An email from a childhood friend, Graeme Forster, came three days before Christmas, in response to one I sent the same day. I hadn't seen or heard from Graeme for more than twenty years and had lost all contact details after he moved from his home in northern NSW. Years ago I rang his old number and learned he'd moved. I tried the phone directory for the area and also Canberra and Perth where I knew his older brothers Keith and Bill lived at some stage, to no avail. Every number I called was a dead end. Mr.Forster died in 1976 and Mrs. in1981.
While shopping in Emerald about three years ago I had a conversation with a lady, Bronwyn, who mentioned casually her husband's aunt, who, before advancing years and the loss of her husband largely confined her to home, was a regular visitor to Chamomile Farm. I recalled my parents telling me Graeme's brother Keith, on his way up to visit friends way back in the 1970's, had called in at the farm. His friends were Bronwyn's husband's aunt and uncle. I asked Bronwyn did she see the aunt much and she said that coincidentally they were going to see her the next day. Bronwyn said she'd ask the aunt if she still had contact with Keith Forster.
I saw Bronwyn in the street a couple of weeks later and she told me that the aunt did have Keith's phone number but she didn't get it from her when she was there, as the old lady was not well and she didn't like to push, but she would get it next time or when circumstances were right. Well I didn't see Bronwyn again for three years, till about last August. She explained she'd been living in Dubai for the last two years and when I jogged her about the phone number she told me the aunt was still alive and she'd ask again. Days later I met Bronwyn again and she obligingly gave me a piece of paper with Keith's mobile phone number on it.
I rang Keith twice about a month apart and left a message on the answering service. Keith had not responded by November. I was beginning to feel like that bloke in the TV ad who rang his mate eating a pie across the road on his mobile and watched his mate ("Come on Johnny me old mate" as the phone rang) check who the call was from before ignoring it and putting the phone away. On November 14, Jod's 60th birthday, I rang Keith again, realizing it was also Bill Forster's birthday and hoping to get Bill's phone number so I could ring him and surprise him with a birthday greeting.
This time Keith answered. He apologized for not calling earlier, he'd been busy. He's a single parent looking after his 17 year old daughter from his second marriage. He works as an analyst for the defence Department in Canberra. He told me Bill had died of dementia a couple of years back, aged 58. He gave me Graeme's address, phone and email details and on Dec 22 I emailed Graeme, prompted by Christmas.
Graeme lives on the Gold Coast. He's a carer for his wife who has suffered a series of strokes. They have three grown up kids aged 29, 26 and 20. The girls are at Uni and live at home and his son Darcy works as a bush regenerator, mostly on Stradbroke Is. The eldest, Ella, is completing a philosophy degree and has a spiritual and inward inclination which Graeme says is something she has in common with him.
There's a picture in our family album of Graeme and I in the Mt.Waverley Primary School football team photo. We're sitting centre in the front row, each with both our hands on the footy between us. We were in Grade 5. Most of the kids in the photo were grade sixers, in that year in which our school won the area footy comp. The captain is holding the shield in the photo. I remember little of the actual footy but I think we played the very strong Chadstone in the deciding match and against the odds and showing great persistence we triumphed narrowly. There's also a class photo of our grade 5, 1962, in which again Graeme and I have the then fashionable crew cut hair.
We were inseparable mates for four or five years. Sport orientated and athltetic, fit young fellows, we rode pushbikes everywhere, kicked the footy in the park for hours on end, played cricket and shuttlecock in the back yard, pool and billiards, all with a friendly competetiveness. I could never bridge the foot or so edge Graeme had over me in a sprint race. Each summer I'd go away on holiday with the Forster family to Lorne or Torquay. Mr and Mrs Forster treated me like one of the family and I soaked up the holiday atmosphere and the beach environment and casual picnic type lunches of fresh rolls and salad. And lemon squashes at the pub when Mr. Forster (also Bill) nipped in for a beer on the way down. Greame and I did a paper round to give the regulars a break over Christmas to earn spending money for our holiday, on which we budgeted carefully to pay for icecreams, mini golf, trampoline sessions and soft drink. It was wonderful childhood stuff.
When primary school finished I was grateful my parents sent me to Malvern Grammar where Graeme was enrolled, and where Keith and Bill had already passed through forms 1 and 2 and progressed to the senior school, Caulfield Grammar. We in turn moved on to Caulfield Grammar in 1966 where I think the pressures of senior school and different classes and subjects separated us a bit. Probably with adolescence came interest in the opposite sex which further compounded life and we lost our simple boyhood alliance that was our bond. It was all a bit much for me. I became wayward and rebellious and found similar companions and was ultimately expelled from school in 1968, and our two families each had their own dramas. My family moved from Mt.Waverley in 1971, Graeme was at university, and I saw him rarely by then.
In his email Graeme said he had so many fond memories of our childhood and of my family, some of which I've mentioned above and others like fireworks and water bombs recall to me how we were often quite mischievous and downright naughty. One hot summer's day we found we could make effective water bombs which could be lobbed through the open window of the train into the driver's head or lap from our strategic ambush position as the train left the station. After watching the driver duck in evasive action as he wondered what the devil was coming at him we'd ride away laughing till our bellies ached.
Another of Graeme's memories was the 1964 Grand Final which we attended in standing room as 12 twelve year olds. My team Melbourne won by four points after 'Weideman' had put Collingwood ahead in the dying moments. I have to correct Graeme on that, it was Gabelich that kicked that goal. It was Melbourne's last premiership, and he's correct that his team Essendon has had a lot more success since, to the tune of 5 flags- 65, 84, 85, 93, and 2000 (when they beat Melbourne). I hope the pendulum swings back now, but I have to say over the years I've been glad for Graeme when Essendon had success, even though I couldn't stand that thug Sheedy. I'm pleased that Graeme still has an interest in the footy and goes to the odd pre-season game when it's on at Carrara.
Graeme said also his main interest over the past twenty years has been remembering God. He's not a member of any church group but I took from his comments that he has a belief and meditates and has an inward peace which removes him from the troubles of society and the stresses of life. He said he was agnostic till the late 1980's when personal experience started him on his inward search, but it probably had its origin back when he was present at first his father's death in 1976, then his mother's in 1981. On both occasions he felt they left to go somewhere else, so that to him, they never really died. It was comforting for me to read. I was so very fond of Bill and Ethel Forster who were like another set of parents to me. I think I always felt I let them down with the waywardness of my adolescence, and of course with their passing from this life so long ago, I never had the chance to put it right later, or at least give them back some of the human kindness they showed me when I was young, the kindness that has been so important in helping me be as compassionate a person as I can.
Graeme saying it felt like his parents left to go somewhere else reminded me of something Meredith once said. She was present when our nanna Wilson died, and she said it was like an unstoppable force leaving, which was not unlike the feeling she had when her daughters were born, except in that case the unstoppable force was coming not going.
Graeme said my email would bring him many smiles at Christmas. I'm so glad for that.
Tuesday, February 09, 2010
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Still Walking
Despite the demands of business and summer I'm still walking almost every morning. And still loving it. At the New Year I'd been walking for four years. At say 350 walks per year of say 4.5km, that's 1575km per year multiplied by 4 is 6,300km. Australia has19,650km of coastline (which includes Tasmania of course, and all the bays and gulfs etc) so I hope to do another 8 years of morning walks and be able to say I've walked the distance equivalent to the entire Australian coast since I started. Should happen about my 66th birthday should I be so lucky. You are invited to the party, 8 April 2018. RSVP 1 April 2018. Venue? Who knows? To be advised.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Australia Day
Determined as I am tonight to post my thoughts I just can't do it. I'm falling asleep at the desk. In brief, I'm grateful to have been born here and live in this affluent country of more than 7.5 million square kilometres.
The low point of the day was the General Peter Cosgrove's Australia Day speech. What a load of eulogistic, politically correct, sycophantic bulldust. Talk about wallpapering over cracks and sweeping under the carpet.
Platitudinous nonsense! Fair dinkum, I winced throughout. I think the rest of the world must be getting a bit sick of Australians saying how good we are.
Cosgrove likened himself to a test cricket batsman having a good innings, in good nick despite the odd slips chance. I think it's time he copped a good bouncer and pulled his head in. I'm tiring of Australian self aggrandisement. Let's roll up our sleeves, get our arses into gear, and repair the damage we've done to this amazing continent over two hundred years. Stop taking 'sickies' for starters, and stop wanting more and more for less input. And stuff the flag. Why start arguing over the flag? What the hell difference does a flag make, or a change to it? What pomping bloody nonsense!
The low point of the day was the General Peter Cosgrove's Australia Day speech. What a load of eulogistic, politically correct, sycophantic bulldust. Talk about wallpapering over cracks and sweeping under the carpet.
Platitudinous nonsense! Fair dinkum, I winced throughout. I think the rest of the world must be getting a bit sick of Australians saying how good we are.
Cosgrove likened himself to a test cricket batsman having a good innings, in good nick despite the odd slips chance. I think it's time he copped a good bouncer and pulled his head in. I'm tiring of Australian self aggrandisement. Let's roll up our sleeves, get our arses into gear, and repair the damage we've done to this amazing continent over two hundred years. Stop taking 'sickies' for starters, and stop wanting more and more for less input. And stuff the flag. Why start arguing over the flag? What the hell difference does a flag make, or a change to it? What pomping bloody nonsense!
