Lyle Passes Away

My father passed away this morning.
Salisbury House rang at 6.00am, we assumed it was them when the phone rang, thinking someone had called in sick and they wanted Lib to work. A night staff girl named Joy asked for me so I then knew straight away without her saying that he'd gone. I last saw him on Thursday, he was very weak and could hardly talk. I felt it was the last time I would see him.
Joy said he passed away peacefully in his sleep. I don't have time to write more, I have some commitments.

Salvatore Mazzarella

A couple of weeks ago during my blogging hiatus when I couldn't find time to sit at the computer, I bumped into Sam on my morning walk. I've known Sam and his wife Josie for some years. I met them when I used to visit my old mate Ida who lived in the same street. They sometimes walked past while I picked in Ida's garden, and we'd talk. At their invitation, I picked loquat foliage in their backyard more than once before loquat lost popularity as foliage for what reason I don't know.
On the morning of our recent meeting in the main street, Sam, who has always given me a big wave when he sees me, crossed the road to say hello. He had a big smile on his friendly round face and I knew he was on for a yarn. I asked him what year it was that he migrated to Australia from Sicily, having heard a little of his story before. He told me it was 22 July 1963 when he was 20 years old. He talked with enthusiasm, speaking rapidly, his accent thicker the faster he talked, making it hard to catch all he was saying. Several times I stopped him to ask him to repeat things and place names, but I still struggled.
Sam, or Salvatore, came by boat which sailed from the port of Messina in Sicily. There was much poverty and unemployment and many young men were leaving. He first lived in Brunswick with his brother, who had migrated a year earlier, and his first job was in a nearby brickworks. His brother had a girlfriend, a girl from the same town in Sicily, Solarino. When Sam arrived, his brother was embroiled in a fued with the family of his girlfriend, most of whom were back in Sicily, over certain things that supposedly happened or were said in Sicily before the young ones migrated. Sam didn't go into detail but the girl's family would not sanction the relationship. Sam advised his brother that he had no option but to go back to Sicily and straighten things out. Family matters run deep in Sicily. Sam's brother went home hoping to put things right.
After a while, Sam's brother sent him a letter saying he'd smoothed things over with his girl's family and he asked Sam to find her and explain it to her. The girl had moved to Geelong where she lived with her sister, so on a weekend Sam rode his pushbike from Brunswick to Geelong, found the house where the girl lived, and took up a vigil until she left the house and walked down the street. He stopped her, saying he had a letter from his brother, so they went to a nearby park and read the letter, in which Sam's brother explained how the rift had been healed and he wanted her to go back to Sicily and marry him. She did.
Sam left the brickworks and started working in a bricklaying team around the inner Melbourne suburbs. He was paid well and enjoyed the work but had a disagreement with his boss. He was tired of doing all the labouring carting the mortar up ladders and the brickies would often spill mud on him. He wanted a turn at the top but they wouldn't agree so he quit. Someone told him there was work on a potato farm at Mirboo Nth.
One day at Mirboo Nth. at the place he was now working, a bloke came in a truck to pick up spuds. Sam got talking to him. It was Joe Firrito who had his girlfriend with him. Joe Firrito at the time was working for Joe Bussaca at Gembrook and Sam, quite taken by the attractive Vera, asked him did she have a sister. Joe replied that she did, and said Sam should come to Gembrook to meet her.
Sam borrowed his boss's ute one Sunday and though not having a license he drove to Gembrook. Vera's sister's name was Gay, but she was hooked up with Bart Fialla, whom she later married.
My ears pricked hearing these familiar names. Our little dog 'Snowy' came from the Firrito farm some five and a half years ago and since then I've always talked to Vera about 'Snowy' and more recently about her footballing son Micheal, who plays for the Kangaroos in the AFL. Joe Busacca is the father of my accountant and Gay Fialla, for a number of years, was proprietor of 'Faidell' pizza shop which is soon to reopen. I've worked in my accountant's parents garden over some years and also pick bay foliage now and again at Bart and Gay Fialla's.
Sam was told there was work on Mr. Universe's farm at Gembrook. Vera and Gay's father grew spuds and at some time in his life previously he actually was Mr. Universe of body building fame. Sam moved to Gembrook where he met Josie, who was born in Australia but whose father came from Solarino in Sicily, Sam's hometown. He'd come to Australia after WW1 and moved from Kooweerup/ Mirboo Nth. to Gembrook as did Joe Busacca's family and others. To round off, Josie's mother is Joe Busacca's wife's sister. I found all this interesting, as I knew all the people individually, but was unaware of the historic connection and even that Vera and Gay were sisters.
I asked Sam had he been back to Sicily. He replied that he had a number of times, the last being 2005. His father died in 1991 and he went back for the funeral. His father was a soldier in the Italian army when Sam was born early in 1943, and he'd fought in the Spanish civil war before that. Life was tough in the depression of the thirties and there was big money on offer to join Franco.
I said to Sam his dad was lucky to survive the wars and he agreed, saying that WW2 was very bad in Italy. After Italy surrendered the Germans tried to kill everyone. Then there was hardly any food for a long time.
I told Sam if I get to the Greek islands I'll do a detour to Sicily and visit his brother. He said by all means go to Sicily, it's not a big trip from there on a big ferry, but don't worry about visiting his brother.
"ThattalittlashitahaslotsamoneybuttawontacummatoAustralia,hesanottabinabackasincahealeftain1963."

The Queen

I'll bet your thinking, because of the beekeeping flavour of this blog, that I'm going to write about queen bees. One day, yes. Not today.
Last Wednesday, the day after our Dandenong court and shopping day, Lib and I left for a short holiday at Lakes Entrance. After a busy morning during which I picked green pittosporum at home, camellia at Keith Smith's, vallotta lillies at Huite's and cherry laurel at Sunset, and took this full vanload of booty to the farm, we finally got away at 3.00pm. Lib had been on leave from work since the previous Friday and had planned to go to Lakes on the Sunday, but she came down with a severe head and chest cold so she delayed leaving till after the court case, when I was to have followed her down.
I'd picked a stack of flax and camellia on the Monday and on the weekend done two gardening jobs (I usually do these late in the week), caught up on the honey extracting (the flow has wound down), and deadheaded the lavender and agapanthas at Nobelius Park. With 4 days of planning and preparation, and having the court case out the way, I was relishing the prospect of a break. Lib drove, she was fresh and I was tired. I tried reading but fell asleep. We bought take away pizza for tea on the way through town and I crashed to bed soon after at 8.00pm, and didn't wake till 9.00am the next day ( except of course for my obligatory 4.30 am trip to the toilet to empty the ageing bladder).
We decided to go to Cape Conran on Thursday, about an hour and a quarter's drive east of Lakes, as it has lovely isolated beaches and rockpools, and the weather forecast for Friday and the weekend wasn't good. It was hot at West Cape beach where we had a picnic lunch and I tried in vain to read my current book, 'Abu Nidal, The World's Most Notorious Terrorist', hiding from the scorching sun in the shade of the beach umbrella, only to fall asleep, then be woken by the sun as the umbrella moved in a gust of wind.
Later we moved to East Cape beach where at last an easterly breeze and the shade of a large rock allowed me comfort enough to get my teeth into the book. It was written in 1992 by Patrick Seale well before 9/11 and Osama bin Laden but it details the history of the Israel/Palestine conflict and much of the politics of the Middle East fom 1948-1990. An interesting book. Notable is the similarity in policy of Israel in 1969 to that of the 'Coalition of the Willing' today, that of "active self defense", which means seeking out and destroying targets before or in case they attack. To quote, "Such state terror, aimed at liquidating Israel's enemies, was a good deal more destructive than the disastrous strategy of haphazard terror pursued by the guerillas, although it did not always find its mark." Further, after a widespread terror campaign in the early 70's under the banner of Black September- "in the dirty war that followed, both Israel and its opponents, abandoning all restraint, resorted repeatedly to murder." I haven't finished the book yet but it examines the claim that Abu Nidal was manipulated by Israeli intelligence. I'm up to the early 1980's when he moved his operation to Syria after being expelled from Iraq by Saddam Hussein, where he'd prospered for eight years.
On the Friday it rained. We went to the pictures for the afternoon matinee in a converted squash court and saw 'The Queen'. We loved it. It was the first time I'd seen a movie in a theatre for ten years, we talked about the characters and the storyline on and off for the rest of our trip. I guess seeing that we remember the public emotion in that week after Lady Di's death made it interesting to see what went on behind the scenes in the British heirarchy, and to glimpse the life of the Royals. The beautiful stag at Balmoral, its hunt, the wounding, the resulting stalking and 'finishing off' seemed a powerful metaphor for what happened to Princess Di.

