior to that we had a dunny in the back yard. The 'dunnyman' would come each week and swap the full pan with an empty one. One day we, me Jod and Meredith, at Jod's suggestion and encouragement of course, lined up at the window and 'mooned' him as he went out with the full pan propped on his shoulder.
My old friend Ida, who died a couple of years ago, told me that when she moved to Kew from Wonthaggi in the 1930's there was dunny in the back yard which backed onto a lane from which the 'cart' man would open a door and swap pans. One day Ida's mother was in such need of relief that she stayed seated while the pans were changed. But while kids might have sniggered and made up rude rhymes about the 'dunnymen', they were respected for the essential service they quietly performed with no show of resentment.
The coming of the sewage connection to Gembrook is a major indicator of progress, in case I needed reminding. We've lived here for 26 years and for the first 20 there was little change. A small supermarket was welcomed to join the pub and post office/newsagency as the prominent businesses, otherwise most of the new buildings were unseen houses tucked away outside the town on farmlets or on the edge of the bush. Puffing Billy came back some years ago and a new station was built in the middle of town. Since then things have picked up speed, accelerated by the national real estate boom. The new 'Gembrook Park Estate' in what was formerly Sam Falcone's spud paddock opposite the school, filled quickly with large modern houses, and 'The Gembrook View Estate' near us has recently gone ahead with some whoppers imposing on the view.
Also on my walk, along Quinn Rd., where we used to walk with the kids in pushers to feed grass to the Shetland ponies, there are now seven houses where there was three, and another frame standing to soon make it eight. At the top end, where I like to look each morning at the galahs, rosellas and cockatoos feeding in the paddock, and beyond into the Shephard's Creek west branch valley, a garden tap has been installed inside the fence signifying connection to the mains, and a sign on the fence bearing the owners name and the street number is prescient to trucks delivering building materials.
A 'For Sale' sign went up a couple of months ago in Bill Parker's six acre paddock on the east side of the school. Apparently it sold within a week, to a surveyor from Emerald, who no doubt has the knowledge to fully utilise this prime land zoned residential class 1. I have picked holly each Christmas for many years where this paddock joins the school boundary, so I wait, watch, and wonder if I will lose another resource.
Opposite this paddock on the south side of the main Rd. a sign on the fence advertises a planning permit application for stage 2 of the 'Gembrook Park Estate' and 28 more houses. In the local paper last week I read that VCAT approval has been given for 21 houses to be built on the five acres behind the supermarket. On the Pakenham Rd. A 'Sold' sign has gone up on board at Topp's old garden, where I've picked cammellia, beech and dogwood for many years. The current owners are friends, moving closer to Pakenham to be nearer their work and the secondary school. Before the 'For Sale' sign went up three new driveways were put in to the horse paddock at the side, indicating subdivision.
One thing is for sure, thirty years from now Gembrook will be a bigger town. When the vacant land is gone it's probable, as my friend Cherie suggested a while back, that the old houses will be knocked down, replaced by dual or triple occupancy residences. Following the increased population, more businesses will come. A chemist maybe, and a local doctor, and dentist.
If we're still here in 5-10 years when the sewage project Stage 3 reaches our street I'll be happy to be hooked up. Old septic systems are not good for the environment and ours will be nearly 35 years old, and sooner or later it will need attention. And judging by the stench of faulty systems in the town area on a bad day there are many already needing work, not to mention the dead trees in the area of Gembrook Bushland Park where sullage from the town enters.
So the sewage is a positive in a number of ways but it's always worried me where the water was going to come from for all the new houses and increased population in the future. Most of them have two or three flushing toilets, many have large spa baths, and swimming pools are increasingly popular. The Bracks state government has announced a desalination plant, one of the largest in the world, is to be built near Wonthaggi and connected to Melbourne's watersupply and northern Victoria by a new pipeline. After years of procrastination we have a postive initiative at last, despite my niggling doubt that it will actually happen.
Another cause for optimism is the interest in the environment and ecology as a result of climate change. For a couple of decades Landcare groups, made up of diverse people ranging from scientists, housewives and concerned farmers, have been planting trees in creeks and gullies, gradually repairing damaged terrain. I often see these improvements when I take a drive to places I haven't been for a while. We've had some good rain in rural areas so these and future works will prosper, thanks to those silent workers who plug away and set an example. And further, there's talk of mass planting of trees in rural areas in carbon emission trade offs, things unheard of a year or two ago.
I'm confident in thirty years time we'll be on the way to the reparation of the Australian landscape and towns and and cities will be cleaner and more efficient in their use of resources. I hope there will be similar improvement around the global village. There's also talk of bio-fuels and solar power and other sources of energy which may even reduce the economic value of oil. We may even therefore have less war. Imagine that.
Another thing for sure, I can't see houses having a dunny in the backyard, and a man changing the pan every week.
"Jeez mate", said Rick, after he took a sip of the tea he made himself while I was cutting up a lump of beef and vegies for a casserole, "if we live another 30 years we'll be 85. Can you imagine that?"
Well it's hard to imagine Rick and I reaching 85, (especially when you think of all those enraged blokes giving chase and threatening they would kill us if if they caught us in the old 'egg the shaggers' days) but it's a nice thought, two old mates yarning and reflecting on life. Hopefully our minds and bodies hang in there, and in the next thirty years we can be productive and useful, maybe in ways that are not seen now. As Tom Hanks said in the movie 'Castaway', when feeling complete desolation on his return to civilization, "you never know what the the next day might bring," after years marooned on his island where his survival and eventual rescue depended on what the tide washed up.
On my morning walks lately, progress on Stage One of the Gembrook Sewage Project is interesting. There's a tracked excavator with a large auger, about 1200ml wide, visiting each property in the main street and those surrounding, and boring a neat hole about 1800ml deep, into which a black plastic tank is neatly fitted. There's a mini excavator digging trenches from the road to these tanks which are to serve as pits for effluent from each household. The plug of removed soil is carried out by the auger excavator and dropped straight into a tip truck. There are men in flouro jackets busy delivering, laying and connecting pipes and tanks and backfilling. The activity is almost feverish, continuing even when it rains; the men simply don raincoats and keep going. Remuneration must be made on numbers of units installed or connected, and not by the hour.
The sewage works began some months ago with the main pipe installed from Gembrook to Cockatoo. Traffic was restricted to one way at a time by generator driven stop/go lights at places along the main road for most of summer. If you were in a hurry or late for an appointment you could count on copping one or more redlights on the normally unrestricted country road.
When Rick and I first met, sewage had not long arrived at Mt.Waverley in Melbourne where my family lived. Prior to that we had a dunny in the back yard. The 'dunnyman' would come each week and swap the full pan with an empty one. One day we, me Jod and Meredith, at Jod's suggestion and encouragement of course, lined up at the window and 'mooned' him as he went out with the full pan propped on his shoulder.
My old friend Ida, who died a couple of years ago, told me that when she moved to Kew from Wonthaggi in the 1930's there was dunny in the back yard which backed onto a lane from which the 'cart' man would open a door and swap pans. One day Ida's mother was in such need of relief that she stayed seated while the pans were changed. But while kids might have sniggered and made up rude rhymes about the 'dunnymen', they were respected for the essential service they quietly performed with no show of resentment.
The coming of the sewage connection to Gembrook is a major indicator of progress, in case I needed reminding. We've lived here for 26 years and for the first 20 there was little change. A small supermarket was welcomed to join the pub and post office/newsagency as the prominent businesses, otherwise most of the new buildings were unseen houses tucked away outside the town on farmlets or on the edge of the bush. Puffing Billy came back some years ago and a new station was built in the middle of town. Since then things have picked up speed, accelerated by the national real estate boom. The new 'Gembrook Park Estate' in what was formerly Sam Falcone's spud paddock opposite the school, filled quickly with large modern houses, and 'The Gembrook View Estate' near us has recently gone ahead with some whoppers imposing on the view.
Also on my walk, along Quinn Rd., where we used to walk with the kids in pushers to feed grass to the Shetland ponies, there are now seven houses where there was three, and another frame standing to soon make it eight. At the top end, where I like to look each morning at the galahs, rosellas and cockatoos feeding in the paddock, and beyond into the Shephard's Creek west branch valley, a garden tap has been installed inside the fence signifying connection to the mains, and a sign on the fence bearing the owners name and the street number is prescient to trucks delivering building materials.
A 'For Sale' sign went up a couple of months ago in Bill Parker's six acre paddock on the east side of the school. Apparently it sold within a week, to a surveyor from Emerald, who no doubt has the knowledge to fully utilise this prime land zoned residential class 1. I have picked holly each Christmas for many years where this paddock joins the school boundary, so I wait, watch, and wonder if I will lose another resource.
