After my exhilarating walk in the morning I took Lib breakfast in bed. She asked who was I talking to on the phone earlier. "Nobody, I was out walking though, it may have been the answering machine you heard."
I checked the machine and sure enough a plumber had rang to suggest he came that morning to install a new gas cooktop we'd bought on December 1, and which had been sitting since then in our hall still in its cardboard box, along with an electric oven and rangehood. We'd bought these items at Clive Peeters in Dandenong and paid $408* up front for installation by contracting tradesmen. Allowing two weeks wait on the list we were told they would be installed before Christmas. It didn't happen. When I followed up with Clive Peeters they told me the tradies were busy putting in air conditioning because of the hot weather and our job would be done between Xmas and New Year. It didn't happen. We were then given a firm date, Jan 9. They didn't show. I asked for my for my installation money to be returned and the cheque came last Friday Jan 25.
*($408 was the base price I was told, the tradesmen on the day would want another $50 cash for going all the way to Gembrook and more cash if there was any complication in our particular job. This I could understand)
In the meantime I'd found an electrician from Emerald and a gas fitter plumber from Silvan who said they would be happy to install the items in the next week or so. I was pleased the plumber had rang, even though it was Saturday and I'd planned other things, so I rang him back and said "Good on you mate". He was in our kitchen within an hour.
He was a pleasant fellow. Said he thought he'd get this job out of the way before driving down to Lorne to join his wife and kids who were there on holiday. He was packing up two and half hours later when I asked him how much I owed him. He said he hadn't worked it out yet and took his bucket of tools out to his van. I told him I'd got my money back from Clive Peeters and had made sure I had cash at home, knowing he and the electrician were coming soon.
I don't know what it was he had to work out as he gave me no invoice stating labour or parts but he said when handing me the compliance certificate that the charge for today was $260. I don't think he heard me suck my breath in through clenched teeth as I counted out 5x$50 notes and a $10. It was a lot more than the $140 that Clive Peeters had allowed for the cooktop component of the installation but the plumber had explained he had to move the regulator to the next cupboard as the regulations had changed. Frankly I was relieved to have at least one part of the job done and didn't want to think further about the high price. I gave him a jar of honey and a bottle of cold cordial to take with him.
Last night in the bath I rang an old football team mate, a plumber in Wangaratta, and we magged away about life in general. I ran through the drama I'd had over the kitchen appliances including the Australia Day cook top job. My mate said $260 was a days work for him, he'd have charged $100, the going rate in Wang., if it was a straight forward changeover. I explained the regulator had to be moved and he said "So what? That takes 5 minutes. You were ripped off Gunna." All the old footy people know me as Gunna.
This agitated me, getting ripped off that is, so when I hopped out of the bath I rang the plumber and said I wasn't happy with the job- I was overcharged, I want $100 back. The remainder of the conversation became heated and he jabbered on about the plumbers association. "Stick the plumbers association", I said, "I want $100 back." He rang me back later to say he'd have me blackballed so no plumber would come near me in future.
I don't like my chances that the $100 will come, although I did tell him I knew where he lived. At least I can say I got ripped off on Australia Day.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Australia Day
On my walk yesterday, as if on cue, a whipbird lept up from ground cover which was mostly hydrangeas, and perched on top of an old poker flower stem. Less than 10 metres away, he looked at me quizzically, twitched and jerked, then let go his wonderful cracking call. His mate, slightly duller in colour, olivey, lept up into a heath shrub even closer and also looked at me, without answering her mate's call. They remained watching me for a time, unusually, as whipbirds seem to be always moving, before hop hopping off, making their scritchy small talk.
A little further on, just as I left our place, a bronzewing pidgeon flashed arrowlike across in front of me, it's wings beating rythmically, providing its strong flight. With the screeching of white cockies some way off and crows cawing from high, I saw eastern rosellas flying through trees ahead, their bright green rump shining almost irridescently, as it does when they fly.
A good start for Australia Day! Mudlarks, black cockies, crimson rosellas and a solitary willy wagtail were others seen shortly after. It made me think what a wonderful place Australia is.
On my way back a delightful young lady, Fiona, who lives with partner Lance in Captain Petrie's old residence in Quinn Rd., gave me a baking dish full of duck eggs covered by a blue tea towel. Reaching Agnes St., I thought if I saw Allison I'd offer her some eggs, there being so many. A car came down a drive from the high side and stopped, the driver winding down his window to say hello. It was new neighbour John, an elderly Scotsman who recently bought the cottage to escape the contruction noise at his house in Canterbury. The house next door to his has been demolished and a block of units is going up. He and wife Margaret couldn't stand the noise so they bought a get away in Gembrook, in the same street where their daughter lives with another lady. They have a farm in Scotland and spend six months alternately in each country. Despite their advanced years they've renovated the garden with great energy and result.