Monday, January 18, 2010
Needs Must as The Devil Drives
It's raining heavily now. On the morning of the 18th of January! The gas heater is pumping out warm air at a big tub of honey in front of it, honey I extracted yesterday after taking a few boxes of combs from the bees on Saturday. I tipped a bucket of honey through the fine strainer last night. It was difficult to get it through so I'm keeping this one warm while my rinsed out straining cloth dries off.
Summer cold snaps are not unusual here in southern Victoria, and the rain is most welcome. Huit dropped off a trailer and ute load of plants in big pots yesterday, for me to look after while his new house behind the supermarket is built over the next six months. Canna lillies, tree ferns, maples, lilacs, a gingko, are amongst a wide range with which Huit hopes start his new garden. He and Wilma sold their 15 acres after 38 years and vacate this week, to a house they are renting from a friend in Bayswater. They plan to go away a bit in their caravan and do trip to Holland and Canada in May. I won't have to water Huit's plants, or mine, for a few days now, nd the water tanks are full and the vegie garden lush.
I would have liked to get some honey off the bees earlier, say a month or so ago. Not that there was much there, which I knew from a quick inspection, and which was probably the base reason for my lack of action, but had I done it earlier, less of it would have been candied. Candied honey wo'nt come out. It hasn't been a good honey season, the weather's been up and down and the bees have been scrappy when I've had a look. Not from a distance this year have I looked across to the beehives and seen heavy flight with honey laden workers returning heavy with good loads. Nor have I caught the sweet scent of ripening honey in my nostrils in the evenings when near the hives.
So it was a weekend of work cleaning out my shed and setting it up as a honey house, working through the bees on Saturday before the change, then extracting, now clean up, all for little result. Maybe 50kgs in total. There might be another extract in February, but I wouldn't expect much. So it goes sometimes. Maybe next year will be a 'biggee'. In hope, I resolve to get the bees in good nick in the autumn, replace crook boxes and paint spare material, buy new frames etc in readiness, but I doubt it'll happen. There's too much else to keep me busy.
I've been busy since some weeks before Christmas, driven by necessity, without a day off for personal pursuits, except for Christmas day itself. I don't mind admitting it, I'm tired. The effort to spend the weekend mucking about with bees and honey took some mental strength, knowing I'm so far behind with work at the farm and at home, and there's always things to do in Nobelius Park (in my spare?time).
For some reason the wholesalers we work with don't stop or slow down for a few weeks after Christmas like they used to. Christmas Day was a Friday and they were back as normal on the Monday, wanting their orders a day early that week because New Year's Day, also a Friday, was a holiday (for them). We say "how high" when they say "jump" as we paid the farm insurance in November, which rises every year and cleans us out, and have to get the rates together by February, as well as all the usual on going expenses.
My old friend John Barelds used to say, regularly, "It's a great life if you don't weaken." It's true. And we've been so lucky with the rain this year. Maybe next year there'll be a bumper crop of blossom and foliage at the farm and a bumper crop of honey.
I worked a bit with my friend Mal over the last two weeks in his garden. Mal, in his seventies and recovering from recent heart attacks, threw himself at the landscaping while Pat was away. He was for five years a commercial salmon fisherman off the west coast off Scotland. When I suggested he take a breather, he told me how when he went home to take up the licence, an old fisherman in his eighties, Hamish McGlynn, said to him, "If you give me a pound I'll give you my cobble, and teach you how to row it in the Ocean." A cobble is a large wooden rowing boat used to set nets. They went out week after week, sometimes in enormous swells, with Mal working the heavy oars by himself while Hamish shouted instructions. Mal said once his arms needed a breather. Hamish said, "There'll be plenty of rest when you're in your grave, laddie."
Summer cold snaps are not unusual here in southern Victoria, and the rain is most welcome. Huit dropped off a trailer and ute load of plants in big pots yesterday, for me to look after while his new house behind the supermarket is built over the next six months. Canna lillies, tree ferns, maples, lilacs, a gingko, are amongst a wide range with which Huit hopes start his new garden. He and Wilma sold their 15 acres after 38 years and vacate this week, to a house they are renting from a friend in Bayswater. They plan to go away a bit in their caravan and do trip to Holland and Canada in May. I won't have to water Huit's plants, or mine, for a few days now, nd the water tanks are full and the vegie garden lush.
I would have liked to get some honey off the bees earlier, say a month or so ago. Not that there was much there, which I knew from a quick inspection, and which was probably the base reason for my lack of action, but had I done it earlier, less of it would have been candied. Candied honey wo'nt come out. It hasn't been a good honey season, the weather's been up and down and the bees have been scrappy when I've had a look. Not from a distance this year have I looked across to the beehives and seen heavy flight with honey laden workers returning heavy with good loads. Nor have I caught the sweet scent of ripening honey in my nostrils in the evenings when near the hives.
So it was a weekend of work cleaning out my shed and setting it up as a honey house, working through the bees on Saturday before the change, then extracting, now clean up, all for little result. Maybe 50kgs in total. There might be another extract in February, but I wouldn't expect much. So it goes sometimes. Maybe next year will be a 'biggee'. In hope, I resolve to get the bees in good nick in the autumn, replace crook boxes and paint spare material, buy new frames etc in readiness, but I doubt it'll happen. There's too much else to keep me busy.
I've been busy since some weeks before Christmas, driven by necessity, without a day off for personal pursuits, except for Christmas day itself. I don't mind admitting it, I'm tired. The effort to spend the weekend mucking about with bees and honey took some mental strength, knowing I'm so far behind with work at the farm and at home, and there's always things to do in Nobelius Park (in my spare?time).
For some reason the wholesalers we work with don't stop or slow down for a few weeks after Christmas like they used to. Christmas Day was a Friday and they were back as normal on the Monday, wanting their orders a day early that week because New Year's Day, also a Friday, was a holiday (for them). We say "how high" when they say "jump" as we paid the farm insurance in November, which rises every year and cleans us out, and have to get the rates together by February, as well as all the usual on going expenses.
My old friend John Barelds used to say, regularly, "It's a great life if you don't weaken." It's true. And we've been so lucky with the rain this year. Maybe next year there'll be a bumper crop of blossom and foliage at the farm and a bumper crop of honey.
I worked a bit with my friend Mal over the last two weeks in his garden. Mal, in his seventies and recovering from recent heart attacks, threw himself at the landscaping while Pat was away. He was for five years a commercial salmon fisherman off the west coast off Scotland. When I suggested he take a breather, he told me how when he went home to take up the licence, an old fisherman in his eighties, Hamish McGlynn, said to him, "If you give me a pound I'll give you my cobble, and teach you how to row it in the Ocean." A cobble is a large wooden rowing boat used to set nets. They went out week after week, sometimes in enormous swells, with Mal working the heavy oars by himself while Hamish shouted instructions. Mal said once his arms needed a breather. Hamish said, "There'll be plenty of rest when you're in your grave, laddie."
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
A Letter at Christmas
Elvie, who has trouble reading letters these days, relies on Meredith to read her mail. I was fortunate to be in the kitchen at the farm a few days before Christmas making a cup of tea late in the day when Meredith was reading a letter from Elvie's cousin Dorothy. Dorothy is about Elvie's age but the two ladies haven't had much contact during their lives, in fact there has been none until now that I can recall.
Dorothy is the daughter of Elvie's Uncle Oz, her father's brother. She said in her letter she was sorry they'd had little contact, especially as Edgar and Oz (Austin) were close, loving brothers who had both served in WW1. Oz lost a leg after being wounded at Fromelles on 19 July 1916. Edgar was not present on the first day of the Fromelles battle when 2000 Australians were killed but spent the next three days searching for survivors and removing the dead. Dorothy said my grandmother Annie, Edgar's wife, wrote to Oz every year on the 19 July, and Oz would answer immediately.
Dorothy told Elvie in her letter that after a happy childhood she worked for the Immigration Dep't. and was sent to Corowa in NSW. There she met the man with whom she felt she could spend her life, a Polish migrant, and they married in 1951. I can't remember her husband's name, but he'd had a terrible time in the war and just wanted a quiet lifestyle growing food. They found a cottage on five acres of land, somewhere near Sydney, where they grew 3000 tomato plants each year and fruit trees and started raising their family. When the family outgrew the cottage they managed to get a bigger house on ten acres and continued growing fruit and vegies. Dorothy's husband passed away a few years ago. She now lives with a daughter in the Blue Mountains where they have plenty of room and she invited Elvie to come and stay anytime she would like.
It was a heartwarming letter that made me grateful for Christmas, if for no other reason than it inspires communication within families and between old friends. I asked Elvie why she didn't have much to do with her cousins throughout her life and she said it was because of Oz's wife, who would have nothing to do with her father Edgar or his family, even though they lived in a neighbouring suburb. Apparently in the minds of Oz's wife and her sister, Edgar was supposed to marry the sister when he returned from the war. Two returning brothers marrying sisters, the 'two little girls in blue'. This was never in Edgar's plans, as the album of photo's, postcards and memorabilia sent home to his fiancee Annie shows.