Opposite this paddock on the south side of the main Rd. a sign on the fence advertises a planning permit application for stage 2 of the 'Gembrook Park Estate' and 28 more houses. In the local paper last week I read that VCAT approval has been given for 21 houses to be built on the five acres behind the supermarket. On the Pakenham Rd. A 'Sold' sign has gone up on board at Topp's old garden, where I've picked cammellia, beech and dogwood for many years. The current owners are friends, moving closer to Pakenham to be nearer their work and the secondary school. Before the 'For Sale' sign went up three new driveways were put in to the horse paddock at the side, indicating subdivision.
One thing is for sure, thirty years from now Gembrook will be a bigger town. When the vacant land is gone it's probable, as my friend Cherie suggested a while back, that the old houses will be knocked down, replaced by dual or triple occupancy residences. Following the increased population, more businesses will come. A chemist maybe, and a local doctor, and dentist.
If we're still here in 5-10 years when the sewage project Stage 3 reaches our street I'll be happy to be hooked up. Old septic systems are not good for the environment and ours will be nearly 35 years old, and sooner or later it will need attention. And judging by the stench of faulty systems in the town area on a bad day there are many already needing work, not to mention the dead trees in the area of Gembrook Bushland Park where sullage from the town enters.
So the sewage is a positive in a number of ways but it's always worried me where the water was going to come from for all the new houses and increased population in the future. Most of them have two or three flushing toilets, many have large spa baths, and swimming pools are increasingly popular. The Bracks state government has announced a desalination plant, one of the largest in the world, is to be built near Wonthaggi and connected to Melbourne's watersupply and northern Victoria by a new pipeline. After years of procrastination we have a postive initiative at last, despite my niggling doubt that it will actually happen.
Another cause for optimism is the interest in the environment and ecology as a result of climate change. For a couple of decades Landcare groups, made up of diverse people ranging from scientists, housewives and concerned farmers, have been planting trees in creeks and gullies, gradually repairing damaged terrain. I often see these improvements when I take a drive to places I haven't been for a while. We've had some good rain in rural areas so these and future works will prosper, thanks to those silent workers who plug away and set an example. And further, there's talk of mass planting of trees in rural areas in carbon emission trade offs, things unheard of a year or two ago.
I'm confident in thirty years time we'll be on the way to the reparation of the Australian landscape and towns and and cities will be cleaner and more efficient in their use of resources. I hope there will be similar improvement around the global village. There's also talk of bio-fuels and solar power and other sources of energy which may even reduce the economic value of oil. We may even therefore have less war. Imagine that.
Another thing for sure, I can't see houses having a dunny in the backyard, and a man changing the pan every week.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Polar Bears, Pigs
The 'Ranges Reveille', the newsletter of the Outer Eastern & Yarra Valley Sub-Branch of the National Servicemen's Association of Australia (Victorian Branch)INC. came in the mail last week. The 'Ranges Reveille' is published four times a year for members and usually consists of five black and white A4 pages printed both sides.
In this June newsletter, the front page had a reproduced photo of diggers in a trench with rifles at the ready. Above the photo were the words WESTERN FRONT 1917, and then, Ready to 'go over the top'. Underneath the photo were the words SERVICE TO THE NATION.
I suppose this didn't raise many members' eyebrows, but it did strike me as somewhat incongruous. Or am I nitpicking to suggest that the front page of the NSAA newsletter should actually have something to do with National Service 1952-1972? No big deal, though.
Page 2 listed member's birthdays for June, July and August with birthday wishes and a list of four new members with dates of service and some social notes. No problem there.
Page 3 had another photo on the top half of the page, this one, I assume, computer enhanced. The caption was 'The REAL Cause of Global Warming' and the photo was of three polar bears lolling on the ice with various bottles of refreshments. One was wearing head phones, another had what looked like a gameboy machine, while the third turned a spit holding a penguin over a fireplace. It was at this point I wondered just who it was putting this newsletter together.
Underneath the polar bears came the ANZAC DAY REPORT where I learned that at the main parade in the city "over 600 Nasho's, immaculately uniformed and marching in two companies were given a rousing and enthusiastic reception by the crowds lining Swanston St. and St. Kilda Road to the Shrine. After the march, our foot-sore and weary warriors were forced to take a break at the 'Clocks' Tavern for 'refreshments' before catching the train home."
At the foot of the same page, the final article headed NATIONAL MEMORIAL FUND says, Members donations have now reached $107,000. There is also the Government grant of up to $150,000. This means we have raised almost 2/3 of the total cost.
On the last page of the newsletter there is, as always, a photograph of Jason Wood M.P. Federal Member of La Trobe, and Tony Smith, M.P. Federal Member- Casey with an acknowledgement thanking these men for their support of the Sub-Branch and their staff for their kind assistance in printing the newsletter.
And there was my membership subscription renewal, a request for payment of $22.
I'm not renewing. I'll send $22 instead to Oxfam, Wateraid, or World Vision to help some poor bugger who doesn't have freshwater. I'll write to NSAA, and my local member Jason Wood, to explain my non renewal. I'll suggest that the hundreds of thousands of dollars earmarked for a national monument be instead used to help the disadvantaged in Australia, and/or elsewhere in the world. Maybe those adversely affected by global warming would be a good starting point. If NSAA were to do this I'd be happy to rejoin.
Pigs might fly.
In this June newsletter, the front page had a reproduced photo of diggers in a trench with rifles at the ready. Above the photo were the words WESTERN FRONT 1917, and then, Ready to 'go over the top'. Underneath the photo were the words SERVICE TO THE NATION.
I suppose this didn't raise many members' eyebrows, but it did strike me as somewhat incongruous. Or am I nitpicking to suggest that the front page of the NSAA newsletter should actually have something to do with National Service 1952-1972? No big deal, though.
Page 2 listed member's birthdays for June, July and August with birthday wishes and a list of four new members with dates of service and some social notes. No problem there.
Page 3 had another photo on the top half of the page, this one, I assume, computer enhanced. The caption was 'The REAL Cause of Global Warming' and the photo was of three polar bears lolling on the ice with various bottles of refreshments. One was wearing head phones, another had what looked like a gameboy machine, while the third turned a spit holding a penguin over a fireplace. It was at this point I wondered just who it was putting this newsletter together.
Underneath the polar bears came the ANZAC DAY REPORT where I learned that at the main parade in the city "over 600 Nasho's, immaculately uniformed and marching in two companies were given a rousing and enthusiastic reception by the crowds lining Swanston St. and St. Kilda Road to the Shrine. After the march, our foot-sore and weary warriors were forced to take a break at the 'Clocks' Tavern for 'refreshments' before catching the train home."
At the foot of the same page, the final article headed NATIONAL MEMORIAL FUND says, Members donations have now reached $107,000. There is also the Government grant of up to $150,000. This means we have raised almost 2/3 of the total cost.
On the last page of the newsletter there is, as always, a photograph of Jason Wood M.P. Federal Member of La Trobe, and Tony Smith, M.P. Federal Member- Casey with an acknowledgement thanking these men for their support of the Sub-Branch and their staff for their kind assistance in printing the newsletter.
And there was my membership subscription renewal, a request for payment of $22.
I'm not renewing. I'll send $22 instead to Oxfam, Wateraid, or World Vision to help some poor bugger who doesn't have freshwater. I'll write to NSAA, and my local member Jason Wood, to explain my non renewal. I'll suggest that the hundreds of thousands of dollars earmarked for a national monument be instead used to help the disadvantaged in Australia, and/or elsewhere in the world. Maybe those adversely affected by global warming would be a good starting point. If NSAA were to do this I'd be happy to rejoin.
Pigs might fly.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Breakfast With Cherie
A pine tree stood dark and large, a sillhouette against the winter white, bright morning sky. Fog hung in the valley, mist rose, clouds billowed above the distant mountains, the sun glowed brilliantly. We sat in Cherie's kitchen, warmed by the woodstove, and the sun, which streamed through the full length window set in the rammed earth walls. A magic morning.
A week earlier I'd met my friend Cherie walking her dog 'Mocca' while I was searching for mushrooms. She told me she was going to north Queensland that day to spend some time with her parents and sister, and suggested that I pay her a visit when she got back to see the progress on her house. We arranged that I'd call in for coffee around 8.00am the next Sunday on my walk. As it turned out we bumped into each other near the shops and walked to her house together, with 'Mocca' and 'Snowie' setting the pace.
Before breakfast, Cherie took me on a tour of the house, a culmination of her life's passion of two decades or more. Cherie has a consultancy business helping owner builders get started, and to incorporate features like rammed eath, mud brick, solar heating, double glazing, hydronics, and heat exchange. The theme is good design, energy efficiency, and healthy homes.
Her house accordingly, nearly but not quite finished, is a showpiece. Cherie bought the block of land some years ago, primarily for the view, for $150,000. The old cottage provided temporary lodgings while stage one of the building went ahead before it's asbestos sheeting was professionally removed and the building demolished. A massive old pine tree also went, and some scrappy messmates, leaving the way clear for a rock landscape on the lower half of the long narrow block.