John told me I'd better ask Margaret if she wanted some duck eggs, so as he drove off I walked into their place to talk to Margaret who was in the garden. She only wanted two she said, one each for her and John, for breakfast a little later, and she put them in her gardening glove. Beneath our feet there were thousands of sugar ants boiling in and out of several holes. She said she had planned to buy some dust to kill them, but wasn't going to now, after seeing the echidna a couple of times, and all his diggings in the bank out the front. There really is something amazing about echidnas, watching them is an experience to cherish, and I could tell Margaret was touched just as I have been lately. Her eyes lit up as she spoke.
A good start to Australia Day!
A little further on, just as I left our place, a bronzewing pidgeon flashed arrowlike across in front of me, it's wings beating rythmically, providing its strong flight. With the screeching of white cockies some way off and crows cawing from high, I saw eastern rosellas flying through trees ahead, their bright green rump shining almost irridescently, as it does when they fly.
A good start for Australia Day! Mudlarks, black cockies, crimson rosellas and a solitary willy wagtail were others seen shortly after. It made me think what a wonderful place Australia is.
On my way back a delightful young lady, Fiona, who lives with partner Lance in Captain Petrie's old residence in Quinn Rd., gave me a baking dish full of duck eggs covered by a blue tea towel. Reaching Agnes St., I thought if I saw Allison I'd offer her some eggs, there being so many. A car came down a drive from the high side and stopped, the driver winding down his window to say hello. It was new neighbour John, an elderly Scotsman who recently bought the cottage to escape the contruction noise at his house in Canterbury. The house next door to his has been demolished and a block of units is going up. He and wife Margaret couldn't stand the noise so they bought a get away in Gembrook, in the same street where their daughter lives with another lady. They have a farm in Scotland and spend six months alternately in each country. Despite their advanced years they've renovated the garden with great energy and result.
John told me I'd better ask Margaret if she wanted some duck eggs, so as he drove off I walked into their place to talk to Margaret who was in the garden. She only wanted two she said, one each for her and John, for breakfast a little later, and she put them in her gardening glove. Beneath our feet there were thousands of sugar ants boiling in and out of several holes. She said she had planned to buy some dust to kill them, but wasn't going to now, after seeing the echidna a couple of times, and all his diggings in the bank out the front. There really is something amazing about echidnas, watching them is an experience to cherish, and I could tell Margaret was touched just as I have been lately. Her eyes lit up as she spoke.
A good start to Australia Day!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
For The Record
This morning there were 64 white cockies on the ground foraging in the one acre paddock next to what I used to call the 'galah feeding paddock', now known as 'the gouge'. Also there were 16 galahs, four magpies, and several minas. The two horses that I used to give a handful of lush green grass from outside the fence, or a carrot from my bag, are no longer there. Moved to another paddock with more grass I suppose.
At 'the gouge' there were four cockies searching through the chocolate brown earth for God knows what. A bricklayer and his offsider has been putting up the first of the walls of the house for a week or so. The sound of a generator providing power for the mixer can be heard a hundred metres or more away as I approach. The bricklayer's apprentice is young with bleach blonde long hair, lithe body and tanned skin. He wears not hat nor shirt in the blazing sun on hot days. I wonder if somehow his education missed the skin cancer warnings, or is he simply young, vain, and/or rebellious.
A little further on my way up to the town I saw something well ahead on the road that looked like a squashed plastic soft drink bottle from a distance, but was in fact a dead galah, which must have been hit by a car. Restraining 'Pip' who would have loved to chew it, I picked it up off the road and threw it onto the top of a thick photinia which I thought was a more suitable resting place than being pulverised to oblivion by a day's traffic on the road.
In the main street outside St. Silas's church on my way back, young 'Pip' stopped suddenly on the lead. I watched her nuzzling the earth between the gazzanias and noticed some turkey thyme, growing well and spilling out onto the pavement, so I picked a bunch for the lamb shank stew I've just put in the crockpot. 'Pip' pulled on the lead, she wanted to go back to where 'Snowy' was agitated, darting in and around some agapantha plants.
I don't like letting the dogs make me backtrack, it could become a habit with them. I don't mind stopping here and there, they like to sniff and pee. On the main rd. where there's no pavement I have them both on leads for their own protection from cars. On the little dirt roads and in the park I let them run free, and when I get to the station I put 'Pip' on the lead and leave 'Snowy' free till I reach Launching Place road again.