Forgive Us Our Trespasser

I'm almost a week late with this post, for reasons which will unfold. In fact it's two weeks since I last posted and it has been frustrating, but it's good to be blogging again.
Importantly for my family, the saga of the midnight school incident, which began as the 'Weekend Police Drama' in May 2006, was finally concluded last Tuesday, 13 March, 2007. The police, by way of the prosecutor, at the hearing which was listed for 'contest mention' at the Dandenong Magistrate's court, dropped the charge of burglary (which had grown out of the charge of trespass with intent to steal), and offered Gordon a Diversion Plan on the charge of trespass. We agreed to the Diversion on trespass. This took less than two minutes in a discussion in court 2. We then waited 40 mins. for the court co-ordinator to call us for interview and paperwork which he would present to a magistrate for approval. We then waited 90 minutes to be called before the magistrate who read through the Diversion Order. We were finished.
It's over. We have to drop in a money order made out to Visy Care Centre to the value of $150 by the 4 June. They wouldn't take cash there and then, it has to be a money order or bank cheque. Of course the whole thing was a waste of everyone's time and money. Ever since the original charges were laid last November we had tried to negotiate with the police to accept the trespass and have the 'intent to steal' dropped but nothing doing, we had go along with the mindless, grinding, inflexible system which drew the thing out. Either that or plead guilty to burglary. The lesson I learnt is how easy it is for the vulnerable in society to be walked over. When I think about the circumstances it's a complete lack of understanding that the matter was proceeded with at all. Gord has pleaded guilty to trespass and it's on his police record. So be it, no big deal, he was trespassing. Really he wasn't full bottle on the concept of trespass. It was probably a hard lesson he had to learn as he grew older and had more freedom, such as owning a car and being able to drive where he pleases day or night. He'd never put a foot wrong before and hasn't since and I'm sure he won't in the future. His lesson has been that there are consequences to actions and this includes being somewhere at the wrong time. I'm sure the lesson was learnt the night of his apprehension and interview, and has been reinforced by the the stress he's endured over the last 5 months from the time he first received the summons to the final conlusion.
It was 1.00pm when we left the Magistrate's court so we luched at the Dandenong Plaza and did some clothes shopping afterwards.

Honeydew

In the quiet calm of the early morning last week I noticed a humming sound from above, similar to the noise you hear when bees are working trees in flower. The messmates and peppermints on our place are not flowering, the messmates finishing by the end of February, and the peppermints, which flowered last November, don't attract bees anyway. Wasps, I thought. Perhaps feeding on the leaf insects, as I'd concluded they were doing at other times when I'd watched them working at the white lerps on the eucy leaves. But the noise was loud, surely there aren't that many wasps around.
(On the subject of wasps, I have to correct to a prediction I made last winter. I noted that there were no queen wasps in our winter firewood. There's usually three or four of them in every barrow load and I concluded that the sudden cold snap last April hard on the heels of a prolonged March heatwave stopped the issue of queen wasps in the autumn to start next seasons nests. I predicted few European wasps this season. I was wrong. The dry winter and warm stable spring weather, with abundant nectar flows resulting in the wonderful honey crop, must have been good for overwintering wasp nests. There are many now. Maybe the queens left in the early spring and have now built up big nests with the suitable conditions. I've destroyed seven recently but as soon as I started extracting honey last Saturday they were finding a way into the shed.)
The next morning, Saturday, as I sat on the steps that join the split levels of our house to put my socks on, I could hear the humming outside through the fly wire door, the glass slider having been left open as it was a warm night. Surprised by this, I stopped my walk more than once under trees in the street, looking up into the foliage. Against the backdrop of the whitish early morning sky, large numbers, thousands, of flying insects were easily seen moving busily to and from and around the leaves of the messmates and peppermints. This was heavy bee activity and the hum/buzz was loud. As I watched, bellbirds were also busy working in the foliage. I counted 16 in one tree.
When I returned fom my walk, nearly an hour later, the insect activity had reduced and was minimal. The bellbirds were still busy. The bellbirds live only in an area around and fairly close to our house. A couple of hundred metres up Quinn Rd., there are no bellbirds and few messmates and peppermints. Nor was there humming of the bees and wasps. That's the great thing about walking ritually. You observe. You listen. You focus on the moment. One foot follows the other in faith, while the mind and the heart opens to the present and the senses. Like a hunter gatherer absorbed in the moment, there's a connecting feeling to all you see; the lie of the land, people, trees, birds, insects, horses, dogs, even the town. Only the walk and what you see and think matters. All else is suspended.
I'm believing that for the first hour of daylight my bees are working the secretions of insects, exuded during the night and not yet evaporated or dissipated by the heat of the day or the wind.

This morning I researched. I quote my old textbook, 'The Hive and The Honey Bee', a Nth American book.
"HONEYDEW- This is a sweet liquid excreted by homopterous insects, principally plant lice(aphids) and scale insects, feeding on plants. It is frequently gathered and stored by bees and is generally considered inferior to honey in flavour and quality. It may often be found on leaves of such trees as oak, beech, poplar, ash, elm, hickory, maple, tulip, willow, linden, and fruit trees as well as fir, cedar, and spruce. The amount of honeydew collected will depend on the availability of nectar, which is generally preferred by the bees."

It would seem that as the day warms and flowers show nectar the bees move on. Now, why is the humming in the trees only in the vicinity of our house and the bellbird population? Again I did some research, this time with the help of Google.

"CULL TAKES TOLL OF BELLBIRDS, TO SAVE THE FOREST.
December 4, 2006
For Rob High the tinkling of bellbirds is the noise of the forest being killed. The far South Coast resort operator is midway through the state's first large scale bellbird culling program, having gained approval to remove between 2000 and 3000 of the small birds which have invaded his 300 hectare property near Merimbula.
Bellbirds have been implicated in the death of swathes of forest between Victoria and Queensland. Some estimates put the area under threat at up to 2.5 million hectares of native forest in NSW alone.
No one knows exactly why such large areas of forest are dying or how the birds may be involved - it is primarily a case of guilt by association.
But it seems clear the bellbirds displace other species and then disturb the delicate balance of the insects that live on eucalypts, said consultant ecologist, Dr. Jim Shields.
The birds are caught in mist nets and then killed, with the approval of the RSPCA, using carbon dioxide gas. Mr High said based on wages and cost of equipment, each bird has cost him about $10 to catch.
It is also difficult to pinpoint why bellbird and insect numbers increase in the first place, said Paul Meek, an ecologist with the Government's inter-agency bell miner associated dieback working group. About the only certainty is that the presence of excessive numbers of bellbirds is an indicator that something is wrong with the ecosystem."

Other sources suggest bellbirds 'farm' insects. Their aggressive territorial nature drives away other insect eating birds, causing a population explosion of the insects. Eventually trees die, which is what's happening on our block and nearby. We lose a few every year, peppermints seem most susceptible. It provides firewood, and the bees get a dawn feed of honeydew. I miss the other small birds though. Apparently pardalotes, in particuliar, are great for controlling tree insects, but are displaced by bellbirds. Maybe the European wasp, being carniverous, is of some use after all, helping, even slightly, to reduce numbers of tree insects.