Cherie admits frankly the house is over the top. She's spent all of the $600,000 she got for her farm, and then some, including $80,000 on the garden on rocks and steps and plants. The second level has a lap pool, solar or heatbank heated. It's really three appartments in one, with it's own sewage treatment plant for recycling into the garden.
The top appartment has the best view and a balcony, where we stood looking down the street at the other houses. Cherie said, matter of factly, "Gembrook's changing quickly. These houses will all be gone in 10 or 15 years. People will want the view and the current owners will take the dollars. New owners will knock the old houses down, like I did, and build on the high ground to maximize the view. People will see the opportunities for dual occupancy."
I had to admit, although I'm more a cabin with an open fire man, that Cherie's right. Things are changing rapidly.
A week earlier I'd met my friend Cherie walking her dog 'Mocca' while I was searching for mushrooms. She told me she was going to north Queensland that day to spend some time with her parents and sister, and suggested that I pay her a visit when she got back to see the progress on her house. We arranged that I'd call in for coffee around 8.00am the next Sunday on my walk. As it turned out we bumped into each other near the shops and walked to her house together, with 'Mocca' and 'Snowie' setting the pace.
Before breakfast, Cherie took me on a tour of the house, a culmination of her life's passion of two decades or more. Cherie has a consultancy business helping owner builders get started, and to incorporate features like rammed eath, mud brick, solar heating, double glazing, hydronics, and heat exchange. The theme is good design, energy efficiency, and healthy homes.
Her house accordingly, nearly but not quite finished, is a showpiece. Cherie bought the block of land some years ago, primarily for the view, for $150,000. The old cottage provided temporary lodgings while stage one of the building went ahead before it's asbestos sheeting was professionally removed and the building demolished. A massive old pine tree also went, and some scrappy messmates, leaving the way clear for a rock landscape on the lower half of the long narrow block.
Cherie admits frankly the house is over the top. She's spent all of the $600,000 she got for her farm, and then some, including $80,000 on the garden on rocks and steps and plants. The second level has a lap pool, solar or heatbank heated. It's really three appartments in one, with it's own sewage treatment plant for recycling into the garden.
The top appartment has the best view and a balcony, where we stood looking down the street at the other houses. Cherie said, matter of factly, "Gembrook's changing quickly. These houses will all be gone in 10 or 15 years. People will want the view and the current owners will take the dollars. New owners will knock the old houses down, like I did, and build on the high ground to maximize the view. People will see the opportunities for dual occupancy."
I had to admit, although I'm more a cabin with an open fire man, that Cherie's right. Things are changing rapidly.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
The Big Honey Season
I type up this post now the power's back. I handwrote it by the natural light of the day through the window, starting two hours after dawn.
I'm writing at the dining room table which is the place that affords most light on this bleak stormy morning. It seems appropriate the power's out. It's the last day of May and autumn. Time for me to reflect and record the honey season that has come to a close. It's 8C outside and the bees would be tight and warm in their winter cluster.
The warning breeze of yesterday was valid. The wind grew in ferocity during the night and battered the house while we lay in bed. It roared in the treetops, we half expecting at any moment to have a tree trunk sharing the room with us. After 26 years enduring such storms now and again, when the odd "bong" on the roof comes as a stick wrested from a tree hits the iron above, you roll over and try to ignore what's happening and catch up on the old shut-eye.
It's a far cry from the consistently still, warm, sunny days of last October, in mid spring, when the bees were flying east from dawn till dark working the silvertop and gathering an unprecedented, for me, large crop of spring honey. Not a serious beekeeper by any means, I nevertheless felt exitement at the heavy bee flight. Prior to this on my walks I'd noticed the heavy budding on the messmate trees and anticipated the possibility of a good summer flow, despite messmate being unreliable and often turning off with summer rain.
As a non serious beekeeper, I'm not set up for extracting honey. There's considerable inconvenience organising the work, and finding the time in my busy self employed life and complex family situation. My dad was very ill, Robbie was approaching VCE exams and wanting driving practice, Gord was finishing his TAFE course with parent/ teacher meetings and career nights, not to mention the drought and water restrictions which complicated things at the farm. And Lib broke her wrist badly in a fall in late September. There was a strong dread in realizing the extra work a honey flow would create.
The odd thing was, when I first fired up the smoker one Saturday morning last October, I enjoyed working the through the bees immensely. The smell of fresh nectar and the excited contentment of the bees infected me. The hives were strong and healthy, brimfull of gentle bees, seemingly happy and knowing I was there to help.
The dread was not entirely gone, but I came away glad that decades ago destiny would have it that I learned something of bees and honey. I felt 'switched on' again to the world of the honey bee.
There were four hives in my backyard, and one in the yard of friends' property at 'Sunset'. This hive belongs to my friends. I gave it to the previous owner of 'Sunset' who left it behind when he sold up and moved. The new owners were keen to learn about bees and I've given them a few lessons, but as they've been busy renovating the old house I've looked after it for them until they get the confidence to work it themselves.
One of my four hives swarmed in the spring. After boxing the swarm I took it to 'Sunset'. It was a big swarm that drew out the foundation in no time. So then I had six hives, four strong and productive, and two smaller unproductive till they built up, these being the swarm and the parent it split from. By late summer all six were big and strong and gathering honey.
After the silvertop flow, the weather stayed fine and settled and the honey kept coming. Not as heavy as earlier, but it rained on cue for the blackberries to give a lick and the bees were still flying heavily to the east. I wondered if they were finding some grey strinybark as this honey was noticably frothy when extracted, and it also contained some ti-tree. This extract was markedly different to the earlier silvertop and the later messmate, and, in the end, candied rather quickly and was a mixture of floral sources I would say.
As the summer progressed the messmate yielded heavily and I just managed to keep up with the bees with the little spare time I had, extracting each second weekend or grabbing an hour or two during the week to take supers off and put stickies back. It's also the handling of the honey, the straining and packing, that makes the hobbyist busy in an 'on' season. The hot weather, days and nights, helped. Cold honey slows things down.
Typically, the bees were cranky on the messmate, though not too bad. They were busy and the flow was continuous but if there was a bit of unsettled weather in the wind they'd belt you. At the end of the messmate flow when I went to take honey expecting them to be extra nasty now the flow was over, bracing myself for confrontation, I was pleasantly surprised to find them gentle as lambs again, with a big shake of manna gum and or mountain grey gum nectar in the combs.
By mid April they were closing down fast, reducing broodnests quickly and shrinking down. There was still a shake of nectar but they'd struggle to ripen it. I united the two poorest to others, they'd simply worn themselves out, leaving me three at home and one at 'Sunset'.
I took the last two supers off the united hives in early May, leaving the four hives as doubles with plenty of honey to get them through winter. My last extract that weekend took my tally for the season to 820kg. All my estimates through the season were conservative so the final figure may have been a little higher. That's a lot of honey for 5 beehives left in the one locality all season. Amazingly this bountiful harvest came during a crippling drought when agriculture generally throughout Victoria and beyond was on its knees. Most beekeepers have a tale to tell of a ripper honey flow. Now I do.
The humble honeybee inspires and gives hope, in a world bogged in negativity. During a season of bushfires, drought, climate gloom, and in my own case, the loss of my father in March, the bees showed me you need to keep focused on good things. And to keep on keepin' on.
I'm writing at the dining room table which is the place that affords most light on this bleak stormy morning. It seems appropriate the power's out. It's the last day of May and autumn. Time for me to reflect and record the honey season that has come to a close. It's 8C outside and the bees would be tight and warm in their winter cluster.
The warning breeze of yesterday was valid. The wind grew in ferocity during the night and battered the house while we lay in bed. It roared in the treetops, we half expecting at any moment to have a tree trunk sharing the room with us. After 26 years enduring such storms now and again, when the odd "bong" on the roof comes as a stick wrested from a tree hits the iron above, you roll over and try to ignore what's happening and catch up on the old shut-eye.
It's a far cry from the consistently still, warm, sunny days of last October, in mid spring, when the bees were flying east from dawn till dark working the silvertop and gathering an unprecedented, for me, large crop of spring honey. Not a serious beekeeper by any means, I nevertheless felt exitement at the heavy bee flight. Prior to this on my walks I'd noticed the heavy budding on the messmate trees and anticipated the possibility of a good summer flow, despite messmate being unreliable and often turning off with summer rain.
As a non serious beekeeper, I'm not set up for extracting honey. There's considerable inconvenience organising the work, and finding the time in my busy self employed life and complex family situation. My dad was very ill, Robbie was approaching VCE exams and wanting driving practice, Gord was finishing his TAFE course with parent/ teacher meetings and career nights, not to mention the drought and water restrictions which complicated things at the farm. And Lib broke her wrist badly in a fall in late September. There was a strong dread in realizing the extra work a honey flow would create.