Edgar and Oz continued their brotherly mateship throughout their lives. Edgar, a grocer, delivered to Oz's house every week but the wife would never come to the door to say hello let alone invite her brother in law inside. She died before Oz and Edgar did, having gone quite mad, Elvie thinks, but by then the offspring had gone their own ways.
It was a heartwarming letter that made me grateful for Christmas, if for no other reason than it inspires communication within families and between old friends. I asked Elvie why she didn't have much to do with her cousins throughout her life and she said it was because of Oz's wife, who would have nothing to do with her father Edgar or his family, even though they lived in a neighbouring suburb. Apparently in the minds of Oz's wife and her sister, Edgar was supposed to marry the sister when he returned from the war. Two returning brothers marrying sisters, the 'two little girls in blue'. This was never in Edgar's plans, as the album of photo's, postcards and memorabilia sent home to his fiancee Annie shows.
Edgar and Oz continued their brotherly mateship throughout their lives. Edgar, a grocer, delivered to Oz's house every week but the wife would never come to the door to say hello let alone invite her brother in law inside. She died before Oz and Edgar did, having gone quite mad, Elvie thinks, but by then the offspring had gone their own ways.
Elvie then told me that when Edgar was on a ship waiting to leave Cairo for France after his battalion had been training in Egypt, a ship came into port carrying more Australian soldiers. Without any prior knowledge of it, he had an overpowering feeling that his brother was on that ship. He rushed to the side and back along the ship calling out as loud as he could, "Has anyone seen Ozzie Wilson?" A familar voice called back from the sea of faces on the other ship.
"Here I am Ted." There was his brother waving back to him.
"Here I am Ted." There was his brother waving back to him.
Monday, December 28, 2009
Christmas Photos
On Christmas day we were looking at a photo of Jod, me and Meredith when we were kids, taken more than fifty years ago. Meredith said she'd like to have one taken now in the same pose so she could put them on her wall side by side.
From left- Annie, Elvie Jod, Meredith, me, Roger.
The kids are Annie and Brett's girls Ella and Evie.
Lib was at work and our boys were in Bendigo at Lib's sister's for their bash. Rosie and Matt were coming later, Brett took the photo and is going to try to scan the 50+ year old one so I can put it up too.
A Kind of Hush
It's quiet today. Lib's gone to work and I had a walk in the garden with Rob to work out where he could put some vegie seeds he bought cheap. He's been bitten by the gardening bug, I'm happy to say. In the end we decided they could go in pots and old tyres as our current garden space is full with beetroot, beans, zuchinnis, button squash, tomatos, cucumbers, eggplant and pumpkins. His seed packets include radishes silverbeet, leeks, beetroot, pak choi and kol rabbi, all of which should do alright in containers I think.
Elvie just rang to say Shane wants 10 bunches of green holly; why, after Xmas, I know not. She asked could I pick it, they're busy at the farm working on the 'Herb and Spice' order, which Ian wants to pick up at midday. Jod was looking at the paper having morning tea and saw that Norman Hargreaves died on Boxing Day, which has made him sad and upset. When my parents moved to Dixon's Creek onto 300 acres of bush soon after they married, the Hargreaves were on the farm next door. Norm was the youngest of the three boys who were staunch friends of my parents through tough times then and remained so throughout their lives. It's like the end of an era for us. Norm was immensely strong, quiet, a real bushman from a different time. He was 82. He suffered dementia made worse by the bushfires last February which destroyed pasture, stock, and fences on his farm. Jod worked for Norm on the bulldozers for a while, in the late seventies, I think it was. I'll post about the Hargreaves one day.
I hope Jod isn't too upset to have his mind on the job. Shane also wants beech, berries and flowering artichokes and Foxy is picking up today too. I picked camellia for her yesterday and she wants whatever's going. No rest for the wicked as they say. I wonder at the origin of that saying. I weeded the herb/vegie garden at the farm yesterday, the basil seed is up and away but would be swamped by summer weeds particularly oxalis and paspalum unless the rows are finger weeded so the young plants can get away. I mowed Hughesie's grass on Saturday and did some cutting back, so with the exception of Christmas Day it's been work as normal. Lib worked Christmas day, Sunday, and today.
The town was quiet when I walked through this morning. There's been some changes I haven't mentioned over the last month. The sweet shop closed down, and on the door of the vacant shop a sign went up, 'TATTOO MAYHEM'. Shortly after, a sign went in 'Pandoora's Book Cafe' window next door, 'CLOSING DOWN LAST DAY 31 DEC'. Yesterday I noticed the window front of the proposed tattoo shop had been smashed and hoardings put up over the broken window. It creates a poor town image. There's a sign in the pub window, 'CAFE OPENING SOON'. Lordy, Lordy! The local supermarket has changed hands. Richard Mullet, the popular proprietor who went to Camberwell Grammar at the same time I was there, has ridden into the sunset after a decade or so, and a new owner 'Andrew' has taken over this business pivotal in Gembrook's commercial precinct. I hear he has another small supermarket somewhere in the hills and I wish him well. We need good businessmen in this wide brown land.
Talking of supermarkets, a fence has gone up around 'Sally's' supermarket at Emerald and I expect demolition to begin shortly in prep for the new 'Safeway'. Rumour has it a medical superclinic is to be built on the site of Dr. Mark's surgery and the Emerald Community House next door, though this hasn't hit the headlines of the local papers and may be fanciful nonsense.
I have some good things to blog about but not time now. I'll leave you with a quote to think about, a powerful sentence by Sir Thomas Browne, whose work I've not come across before, but who now excites my curiosity.
"There is surely a piece of Divinity in us; something that was before the elements and owes no homage unto the Sun."
Elvie just rang to say Shane wants 10 bunches of green holly; why, after Xmas, I know not. She asked could I pick it, they're busy at the farm working on the 'Herb and Spice' order, which Ian wants to pick up at midday. Jod was looking at the paper having morning tea and saw that Norman Hargreaves died on Boxing Day, which has made him sad and upset. When my parents moved to Dixon's Creek onto 300 acres of bush soon after they married, the Hargreaves were on the farm next door. Norm was the youngest of the three boys who were staunch friends of my parents through tough times then and remained so throughout their lives. It's like the end of an era for us. Norm was immensely strong, quiet, a real bushman from a different time. He was 82. He suffered dementia made worse by the bushfires last February which destroyed pasture, stock, and fences on his farm. Jod worked for Norm on the bulldozers for a while, in the late seventies, I think it was. I'll post about the Hargreaves one day.
I hope Jod isn't too upset to have his mind on the job. Shane also wants beech, berries and flowering artichokes and Foxy is picking up today too. I picked camellia for her yesterday and she wants whatever's going. No rest for the wicked as they say. I wonder at the origin of that saying. I weeded the herb/vegie garden at the farm yesterday, the basil seed is up and away but would be swamped by summer weeds particularly oxalis and paspalum unless the rows are finger weeded so the young plants can get away. I mowed Hughesie's grass on Saturday and did some cutting back, so with the exception of Christmas Day it's been work as normal. Lib worked Christmas day, Sunday, and today.
The town was quiet when I walked through this morning. There's been some changes I haven't mentioned over the last month. The sweet shop closed down, and on the door of the vacant shop a sign went up, 'TATTOO MAYHEM'. Shortly after, a sign went in 'Pandoora's Book Cafe' window next door, 'CLOSING DOWN LAST DAY 31 DEC'. Yesterday I noticed the window front of the proposed tattoo shop had been smashed and hoardings put up over the broken window. It creates a poor town image. There's a sign in the pub window, 'CAFE OPENING SOON'. Lordy, Lordy! The local supermarket has changed hands. Richard Mullet, the popular proprietor who went to Camberwell Grammar at the same time I was there, has ridden into the sunset after a decade or so, and a new owner 'Andrew' has taken over this business pivotal in Gembrook's commercial precinct. I hear he has another small supermarket somewhere in the hills and I wish him well. We need good businessmen in this wide brown land.
Talking of supermarkets, a fence has gone up around 'Sally's' supermarket at Emerald and I expect demolition to begin shortly in prep for the new 'Safeway'. Rumour has it a medical superclinic is to be built on the site of Dr. Mark's surgery and the Emerald Community House next door, though this hasn't hit the headlines of the local papers and may be fanciful nonsense.
I have some good things to blog about but not time now. I'll leave you with a quote to think about, a powerful sentence by Sir Thomas Browne, whose work I've not come across before, but who now excites my curiosity.
"There is surely a piece of Divinity in us; something that was before the elements and owes no homage unto the Sun."
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Apocalypse?
For most of my life, in my conscious recollection, I've lived with the underlying threat of nuclear war and human obliteration. This was particularly strong in the 1960's during my adolescence at the height of the cold war, and this must have influenced my attitudes then and helped shape my views now.