March at Last

I'm glad to see the end of February. As I walked this morning, officially the first of autumn, a fog rolled in, then out again as quickly as it came. The morning had a peaceful feel to it. I saw Chas, the retired carpenter who packs up every winter and goes to Evan's Head on the NSW central coast, on his walk, picking up litter in J.A.C.Russell park near the station. He yelled a greeting to another walker heading up the main road towards the school. The other man, also a 'regular', I think is an R.S.L. man named Borg. He gives me a nod if we pass but I have not yet had a conversation with him. He has grey, wavy, brush back hair and a trimmed beard, a serious look, and usually one long sock pulled up and one down. The lady driver of the postal van gave me big wave. She likes 'Snowy'.
This was my second trip up the street this morning, having taken Robbie up in the car earlier to catch the 6.10am bus. He's started his biotechnology degree at Monash Uni. and had to leave early every day so far this week. He's looking into finding shared accomodation somewhere down near the campus to save all the travel time. After dropping him off I saw Eileen walking up the main road in the dark. She walks earlier than me usually.
The last day of summer was not pleasant. We had 2mm of rain in the gauge in the morning which dampened things, but gave rise to dreadful humidity when the sun came out. I had an order for trailing ivy which took me back to Julian and Marg Dyer's garden where I'd picked camellia the previous day. Julian, a long time potato farmer who works these days with Bruce Ure, always has a good handle on the weather forecast, and had told me there was a good possibility of rain, saying there was talk of big rain in East Gippsland, maybe up to 150mm. It did happen there but we were on the edge of the rain band. Julian was home for lunch and said they'd harvested 40 bins of potatoes in the morning and after lunch he had to go and move three irrigators. "Got to be done", he said.
We talked dams and water and pumps. He said their crop this year was as good as they could expect, given that they'd had a pump break down in early December just when we had those 40C. days and the spuds sat there and copped it when they needed water. They had to pour concrete for a pump base well down a gully, the only way to get it down was on sheets of iron, a hell of a job. They installed a new 100hp. electric pump which puts out 1000 litres of water every 45 seconds (as I remember the conversation) and the spuds grew alright once they got water on them but they're a bit gnarly. Some of their dams are pumped dry now so they need good rain.
I told Julian that we didn't use more than 2 megalitres of our 14 meg. allocation at our little farm last year because our dam wasn't big enough, and we aren't allowed to divert water from November to April. A ban was on from September this year because stream flows were so low. He said we should get a twenty ton excavator into the creek and build a a bigger dam. I explained that we don't own the land on the other side so he suggested we make an arrangement with our neighbour, so I then explained that when old Bob Jones died he left his land to the State Gov't to be kept in tact till the last of his horses died. The Burnley Horticultural College has an annexe there and the last horse died years ago. I heard recently that Burnley was looking to have 8 one acre blocks subdivided off along the creek.
Julian responded saying we're going to see big changes. He said there's blokes in the Sth. Austalian mallee growing crops of 3-4,000 acres of spuds. "We can't compete with that."
"Where do they get water?" It was a silly question.
"Artesian", he said, his eyes fixed on mine stoically.

Curry Pies, Tapenade, Farm Fresh Apples.

Sunday, the last Sunday of February, was my reward day, when I allow myself a treat at the bakery on my morning walk. After a month of self discipline, during which I envied crews of tradesmen I'd seen wolfing into cakes and pies for breakfast on their way to jobs, it was my turn.
I tied 'Snowy' to the leg of the table outside the shop and went in to buy a curry pie and a flat white coffee. The pie was fresh out of the oven and I enjoyed it so much I went back in and bought another. 'Snowy' watched me imploringly, standing on her hind legs with her front paws on my shins. "Sorry Snow, you'll get your breakfast when we get home. Hungry are you?" She knows the word hungry and it triggers excitement.
On the walk home I reflected on how happy I was that February was nearly done. It had been a hot month of hard work and we (Lib, me, Meredith, Elvie, Jod) are tired. Lyle went into Salisbury House on Feb 5 and all in all is doing well despite the lack of air conditioning. The oldies feel the cold more than the heat so it isn't really a problem unless there's a succession of hot days and nights not allowing the building to cool in the evening. Salisbury House is one of the original landmark buildings in the area and was built in the 1880's as a guest house and health resort for travellers, town dwellers and international guests. The area was reknown for its clean healthy air. It has been renovated and extended by the present owners, Jim and Vicki, and now has 60 residents.
Lyle has a new doctor who has taken him off most of his medication, and he seems better for it. He's now taking nothing to prolong his life, his wish agreed to by the doctor, only an anti-depressant and a pain killer for sharp nerve pain in his leg. He does not have much appetite and has days when he eats little and says he wants to go to the Lord, and other days of good spirit when he makes requests for particuliar treats. The nursing staff, especially Lib, have been fantastic and take him out to the multi purpose room or the garden most days and he's having many visitors including his brother Geoff, grandchildren, Bryce and Nancy,(Bryce was best man at Lyle and Elvie's wedding in 1948) and friend of fifty years, Ron Pearce. Everyone is impressed by the care and homely atmosphere at Salisbury.
Lib worked Sunday, so after getting home and feeding little Snow, I had some quiet time and of course no need to worry about breakfast, being well satisfied by the curry pies. On my walk I'd seen the early bird stall holders setting up for the Gembrook market, also held on the last Sunday of each month, so soon after 9.00am I drove back up to buy a stock of Alberto's home made pasta and pesto which I discovered before Christmas. If you are not there early he's sold out of pasta.
The man in Alberto's stall, still setting up when I reached him, was a different person to those who'd manned the stall previously, but it turned out he was the proprietor who confessed to riding his family too hard and therefore doing the markets himself this weekend. There were not yet many buyers at the market so the man was happy to talk, (I think Alberto is his father and the source of the recipes) and was not timid in promoting his products. My ears pricked when he said tapenade which I'd never heard of before and I added a tub to my purchase.
He told me the best way to store the pasta was to cook it, for nine minutes after putting it in the boiling water, then put some butter through it and freeze it. Then you only had to microwave it and toss on whatever you wished when you were ready to eat. I took his advice and cooked three packets of the tagliatelle, which was the only type of pasta he had left after a big day somewhere else on the Saturday. While the first pack was cooking I tried the tapenade and it just blew me away, I couldn't stop going back to it and by the time the three packs of pasta were in the freezer I nearly finished the whole tub.
If you don't know, as I didn't till Sunday, tapenade is made from black olives, oil, anchovies, garlic and other spices. The man told me it was a bit of an acquired taste but it was instantaneously sensational for me. Life is grand when you can still discover such things at my age.
On my way to the Emerald Museum where I was rostered on duty that afternoon, I dropped back in to the market and bought two more tubs of the tapenade. On my way home late in the afternoon I called in Maria's house in Avonsleigh to return a book I'd borrowed and to pick some apples she'd offered from her orchard. I gave Maria a tub of tapenade and a jar of honey and we had coffee and scones with home made jam before going out to pick apples. I left with a large box and two bags of old variety apples fresh off the trees.
I'd forgotten how good fresh apples ripened on the tree tasted. Crisp, sweet, and juicy.

What Makes Me Happy?

Last Friday at my writing class we looked at Leunig's cartoon 'Seven Types of Ordinary Happiness' and we were asked to write as an exercise about what makes us happy. One night during the week I sat down and made a list of things that make me happy. In no time at all I had a long list. I made a count, there were over 90, which included things like roast beef with horseradish sauce and mustard, good red wine, mougrabia, taboule salad, the smell of crushed garlic, watching my dog chew on a bone, a hot bath after a hard day's work, a good shag, my early morning walk, mountains, forests, and rain. If my response was to be meaningful, I would have to be more thoughtful and less hedonistic.