The odd thing was, when I first fired up the smoker one Saturday morning last October, I enjoyed working the through the bees immensely. The smell of fresh nectar and the excited contentment of the bees infected me. The hives were strong and healthy, brimfull of gentle bees, seemingly happy and knowing I was there to help.
The dread was not entirely gone, but I came away glad that decades ago destiny would have it that I learned something of bees and honey. I felt 'switched on' again to the world of the honey bee.
There were four hives in my backyard, and one in the yard of friends' property at 'Sunset'. This hive belongs to my friends. I gave it to the previous owner of 'Sunset' who left it behind when he sold up and moved. The new owners were keen to learn about bees and I've given them a few lessons, but as they've been busy renovating the old house I've looked after it for them until they get the confidence to work it themselves.
One of my four hives swarmed in the spring. After boxing the swarm I took it to 'Sunset'. It was a big swarm that drew out the foundation in no time. So then I had six hives, four strong and productive, and two smaller unproductive till they built up, these being the swarm and the parent it split from. By late summer all six were big and strong and gathering honey.
After the silvertop flow, the weather stayed fine and settled and the honey kept coming. Not as heavy as earlier, but it rained on cue for the blackberries to give a lick and the bees were still flying heavily to the east. I wondered if they were finding some grey strinybark as this honey was noticably frothy when extracted, and it also contained some ti-tree. This extract was markedly different to the earlier silvertop and the later messmate, and, in the end, candied rather quickly and was a mixture of floral sources I would say.
As the summer progressed the messmate yielded heavily and I just managed to keep up with the bees with the little spare time I had, extracting each second weekend or grabbing an hour or two during the week to take supers off and put stickies back. It's also the handling of the honey, the straining and packing, that makes the hobbyist busy in an 'on' season. The hot weather, days and nights, helped. Cold honey slows things down.
Typically, the bees were cranky on the messmate, though not too bad. They were busy and the flow was continuous but if there was a bit of unsettled weather in the wind they'd belt you. At the end of the messmate flow when I went to take honey expecting them to be extra nasty now the flow was over, bracing myself for confrontation, I was pleasantly surprised to find them gentle as lambs again, with a big shake of manna gum and or mountain grey gum nectar in the combs.
By mid April they were closing down fast, reducing broodnests quickly and shrinking down. There was still a shake of nectar but they'd struggle to ripen it. I united the two poorest to others, they'd simply worn themselves out, leaving me three at home and one at 'Sunset'.
I took the last two supers off the united hives in early May, leaving the four hives as doubles with plenty of honey to get them through winter. My last extract that weekend took my tally for the season to 820kg. All my estimates through the season were conservative so the final figure may have been a little higher. That's a lot of honey for 5 beehives left in the one locality all season. Amazingly this bountiful harvest came during a crippling drought when agriculture generally throughout Victoria and beyond was on its knees. Most beekeepers have a tale to tell of a ripper honey flow. Now I do.
The humble honeybee inspires and gives hope, in a world bogged in negativity. During a season of bushfires, drought, climate gloom, and in my own case, the loss of my father in March, the bees showed me you need to keep focused on good things. And to keep on keepin' on.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Wind, More Rain
The rain I wrote about in my last post didn't linger. The Saturday was showery and I noticed on my morning walk that a breeze had come with the change, the first wind for weeks. We had a total of 35 ml at the house over the few wet days, much less than other districts, where it was needed more in any case. I think there was more rain at the farm at Emerald. The big downpour on the Friday that got the frogs singing didn't happen at Gembrook, where 9ml only was in the gauge.
The breeze turned into a gusty wind and kept up through the week. By Friday it had dried the ground back to dusty so you'd never know it had rained at all. I found pine mushrooms every morning, mainly in the drains and low spots where more water had soaked in. The wind kept up; aggravating, disturbing, dischevelling. The trees stopped smiling. Ten days it blew, building in strength, nagging, battering, bullying. Yesterday it roared into a furious gale. The trees contorted and groaned in punishment. Birds disappeared. It rampaged all day. About 3.00pm the rain came, sideways, belting.
There was 24ml in the gauge this morning. A flush of fresh mushies pushed through the grass. The sun is shining. After the warmest May night on record the night before last, the air is bitingly cold. A gentle breeze picks up now and again, as if whispering a warning. Take nothing for granted, it seems to say.
The breeze turned into a gusty wind and kept up through the week. By Friday it had dried the ground back to dusty so you'd never know it had rained at all. I found pine mushrooms every morning, mainly in the drains and low spots where more water had soaked in. The wind kept up; aggravating, disturbing, dischevelling. The trees stopped smiling. Ten days it blew, building in strength, nagging, battering, bullying. Yesterday it roared into a furious gale. The trees contorted and groaned in punishment. Birds disappeared. It rampaged all day. About 3.00pm the rain came, sideways, belting.
There was 24ml in the gauge this morning. A flush of fresh mushies pushed through the grass. The sun is shining. After the warmest May night on record the night before last, the air is bitingly cold. A gentle breeze picks up now and again, as if whispering a warning. Take nothing for granted, it seems to say.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Happy As A Bird In A Tree
It started raining mid morning last Thursday. Light rain for a while, then a little heavier, then it would stop, and spit here and there. Then it would start again. It was dead still, not a breath of wind, the sky overhead grey, it was hard to see.
Disbelieving the rain had set in for the day, I drove to Pat's on the other side of town to do a couple of hours gardening. The weather bureau had forecast six days of showers from the Tuesday but there'd been nothing till Thursday. I started digging a trench for sheets of old iron around a narrow garden bed where Pat wants to grow vegetables. The iron is to keep out the rabbits, and sinking it lower lets in more early sun. I worked in a plastic raincoat and gumboots. Within half an hour my singlet and shirt were wet with sweat. I discarded the coat, prefering the cool rain to the heat and sweat under the coat.
I knocked off wet through and had to change clothes when I got home. I'd left a young bloke laying new carpet in our living room. He'd finished and gone, so Gord and I spent some time carting furniture back in from the deck. On and off the rain continued through the afternoon while I did some business with the bank and solicitor in Emerald.
I had an appointment with my arborist friend Steve Major at 4.00pm in Nobelius Park. At a recent meeting of the sub-committee of the COM, numerous trees and shrubs in zones 1+2, the zones designated by the Vegetation Management Plan as of high priority with action required in the short term, had been earmarked for removal to make way for new plantings. We need quotes on the proposed work. The rain had stopped but it was wet underfoot and we enjoyed the squelching of our boots as we walked. It was eerily calm.
The rain started again in the evening, leaving 25ml in the gauge on Friday morning. On my walk it was raining lightly still. I was aware of strong scents coming to me after the night rain. I could smell the gravel and the bark of trees, and stench from faulty septic systems. Blackbirds, rosellas, crows, magpies, mudlarks, minas, cockatoos, doves, all were busy, noisier than for a long time. I realized how subdued they'd had been of late. The trees and shrubs were washed of their coat of dust and the various shades of green were richer, glistening, wet, leaves like thousands of smiles.
The morning news talked of rain up to 50ml in parts of western Victoria, to follow good rain in early May. 36ml Bendigo, 66 ml at Broken Hill, 30-50 ml in north-east Vic. All drought ravaged areas. Best rain in years. Farmers are out getting crops in, working round the clock.
On my way to the farm I picked some bay foliage at Allison's in Le Souef Rd. and topped a laurel in front of Lilly's unit at Emerald. Lilly is my best honey customer, getting sales from all the oldies in the retirement village. They love the honey. And my price. I'm happy, $6 is better than the $2.50 per kg the wholesaler told me he'd pay me when I rang up have some containers posted.
After lunch the rain started again, heavily. I went out to bunch the bay and the laurel. Jod and Gordo came in under the carport to dodge the rain. They started bunching the bay while Meredith and I worked on the laurel. It was now teeming, sheets of water lying on the lawn and drive, the likes of which we hadn't seen since who knows when. On cue frogs started to let rip, singing with sheer joy. I said to Meredith the birds were so noisy that morning, like they were celebrating, and she replied she'd noticed it too, and that they'd been so quiet previously. We were all happy, watching the rain.
Jod said, "There's old saying, as happy as bird in a tree."
And for the last two mornings I've collected pine mushrooms on my walk and enjoyed them for breakfast.
Disbelieving the rain had set in for the day, I drove to Pat's on the other side of town to do a couple of hours gardening. The weather bureau had forecast six days of showers from the Tuesday but there'd been nothing till Thursday. I started digging a trench for sheets of old iron around a narrow garden bed where Pat wants to grow vegetables. The iron is to keep out the rabbits, and sinking it lower lets in more early sun. I worked in a plastic raincoat and gumboots. Within half an hour my singlet and shirt were wet with sweat. I discarded the coat, prefering the cool rain to the heat and sweat under the coat.