Added to that, my parents were religious and served up an unhealthy portion, regularly, of apocalyptic prophesy from The Book of Revelations, which left me scared stiff and waiting for 'Kaboomba' at any moment. I claim now, more than forty years on, that this was not good for a developing mind and may have been the reason for my rebellion and somewhat unpredictable, foolhardy, and antisocial behaviour in my later youth. In common lingo, I was screwed up, without understanding why.
I'm not bitter about this. It's nobody's fault. Seven years before I was born atomic bombs destroyed entire cities in Japan in one swift hit. This historic event was witnessed by my parents in the medai of the day after six years of World War 2 during their adolescence. Then came the arms race and the cold war with the Soviet Union. The whole world was screwed up.
It's still there, the threat of nuclear destruction, but probably we've all relaxed a little thinking that if nobody has pushed the button yet then there's a good chance they won't. Who knows really?
A couple of years ago I bought a book in an op. shop, an auto biography called 'Dr. Helen Caldicott, A Passionate Life.' I came across it this morning and had a quick look. She starts of by saying how she read a book that changed her life when she was nineteen, 'On The Beach', by Neville Shute. That must have been in 1957, and led her to spend 25 years of her life in political activity campaigning for nuclear disarmament.
A little into the first chapter Helen revealed that as a baby she was suddenly abandoned by her parents for two weeks when her mother was pregnant with a second child and in the interests of her health her husband organized a holiday while Helen, 18 months old, was placed in an institution that cared for babies.
I quote, "Years later when I became a pediatrician, I discovered that when a baby is suddenly abandoned by its parents, it screams for about two days for no avail and then gives up and sits in the corner of its cot, uncommunicative and severely depressed. It often takes months for the baby to forgive its parents and it may never completely return to normality and a state of trust."
What amazed me was that I never expected to find common ground between Dr Helen Caldicott and brother Jod. When mum was pregnant with me, her and dad, at Auntie Clare's insistence, went on a holiday to West Australia with Clare, who paid, and left Jod at mum's friend Zoe's. When she came back Jod was a different child and hardly recognized her, and she felt terrible for having left him, a guilt I think she still carries. Jod is two and half years older than me so he would have been about two years old. He turned 60 last month and for much of that 60 years was at war with his parents and the world in general.
After describing how desperately ill she became while her parents were absent, DrHC continues, "These events changed my life. From being a trusting happy child I put a wall around myself and never reall trusted anybody again, and to this day I let very few past this barrier."
My childhood best friend, Graeme 'Bubs' Forster, whom I haven't seen for probably more than 20 years, said to me the last time I saw him, when we were discussing our childhood, "We're all victims of victims." It's not a bad way of looking for understanding of people.
In Dr HC's second last paragraph she says, "However the work of global preventative pediatrics is not over.
The lives of my grandchildren are now threatened with on going ozone depletion, the perils of global warming, pollution of the air, water and soil with a multiplicity of chemicals and radioisotapes, deforestation, and species extinction combined with the rampant overpopulation of human beings.
I paid a personal price for the intense political work that I conducted over a twenty five year time span, through the pain I inflicted on myself and those dear to me. That said, I must continue."
DrHC's book was published in 1996 but the message still packs a punch. The ozone one has diminished but the others are bigger than ever. As far as I can gather HC is still writng and campaigning on environmental issues. She must be a remarkable lady whom I'd love to have to dinner.
Let's hope this Copenhagen thing can help save our children's children.
Added to that, my parents were religious and served up an unhealthy portion, regularly, of apocalyptic prophesy from The Book of Revelations, which left me scared stiff and waiting for 'Kaboomba' at any moment. I claim now, more than forty years on, that this was not good for a developing mind and may have been the reason for my rebellion and somewhat unpredictable, foolhardy, and antisocial behaviour in my later youth. In common lingo, I was screwed up, without understanding why.
I'm not bitter about this. It's nobody's fault. Seven years before I was born atomic bombs destroyed entire cities in Japan in one swift hit. This historic event was witnessed by my parents in the medai of the day after six years of World War 2 during their adolescence. Then came the arms race and the cold war with the Soviet Union. The whole world was screwed up.
It's still there, the threat of nuclear destruction, but probably we've all relaxed a little thinking that if nobody has pushed the button yet then there's a good chance they won't. Who knows really?
A couple of years ago I bought a book in an op. shop, an auto biography called 'Dr. Helen Caldicott, A Passionate Life.' I came across it this morning and had a quick look. She starts of by saying how she read a book that changed her life when she was nineteen, 'On The Beach', by Neville Shute. That must have been in 1957, and led her to spend 25 years of her life in political activity campaigning for nuclear disarmament.
A little into the first chapter Helen revealed that as a baby she was suddenly abandoned by her parents for two weeks when her mother was pregnant with a second child and in the interests of her health her husband organized a holiday while Helen, 18 months old, was placed in an institution that cared for babies.
I quote, "Years later when I became a pediatrician, I discovered that when a baby is suddenly abandoned by its parents, it screams for about two days for no avail and then gives up and sits in the corner of its cot, uncommunicative and severely depressed. It often takes months for the baby to forgive its parents and it may never completely return to normality and a state of trust."
What amazed me was that I never expected to find common ground between Dr Helen Caldicott and brother Jod. When mum was pregnant with me, her and dad, at Auntie Clare's insistence, went on a holiday to West Australia with Clare, who paid, and left Jod at mum's friend Zoe's. When she came back Jod was a different child and hardly recognized her, and she felt terrible for having left him, a guilt I think she still carries. Jod is two and half years older than me so he would have been about two years old. He turned 60 last month and for much of that 60 years was at war with his parents and the world in general.
After describing how desperately ill she became while her parents were absent, DrHC continues, "These events changed my life. From being a trusting happy child I put a wall around myself and never reall trusted anybody again, and to this day I let very few past this barrier."
My childhood best friend, Graeme 'Bubs' Forster, whom I haven't seen for probably more than 20 years, said to me the last time I saw him, when we were discussing our childhood, "We're all victims of victims." It's not a bad way of looking for understanding of people.
In Dr HC's second last paragraph she says, "However the work of global preventative pediatrics is not over.
The lives of my grandchildren are now threatened with on going ozone depletion, the perils of global warming, pollution of the air, water and soil with a multiplicity of chemicals and radioisotapes, deforestation, and species extinction combined with the rampant overpopulation of human beings.
I paid a personal price for the intense political work that I conducted over a twenty five year time span, through the pain I inflicted on myself and those dear to me. That said, I must continue."
DrHC's book was published in 1996 but the message still packs a punch. The ozone one has diminished but the others are bigger than ever. As far as I can gather HC is still writng and campaigning on environmental issues. She must be a remarkable lady whom I'd love to have to dinner.
Let's hope this Copenhagen thing can help save our children's children.
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
How Good Is This?
It's raining steadily outside. The phone rang a little while ago. Foxy, the customer for whom I would normally pick today, has said she doesn't want any beech foliage tomorrow, so I can enjoy the rain and a rest today without having to get wet through. It has been a fairly solid six weeks of work since our little Alice Springs holiday.
I drove up the street this morning. I'd say it's the first walk I've missed since the holiday, although I did let the dogs out at the station for a walk for ten minutes in the rain to let them have a good stretch out. 'Pip' flushed a rabbit out of the blackberries behind the little replica of the original station site and ran about 3 k's in ten minutes I'd say. 'Snowie', not really relishing the wet, stayed pretty close to me.
On my way back I dropped off a tub of honey at Chas's front door. Chas is one of my walking mates. He's a retired carpenter. He takes off every winter and camps at Evan's Head in NSW. The last couple of years I've picked some camellia foliage in his garden. I hadn't seen Chas for a couple of months till last Saturday morning, and had wondered if he was away.
"You've lost weight Chas," I said.
"My oath I have. I've lost more since I got home. "
"Have you been crook?"
"Have I ever? I lost my oesophaegus and the top part of my stomach. The operation was 28th October. I'm just glad to be able able to start walking again, although icould barely make it up the hill."
"Cancer?"
"Yes. I just had a bit of a tickle in the throat to start with. I tell you what. I was so glad to get out of intensive care and I never want to go there again. It was four days of hell. There were wires hooked up to me everywhere and I couldn't sleep. There was so much noise all the time with poor buggers nearly dying around you and all the alarms and emergency procedures. It was hell."
"I didn't even know at all that you were crook, Chas. I'm sure walking again will be a great help, and your strength will gradually return. How's your appetite?"
"I have to try to eat six or seven very small meals a day. The trouble is I'm just not hungry and it's so hard to force yourself to eat."
I thought this morning maybe a bit of nice honey would help. I dropped off a bottle of red wine at Harry's place in the same street. Harry likes a drop of red wine but finds the sulphur presevatives knock him around in the way of 'hangover' if he has more than a couple of glasses. The preservative free wine is OK he finds, and I came across line of unfiltered, preservative free wine while I was shopping at Dan Murphy last week.
While I was in DM I looked for a bottle of Penfold's Kalimna Bin 28 for my friend 'Blossom', which I give her each year at Xmas. They were out of stock in the normal display but I found a 2004 bottle in the special section. 'Bloss is in hospital recovering from a second bowel cancer op. so I'm sure she'll appreciate it, come Xmas she should be well enough. She was in intensive care for some days afterwards as she was having difficulty breathing but I have just enquired and found she's back in the normal ward now.