One evening recently when I walked into the lougeroom after bathing, I heard Lib calling from outside for me to come out. There was a calm but serious edge to her voice and she was on the timber deck crouching near the window and aiming her camera. She was up close to a wandering echidna which was exploring the deck, unconcerned by what must have been, to it, unfamiliar territory. This wonderful creature waddled about, took a drink out the dogs water dish, then headed off to the ramp and back into the garden. Watching this made me happy. I wondered if the echidna was in in the habit of finding the dog's water dish during the hideous heat and dry of February, but is usually unseen.

Last weekend we went Melbourne and stayed at the Marriot hotel on Saturday night. It was Lib's alternate long weekend and when she suggested we have a night out in the 'big smoke', then go to the Demon's family day at the Junction Oval on Sunday I jumped at it. I knew Lib needed a change of scenery, to get away from the house and the work, as did I, a break from bees and honey. It turned out a disaster really. Unknown to us it was Chinese New Year and every restaurant in Chinatown was booked out. We walked around for ages trying to find somewhere to eat in 38C heat with fire crackers and crowds enough to send you batty. Eventually we bought takeaway souvlakis and ate them on the banks of the Yarra, knocking down four bottles of water and two of red wine as we ate. Robbie suprised us with his thirst for red wine before taking off to meet Merinda somewhere.
The next day we went to St. Kilda in the morning, found an underground car park and walked in the heat down to St. Kilda beach. It was stinking hot and I couldn't understand the people lying out in the full sun, while the four of us huddled in the shade of a solitary palm tree, watching the passing parade of bathers, walkers, joggers and cyclists. There was a couple close by sharing the shade. She had returned from the water and towelled down before lying next to the man. She was most unattractive if you will pardon me saying. I choose not to offer a description, it would be impolite, but I will say she was well tattooed, and didn't seem to have any teeth. She picked up a book and began to read. Her man spoke to her lovingly, calling her 'babe', talking about things like the water temperature and the clouds, not self conscious at all at our nearness. As he talked and she read, he gently stroked her arm with his fingertips. His unabashed love and kindness made me happy.

We made it to the MFC family day, finding shade in the old Blackie-Ironmonger grandstand. After a while I walked down onto the ground, well protected from the fierce sun by my hat and longsleeved shirt, to mingle with crowd and the players. Lib and the boys stayed in the stand. I asked a couple of players to point me out a young player named Michael Newton, whom I'd read in a member's email was from Whorouly. I found him and asked him did his dad play for Whorouly in 1980 because I played for Greta in the O+K grand final of that year, against Whorouly, and they had a player named Newton. He said yes his dad was named Rod and played then. He told me he'd remember me to his dad and I wished him well in his try at the big league. It made me happy to come across an old opponent's son and I'll follow his progress at the Demons.

A similar feeling came to me yesterday. I was driving near Emerald when the driver of an oncoming car gave me a big wave. I waved back but the car was well past me before I realized it was young Lauren. She went through school with Robbie and is now at university in Ballarat. It makes me happy when young ones wave to me, old school friends of Gordon and Robbie. I remember them as children at pre-school and school and the parties and sleepovers. It makes me happy to see them as young adults making their way.

What makes me happy? Nature. Love and kindness. Memories. Hope.

Another Adjournment

There was a most welcome calm on my walk this morning, but plenty of evidence of yesterday's wild wind storm with the roadside and gardens littered by sticks, twigs and leafy branches. A branch of mistletoe came down in our garden, taking the phone line with it. I climbed a ladder and hooked it back up but the phone is out, although I can still use the internet.
I was doing that yesterday, posting in some detail, on Gord's court case on Friday, when the power went off and I lost all that I'd written. Frustrating hey! I dread going over it all again, but here goes.

When I rang the solicitor at 5.00pm last Thursday he'd not heard from the police in response to his request that they drop the 'intent to steal charge' and offer a diversion on the 'trespass'. He said he'd be leaving the office shortly and he'd see us tomorrow at the Dandenong Magistrates Court at 9.45am. He suggested that as he'd learned the informant, Leading Senior Constable Frank Bodor, was working a 3-11pm shift, I could keep trying to ring him at Pakenham police station and ask him what was to be offered us, if anything.
I did this and spoke to a policewoman who told me he was out on the road and she would pass on my phone number and my request that he ring me at home later in the evening. I had left a meeting of the Emerald museum committee to make these calls in a work room. When I sat down again at the meeting I was gripped by the severe pain of a back spasm which was the last thing needed.
Bodor didn't ring, and I, distracted by agonizing back spasms at regular intervals, didn't ring him again, accepting we were going to court in the morning and would find out then, que sera sera.
After a fairly quiet trip down in the morning during which Gord and I made small talk about the first one day cricket final between Australia and England to be played that day/night but little else, we met solicitor Chris at the appointed time in the foyer. The police had faxed through to Chris's office the DIVERSION NOTICE the evening before but not early enough for us to be aware of it till the actual Friday. Chris gave me the diversion notice to read and suggested Gord and I go for a coffee for 20 minutes while he attended to another client he was representing in court that day.
Addressed to Gordon it said-
IN RELATION TO THE FOLLOWING CHARGES AGAINST YOU;
1.BURGLARY 2.TRESPASS
In this case the Victoria Police will recommend to the court that you be granted a Diversion Order.
There was some more detail about diversion orders then it concluded- IF YOU DO NOT WISH TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE DIVERSION OPTION YOUR MATTER WILL BE DEALT WITH AS INDICATED IN THE CHARGE DOCUMENTATION.
Under this was a NOTICE OF ASSESSMENT filled out by a Sgt. of police saying "This person is suitable for a Diversion Order. I suggest that the following Program Conditions be considered:
1. Monetary Donation in the amount of $150 to the Royal Children's hospital.

It didn't seem much of an offer to us, despite the court co-ordinator explaining after we were called in to his office, that if Gord admitted to 'the facts', (that he was a burglar as well as a trespasser) the charges would not to be proceeded with in court, the matter would be all over today, and Gord would not have a criminal record, ie. there would be no convictions recorded against him. Mind you, I supposed Gord would also feel good about a donation of $150 to the Children's hospital.
While we had the coffee Gord and I had decided that we liked the word burglary less than we liked 'trespass with intent to steal' and had decided to take the line of 'what if' we don't accept the diversion, for the reason that Gord was not guilty of burglary. The co-ordinator said that it was burglary because he was in the building, by the definition of burglay, even if he hadn't taken anything. If he had taken something he would have been charged with burglary and theft.
I replied that I had never looked into the definition of burglary, and was unaware until today that Gordon was charged with burglary because the charge and summons referred to 'trespass with intent to steal'. We had requested through our solicitor as early as November to have this charge removed as he had no intent to steal, but had not had a response from the police until the day of the court proceeding, and we had supporting letters from two pshychologists who knew Gordon professionally and said his actions on the night in question were not consistent with a person intending to steal. We went round and and round this for a few minutes, I think I repeated myself but he maintained and repeated that Gord was trespassing by being on the premises and burglaring by being in the building, despite the door being left open and there being no forced entry.
I asked what now, as we don't like it, and he said he would go and see the police prosecutor and see if the burglary could be dropped. He came back some 15 minutes later and said the prosecutor had contacted Bodor who had agreed to drop the burglary charge, but this could not be done today, it involved paperwork and there would have to be an adjournment and another hearing date and the case is now listed for CONTEST MENTION on the 13 March.
We have to go back again but at least Gord won't have burglary on his police record which is what would be the case if we'd taken the expedient offer, which I'm sure was expected of us. Let's hope there's no suprises on Mar 13.

I wondered from the very beginning why Gord was charged with intent to steal when it was obvious to me that there wasn't any. This quote, from an article in the Weekend Australian recently on deaths in custody and the Qld. police uproar, stood out like a shag on a rock. Shows you how sensitive you can get.
"Every day of the week they present, for prosecution, cases that are utter rubbish because the evidence is not there. Your individual police officer does not give a damn about justice when pushing for these prosecutions, they just want notches in their belt for promotional purposes."