I was expecting a baby rabbit to run out of the garden as 'Pip' and I reached 'Snow' but it was a movement toward the small birch tree that I noticed. Thinking baby bird of some sort, my immediate reaction was to hope neither dog grabbed it, but before I could do anything it reached the trunk and ran up. It was a young bushrat. It climbed to the top of the tree, only about 15feet high, and sat there.
I don't know why, but seeing the rat was soothing, and went someway to lift the annoyance I felt when I read the sticker on the four wheel drive in Innes Rd.
"If it moves, shoot it, if it doesn't move, cut it down, and if it's green, piss on it."
Also soothing was the 30 ml of rain we had last weekend. Lib and I were at Blaigowrie visiting friends so we didn't see it, but after a hot dry month with no rain registering in the gauge, it was lovely to come home to a wet garden.
My tree of the week is the spotted gum, Eucalyptus maculata. There's one down the back at farm which I planted about twenty two years ago. I was cutting grass in that steep section with the whipper a few weeks ago when I took a break and admired the trunk, which is now five feet in diameter. There's one at home of the same age, both purchased at the same time from the state schools nursery in Melbourne when Michelle* worked there. It's nowhere near as big as the one at the farm, not having the benefit of a moist gully to grow in, but it's a handsome tree with its typical smooth white/grey/lemonny trunk.
Spotted gum forest in coastal NSW is some of the most attractive scenically in eastern Australia. It's an important honey source for commercial beekeepers, especially on the south coast where the winter flowering is ideally combined with mild dry stable weather. As you move north it becomes less reliable. I remember when at Gatton college Qld. our instructor placed a test hive onto breaking spotted gum not far from the college. Nectar flowed heavily for a week but as he was about to move an apiary onto the flow he checked again and it had cut out completely, yielding no more.
Its timber is useful for heavy construction, poles, house building and flooring. Being rock hard, it's one of the best for tool handles eg picks and axes, which is I think its major use in Qld., the better stands being more south.
There are a few spotted gums on my walk, mostly medium sized, probably planted about the same time as my two. They must have been popular as a nursey line back in the 1980's. I enjoy seeing this tree, one of the more attractive of the eucys with it's clean mottled trunk and slightly pendulouus smaller branches and leaves.
My book says spotted gum has been grown in many overseas countries with limited success except in the Union of South Africa where it has been grown since 1910 and there are now (1975) several thousand acres established.
* Michelle, the propagator there, would have grown them from seed. I must mention it to her when I see her as she still does gardening for us a few hours here and there. She's now manager of the nursery at the helmeted honeyeater sanctuary at Yellingbo, propagating indigenous trees and shrubs for planting to help the honeyeaters increase their threatened population. She started work with us as a youngster mowing lawns for pocket money while still at school in the late seventies. After leaving school she worked at the farm as a casual for a year or so till she started a nursery apprenticeship. Ten years on the gov't closed the state schools nursery and she was retrenched, became a gardening contractor, again working at our farm.
At 'the gouge' there were four cockies searching through the chocolate brown earth for God knows what. A bricklayer and his offsider has been putting up the first of the walls of the house for a week or so. The sound of a generator providing power for the mixer can be heard a hundred metres or more away as I approach. The bricklayer's apprentice is young with bleach blonde long hair, lithe body and tanned skin. He wears not hat nor shirt in the blazing sun on hot days. I wonder if somehow his education missed the skin cancer warnings, or is he simply young, vain, and/or rebellious.
A little further on my way up to the town I saw something well ahead on the road that looked like a squashed plastic soft drink bottle from a distance, but was in fact a dead galah, which must have been hit by a car. Restraining 'Pip' who would have loved to chew it, I picked it up off the road and threw it onto the top of a thick photinia which I thought was a more suitable resting place than being pulverised to oblivion by a day's traffic on the road.
In the main street outside St. Silas's church on my way back, young 'Pip' stopped suddenly on the lead. I watched her nuzzling the earth between the gazzanias and noticed some turkey thyme, growing well and spilling out onto the pavement, so I picked a bunch for the lamb shank stew I've just put in the crockpot. 'Pip' pulled on the lead, she wanted to go back to where 'Snowy' was agitated, darting in and around some agapantha plants.
I don't like letting the dogs make me backtrack, it could become a habit with them. I don't mind stopping here and there, they like to sniff and pee. On the main rd. where there's no pavement I have them both on leads for their own protection from cars. On the little dirt roads and in the park I let them run free, and when I get to the station I put 'Pip' on the lead and leave 'Snowy' free till I reach Launching Place road again.
I was expecting a baby rabbit to run out of the garden as 'Pip' and I reached 'Snow' but it was a movement toward the small birch tree that I noticed. Thinking baby bird of some sort, my immediate reaction was to hope neither dog grabbed it, but before I could do anything it reached the trunk and ran up. It was a young bushrat. It climbed to the top of the tree, only about 15feet high, and sat there.