The wet weather lets me catch up on a few things. I'm off now to pick up the beehive at Keith Smith's. They'll all be inside because of the rain so I can do it in daylight. And I have to pickup the key to the Lakes House. Keith rang me earlier to remind me he still has it, after spending 4 nights down there in late November.
I drove up the street this morning. I'd say it's the first walk I've missed since the holiday, although I did let the dogs out at the station for a walk for ten minutes in the rain to let them have a good stretch out. 'Pip' flushed a rabbit out of the blackberries behind the little replica of the original station site and ran about 3 k's in ten minutes I'd say. 'Snowie', not really relishing the wet, stayed pretty close to me.
On my way back I dropped off a tub of honey at Chas's front door. Chas is one of my walking mates. He's a retired carpenter. He takes off every winter and camps at Evan's Head in NSW. The last couple of years I've picked some camellia foliage in his garden. I hadn't seen Chas for a couple of months till last Saturday morning, and had wondered if he was away.
"You've lost weight Chas," I said.
"My oath I have. I've lost more since I got home. "
"Have you been crook?"
"Have I ever? I lost my oesophaegus and the top part of my stomach. The operation was 28th October. I'm just glad to be able able to start walking again, although icould barely make it up the hill."
"Cancer?"
"Yes. I just had a bit of a tickle in the throat to start with. I tell you what. I was so glad to get out of intensive care and I never want to go there again. It was four days of hell. There were wires hooked up to me everywhere and I couldn't sleep. There was so much noise all the time with poor buggers nearly dying around you and all the alarms and emergency procedures. It was hell."
"I didn't even know at all that you were crook, Chas. I'm sure walking again will be a great help, and your strength will gradually return. How's your appetite?"
"I have to try to eat six or seven very small meals a day. The trouble is I'm just not hungry and it's so hard to force yourself to eat."
I thought this morning maybe a bit of nice honey would help. I dropped off a bottle of red wine at Harry's place in the same street. Harry likes a drop of red wine but finds the sulphur presevatives knock him around in the way of 'hangover' if he has more than a couple of glasses. The preservative free wine is OK he finds, and I came across line of unfiltered, preservative free wine while I was shopping at Dan Murphy last week.
While I was in DM I looked for a bottle of Penfold's Kalimna Bin 28 for my friend 'Blossom', which I give her each year at Xmas. They were out of stock in the normal display but I found a 2004 bottle in the special section. 'Bloss is in hospital recovering from a second bowel cancer op. so I'm sure she'll appreciate it, come Xmas she should be well enough. She was in intensive care for some days afterwards as she was having difficulty breathing but I have just enquired and found she's back in the normal ward now.
The wet weather lets me catch up on a few things. I'm off now to pick up the beehive at Keith Smith's. They'll all be inside because of the rain so I can do it in daylight. And I have to pickup the key to the Lakes House. Keith rang me earlier to remind me he still has it, after spending 4 nights down there in late November.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Spring 09
Showers seem appropriate, on this Monday, the last day of November, following the rain on the weekend. As far as rainfall goes it's been a good spring, the best for years. The harvest for the grain croppers looked to be huge but sadly this last rain came at the wrong time before many crops could be taken off, and there's likelihood of damage and downgrading of a fair part of the wheat harvest.
Our spring harvest was mixed. The dogwood blossom was poor, no doubt suffering from low rainfall last spring and last summer's punishing heat. Dogwood sets its flower buds in the autumn, so this spring's rain couldn't help. I'd expect a bumper crop next year on the back of this spring's good rain and as a response to the 'off' year. Lilac was good quality, thanks to the September rain, but quantity poor, again probably due to the previous spring's dry and the extreme summer. Philadelphus, a native I think of Mexico and drought hardy, was excellent, but it all came in a hurry due to the warm settled weather at flowering so we didn't get to some of it in time. The beech foliage is good this year, no doubt the rain has helped growth and the lack of hot north winds during the growth spurt makes for good quality.
All things considered we've come through the year quite well given the terrible spring we had last year and the horrific heat of last summer. We bought another water tank at the farm and put a few around the house here at Gembrook. The cost of water in future is a serious threat to our viability but we can hope for some respite and a good harvest next year as a result of the wonderful rain lately. Next spring should be a beauty, harvest wise, fingers crossed. Another spring and summer like the previous season may well have just about been a KO for us.
I've enjoyed watching the birds raising their young. A pair of mudlarks had a nest on a limb of a peppermint tree over Agnes St. A blackbird pair were successful with their brood in a nest in a purple rhodie growing into the footpath near St Silas church. Another in our carport wasn't so lucky. When I came home from work one day I wasn't quick enough to stop 'Pip' grabbing a fledgling that fell from the nest. I rescued it from the dog but with blood coming from its mouth it died in my hand after a minute or two, saving me from my indecision as to whether to put it down as humanely as possible. Mr and Mrs Whippy have been calling in the garden but I haven't seen the young yet.
I can't recall a year when the pawlonias have flowered so profusely and long. There are two near the corner of La Souef Rd. that knocked my socks off for weeks when I walked past. The one in neighbours Steve and Anne's garden was great too. The blossom on the silky oaks has been more brilliant in its fiery orange than I've can ever recall, and the native frangipanni tree or hymenosporum was exceptional.
For weeks on end I smelled it at the bottom of Agnes St on my walk but couldn't see a tree. Then one day I saw neighbour Rick hanging out the washing so I called him over to the fence and asked him did he have one somewhere in the garden. Sure enough, there was, where I couldn't see it from the road. Pat and Lois, two Gembrook ladies who had a big garden on Launching Place Rd gave it to him and Allison in a pot many years ago when they used to walk their daughter that way in the pusher. It stayed in the pot a while and nearly died, then was planted and nearly mowed over many times as it sat and did nothing. Then one year it took off and now has teased me two springs in a row with its glorious scent till I found its location. Pat and Lois both died some years ago. It was good to hear the story and find the tree, now thriving, a living example of Pat and Lois's love of gardens and generosity. We have a young one in our garden, about five feet high. It had a single cluster of flowers this year so I'm looking forward to the joy of its blossom in our backyard next spring.
Thank God for the promise of Spring 2010.
Our spring harvest was mixed. The dogwood blossom was poor, no doubt suffering from low rainfall last spring and last summer's punishing heat. Dogwood sets its flower buds in the autumn, so this spring's rain couldn't help. I'd expect a bumper crop next year on the back of this spring's good rain and as a response to the 'off' year. Lilac was good quality, thanks to the September rain, but quantity poor, again probably due to the previous spring's dry and the extreme summer. Philadelphus, a native I think of Mexico and drought hardy, was excellent, but it all came in a hurry due to the warm settled weather at flowering so we didn't get to some of it in time. The beech foliage is good this year, no doubt the rain has helped growth and the lack of hot north winds during the growth spurt makes for good quality.
All things considered we've come through the year quite well given the terrible spring we had last year and the horrific heat of last summer. We bought another water tank at the farm and put a few around the house here at Gembrook. The cost of water in future is a serious threat to our viability but we can hope for some respite and a good harvest next year as a result of the wonderful rain lately. Next spring should be a beauty, harvest wise, fingers crossed. Another spring and summer like the previous season may well have just about been a KO for us.
I've enjoyed watching the birds raising their young. A pair of mudlarks had a nest on a limb of a peppermint tree over Agnes St. A blackbird pair were successful with their brood in a nest in a purple rhodie growing into the footpath near St Silas church. Another in our carport wasn't so lucky. When I came home from work one day I wasn't quick enough to stop 'Pip' grabbing a fledgling that fell from the nest. I rescued it from the dog but with blood coming from its mouth it died in my hand after a minute or two, saving me from my indecision as to whether to put it down as humanely as possible. Mr and Mrs Whippy have been calling in the garden but I haven't seen the young yet.
I can't recall a year when the pawlonias have flowered so profusely and long. There are two near the corner of La Souef Rd. that knocked my socks off for weeks when I walked past. The one in neighbours Steve and Anne's garden was great too. The blossom on the silky oaks has been more brilliant in its fiery orange than I've can ever recall, and the native frangipanni tree or hymenosporum was exceptional.
For weeks on end I smelled it at the bottom of Agnes St on my walk but couldn't see a tree. Then one day I saw neighbour Rick hanging out the washing so I called him over to the fence and asked him did he have one somewhere in the garden. Sure enough, there was, where I couldn't see it from the road. Pat and Lois, two Gembrook ladies who had a big garden on Launching Place Rd gave it to him and Allison in a pot many years ago when they used to walk their daughter that way in the pusher. It stayed in the pot a while and nearly died, then was planted and nearly mowed over many times as it sat and did nothing. Then one year it took off and now has teased me two springs in a row with its glorious scent till I found its location. Pat and Lois both died some years ago. It was good to hear the story and find the tree, now thriving, a living example of Pat and Lois's love of gardens and generosity. We have a young one in our garden, about five feet high. It had a single cluster of flowers this year so I'm looking forward to the joy of its blossom in our backyard next spring.