In no way, of course, do I suggest this happens in Victoria.

Rolling On

The days are slowly but noticably becoming shorter. It's dark now at 6.00am (daylight saving time) when we get up on Lib's work days. School's back, the roads are busier in the morning with teachers in cars leaving for work at far off schools and kids walking to catch school busses.
I finished splitting the tree for next winter's wood last weekend, Feb 3+4, a few days past my target of Jan 31, but close. It's a job I dread but always enjoy when I get into and find a rhythm. I leave it out in the sun for two or three months before coming back and barrowing it into the wood shed, by then hopefully dry enough to burn well.
Also by April's end the honey season should be over and all my tools can be cleared out of the woodshed and and put back into the toolshed, which has been my honey house since November. The honey flow has continued, the messmate now in full flower and yielding a steady flow of honey. I've been at it here and there, taking off a box or two when I have time and extracting, and straining and 'tinning off', just keeping up with it.
Lyle is now in Salisbury House Aged Care Facility, finally making it there last Monday Feb 5 after not being well enough for the previous two weeks to leave hospital. He was five weeks in Casey and in his words it was a soul destroying experience. Last week, on Thursday, he spat the dummy and refused his medication, saying that he had no reason to live and wanted to die now. I went down to see him and after about 30 minutes of difficult conversation during which he was so argumentative and emphatic, everything I said was wrong, he asked me if the kiosk was open. He asked could I get him a bag of 'Smith's' crinkle cut chips which I did and he nibbled away at them slowly, his demeanour improving by the minute. He was nearly finished them when Virginia the social worker came in to try and talk him around and between her and I, he'd agreed to hang in there for another three days and try to get to Salisbury House. It was the taste of the chips, the salt, and the cup of tea which followed that perked him up more than anything.
So far so so good at Salisbury. Lib says he's depressed in the evenings ( Meredith visited Monday night) because he tires easily and is flat as a tack in the morning, saying he doesn't want to get up and wants to be with the Lord, but he comes good with a clean up, dressing, and breakfast, and going to the lounge room in a chair. He's eating well and Lib takes him some 'Smith's' crisps and he loves his grapes and is asking questions about the coming football season. We just hope his last days can be as comfortable and pleasant as possible in a cheerful environment amongst people who care for him. He was not having that at Casey hospital, which had an atmosphere similar to a morgue, I would say, and nurses with plastic faces who seemed to be never near.
I have to ring the solicitor this afternoon to discuss Gord's court case which is this Friday. It will be wonderful to have that in the past. Tomorrow I'm taking Elvie to Salisbury House to finalize a lot of paperwork we've had to do. All the forms have been filled out, it's mainly just signatures now required, Lyle's, Elvie's, the DON's. There's always paperwork to do.
I'll be glad when this week's over. Time rolls on, thank goodness!

Australia Day

Friday last week was Australia Day, a public holiday. Lib worked as normal and I worked too, although mine was more a matter of choice. The wholesaler who comes Friday was having the day off and I'd picked Foxy's Sunday order ahead, camellia and flax that keeps well, making Friday free for my choice.
I worked at Pat and Mal's in the morning, spraying blackberries and cutting out holly trees, painting the cut with straight Roundup. It was a perfect sunny day. I walked down the steep hill to the bush carrying the chainsaw and a full tank in the knapsack sprayer on my back, stopping to look a large sequoia on the way down, admiring it's perfect symmetry, the rough trunk reaching dramatically straight up toward the bright blue sky. I thanked whoever planted it, 50, 60, 70 years ago. It looks about the same age as the two in Gembrook Park, planted in 1934 to commemorate Melbourne's centenary. A ficifolia gum, gnarled and broad, in full orange red flower fifty feet away gave striking contrast. After 50ml of rain at Christmas followed by another 45ml a week ago, the grass tended green and the bush shone. Flowering messmates dotted the blue green forest on the hill to the east with scattered white.
It's a beautiful place, Australia, I thought. How lucky am I to live here and be healthy enough to work in this wonderful environment? Two hundred and twenty years nearly since the first fleet, we have done so much damage, but maybe there's hope.
I only had an hour or so of work to do there, the time it would take to empty the sprayer on the last patch of blackberries and cut the remaining big hollies on my way back. Gord and I had worked here the previous day for a couple of hours and I was finishing off, relaxed, soaking up the fresh air and peace, satisfied at striking some good blows on the weeds.
After lunch I took a box of honey off the big hive in our yard, then went to 'Sunset' and took a box from there. 'Sunset'* is on the main road on the Gembrook hill, from where there's an excellent view to the south across red soil and lush green potato paddocks, backed by eucalypt bush again dotted with the white of flowering messmate trees. The irrigation cannon in the distance pumped great jets of water like a giant rhythmic metronome, the spurts of water slowing and fanning out, before falling to ground like heavy rain. Gembrook in January is idyllic if the weather's kind and there are no bushfires about. It's the rain that makes the difference.
After extracting the boxes of honey I went to Nobelius Park in Emerald and whippy snipped the bank on the northern boundary. This bank, less than twelve months ago, was a horrible mess of weed; blackberries, hollies, cotoneasters, black locusts, privet, impenetrable and a bug for me for many years. As curator of the park and a member of the committee of management, I had a bobcat remove all the weeds and the old fence last autumn. Then in October, because it was so dry and we had the funds (because other factors prevented us doing other work scheduled in the maintenance budget), we had the bobcat man back to spread 10 truckloads of topsoil and create a nice level bank up to the Emerald Lake road. All well and good, but the mowing contractors hadn't picked up the idea yet, and the weed species were growing back with a vengeance. An hour on the whipper got rid of them and hopefully I can coerce the contractors to include it in their program and soon it will be a nice grassy bank with no maintenance problem.
It looked so much better when I'd finished. It was satisfying to see a major improvement to the park, which would't have happened without first thinking it through, talking to people, and then perservering. I felt I'd done my bit on this Australia Day 2007. Better than all the flag waving wanking that goes on.

* 'Sunset' was guest house in the 1920's , the name being retained by a succession of owners since, and is listed as of heritage significance by the Cardinia Shire Heriage Study 1999)

Another Night Staring at The Ceiling

"Another night staring at the ceiling." That's what Lyle said to me as I left his room at the Casey hospital on Monday afternoon, January 22. It's been a long haul for him. It was December 6 when he left home in the ambulance for Dandenong hospital. After a week or so there, he had the brain haemorrhage operation at Monash, another stint in Dandenong, and now the last few weeks at Casey.
During the six weeks his condition physically and emotionally has fluctuated, but for the most part he's maintained a positive attitude despite physical rehabilitation not being achievable.
Elvie, Meredith and myself have run the emotional gauntlet with him over this six weeks, dealing with hospitals, doctors and social workers, and driving regularly to visit on a rotating shift, muchly helped by Meredith's amazingly resilient and practical daughters, Annie and Rosie.
On Thursday last week we (Elvie, Meredith, Rosie and myself) visited nursing homes looking for an available and suitable high care bed so that Lyle can move into residential care. We found one, much to our relief, at Salisbury House, Upper Beaconsfield, where Lib works, and booked it. It's the worst room in the place but is temporary till a good one is available.
Lyle's ACAT assessement was scheduled for Monday which is why I was at the hospital, a close relative being required to witness his signature on their form, or sign for him if he couldn't. He was assessed as in need of high care which would give the green light to his move as soon as the paper work was faxed around. Salisbury House was at the ready for his admission on any day. The social worker, Virginia, was happy we had already found accomodation as she said the hospital wants them out quickly once they've been assessed. She told me it would probably be Wednesday morning, today. Alas Virginia rang yesterday saying the doctors feel he's not well enough to move, there's a problem with his lungs, fluid, and also his left ventricle is playing up, which is not a new thing.
Poor old Lyle would be disappointed. On Monday when I saw him he was accepting of his move into residential care and looking forward to it. He has pressure sores and has had enough of the cold clinical hospital atmosphere. There's little encouragement there now that his rehab has failed and he knows he needs a new social environment. I felt proud of him, he said he had always been an outgoing person and he would fit in and not cause any trouble. The pep talk I'd prepared wasn't necessary. It was if he'd received it telepathically during the night, when I'd lain awake, running it through my mind almost in rehearsal.
So we wait, and hope. We feared he would hate moving into a nursing home and that it would crush him, and here he is champing at the bit, but not well enough to go. What cruel irony.