I knocked off wet through and had to change clothes when I got home. I'd left a young bloke laying new carpet in our living room. He'd finished and gone, so Gord and I spent some time carting furniture back in from the deck. On and off the rain continued through the afternoon while I did some business with the bank and solicitor in Emerald.
I had an appointment with my arborist friend Steve Major at 4.00pm in Nobelius Park. At a recent meeting of the sub-committee of the COM, numerous trees and shrubs in zones 1+2, the zones designated by the Vegetation Management Plan as of high priority with action required in the short term, had been earmarked for removal to make way for new plantings. We need quotes on the proposed work. The rain had stopped but it was wet underfoot and we enjoyed the squelching of our boots as we walked. It was eerily calm.
The rain started again in the evening, leaving 25ml in the gauge on Friday morning. On my walk it was raining lightly still. I was aware of strong scents coming to me after the night rain. I could smell the gravel and the bark of trees, and stench from faulty septic systems. Blackbirds, rosellas, crows, magpies, mudlarks, minas, cockatoos, doves, all were busy, noisier than for a long time. I realized how subdued they'd had been of late. The trees and shrubs were washed of their coat of dust and the various shades of green were richer, glistening, wet, leaves like thousands of smiles.
The morning news talked of rain up to 50ml in parts of western Victoria, to follow good rain in early May. 36ml Bendigo, 66 ml at Broken Hill, 30-50 ml in north-east Vic. All drought ravaged areas. Best rain in years. Farmers are out getting crops in, working round the clock.
On my way to the farm I picked some bay foliage at Allison's in Le Souef Rd. and topped a laurel in front of Lilly's unit at Emerald. Lilly is my best honey customer, getting sales from all the oldies in the retirement village. They love the honey. And my price. I'm happy, $6 is better than the $2.50 per kg the wholesaler told me he'd pay me when I rang up have some containers posted.
After lunch the rain started again, heavily. I went out to bunch the bay and the laurel. Jod and Gordo came in under the carport to dodge the rain. They started bunching the bay while Meredith and I worked on the laurel. It was now teeming, sheets of water lying on the lawn and drive, the likes of which we hadn't seen since who knows when. On cue frogs started to let rip, singing with sheer joy. I said to Meredith the birds were so noisy that morning, like they were celebrating, and she replied she'd noticed it too, and that they'd been so quiet previously. We were all happy, watching the rain.
Jod said, "There's old saying, as happy as bird in a tree."
And for the last two mornings I've collected pine mushrooms on my walk and enjoyed them for breakfast.
Monday, May 07, 2007
You Have To Laugh
There are a number of changes that have occurred along my beat that I'll record soon but not today, I don't have much time. Next Sunday is Mother's Day and I have a large order to fill for David Healey of Girrawheen Flowers, who picks up tomorrow morning. I worked on it on Saturday and again yesterday knowing I'd never do it all today. Just for the record he's asked for 50 bunches of camellia foliage, 20 lillypilly, 20 Jap. maple, 20 ivy berries, 30 mixed foliage bunches, 10 flax, 10 magnolia grandiflora, and 30 laurel.
You may recall that early this year I decided to wear my 'authentic Greek fisherman's hat' every morning on my walk. I'm a creature of routine. People, including Janice from Quinn Rd., whom I sometimes meet as she walks down to tend her horses, or walking her dog 'Hannah', have told me the hat suits me. Last week, Janice said my horizontally striped red and blue Melbourne Football Club 'rugby jersey', which I've started wearing now the mornings are cold, worked very well with the hat, adding I looked like I was straight off a Greek fishing boat.
Whatever I look like doesn't matter, but I like wearing the same distinctive gear in the morning and being recognized immediately by my early morning friends. A lot of drivers wave or give their horns a frienly pip and other walkers wave from a distance.
Geoff Howard waved to me from his car as he went passed me in the town this morning and then as I walked past his house on my way back, he was returning, about to pull into his driveway. I was on the other side of the road to where I normally walk, having crossed to look for for pine mushrooms under the pine trees. Alas, there are none to be found as yet, April was very dry and the rain early this month can't have been enough. Geoff slowed his car right down and waved again, then wound his window down.
"You look like 'Where's Wally'," he called out, with a big grin on his face.
I threw my head back and joined him in a deep belly laugh.
You may recall that early this year I decided to wear my 'authentic Greek fisherman's hat' every morning on my walk. I'm a creature of routine. People, including Janice from Quinn Rd., whom I sometimes meet as she walks down to tend her horses, or walking her dog 'Hannah', have told me the hat suits me. Last week, Janice said my horizontally striped red and blue Melbourne Football Club 'rugby jersey', which I've started wearing now the mornings are cold, worked very well with the hat, adding I looked like I was straight off a Greek fishing boat.
Whatever I look like doesn't matter, but I like wearing the same distinctive gear in the morning and being recognized immediately by my early morning friends. A lot of drivers wave or give their horns a frienly pip and other walkers wave from a distance.
Geoff Howard waved to me from his car as he went passed me in the town this morning and then as I walked past his house on my way back, he was returning, about to pull into his driveway. I was on the other side of the road to where I normally walk, having crossed to look for for pine mushrooms under the pine trees. Alas, there are none to be found as yet, April was very dry and the rain early this month can't have been enough. Geoff slowed his car right down and waved again, then wound his window down.
"You look like 'Where's Wally'," he called out, with a big grin on his face.
I threw my head back and joined him in a deep belly laugh.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Debauchery
It's the word that comes to mind when I look through the window into the backyard, to see those bodgies of the bird world, currawongs, gang banging my fig tree. Greediest bird I know, wanton, marauding, hunting in packs. The fig tree loves it. After all, this is fullfilment. She stands gracefully, clad in luxuriant big leaves, dangling her pink, fleshy fruit, to be consumed, seed dispersed, she dissipated. All for good reason. Survival of the species.
I've always liked the word debauchery. It conjures strong images. Indulgence, lewdness, lust, excess, revelry, orgy. Things we'd like to engage in, but we know better, that we need restraint. Like me last week. There I was in the expensive recliner, two doe eyed, perfumed young ladies, Lisa and Janet, poised over me, one exploring, the other sucking. Exquisite, I thought, this is worth $200. Then Janet said, "Would you like to be numbed?"
"No, no, I'm fine", I moaned, and she continued drilling. My debauchery, imagined, got me through the half hour rebuilding of my tooth. But no matter what one might be thinking, it's restraint that sets us apart as humans. Without it we have no morality and culture, we would be living like the thousands of dogs on the streets of Santiago, and life would possess little beauty or peace.
The word debauchery has its origins in the Old French language, 'desbaucher', to corrupt.
I've always liked the word debauchery. It conjures strong images. Indulgence, lewdness, lust, excess, revelry, orgy. Things we'd like to engage in, but we know better, that we need restraint. Like me last week. There I was in the expensive recliner, two doe eyed, perfumed young ladies, Lisa and Janet, poised over me, one exploring, the other sucking. Exquisite, I thought, this is worth $200. Then Janet said, "Would you like to be numbed?"
"No, no, I'm fine", I moaned, and she continued drilling. My debauchery, imagined, got me through the half hour rebuilding of my tooth. But no matter what one might be thinking, it's restraint that sets us apart as humans. Without it we have no morality and culture, we would be living like the thousands of dogs on the streets of Santiago, and life would possess little beauty or peace.
The word debauchery has its origins in the Old French language, 'desbaucher', to corrupt.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
Moving On
Well, here I am on Anzac Day, still mulling it over. The road was quiet on my walk, not one car went past all the way up to the town. It's a public holiday, most people don't work and still get paid today. Not me.
I picked up four empty 'Woodstock' Kentucky bourbon and cola cans and five 'Jim Beam' and a number of empty bottles. And a pot beer glass in J.A.C. Russell Park, a full, unopended can of 'Woodstock' near Puffing Billy station and a tax invoice for a $5 Anzac Day badge. My lucky day. There was more litter than usual in the main street, most of which I picked up and binned, including three broken beer glasses. It seems there were celebrations on Anzac Eve with the prospect of a holiday today. There were cars parked outside the RSL hall, from where I saw a few people walk down the hill and past the pub. They didn't pick up the litter.
I've had three days to think about my problem with Anzac Day. The conservative government of the 1960's and the 70's, pre Gough Whitlam's landmark Dec 72 election, went all the way with LBJ in Vietnam. The nation was divided, I was in the conservative camp. It took quite a while, but I had to admit I was wrong as time went by. Gough came like a wave and went with a bang. The USA pulled out of Vietnam. There was no domino effect. I was wrong.
We have a conservative government again, which has coincided with the revival of Anzac Day. We have joined the USA again in war. I don't think we should be in Iraq, as we shouldn't have been in Vietnam. No less than we shouldn't have been in Turkey in 1915. That's my problem with Anzac Day. It glosses over, or gives a sense of legitimacy, to bad politics, which results in people being killed. Soldiers, and civilians, who don't get much rememberance.