Thank God for the promise of Spring 2010.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
I Have Been To The Mountaintop
I have a dream. I dream day and night.
I day dream on my morning walk. I dream that people abandon their motor cars and walk and ride bikes, or catch solar electric shuttle buses. I see a time when humans revere peace and quite and silence. I see a 'Silence Day' once a week. No chainsaws, mowers, cars. Shops shut, no business. No noise at all, except in emergency. A day for walking, watching, listening, whispering, reading, dreaming.
In my dream, men and women of all creeds, colours and nationalities show others courtesy and respect. Goodness rules over evil. Decency, love and nurture is given freely, in a world of equality, devoid of greed and self interest, a world where people put out their hand to help the less fortunate. I see a clean green Earth where everyone has ample fresh water and food. A world without armies, weapons and viciousness. An Earth where Protties, Catholics, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Buddists, Jehovah's and athiests walk arm in arm with love of humanity and free spirit.
In my night dreams I am an exquisite and passionate lover, much sought after.
I like dreaming. In my dreams, everything is possible.
I try my best to live my dream.
It's free, and it beats reality.
I day dream on my morning walk. I dream that people abandon their motor cars and walk and ride bikes, or catch solar electric shuttle buses. I see a time when humans revere peace and quite and silence. I see a 'Silence Day' once a week. No chainsaws, mowers, cars. Shops shut, no business. No noise at all, except in emergency. A day for walking, watching, listening, whispering, reading, dreaming.
In my dream, men and women of all creeds, colours and nationalities show others courtesy and respect. Goodness rules over evil. Decency, love and nurture is given freely, in a world of equality, devoid of greed and self interest, a world where people put out their hand to help the less fortunate. I see a clean green Earth where everyone has ample fresh water and food. A world without armies, weapons and viciousness. An Earth where Protties, Catholics, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, Buddists, Jehovah's and athiests walk arm in arm with love of humanity and free spirit.
In my night dreams I am an exquisite and passionate lover, much sought after.
I like dreaming. In my dreams, everything is possible.
I try my best to live my dream.
It's free, and it beats reality.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Freedom
"Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose."
That's a line from a song titled 'Me and Bobby McGee', written by Kris Kristofferson, and made famous, I think, by Janis Joplin. I'm recalling from nearly forty years ago so pardon me if I'm wrong.
It goes on, "Nothin' ain't worth nothin', but it's free."
For us here in our 'free' country, Australia, or those in the 'land of the free', the USA, freedom bears thinking about.
Especially if, as I did tonight, you watched a show on SBS called 'Law and Disorder' (I think) about whistle blower Andrew Wilkie. Wilkie, an analyst in the intelligence area of the government, spoke out in the days leading up to the invasion of Iraq by the Axis of Deceit, claiming the Bush, Howard and Blair administrations were misleading the public by grossly exaggerating and deliberately distorting evidence to legitimize the invasion politically. He was ostracized.
The coalition of the willing never found the WMD's, as we all know. Wilkie may have put himself in the bad books, but to me he's a hero. His bravery in speaking out shows he's a free man. His life changed dramatically, but he was prepared to do what he thought was right, in the interests of the integrity of his country, and suffer whatever the consequences might be.
Freedom was sought by the Hellenistic philosopher Epicurus. He and his mates removed themselves from commercial employment in Athens ("We must free ourselves from the prison of everyday affairs and politics"), and began what could be best described as a commune, accepting a simpler way of life in exchange for independence. They would have less money, but, similar to Wilkie, would never again have to follow the commands of odious superiors. Simplicity did not affect their sense of status, but by distancing themselves from Athens, they had ceased to judge themselves on a material basis.
Andrew Wilkie differs from Epicurus in that he has not shunned politics. He stood at the last federal election as the Green's candidate for the seat of Benelong. He directed his preferences to Labour candidate Maxine McKew. You know the rest. What a hoot. He is now hoping to stand as an independent for the lower house in Tasmania.
While George, John and Tony, no longer in office, live like kings in tax payer funded retired opulence, the subservient majority toil long and hard. Most Australians, Americans and Great Britons, are far from free. They are prisoners of fear and anxiety; unemployement, interest rate rises, Muslims, refugees, terrorists, illness, climate change, loss of freedom. We are fighting for freedom, in Afghanistan. The body bag count rises. The brass says they died fighting for freedom.
It's often said, at funerals, "He/she (the cadaver) is now at peace, free of pain, suffering, and anxiety."
Like the song said, "Freedom is just another word for nothing less to lose. Nothin' aint worth nothin', but it's free."
That's a line from a song titled 'Me and Bobby McGee', written by Kris Kristofferson, and made famous, I think, by Janis Joplin. I'm recalling from nearly forty years ago so pardon me if I'm wrong.
It goes on, "Nothin' ain't worth nothin', but it's free."
For us here in our 'free' country, Australia, or those in the 'land of the free', the USA, freedom bears thinking about.
Especially if, as I did tonight, you watched a show on SBS called 'Law and Disorder' (I think) about whistle blower Andrew Wilkie. Wilkie, an analyst in the intelligence area of the government, spoke out in the days leading up to the invasion of Iraq by the Axis of Deceit, claiming the Bush, Howard and Blair administrations were misleading the public by grossly exaggerating and deliberately distorting evidence to legitimize the invasion politically. He was ostracized.
The coalition of the willing never found the WMD's, as we all know. Wilkie may have put himself in the bad books, but to me he's a hero. His bravery in speaking out shows he's a free man. His life changed dramatically, but he was prepared to do what he thought was right, in the interests of the integrity of his country, and suffer whatever the consequences might be.
Freedom was sought by the Hellenistic philosopher Epicurus. He and his mates removed themselves from commercial employment in Athens ("We must free ourselves from the prison of everyday affairs and politics"), and began what could be best described as a commune, accepting a simpler way of life in exchange for independence. They would have less money, but, similar to Wilkie, would never again have to follow the commands of odious superiors. Simplicity did not affect their sense of status, but by distancing themselves from Athens, they had ceased to judge themselves on a material basis.
Andrew Wilkie differs from Epicurus in that he has not shunned politics. He stood at the last federal election as the Green's candidate for the seat of Benelong. He directed his preferences to Labour candidate Maxine McKew. You know the rest. What a hoot. He is now hoping to stand as an independent for the lower house in Tasmania.
While George, John and Tony, no longer in office, live like kings in tax payer funded retired opulence, the subservient majority toil long and hard. Most Australians, Americans and Great Britons, are far from free. They are prisoners of fear and anxiety; unemployement, interest rate rises, Muslims, refugees, terrorists, illness, climate change, loss of freedom. We are fighting for freedom, in Afghanistan. The body bag count rises. The brass says they died fighting for freedom.
It's often said, at funerals, "He/she (the cadaver) is now at peace, free of pain, suffering, and anxiety."
Like the song said, "Freedom is just another word for nothing less to lose. Nothin' aint worth nothin', but it's free."
Friday, November 06, 2009
Swarming Up
Harry called out, "Hello Carey", on Wednesday, as I walked through JAC Russell Park. He was on the footpath heading up the main road in the direction of the post office.
We exchanged news. I hadn't seen Harry since before I went to Alice Springs. His German visitor, Anya, has gone back home. Her partner, who was supposed to join her in Australia for a trip to Uluru etc and Nth Qld, never came. He found a new lady and stayed home. Anya had everything booked and was upset terribly.
"One of my beehives swarmed yesterday, it's hanging in a ti-tree just over the fence."
"It looks like rain today Harry, they'll probably stay where they are till it fines up. I'll try to get there tomorrow, about lunchtime it'll be."
"OK. They might fly off in the morning, but we'll hope for the best."
I had to put some foundation wax in some frames after doing some pressing bookwork and working at Pat's for a couple of hours in the morning. Pat wasn't home but Mal was. I tidied up with the whipper snipper a bit and shifted some earth where Mal wanted the vegie garden extendedand an edge wall moved. Mal's usually away on an engineering job somewhere at a mine in Qld. We talked about the war in Afghanistan. He reckons they'll never beat them. No one ever has. He had two Afghanistan body guards for two years while he built a petro chemical plant at Gatta in the Middle East. He got to know them well. They carried the biggest swords you'd ever see and he felt very safe. His labour force was 450 Indians and various other labourers hired daily as needed. He said his bodyguards talked and thought in the long term. They think for their children's children.
It was 2.00pm by the time I arrived at Harry's with the bee box and frames to box the swarm. They were still there. It was an awkward one, the ground under the ti-tree fell away steeply. I had to jack up the entrance end of the box with a brick so it was like an obstacle course for the bees to go in after I dropped them at the entrance. They were slow, I hung around for a long time thinking they might go back up the tree. I went to the farm and burnt off till 7.00pm, then returned to Harry's and picked up the bees as dusk closed in. It was surprisingly cold and the bees stopped flying well before dark. I couldn't leave them there. There are two horses in the paddock and I didn't want a horse accidentally knocking over the hive. Bees and horses don't mix, bees don't like the smell of them. I didn't want to take them home just over the hill, somemight fly back confused in the morning, it being only a few hundred metres as the crow flies. I took them to Keith Smith's at Boyd Rd, a few kms away, and will bring them home after a few days.