Mid Summer Bird Report

1. The eastern whipbird family that chose our garden as their residence and nursery in the spring has moved on. I haven't seen the juveniles for weeks and the parents have regained their shyness. We still hear an occasional 'crack', but it's more often at some distance and I haven't glimpsed mum or dad for some time. We all enjoyed their sojourn and hope they come back next spring.
2. The bronzewings are no longer 'ooming'. It must be a nesting or breeding thing. Jod told me the male 'ooms' while roosting in a tree not far from the female sitting on the nest. Maybe he's right, and they finished breeding for the year. They are still around because I've seen them recently when I walk. The rich metallic green on the wing always delights me, and they have strong purposeful flight. I've seen the odd crested pidgeon about lately too.
3.The parrot family is strongly represented still. Juvenile crimson rosellas, more green than the crimson and blue of their parents, follow the adults. Baby king parrots squark and nag their parents incessantly, giving away the truth, the ravenous and destructive nature of this most striking bird. The hot weather seems to bring out the the screeching insanity of the sulphur crested cockatoos, which, on top of the demanding, nerve jangling squarking of the baby king parrots, threatens to send men and women 'troppo' in the heat and the dry of this smoke hazed January. Galahs were less numerous for a while but just when I thought they'd moved on I'd hear a big flock 'chi chiing' overhead. The gang gangs are still creaking around, gently moving from tree to tree harrassed by bellbirds. The yellow tailed black cockies are seen now and again feeding on pine cones and flapping big wings in flight like huge bats. I have not seen them for a week, which makes me less confidant that rain is near. My favourite of all the parrots, the eastern rosellas, have been present in good numbers every morning on my walk. I love the brilliant green and their quiet.
4. I saw a speckled song thrush sitting on the picket fence at 13 Inness Rd. the other morning. I've mentioned before that this georgeous bird, a species introduced from England, is now in danger of extinction in it's home country, and is in Australia in a few limited localities such as the Dandenongs and a pocket or two in the Warragul and Ballarat areas. A couple of months ago I picked up a bird's nest in some prunings on the nature strip of No. 11 and took it to the farm where Jod said it was a song thrush's nest, which he knew because it was mud lined. I've been watching for the thrush about here so it was good to see it. There are always cars parked out front of No.13 and as I walked closer to get a better look at the thrush a black kelpie dog shot out from under a car and went for 'Snowie'. Gave us a hell of a fright.
5. The dawn chorus is noticeably more subdued by comparison with a couple of months ago, with the exeption of the harsh, raucous, 'quokking' of the wattle birds, which gets on my wick like the the screeching white cockies and the juvenile kingies.
6. I fill the bird bath daily and am doing the same for my neighbours who have gone to N.Z. for a holiday. Jod keeps several baths filled at the farm and I watched a mudlark come down yesterday in the 40C heat and stand on the edge panting before taking a scoop of water in its beak, swallowing, then standing, mouth open, panting. Mudlarks are a favourite of mine too, I have a young one that comes down and takes dry dog minis that I put on the shed windowstill for the blackbirds. Bellbirds follow me around in the evenings, hoping I'll pick up a hose and water something so they can get under the spray for a cooling shower. There's not much of that, most of my watering is with a can, slowly, to conserve water.
7. I hear the grey thrush now and again, the ibis colony has gone, the ravens are back to normal numbers, there are swallows about, no currawongs at the moment, no honeyeaters lately, and this morning I saw a willy wag tail. If I could do magic I'd send the bellbirds, indian minas and sparrows away and have some blue wrens and silver eyes and the little scrubwrens that used to come through the garden feeding on insects. We seem to have lost the smaller birds to this area.

The Observation of Harry

On my walk this morning I met Harry. Not wanting to repeat Harry's story which I have blogged before, let me just say that Harry migrated from Germany in 1952 and worked for the Victorian railways for all his subsequent working life until retirement, and he will be 75 this year. We talked about the weather and concurred that the temperature when each of us checked our thermometers when we began our walks today was 25C. There was more cloud about and we didn't think it would be as hot as yesterday's 40C.
Harry then told me that yesterday he received a letter from a police sargeant in Kew saying that his car had been 'observed' on the road and it was noted that his car registration plate was difficult to read. He couldn't understand this, he'd looked at it and it seemed fine to him , easy to read. It irritated him as he thought he would have to pay for new plates, unless, as he said, there was some other reason such as something on his car, or a reflection from it, that restricted clear vision of his plates from a certain angle.
I made a bit of a joke that "they are watching you Harry", saying it was important that the police could track who was who, and their criminal history, available at the push of a PC button in their police car. I said they could check his record and have all his misdemeanors there on the screen in seconds. Harry said, "I may have had a parking ticket once but I've never been booked by the police, not for speeding or anything."
It's interesting if you think about it.
After police were attacked in Noble Park recently when they tried to confiscate vehicles under the hoon laws, the media report said police were going to talk with the Dandenong Council about the possibility of installing surveillance cameras in the streets and also 'no standing' signs, to prevent people and cars congregating.
It seems that Harry, and all us, are going to be 'observed' by cameras more not less as time goes by. It's silly really, because bad guys just get phoney, altered, or stolen plates, and wear disguise, if they're up to serious mischief.

Mid Summer Bee Report

Since the festive season, when we had a burst of cold weather and 50ml of wonderful rain at Christmas followed by another 10ml around New Yea's Eve, the weather has returned to a dry pattern. The honey flow has continued, steady rather than heavy. Yesterday I took a box of honey from each of the two hives at 'Sunset' and one in our yard. A week ago I did the same, a few boxes from the bees in our yard on the Saturday before the cool change which unfortunately brought no rain to speak of.
I'm unsure of the floral source of the honey. I thought by now it would be messmate as there's plenty of messmate blossom on the trees, although probably the big trees haven't really broken yet. Messmate honey is dark and strong, like molassis, but this honey is mild, clear/medium amber in colour, and dense. Superp honey, as people I'm giving it to are saying. Over the past month or so when the bees gathered it, there's been blackberry flowering, clover, the rain extending the flowering period of both these, mint bush, which the bees worked heavily and is finishing flowering now, and I'm speculating, some white stringybark.
Why am I speculating? I have no way of finding out for sure. That's the thing about beekeeping, you are always wondering what's happening and there's always some mystery or other. I noticed the bees flying high to the east in a similar flight path to that of October when they were working the silvertop. I checked my honey flora book, 'Honey Flora of Victoria' and it seems that white stringbark grows around here and I think I recall seeing a stand on the Kurth Kiln Rd. But a big clue is that the book says that it often grows with silvertop, and that the honey is paler than other stringybarks with the same tendency to froth, and of good flavour and density. As I was uncapping combs last week I noticed a huge number of tiny air bubbles in the honey after the knife had passed over it and also as I filled the bucket at the bottom of the extractor, the amount air bubbles was extraordinary, consistent with 'frothing' mentioned in the book. I tried to ring Dennis Beale who worked in the forests diving log trucks for many years to ask if there's white stingybark growing with the silvertop to the east of the town within bee flight range of our place, but he's not answering his phone and may be away. (Dennis knows his trees and once worked helping a beekeeper in south east South Australia where he came from originally. He came to Gembrook many years ago on deer hunting expeditions with a group that teamed up with local deerhunters and he married one's sister. He goes back to S.A. every year where he has crayfish licence. I'm hoping a good size billy of honey might be a good trade for a couple of lobsters as it was a few years ago)
So it has been a bumper honey crop so far. I think there's about another 110 kg's in the tanks from the last two Saturday's exertions which would make a running total of 340kg. and there's still honey on them, I'm just trying to keep up enough to give each hive a little storage space. I'm tired of it now, tired of getting sticky and cleaning up. Yesterday the bees gave me a bit of a hiding. I have to admit, I had a hangover* so it was my own fault. I was clumsy and dropping things and the hive that swarmed in spring, now built up strong and honey bound, made no allowance for my condition. I had a short sleeved shirt with wide sleeve holes and I lost control of the bees for about ten seconds and they attacked me up the sleeves on the soft underside of the upper arms. They could probably smell the grog coming out of me. "Take that, you pisshead", they probably said. When I went back to put the empty combs back on them an hour or so later they were stinging mad and waiting for me. Man o man, hell hath no fury like a beehive roughly treated. It does bring you back to earth, and it serves me right.
The messmate could well yield yet, peak flowering is yet to come. And there could be honey to follow from manna gum and mountain grey gum or even the mountain ash in Gembrook Park. Who knows?
Winter never looked as appealing as it does to me now. I must get the wood split.