It troubles me that another generation is being brainwashed into blindly following bad politics. Like I was in my youth. That's my problem with Anzac Day.
I'm over it. Till next Anzac Day.
I picked up four empty 'Woodstock' Kentucky bourbon and cola cans and five 'Jim Beam' and a number of empty bottles. And a pot beer glass in J.A.C. Russell Park, a full, unopended can of 'Woodstock' near Puffing Billy station and a tax invoice for a $5 Anzac Day badge. My lucky day. There was more litter than usual in the main street, most of which I picked up and binned, including three broken beer glasses. It seems there were celebrations on Anzac Eve with the prospect of a holiday today. There were cars parked outside the RSL hall, from where I saw a few people walk down the hill and past the pub. They didn't pick up the litter.
I've had three days to think about my problem with Anzac Day. The conservative government of the 1960's and the 70's, pre Gough Whitlam's landmark Dec 72 election, went all the way with LBJ in Vietnam. The nation was divided, I was in the conservative camp. It took quite a while, but I had to admit I was wrong as time went by. Gough came like a wave and went with a bang. The USA pulled out of Vietnam. There was no domino effect. I was wrong.
We have a conservative government again, which has coincided with the revival of Anzac Day. We have joined the USA again in war. I don't think we should be in Iraq, as we shouldn't have been in Vietnam. No less than we shouldn't have been in Turkey in 1915. That's my problem with Anzac Day. It glosses over, or gives a sense of legitimacy, to bad politics, which results in people being killed. Soldiers, and civilians, who don't get much rememberance.
It troubles me that another generation is being brainwashed into blindly following bad politics. Like I was in my youth. That's my problem with Anzac Day.
I'm over it. Till next Anzac Day.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Anzac Day.
After yesterdays slow gentle rain, 7ml, the first in four weeks, it was especially pleasant setting out on my walk up the spur this morning. The ground was wet and the air cleaned of dust and the smoke from DSE burns that's been hanging in the air these past weeks.
I had my transistor radio in my carry bag, tuned, unusually, to the ABC 774, and Macca's 'Australia all Over'. Being the last Sunday before Anzac Day (next Wednesday), the show had an Anzac Day focus. As I went up Quinn Rd. a brass band played a slowish version of Waltzing Matilda interspersed with the trumpet tune of the 'The Last Post'. Enjoying this inspiring musical nuance, I was distracted by an empty drink can on the road. It was a 'Woodstock' bourbon and coke can. I crushed it with my heel and put it in a plastic bag in my carry bag.
"Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, you'll come a waltzing Matilda with me."
The music finished and I walked on, half listening to Macca's prattle, the shows jingles, the voice grabs, but my mind was now on Anzac Day. In the clarity of the sharp morning air, feeling fit and fresh, it dawned on me that I have a problem with Anzac Day. It's difficult, if not impossible, for me to join the feeling of celebration that now comes with it. Or to accept, as Macca said, that it's become our 'National day'.
Don't get me wrong, I have no disrespect for it, or the RSL. It's just that it fills me with mixed emotions, sadness and anger. I'm sad for the those who lost their lives serving in the name of their country. Sad for the civilians, men, women and children, killed in the crossfire or obliterated by bombing. Sad for those crippled physically, and sad for the mental and emotional suffering. Sad for the inhumanity of war.
I wondered what my grandather would think? He served in WW1, in the 57th Battalion, made up largely of men from suburban Melbourne. Australia's, and the 57th Battallion's, first major action in France was the battle at Fromelles. Grandfather, fortunately, missed the first day, when 2000 Australians died, and the 60th Battalion was almost wiped out in the heaviest day of casualties in our military history. Men of the 57th Battalion spent the next four days bringing wounded men back from no-man's land between the trenches. There were some 8,000 plus Anzacs killed at Gallipolli over 8 months, 2000 in one day at Fromelles. There's a statue at the site in Flanders of a sergeant of the 57th Battalion carrying a wounded digger on his shoulders. Like Simpson and his donkeys at Gallipolli, this is the epitome of Anzac Day.
Grandfather Wilson, Poppa to us, was wounded by shrapnel in the face and back at Ypres and sent to hospital in England, and was back with the 57th Battalion when it liberated Villers-Bretonneux on Anzac Day 1918, after it had been occupied by the Germans in a forward push. Later he was shot in the right buttock at Boulogne and again sent to hospital in England, where he was when the war ended. He died fifty years ago so I didn't know him really, but Elvie tells me he was a self-effacing man who didn't waste words. A non drinker, he didn't participate in Anzac Day, he didn't like the boozing that went on afterwards, and didn't like being reminded of the war. He gave his army mates the silver service when they came to his house, and always helped returned men.
By the time I reached the top of the hill I'd picked up more empty cans, another 'Woodstock' bourbon and coke, a 'Jack Daniels' Tennessee whisky and coke, and two 'Jim Beam' and coke. Also a plastic bottle of Coca-Cola and a glass bottle of vodka cruiser. And, no kidding, a condom, still sealed in it's plastic sachet. I put it in my shirt pocket, thinking I might meet a nymphomaniac around the next corner. It didn't happen.
I can't help but to feel anger on Anzac Day. Anger at the military command that sent the diggers to their deaths in the water, on the beach, and on the cliffs at Gallipolli. Anger at the politics of war, invading Turkey intending to take Constantinople to give to the Russian ally later. Anger at the stupidity of sending thousands of men out of the trenches into heavy machine gun fire and almost certain death at Fromelles. Anger at the flagwaving and the superiority it engenders. Anger at Vietnam. Anger at Iraq. Anger at inhumanity.
Finishing my walk, I counted the crushed aluminium cans I'd collected as I put them in Jod's box in the shed. There's always more on a Sunday morning. There were 6 'Woodstock' Kentucky bourbon and coke, 5 'Jack Daniel's' Tennessee whiskey and coke, and 3 'Jim Bean' Kentucky bourbon and coke, one Bundaberg rum and coke, and one VB.
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, you'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.
I had my transistor radio in my carry bag, tuned, unusually, to the ABC 774, and Macca's 'Australia all Over'. Being the last Sunday before Anzac Day (next Wednesday), the show had an Anzac Day focus. As I went up Quinn Rd. a brass band played a slowish version of Waltzing Matilda interspersed with the trumpet tune of the 'The Last Post'. Enjoying this inspiring musical nuance, I was distracted by an empty drink can on the road. It was a 'Woodstock' bourbon and coke can. I crushed it with my heel and put it in a plastic bag in my carry bag.
"Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, you'll come a waltzing Matilda with me."
The music finished and I walked on, half listening to Macca's prattle, the shows jingles, the voice grabs, but my mind was now on Anzac Day. In the clarity of the sharp morning air, feeling fit and fresh, it dawned on me that I have a problem with Anzac Day. It's difficult, if not impossible, for me to join the feeling of celebration that now comes with it. Or to accept, as Macca said, that it's become our 'National day'.
Don't get me wrong, I have no disrespect for it, or the RSL. It's just that it fills me with mixed emotions, sadness and anger. I'm sad for the those who lost their lives serving in the name of their country. Sad for the civilians, men, women and children, killed in the crossfire or obliterated by bombing. Sad for those crippled physically, and sad for the mental and emotional suffering. Sad for the inhumanity of war.
I wondered what my grandather would think? He served in WW1, in the 57th Battalion, made up largely of men from suburban Melbourne. Australia's, and the 57th Battallion's, first major action in France was the battle at Fromelles. Grandfather, fortunately, missed the first day, when 2000 Australians died, and the 60th Battalion was almost wiped out in the heaviest day of casualties in our military history. Men of the 57th Battalion spent the next four days bringing wounded men back from no-man's land between the trenches. There were some 8,000 plus Anzacs killed at Gallipolli over 8 months, 2000 in one day at Fromelles. There's a statue at the site in Flanders of a sergeant of the 57th Battalion carrying a wounded digger on his shoulders. Like Simpson and his donkeys at Gallipolli, this is the epitome of Anzac Day.
Grandfather Wilson, Poppa to us, was wounded by shrapnel in the face and back at Ypres and sent to hospital in England, and was back with the 57th Battalion when it liberated Villers-Bretonneux on Anzac Day 1918, after it had been occupied by the Germans in a forward push. Later he was shot in the right buttock at Boulogne and again sent to hospital in England, where he was when the war ended. He died fifty years ago so I didn't know him really, but Elvie tells me he was a self-effacing man who didn't waste words. A non drinker, he didn't participate in Anzac Day, he didn't like the boozing that went on afterwards, and didn't like being reminded of the war. He gave his army mates the silver service when they came to his house, and always helped returned men.