The good news is, when I went to my bees to take a frame of young brood to put in my swarm box, to make the swarm stay, I checked quickly the queenless half of the hive I divided a while ago. It's no longer queenless. A beautiful fat young freshly mated queen was examining cells in new comb the bees were building on the top bars.
Always good to see nature at its best.
We exchanged news. I hadn't seen Harry since before I went to Alice Springs. His German visitor, Anya, has gone back home. Her partner, who was supposed to join her in Australia for a trip to Uluru etc and Nth Qld, never came. He found a new lady and stayed home. Anya had everything booked and was upset terribly.
"One of my beehives swarmed yesterday, it's hanging in a ti-tree just over the fence."
"It looks like rain today Harry, they'll probably stay where they are till it fines up. I'll try to get there tomorrow, about lunchtime it'll be."
"OK. They might fly off in the morning, but we'll hope for the best."
I had to put some foundation wax in some frames after doing some pressing bookwork and working at Pat's for a couple of hours in the morning. Pat wasn't home but Mal was. I tidied up with the whipper snipper a bit and shifted some earth where Mal wanted the vegie garden extendedand an edge wall moved. Mal's usually away on an engineering job somewhere at a mine in Qld. We talked about the war in Afghanistan. He reckons they'll never beat them. No one ever has. He had two Afghanistan body guards for two years while he built a petro chemical plant at Gatta in the Middle East. He got to know them well. They carried the biggest swords you'd ever see and he felt very safe. His labour force was 450 Indians and various other labourers hired daily as needed. He said his bodyguards talked and thought in the long term. They think for their children's children.
It was 2.00pm by the time I arrived at Harry's with the bee box and frames to box the swarm. They were still there. It was an awkward one, the ground under the ti-tree fell away steeply. I had to jack up the entrance end of the box with a brick so it was like an obstacle course for the bees to go in after I dropped them at the entrance. They were slow, I hung around for a long time thinking they might go back up the tree. I went to the farm and burnt off till 7.00pm, then returned to Harry's and picked up the bees as dusk closed in. It was surprisingly cold and the bees stopped flying well before dark. I couldn't leave them there. There are two horses in the paddock and I didn't want a horse accidentally knocking over the hive. Bees and horses don't mix, bees don't like the smell of them. I didn't want to take them home just over the hill, somemight fly back confused in the morning, it being only a few hundred metres as the crow flies. I took them to Keith Smith's at Boyd Rd, a few kms away, and will bring them home after a few days.
The good news is, when I went to my bees to take a frame of young brood to put in my swarm box, to make the swarm stay, I checked quickly the queenless half of the hive I divided a while ago. It's no longer queenless. A beautiful fat young freshly mated queen was examining cells in new comb the bees were building on the top bars.
Always good to see nature at its best.
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Frustration
Returning one day on my morning walk in Alice Springs, a group of aboriginal men were standing under a red gum tree drinking cans of VB at 8.30am, next to the entrance of our caravan park on the banks of the Todd River. There was nothing threatening or aggressive in their manner, some empty cans were on the ground at their feet, and the men, aged I'd guess between 20 and 30, gave every impression of relaxed contentment.
The day was already warm. I wondered what the rest of the day would hold for them. Probably a few more cans, then sleep in the shade through the heat of the day. It saddenned to me think of their future. But it was not just sadness. There was a strong feeling of frustration that I was powerless to do anything about it. Why would those men choose to stand around drinking warm beer at the beginning of the day? How could they be so aimless?
I feel the same frustration when I hear about 'boat people'. What is the right thing? Let 'em in? Or send 'em away? If we let 'em in, will we be inundated? Again, there's nothing I can do about it, and the cause of the problem is outside anything I can affect.
Global warming or climate change is equally frustrating. I've installed solar hot water and water tanks, but it doesn't go away. We're a wealthy nation hooked on automobiles. The cities are clogged with traffic jams. As soon as a new freeway is built the increase in vehicles chokes it down. So what are the projections? More freeways, roads, more cars, emissions, noise. More climate change. Desal plants. More of the same decline into misery. And I'm powerless, except that I get to vote every few years. Does my vote change anything? Not that I can see. Man, that's frustrating.
It frustrates me to see my neighbours feeding birds. Don't they get the message? Do they miss all the information that explains they shouldn't?
The litter on the roadsides frustrates me. I pick it up on my walk. What is it that makes a person open his/her window of their personal version of a mobile lounge room and entertainment centre and throw their litter out, so that their space is not untidy with take away food and drink containers? They shove the garbage they can eat down their throats and throw the garbage they can't out the window. I see pooey plastic lined disposable nappies on the roadside. What are we becoming? A nation of pigs? I shouldn't say that. Pigs are a clean animal.
All the pollies seem to do is yap and argue and point score. And all the while the human race, like an out of control locomotive, is carreering toward the precipice where there's no bridge. Is it any wonder the dentist said I grind my teeth at night in my sleep?
Writing about it doesn't ease my frustration. It's worse than when I started.
The day was already warm. I wondered what the rest of the day would hold for them. Probably a few more cans, then sleep in the shade through the heat of the day. It saddenned to me think of their future. But it was not just sadness. There was a strong feeling of frustration that I was powerless to do anything about it. Why would those men choose to stand around drinking warm beer at the beginning of the day? How could they be so aimless?
I feel the same frustration when I hear about 'boat people'. What is the right thing? Let 'em in? Or send 'em away? If we let 'em in, will we be inundated? Again, there's nothing I can do about it, and the cause of the problem is outside anything I can affect.
Global warming or climate change is equally frustrating. I've installed solar hot water and water tanks, but it doesn't go away. We're a wealthy nation hooked on automobiles. The cities are clogged with traffic jams. As soon as a new freeway is built the increase in vehicles chokes it down. So what are the projections? More freeways, roads, more cars, emissions, noise. More climate change. Desal plants. More of the same decline into misery. And I'm powerless, except that I get to vote every few years. Does my vote change anything? Not that I can see. Man, that's frustrating.
It frustrates me to see my neighbours feeding birds. Don't they get the message? Do they miss all the information that explains they shouldn't?
The litter on the roadsides frustrates me. I pick it up on my walk. What is it that makes a person open his/her window of their personal version of a mobile lounge room and entertainment centre and throw their litter out, so that their space is not untidy with take away food and drink containers? They shove the garbage they can eat down their throats and throw the garbage they can't out the window. I see pooey plastic lined disposable nappies on the roadside. What are we becoming? A nation of pigs? I shouldn't say that. Pigs are a clean animal.
All the pollies seem to do is yap and argue and point score. And all the while the human race, like an out of control locomotive, is carreering toward the precipice where there's no bridge. Is it any wonder the dentist said I grind my teeth at night in my sleep?
Writing about it doesn't ease my frustration. It's worse than when I started.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
A Hurried Picnic
Every day on our recent holiday Lib and I had picnic lunch. It's what we love to do. The Alice Pink Desert Botanical Gardens, Ormiston Gorge, Trephina Gorge, Uluru, and King's Canyon were some of the venues, but it is the one we had last Friday in the dry bed of the Todd river in Alice Springs that is the subject of this post.
We'd got to know our way around by then. It was a hot day, about 36C. We pulled in to the shade of a red gum tree in 'Rotary Park' near Heavitree Gap looking for a table and chair.
"There doesn't seem to be a table," Lib said.
"There has to be. That's what the Rotary Club does in parks. Yes, there's one further on. See it? But the shade's better here. Let's eat from the back of the car."
An olive green Range Rover had followed our Hyundai Getz hire car into the park and was stopped about thirty metres away adjacent to us. An aboriginal woman got out and walked off by herself in the direction of the table and chair which was about 70 or 80 metres along.
"I wonder why she's walking off alone and leaving her car windows open," Lib commented. We went to the boot and made up a sandwich of salami, cheese, tomato and cucumber in sliced wholemeal bread after quaffing on bottled water. The aboriginal lady was standing by herself about 100 metres away. We sat in the front of the car with our doors open enjoying the sandwich.
Lib said, "She must be waiting for.... Geez, he just punched her."
I looked in the direction of the aboriginal woman just in time to see an aboriginal man throw a second punch, not a king hit but a cuffing round arm to her head. It looked like his fist was clenched. She didn't cry out or scream, fall, or run, and hardly flinched as she kept walking back towards her car. The man ran ahead of her and when he got about thirty metres away from the car he picked up a jagged rock the size of an orange and hurled it at the Range Rover. Bang. It landed flush on the bonnet. The man keep running to the car and opened the door, grabbing clothing and chucking it onto the ground.
By this time I'd moved to the back of the Hyundai, quickly eating my sandwich and packing up the picnic. I jumped back in the car and said to Lib, "We're out of here."
"Geez, you ate that quick," said Lib, laughing, and still only halfway through her sandwich.
"Yeah well, we've come this far without a scratch on the car and there's a $330 excess if we get one. And believe me, a punch up in the heat at my age with an angry aborigine on the bank of the Todd River is the last thing I'm after."