* We went out on Friday night to an Indian restaurant in Beaconsfield. It was a farewell dinner for one of the nurses at Lib's work. I was so tired at the end of the week and drank too much on an empty stomach before we ate late. Robbie was our chauffer and Raylene and John came in our car. When we dropped them off on the way home we went in for a drink as they've sold their house and are moving any day to Mt. Martha, so we had another little farewell drink. I think it was near 3.00 am when we got home and I slept in and missed my morning walk, first miss in 2007. I should not have worked the bees at all and should have rested, given my hangover, but I'm on museum roster today so it was yesterday or not at all this weekend.

Neighbour Steve and Birds

Last Sunday, about midday, I took a jar of honey across the road to give to my neighbour Steve and his wife Anne. They weren't home so I left it at the front door. There had been a cool change the previous night and the weather was cool and drizzly so I cancelled my plan to go to 'Sunset' and do the two bee hives there and extract the honey that afternoon, as I had the bees in my yard the previous day. I was happy to do something else, honey seems to have dominated me lately.
I found my woodsplitter and made a start on the felled dead tree which I'd like to have done by the end of January so the wood will dry out with the heat of February and March so that we can use it next winter. On about the fourth round I noticed Steve's Land Cruiser drive past and I thought to myself I hope he goes in the front door so he sees the honey. The jar I left had a plunger type lid not a screw top, and it occurred to me that the lid may rise up and ants might find a way in.
As I swung the splitter into the the next round of wood the handle gave way and split lengthwise. I knew it was wonky, I'd bought a new hanlde months ago which was sitting near our front door and I remembered the wedge was in the box with the shoe polish.
Walking back to the house I stopped at the shed, thinking I'd have to burn the wood out of the hole in the metal splitter before I could put in the new handle. Contemplating lighting a fire when fire restrictions are in force, I banged one half of the splitter handle onto the other half which was still inserted in the splitter. The noise it made had a lovely ring to it, like that which aborigines make with their beating sticks, so I kept it up and found a nice rythm.
Enjoying my own little corroborree as I was, I looked up from my drumming to see Steve walking towards me. He'd come down to thank me for the honey and followed the noise around to the shed.
Steve's a good bloke, in his fifties, small in stature but with a big heart. His hobby is riding his pushbike for fitness and I see him more often in his lycra on the bike than I do in his 'Gem's Painting' van or his cruiser. He and wife Anne have no children but they're devoted to their three miniature spaniels. They're keen gardeners and I pick in their garden now and again.
Steve thanked me for the honey and agreed that I should get away with lighting a little fire to burn out the splitter, seeing it was drizzling and the ground was wet nobody would panic if they saw smoke. As we talked I could hear shrill bird calls high in the treetops and I said to Steve, "I think they're lorrikeets but I haven't been able to get a good look at them, the bellbirds are chasing them so they don't settle."
"They're nasty bastards, bellbirds", said Steve. "I saw them the other day attacking a sparrow's nest and dragging the baby sparrows from it. Mate, I don't like sparrows but that was awful. I tell you what though, those big black birds, you know those things with the yellow eye, they're the worst, they're cannibals!"
Steve was talking about currawongs and his excitement grew, "Where we used to live in Montrose I saw them raiding other nests and eating the babies of they own kind! Cannibals!"
I was looking up again trying to see the lorikeets. Steve continued, having thought of something else, "Were you home yesterday? You didn't happen to look up into the sky about 12.30 did you?"
"No, I was busy mucking round with bees and honey."
"There were heaps of crows, hundreds, four hundred or more, flying around and around, way up high, diving down, going back up, round and round. I've never seen anything like it before. It was amazing."
"Gee I wish I did see it, but I didn't. I've seen a huge flock of ravens feeding in Fialla's paddock on my way home up the hill into town. A big flock of what I think are straw necked Ibis were there three days in a row too. And at the same time hundreds of swallows were in the air above them and a large flock of starlings. Gembrook is teeming with birds at the moment. Maybe many have moved in cause we've had rain and it's so dry elsewhere."
"It could be, but those crows were spectacular. Thanks again for the honey. I'll catch ya later and we should get together for that drink soon", Steve said as he moved off.

I hope to do a mid summer bird report post soon.

Green Beech and Grass Hay

We've had only have one wholesaler operating since Christmas but he's kept me running, ordering lots of beech which he doesn't usually buy from us. His other suppliers, obviously, are taking a good break at this time of year.
I picked 50 tall bunches for him at the farm last Thursday which more or less was the finish of it there for this season. He wanted another forty yesterday so I visited a tree in La Souef Rd. that I didn't cut last year, after having done so for several years prior to that. Two years ago the owner of the property, Anne, sold it and moved to go and live with her daughter at Boweya, a small rural locality on the edge of the box/ironbark of the Killawarra Forest outside Wangaratta. Over the years I had come to know Anne quite well. She'd had serious health problems and lost her husband John to cancer. It was John who'd originally OK'd me to prune the beech tree which was growing close to the electricity wires, and if not cut regularly would have ended up a poor shape as the contractors for the electricity company cut the top of one side of it each year.
Anne had told me a lady called Allison had bought her house. Last year she was not home each time I called to ask her if I could continue cutting the tree. She was home yesterday. When I explained myself she said that Anne had told her about me and yes, I could cut the tree, she didn't want it growing as big as 'Ben Hur'.
Allison then asked me did I know what happened to Anne. "No", I didn't. Then she laid it on me.
It was a bit of a shock when she said that not long after Anne got to Boweya her daughter suicided, and shortly after, Anne followed suit. She died the day before the settlement on Anne's Gembrook house was to take place and it spooked Allison so much that she nearly didn't go ahead with the purchase.
I was pleased to be able to prune the beech tree and Allison told me to come any time I liked and take whatever I might need. I gave her some honey in exchange. She said she didn't eat honey herself but her son was staying with her temporarily and he'd use it. I told her that next time I'd bring something else, say some hand soap from Elvie's little shop at the farm, but she said she was just happy to have some pruning done.
We went into her backyard, she wanting to show me the work she'd done.
The vista from there is into my favourite scene on my morning walk, the valley at the head of which the Shepherd's Creek West Branch begins, but of course from a different side. Before Christmas the big paddock on the hill beyond the two one acre paddocks where I watch the galahs and cockies feeding, was cut for grass hay. From this viewpoint, looking across to the paddock, I guess about 20 acres in size, the big round bales are visible, 51 of them. Each is worth over $200 because of the drought. A bountiful harvest.
We've been much better off here in the Dandenong's than most of the state. When Molly got home to Wangaratta after Christmas she rang to say that not one drop of rain had fallen there, compared to the 50ml we'd had in Gembrook. And a friend rang from Wang. on New Year's eve to wish me all the best. He heard the rain on the roof and I walked outside to read the gauge, telling him we'd had another 10ml. They had zip.