By the time I reached the top of the hill I'd picked up more empty cans, another 'Woodstock' bourbon and coke, a 'Jack Daniels' Tennessee whisky and coke, and two 'Jim Beam' and coke. Also a plastic bottle of Coca-Cola and a glass bottle of vodka cruiser. And, no kidding, a condom, still sealed in it's plastic sachet. I put it in my shirt pocket, thinking I might meet a nymphomaniac around the next corner. It didn't happen.
I can't help but to feel anger on Anzac Day. Anger at the military command that sent the diggers to their deaths in the water, on the beach, and on the cliffs at Gallipolli. Anger at the politics of war, invading Turkey intending to take Constantinople to give to the Russian ally later. Anger at the stupidity of sending thousands of men out of the trenches into heavy machine gun fire and almost certain death at Fromelles. Anger at the flagwaving and the superiority it engenders. Anger at Vietnam. Anger at Iraq. Anger at inhumanity.
Finishing my walk, I counted the crushed aluminium cans I'd collected as I put them in Jod's box in the shed. There's always more on a Sunday morning. There were 6 'Woodstock' Kentucky bourbon and coke, 5 'Jack Daniel's' Tennessee whiskey and coke, and 3 'Jim Bean' Kentucky bourbon and coke, one Bundaberg rum and coke, and one VB.
Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda, you'll come a waltzing Matilda with me.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
It's a Classic Autumn
Mid April. There's butter yellow in the gold ash and tulip trees, orange and rust red in the pin oaks, dogwoods and snowball viburnums, crimson in the claret ash and the whole range through to purple coming into the liquid ambers. Stunning viewing as I walked this morning, intoxicated by the crisp early morning air. I sucked the air deep into my lungs. It reminded me of the Southern Comfort over ice I drank late last night, which Lib bought me for my birthday.
Last year we missed autumn altogether. The weather went from hot as hadies through March to freezing cold in April in the blink of an eye. My friend Nigel went back to England as his father died. He left 40C weather here at the beginning of March to be greeted by freezing conditions in England, where he watched the Commonwealth Games in Melbourne, in the March heatwave, on TV. He couldn't wait to get home but came back into our cold snap which lasted for 5 months. The conditions this time are perfect for the autumn show; dry, warm days, cool nights, after a hot summer with some good rain.
The birds are fattening up on holly and cotoneaster berries, Himalayan strawberries, apples, figs, persimmons in a gourmet garden banquet before the harsh winter. The bees have shrunk down their brood nests and are packing honey in tight around the brood despite the warm 25C days, and nectar still coming in. I worked through them on Saturday, taking the third box off each and even knocking two down to singles, they'd reduced so much. They know what's coming, and are getting ready to rest after a long season gathering a record (in my experience) crop of honey. There are still drones in the hives but these I'm sure will be expelled with the next front of cold weather. I united the two hives at Sunset together to make one super strong colony, and left a box of thin unsealed honey on top for them to ripen. I'll unite two hives here at home next weekend, and maybe even turn 4 into 2. The less hives I have in spring the less trouble I should have with swarming is how I see it. Who knows what spring will hold?
So I had a busy weekend. Another 125kg of honey. I'll do a post shortly to summarize the bee season, just for the record, and to print a copy to send to my old boss, senior apiary inspector Laurie Braybrook, who's now in his eighties and a long time retired, but who has remained in touch despite it more than 26 years since I left the Department of Agriculture.
To my great joy, my son Robbie had the bird book out last week. He reckons he saw a female satin bower bird in the fig tree. I don't doubt it. A while ago I saw a greeny coloured bird, quite large, in the same tree, but couldn't get a good look at it. I hope to get another sighting.
Last year we missed autumn altogether. The weather went from hot as hadies through March to freezing cold in April in the blink of an eye. My friend Nigel went back to England as his father died. He left 40C weather here at the beginning of March to be greeted by freezing conditions in England, where he watched the Commonwealth Games in Melbourne, in the March heatwave, on TV. He couldn't wait to get home but came back into our cold snap which lasted for 5 months. The conditions this time are perfect for the autumn show; dry, warm days, cool nights, after a hot summer with some good rain.
The birds are fattening up on holly and cotoneaster berries, Himalayan strawberries, apples, figs, persimmons in a gourmet garden banquet before the harsh winter. The bees have shrunk down their brood nests and are packing honey in tight around the brood despite the warm 25C days, and nectar still coming in. I worked through them on Saturday, taking the third box off each and even knocking two down to singles, they'd reduced so much. They know what's coming, and are getting ready to rest after a long season gathering a record (in my experience) crop of honey. There are still drones in the hives but these I'm sure will be expelled with the next front of cold weather. I united the two hives at Sunset together to make one super strong colony, and left a box of thin unsealed honey on top for them to ripen. I'll unite two hives here at home next weekend, and maybe even turn 4 into 2. The less hives I have in spring the less trouble I should have with swarming is how I see it. Who knows what spring will hold?
So I had a busy weekend. Another 125kg of honey. I'll do a post shortly to summarize the bee season, just for the record, and to print a copy to send to my old boss, senior apiary inspector Laurie Braybrook, who's now in his eighties and a long time retired, but who has remained in touch despite it more than 26 years since I left the Department of Agriculture.
To my great joy, my son Robbie had the bird book out last week. He reckons he saw a female satin bower bird in the fig tree. I don't doubt it. A while ago I saw a greeny coloured bird, quite large, in the same tree, but couldn't get a good look at it. I hope to get another sighting.
Monday, April 09, 2007
Easter Monday
I have to work today as I did last Friday, but I had Saturday and Sunday home.
Yesterday the birthday boy made a big pot of vegetable soup in the morning, then did an amateur chimney sweep in preparation for the approaching cold weather. The weather being warm at the moment, I then looked into the two beehives at 'Sunset'. There's still nectar coming in when the weather's good, they haven't tossed out the drones yet, although broodnest size is reducing considerably. I'll have a final extract of honey when I pack them for winter soon. I hope the good weather holds for a bit.
We had a little present opening celebration with a bottle of bubbly when Lib got home from work, and a some good red with roast beef for dinner. My presents were all well thought out which touched me. Lib gave me a pair of new pyjamas and a bottle of Southern Comfort, Gord and Rob a set of much needed pouring funnels, a travellers bathroom kit, and a pedometer, Meredith and Roger a book on ancient American civilizations and Elvie a set of greeting cards with birds on. And Jod gave me 3 tins of curried lentil and vegie soup last week.
I've said it many times, but again, "Ain't Life Grand".
Yesterday the birthday boy made a big pot of vegetable soup in the morning, then did an amateur chimney sweep in preparation for the approaching cold weather. The weather being warm at the moment, I then looked into the two beehives at 'Sunset'. There's still nectar coming in when the weather's good, they haven't tossed out the drones yet, although broodnest size is reducing considerably. I'll have a final extract of honey when I pack them for winter soon. I hope the good weather holds for a bit.
We had a little present opening celebration with a bottle of bubbly when Lib got home from work, and a some good red with roast beef for dinner. My presents were all well thought out which touched me. Lib gave me a pair of new pyjamas and a bottle of Southern Comfort, Gord and Rob a set of much needed pouring funnels, a travellers bathroom kit, and a pedometer, Meredith and Roger a book on ancient American civilizations and Elvie a set of greeting cards with birds on. And Jod gave me 3 tins of curried lentil and vegie soup last week.
I've said it many times, but again, "Ain't Life Grand".
Sunday, April 08, 2007
A Feeling of Symmetry
Well, I have to say that I'm pleased that on this Easter Sunday I am now 55 years old. The number 55 has symmetry that I like. As I walked this morning I reflected that there's a fair chance I'll make the age of 75. I hope so, if I maintain good health.
That would be the year 2027. A bit scary, huh!
That would be the year 2027. A bit scary, huh!
Friday, April 06, 2007
Good Friday
Good Friday or no, every Friday is garbage collection day in Gembrook. The truck roars/groans/growls/squeals/bangs its way up our street at about 6.30 am. It works Launching Place Rd. and Quinn Rd. earlier still, you can hear it in bed before dawn. The noise seems horribly amplified in the cool, still, early morning air, as if whoever designed the vehicle was hellbent on as much noise as possible. The sequence repeats over and over as the truck accelerates, brakes, lifts bins with the hydraulic arm, bangs them once or twice, puts them down, and moves on to the next property. It's repeated a couple of hours later every second week, when a truck returns to pick up the bigger yellow lidded recycling bins. The council, with much enthusiasm, recently introduced a green waste bin collection for the other alternate week, however I, and many people, have declined this optional service, choosing instead to mulch with, or compost garden waste.
The bins are designed to reduce rat and dog invasion and to minimize human labour, but it's not foolproof and there's always litter left on the road on my way up the spur. The empty bins often fall over, replaced in haste by the operator, and the impression is of untidiness and sometimes mayhem. Not uncommonly, if a dog looking for food, or a person, in belligerance, has knocked a bin over, the truck ignores it and moves to the next house.