A quarter of an hour later I was in a newsagency buying a tattslotto ticket when there was a lot of aggro shouting outside. As I came out the same angry man was stomping away about 20 metres ahead of me. He walked straight through the car park, turning right angles at our car and walking the length of it. I was expecting him to lash out with a boot and inflict damage, which I'd fled the park to avoid, in a bizarre twist of bad luck. Relieved I was.
We'd got to know our way around by then. It was a hot day, about 36C. We pulled in to the shade of a red gum tree in 'Rotary Park' near Heavitree Gap looking for a table and chair.
"There doesn't seem to be a table," Lib said.
"There has to be. That's what the Rotary Club does in parks. Yes, there's one further on. See it? But the shade's better here. Let's eat from the back of the car."
An olive green Range Rover had followed our Hyundai Getz hire car into the park and was stopped about thirty metres away adjacent to us. An aboriginal woman got out and walked off by herself in the direction of the table and chair which was about 70 or 80 metres along.
"I wonder why she's walking off alone and leaving her car windows open," Lib commented. We went to the boot and made up a sandwich of salami, cheese, tomato and cucumber in sliced wholemeal bread after quaffing on bottled water. The aboriginal lady was standing by herself about 100 metres away. We sat in the front of the car with our doors open enjoying the sandwich.
Lib said, "She must be waiting for.... Geez, he just punched her."
I looked in the direction of the aboriginal woman just in time to see an aboriginal man throw a second punch, not a king hit but a cuffing round arm to her head. It looked like his fist was clenched. She didn't cry out or scream, fall, or run, and hardly flinched as she kept walking back towards her car. The man ran ahead of her and when he got about thirty metres away from the car he picked up a jagged rock the size of an orange and hurled it at the Range Rover. Bang. It landed flush on the bonnet. The man keep running to the car and opened the door, grabbing clothing and chucking it onto the ground.
By this time I'd moved to the back of the Hyundai, quickly eating my sandwich and packing up the picnic. I jumped back in the car and said to Lib, "We're out of here."
"Geez, you ate that quick," said Lib, laughing, and still only halfway through her sandwich.
"Yeah well, we've come this far without a scratch on the car and there's a $330 excess if we get one. And believe me, a punch up in the heat at my age with an angry aborigine on the bank of the Todd River is the last thing I'm after."
A quarter of an hour later I was in a newsagency buying a tattslotto ticket when there was a lot of aggro shouting outside. As I came out the same angry man was stomping away about 20 metres ahead of me. He walked straight through the car park, turning right angles at our car and walking the length of it. I was expecting him to lash out with a boot and inflict damage, which I'd fled the park to avoid, in a bizarre twist of bad luck. Relieved I was.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Home Sweet Home
It's always nice coming home, no matter how enjoyable a trip away has been. We arrived back at Gembrook after 1.00am this morning, our flight delayed two hours. Robbie kindly picked us up at Tullamarine. I didn't go to bed till 3, after going through the mail and unwinding with a cup of tea. My walk this morning was a joy with two obedient dogs glad to have me back walking them after the 11 day hiatus. And, being curry pie day (last Sunday of the month), they were rewarded with half a sausage roll each.
After walking in the desert and gorges of the 'red centre', the Gembrook gardens and hillsides look lush and green. I came down the Launching Place road hill feeling philosophical, as if our trip away had blown dust and cobwebs from my mind like a spring clean. While away I read a book titled 'The New Nature' by Tim Low, which discusses changes to the environment in general, and particularly flora and fauna over the Australian continent, as human impact has changed and increased. There's always change in nature, we speed it up, and there are always winners and losers. Man's interference, often with perfectly good intent, can be catastrophic. Many species have become extinct or endangered, while others thrive. Tim Low's book is chock full of startling examples and surprises.
I made two resolutions. Firstly, to stay calm no matter the circumstances in future, and secondly, to try to keep an open mind and have broad vision. It is too easy to jump to wrong conclusions based on flawed information and opinion.
After walking in the desert and gorges of the 'red centre', the Gembrook gardens and hillsides look lush and green. I came down the Launching Place road hill feeling philosophical, as if our trip away had blown dust and cobwebs from my mind like a spring clean. While away I read a book titled 'The New Nature' by Tim Low, which discusses changes to the environment in general, and particularly flora and fauna over the Australian continent, as human impact has changed and increased. There's always change in nature, we speed it up, and there are always winners and losers. Man's interference, often with perfectly good intent, can be catastrophic. Many species have become extinct or endangered, while others thrive. Tim Low's book is chock full of startling examples and surprises.
I made two resolutions. Firstly, to stay calm no matter the circumstances in future, and secondly, to try to keep an open mind and have broad vision. It is too easy to jump to wrong conclusions based on flawed information and opinion.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Back in Alice
My walk this morning was along the dry Todd River on the edge of Alice Springs where we stayed last night at the Heavytree Gap Caravan Park. The birds I saw were crested pigeons, yellow throated miners, pied honey eaters, ringnecked parrots, peewees, crows, a pair of what I think were black falcons, and another type of bird grey and black a bit like a tree creeper but yet to be identified from our bird book. There were a nomber of black footed fock wallabies in the caravan park at the base of a rocky rise forming part of the gap.
We're heading off now for a picnic lunch at Ross River in the East Macdonnell ranges and more gorge sightseeing.
We're heading off now for a picnic lunch at Ross River in the East Macdonnell ranges and more gorge sightseeing.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Ayer's Rock
Well I'm no position to give an update on Gembrook weather. Today Lib and I walked around Uluru. It was fine, hot, we loved every step of the 10k or so.
A place of peace. Tomorrow we head to King's Canyon.
We've met a lot of travellers from all over the world. This place seems to bring out warmth from all things human.
A place of peace. Tomorrow we head to King's Canyon.
We've met a lot of travellers from all over the world. This place seems to bring out warmth from all things human.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Cold and Wet
More rain today after a little last night. This spring rain is fantastic. Melbourne's reservoirs are now at 35.3% of capacity after being at 26.0% in July when the line on the graph turned from down to up. They've been rising at 2,000 megalitres a day for about the past week after the peak of 8,000mg/l a day soon after that 100 ml weekend a couple of weeks ago. The rain is especially welcome by me as I've planted so much in recent weeks, but in the bigger picture farmers in the Wimmera in particular, but almost everywhere in Victoria, are benefitting hugely. The Wimmera river is flowing strongly and dozens of towns are having water restrictions eased.
If this keeps up the new code red catasrophic fire danger warnings may not be needed much this summer. Not that I need someone to tell me when there's a day of extreme fire danger. High temperatures and strong winds put me immediately on alert.
Wouldn't it be nice, a wet summer. I live in hope.
If this keeps up the new code red catasrophic fire danger warnings may not be needed much this summer. Not that I need someone to tell me when there's a day of extreme fire danger. High temperatures and strong winds put me immediately on alert.
Wouldn't it be nice, a wet summer. I live in hope.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Humming Along
I looked into the beehives on the weekend, making use of what has been a rarity lately, a couple of warm sunny days. They were in good nick, quite strong hives building up well, with a good shake of of nectar in the combs and copious amounts of pollen coming in on forager's legs, which is no wonder given the paddocks about are yellow with cape weed flowers.
I divided one hive which had a poor brood pattern and some queen cells containing eggs, my hope is to avoid it swarming.(Artificial swarming is the term, the idea is to satisfy the swarming instinct without losing most of the bees, the two halves can be united later if it's desired, or more easily requeened with a bought queen of quiet stock, not that I've bought a queen for many years, which is probably why my hives can be a little testy). I left the small queenless half on the site of the old hive to draw in the returning foragers, with the bulk of the house bees with the queen in the new position. The hive at 'Sunset' was the strongest of all and had quite a few swarm cells. I took a comb containing a couple of well started queen cells with larvae swimming in royal jelly, putting it in the new hive at home, hoping they'll have a hatching queen quicker that way.
It was fun I have to say. The smell of the smoke as I lit the smoker with dried eucalypt leaves excited memories of working in the bush and times long past. It is exciting, the first foray of the season, and you feel the bees are old faithful friends, unswerving, diligent, yet aloof and mysterious.
I divided one hive which had a poor brood pattern and some queen cells containing eggs, my hope is to avoid it swarming.(Artificial swarming is the term, the idea is to satisfy the swarming instinct without losing most of the bees, the two halves can be united later if it's desired, or more easily requeened with a bought queen of quiet stock, not that I've bought a queen for many years, which is probably why my hives can be a little testy). I left the small queenless half on the site of the old hive to draw in the returning foragers, with the bulk of the house bees with the queen in the new position. The hive at 'Sunset' was the strongest of all and had quite a few swarm cells. I took a comb containing a couple of well started queen cells with larvae swimming in royal jelly, putting it in the new hive at home, hoping they'll have a hatching queen quicker that way.
It was fun I have to say. The smell of the smoke as I lit the smoker with dried eucalypt leaves excited memories of working in the bush and times long past. It is exciting, the first foray of the season, and you feel the bees are old faithful friends, unswerving, diligent, yet aloof and mysterious.
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