Hospital Strategy

Holly Hutton, the doctor at Casey hopital whom I met two days ago, rang this morning and said that at the meeting yesterday she was nominated as 'the appointed person' at the hospital to discuss with me, 'the appointed person' in Lyle's family, the hospital's management strategy for Lyle. She said it had been decided to put him on a three week rehab program during which time they would concentrate on his walking, and at the end of the three weeks an assessement would be made as to whether he could go home or whether he would need placement. So we are still in a state of suspense, a long protracted agony, in particular for Lyle. He's hanging in there.

We all did it hard in yesterday's heat. I picked the beech, Gord carted, the girls bunched and Jod picked some pitto, and viburnum and rowan berries. There was also a little early clethra , hydrangeas and artichoke flowers. It was an impressive load that Elissa who drives for the wholesaler, picked up shortly after 5.00pm. I told Elissa when she started recently that her name reminds me of the musical 'Paint Your Wagon' in which Clint Eastwood sang a solo 'I Still See Elissa' and she said she'd not seen the movie but her parents got the name from it.
I'm sore/stiff in the feet, legs, hips, back, shoulders, forearms and fingers from my climbing yesterday. And it's hot again. Good thing I don't have much on today, and can have a bit of a rest.

It's a long way home

Gord came with me to Casey to see Lyle yesterday. He always likes to see Lyle and he has been coming to work with me a bit too. His company is comforting, as it always has been. Gord is such a placid soul.
Lyle seemed lucid, in fair spirit, and pleased to see us. He drank thick apple juice from his 'baby cup' while he swallowed medication the nurse brought in. I asked the nurse if she could message the doctor, Holly Hutton, to ask her if she could come to see me. Elvie had given me the doctors name, which Roger had found out by ringing the hospital. He told them that he was Lyle's GP, and Elvie told me he had spoken to her about the medication.
Holly Hutton came in and explained that she had only come back today after her break and had not really had time to get on top of everything. She asked me if I would like to talk to her outside. We left Gord with Lyle and stepped out into the corridor. She said they were monitoring Lyle closely, but as he'd only come in recently and they'd been on reduced staff, they didn't yet have a full picture. She said there would be a meeting tomorrow where a strategy would be decided and we would be informed but we would need to let them know who the appointed person was that they would communicate with. She then asked me did we want him resuscitated should such a decision be necessary. I said no, and she agreed that would be the view of the hospital also.
I asked her about his medication, in particular about whatever he was taking that Roger said could cause nausea. She took me back into his room and looked at the chart and talked pharmaceutial terms which was like a foreign language to me. She said he had pneumonia and was on antibiotics. My impression was that the medication was a bit of a balancing act with the purpose of making Lyle as comfortable as possible. I asked Holly would it be possible to get him a cup of hot tea which he'd told me was what he wanted more than anything, and she took me to a room where she said I was not supposed to be but it would be OK. She apologized that she was so busy and left.
Lyle loved his cup of tea, which he drank slowly in small sips from the 'baby bottle'. It reminded me of the good feeling I had as a parent when the kids were small and showed obvious enjoyment as they busily ate or drank something I'd prepared. When finished he asked was there any more of that apple juice and he drank that too. He then asked for his pee bottle which was out of reach on a chair but when I gave it to him he couldn't use it because he had a nappy on. He asked me undo the tags which I did and he managed to get his dick in the bottle and kept it in there for sometime, before giving me the bottle to empty, but there was nothing in it. He said to leave it close, on his bed and just do the nappy tags up slightly so he'd be able to get them undone. It seemed obvious he was having trouble controlling pee while lying down, which was why they'd put on the nappy. I asked him about not eating and he said he wasn't hungry in the evening but he did have breakfast which the nurses fed him from a porridge bowl sort of thing and it was good.
As we were about to leave he told he'd really like an orange drink so I said I'd get him one if the nurse said it would be alright, as I remembered that before he went into hospital, weeks ago, he was on a strictly controlled fluid intake as his kidneys weren't working well enough to get rid of fluid. I found her in the corridor and she said she would check it out but she thought he was only supposed to have the thick fluids as there was a problem with his swallowing. I told him this and he said, "Well I still want it." He was thirsty. I felt like a hard bugger for not getting one for him from the kiosk.
All in all I found him better than what Elvie and Rosie had reported over the last two days. It had been bad luck his move had come just before New Year's Eve and there was reduced doctors and staff, and those that were on probably were somewhere else in their minds. I saw Elvie on the way home to give her my impression and we agreed that I would be the 'appointed person' to communicate with the hospital.

I have to put any emotion aside now. Yesterday was difficult. Writing about it helps. I have a order for 30 bunches of tall tricolour beech, 40 green beech tall and 40 copper. I can get the tricolour quite easily at Huite's with ladder and pole(he has a tree I haven't cut for two years and he wants it reduced), but to get the green and the copper I'll have to climb to the top of trees at the farm and take the top off with a hand saw. Hard work on a hot day, and the volume worries me as I have some pitto to pick here at home also.

Going Home

Lib, Gord Rob and I visited Lyle on Christmas Day , in the morning, at Dandenong Hospital. Elvie ,Meredith, Roger and Jod went down in the afternoon. He was in quite good spirits and said he was determined to get back enough mobility so that the staff would allow him to go home soon, even if it was only for a short while.
Gordon and I visited him again last Thursday and I thought he was the best I'd seen him for some time. It was obvious when we walked in the door he was pleased to see us and he gave me a thumbs up and said "G'day mate" then grabbed my hand in a warm hold. We didn't stay long. He said he has trouble keeping awake for more than half an hour at a time, but he was looking forward to getting to Casey Hospital at Berwick where he was booked in for two weeks rehabilitation, and would be going there as soon as a bed became available. A call came through to me from the hospital the next morning saying he was being moved to Casey that afternoon. They also asked me could I tell 'his wife'. Elvie must have been outside and not had the answering machine turned on as I couldn't raise her on the phone either.
Meredith's daughter Rosie, a teacher, lives 15 minutes from the hospital with her partner at his parents place, in a bungalow out the back. She has been wonderful while Lyle has been in hospital and visits him every day and collects his washing. She saw Lyle about 4.30 on Sunday, about half an hour or so before Elvie went down with Meredith and Roger.
When I saw Elvie at the farm yesterday, New Year's Day, she told me she didn't like what she saw at Casey the day before. It was all brand new with a lavish garden but in her words it was 'all show and no go'. Lyle looked terrible and said he was too tired to talk to them and he was sorry they had wasted their time coming down to see him, he couldn't stay awake. They couldn't find a doctor and the nurses didn't seem to know anything. His evening meal was untouched, he said he wasn't hungry, and he wanted to go home. Mum said he didn't mean home home, he meant paradise. I remember Nanna Myrt, Lyle's mother, my grandmother, the last time I saw her, as I lifted her into the car taking her from the nursing home to hospital, smiling and with a euphoric glaze in her eyes, saying she was 'going home' .
Elvie and I discussed plans for today, including that I should go to Casey and find the doctor in whose care Lyle now was in, and ask why Lyle was being given medication for Alzheimer's disease, which he doesn't have, and also antidepressants. Roger, a doctor, noticed this, maybe on his chart. A side effect of one of these is nausea which would explain why he wasn't hungry, but would seem to be undesirable in one so frail. Rosie came in while we mulled this over and it was reassuring that she said he was OK when she was there half an hour before the others. Maybe he was just overtired. She was on her way to see him and we asked her to let us know how he was.
Elvie has just rung me saying that Rosie said she found him not good and not eating. I'm going down there this afternoon. I have quite a lot to pick over the next couple of days (the orders are starting to come in) and the girls are busy with flower punnets for the restaurants. It's hard to work with a lump in your throat and tears welling periodically, but probably it would be worse sitting around doing nothing.