The odd bits of litter that spill from bins in the tranfer from bin to truck, I pick up and put back in the empty bin. If a dog has tipped up a whole bin and spread a lot of stinky, gooey trash over an area I leave it for the householder. On my everyday walk I put aluminium cans in a bag for Jod, who sells them to a recycler, and I put plastic and paper in the recycling bin at Puffing Billy station or the News agent/post office. I don't put plastic and paper in the street bins as this all goes to landfill. I asked the council worker who regularly empties the street bins into a small truck if there's a recycling procedure for this rubbish and he said there wasn't. Seems odd to me, that the council makes a big fuss about recycling, but don't have street bins for recyclables. The same at the shopping mall food halls, there's no recycling bins usually.
I think of the energy and resources used in the manufacture of cans and plastic bottles and hate the thought of them going to landfill. Preventing a little of that pleases me that I've had a positive impact in a small way, every day. There's a long way to go in the community though, because often I see a tipped over bin on my walk there's plastic bottles and cans mixed in with the the other stuff. Similarly as I walk past recycling bins stuffed so full the lid is sticking up I see plasic bags and foodscraps stuffed in with the recyclables. Either those people don't know, don't care, or don't think.
The Indian Mina birds are happy on Fridays, busy on the road, scavenging around bins. And 'Snow' is always alert looking for Friday titbits.
The bins are designed to reduce rat and dog invasion and to minimize human labour, but it's not foolproof and there's always litter left on the road on my way up the spur. The empty bins often fall over, replaced in haste by the operator, and the impression is of untidiness and sometimes mayhem. Not uncommonly, if a dog looking for food, or a person, in belligerance, has knocked a bin over, the truck ignores it and moves to the next house.
The odd bits of litter that spill from bins in the tranfer from bin to truck, I pick up and put back in the empty bin. If a dog has tipped up a whole bin and spread a lot of stinky, gooey trash over an area I leave it for the householder. On my everyday walk I put aluminium cans in a bag for Jod, who sells them to a recycler, and I put plastic and paper in the recycling bin at Puffing Billy station or the News agent/post office. I don't put plastic and paper in the street bins as this all goes to landfill. I asked the council worker who regularly empties the street bins into a small truck if there's a recycling procedure for this rubbish and he said there wasn't. Seems odd to me, that the council makes a big fuss about recycling, but don't have street bins for recyclables. The same at the shopping mall food halls, there's no recycling bins usually.
I think of the energy and resources used in the manufacture of cans and plastic bottles and hate the thought of them going to landfill. Preventing a little of that pleases me that I've had a positive impact in a small way, every day. There's a long way to go in the community though, because often I see a tipped over bin on my walk there's plastic bottles and cans mixed in with the the other stuff. Similarly as I walk past recycling bins stuffed so full the lid is sticking up I see plasic bags and foodscraps stuffed in with the recyclables. Either those people don't know, don't care, or don't think.
The Indian Mina birds are happy on Fridays, busy on the road, scavenging around bins. And 'Snow' is always alert looking for Friday titbits.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Ten From Ten
In the ten days since Lyle died, I have...
1. Thought of him every day with more love, respect, admiration, pathos and understanding than I ever felt previously.
2. Revelled in the change of weather/season. The day before the night Lyle's life force left silently it was a hot, punishing 37C day with a fierce north wind. The change came that night with 20ml of rain. On my morning walk after hearing the news that Lyle had gone I walked in light rain, dodging puddles and snails crawling acrooss the road. I saw a frog squashed. It was cool and so peaceful after the vicious day before.
3. Felt a greater love for people around me; my mammy Elvie, Meredith, Jod, Lib, Gord, Rob, friends and neighbours. My compassion level has elevated.
4. Attended to things such as collecting Lyle's clothes and possessions from Salisbury house. Lib and I did this the same day. There was a lump in my throat the whole time. We also met with the undertaker and discussed Lyle's wishes. He had prepaid for his cremation and costs and did not want a funeral service nor public notice. He instructed the undertaker to scatter his ashes. The undertaker agreed to give them to us for us to scatter. We'll do this at the farm down the back near the creek in an area that has become untidy around young beech trees. We'll clean up this up and plant it out with useful understory. It will be beautiful. I've seen the solicitor re the execution of Lyle's last will and testament. He has left his share of the farm and his assets to Elvie. She's happy to continue at the farm as long as her health allows, so we are business as usual for now.
5. Been to Farmworld at Lardner Park, Warragul to at look at Gators. A Gator is a small carry all type vehicle for farm use made by American firm John Deere. Walking up the hill carrying produce is becoming tougher for Meredith and Joddy, and me, we're not getting younger. Let's say we're an ageing workforce and I'm sure a 4WD Gator would help us improve and work the bottom steep part of our farm. They are expensive, but I want one!
6. Watched the Demon's inglorious season opener at the MCG last Friday night. Lyle and I always shared a strong interest in football and this was the first game they've played without me able to discuss the result with him, a father/son thing. It was a dismal effort which almost prompted me to dismiss our chances for 2007. I cling to the old maxim that it's no use being a champion in March.
7. Had lunch with Rick Malfroy and his wife Monica at the Pine Grove Hotel, a most pleasant social dalliance made no less enjoyable by the fact that I was paying. Rick won our in house footy tipping competition in the 2006 season so I thought I should settle before the start of the the 2007 season. We email each other our tips and no doubt I'll clean him up this year.
8. Had a phone call from a close friend from the past who told me he had cancer. Cancer of the head. He had half of it removed last December including an eye and half his jaw. I was grateful he told me personally without me hearing it from other sources at some other time. He wants me to catch up with him when I can get there and have a beer with him. This I will as soon as I can.
9. Continued my war on European wasps. Nest kill count now 18 this season.
10. Noticed European wasps working close to the ground, seemingly foraging at ground level. Also bellbirds working on the ground, which is most unusual. Both must be gathering, or feeding on, something. I wonder if the tree insects are falling off with the cooler temperatures. And I've been hearing rats and mice in the roof.
1. Thought of him every day with more love, respect, admiration, pathos and understanding than I ever felt previously.
2. Revelled in the change of weather/season. The day before the night Lyle's life force left silently it was a hot, punishing 37C day with a fierce north wind. The change came that night with 20ml of rain. On my morning walk after hearing the news that Lyle had gone I walked in light rain, dodging puddles and snails crawling acrooss the road. I saw a frog squashed. It was cool and so peaceful after the vicious day before.
3. Felt a greater love for people around me; my mammy Elvie, Meredith, Jod, Lib, Gord, Rob, friends and neighbours. My compassion level has elevated.
4. Attended to things such as collecting Lyle's clothes and possessions from Salisbury house. Lib and I did this the same day. There was a lump in my throat the whole time. We also met with the undertaker and discussed Lyle's wishes. He had prepaid for his cremation and costs and did not want a funeral service nor public notice. He instructed the undertaker to scatter his ashes. The undertaker agreed to give them to us for us to scatter. We'll do this at the farm down the back near the creek in an area that has become untidy around young beech trees. We'll clean up this up and plant it out with useful understory. It will be beautiful. I've seen the solicitor re the execution of Lyle's last will and testament. He has left his share of the farm and his assets to Elvie. She's happy to continue at the farm as long as her health allows, so we are business as usual for now.
5. Been to Farmworld at Lardner Park, Warragul to at look at Gators. A Gator is a small carry all type vehicle for farm use made by American firm John Deere. Walking up the hill carrying produce is becoming tougher for Meredith and Joddy, and me, we're not getting younger. Let's say we're an ageing workforce and I'm sure a 4WD Gator would help us improve and work the bottom steep part of our farm. They are expensive, but I want one!
6. Watched the Demon's inglorious season opener at the MCG last Friday night. Lyle and I always shared a strong interest in football and this was the first game they've played without me able to discuss the result with him, a father/son thing. It was a dismal effort which almost prompted me to dismiss our chances for 2007. I cling to the old maxim that it's no use being a champion in March.
7. Had lunch with Rick Malfroy and his wife Monica at the Pine Grove Hotel, a most pleasant social dalliance made no less enjoyable by the fact that I was paying. Rick won our in house footy tipping competition in the 2006 season so I thought I should settle before the start of the the 2007 season. We email each other our tips and no doubt I'll clean him up this year.
8. Had a phone call from a close friend from the past who told me he had cancer. Cancer of the head. He had half of it removed last December including an eye and half his jaw. I was grateful he told me personally without me hearing it from other sources at some other time. He wants me to catch up with him when I can get there and have a beer with him. This I will as soon as I can.
9. Continued my war on European wasps. Nest kill count now 18 this season.
10. Noticed European wasps working close to the ground, seemingly foraging at ground level. Also bellbirds working on the ground, which is most unusual. Both must be gathering, or feeding on, something. I wonder if the tree insects are falling off with the cooler temperatures. And I've been hearing rats and mice in the roof.
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