I don't know why, but seeing the rat was soothing, and went someway to lift the annoyance I felt when I read the sticker on the four wheel drive in Innes Rd.
"If it moves, shoot it, if it doesn't move, cut it down, and if it's green, piss on it."
Also soothing was the 30 ml of rain we had last weekend. Lib and I were at Blaigowrie visiting friends so we didn't see it, but after a hot dry month with no rain registering in the gauge, it was lovely to come home to a wet garden.
My tree of the week is the spotted gum, Eucalyptus maculata. There's one down the back at farm which I planted about twenty two years ago. I was cutting grass in that steep section with the whipper a few weeks ago when I took a break and admired the trunk, which is now five feet in diameter. There's one at home of the same age, both purchased at the same time from the state schools nursery in Melbourne when Michelle* worked there. It's nowhere near as big as the one at the farm, not having the benefit of a moist gully to grow in, but it's a handsome tree with its typical smooth white/grey/lemonny trunk.
Spotted gum forest in coastal NSW is some of the most attractive scenically in eastern Australia. It's an important honey source for commercial beekeepers, especially on the south coast where the winter flowering is ideally combined with mild dry stable weather. As you move north it becomes less reliable. I remember when at Gatton college Qld. our instructor placed a test hive onto breaking spotted gum not far from the college. Nectar flowed heavily for a week but as he was about to move an apiary onto the flow he checked again and it had cut out completely, yielding no more.
Its timber is useful for heavy construction, poles, house building and flooring. Being rock hard, it's one of the best for tool handles eg picks and axes, which is I think its major use in Qld., the better stands being more south.
There are a few spotted gums on my walk, mostly medium sized, probably planted about the same time as my two. They must have been popular as a nursey line back in the 1980's. I enjoy seeing this tree, one of the more attractive of the eucys with it's clean mottled trunk and slightly pendulouus smaller branches and leaves.
My book says spotted gum has been grown in many overseas countries with limited success except in the Union of South Africa where it has been grown since 1910 and there are now (1975) several thousand acres established.
* Michelle, the propagator there, would have grown them from seed. I must mention it to her when I see her as she still does gardening for us a few hours here and there. She's now manager of the nursery at the helmeted honeyeater sanctuary at Yellingbo, propagating indigenous trees and shrubs for planting to help the honeyeaters increase their threatened population. She started work with us as a youngster mowing lawns for pocket money while still at school in the late seventies. After leaving school she worked at the farm as a casual for a year or so till she started a nursery apprenticeship. Ten years on the gov't closed the state schools nursery and she was retrenched, became a gardening contractor, again working at our farm.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Heritage Springs
One of Lib's friends from work had a barbecue/party at her house in Pakenham on Saturday night. We organized chauffer Gordon to drive us down and pick us up at midnight. The address was Overland Rise, Heritage Springs, one of the new estates that have sprung up around Pakenham. I looked up my 1998 Melways to get an idea how to get there and of course being a new 'burb' it wasn't listed.
Lib had a small hand drawn map giving rough directions which showed it was somewhere near a Coles store, so after some indecision when we hit the Prince's Hwy, Robbie, who'd come for the ride, said there was a Coles in the new estate back towards Berwick. We did a tour of 'Lakeside', finding Coles, but it was on the wrong side of the road according to Lib's basic map. As we drove round and round looking for Overland Rise without success, I thought we might have well been in Memphis USA judging from the architecture. The streets and houses seemed deserted, no people to be seen. I guessed they were all inside enjoying the air conditioning. "We'll find someone we can ask working in their garden," I said optimistically, sorry I'd agreed to go in the first place.
"What gardens?" Rob said.
At last we saw a young man and his wife leaving a house with a pusher to take a walk, presumably to get baby to sleep. He said we were a long way off course, explaining there was another 'Coles' at Heritage Springs so off we went and found the other 'Coles', which wasn't difficult when we got close, there were a dozen big signs along the road partition advertising its proximity.
Still, we had nothing to help us find Overland Rise, but it had to be close. With the clarity a man not long out of a hot bath, I said, "Let's head towards that hill, it the only one and Overland Rise has to go up it."
We turned down Heritage Drive and all looked at the street names as we approached. There was Stockman's Ct., twice, it must have done a loop and came back, Coolibah Crescent, Damper Drive, and then bingo, Overland Rise.
We found the house. There was very little room in front for a garden but the back yard was a fair size. It reminded me of suburban Mt. Waverley where I grew up, a timber fence 5/6 feet high surrounding the perimeter. Above the fence on the side, just a foot away from it, stood the imposing brick wall of the next house. The evening progressed pleasantly. We explained that we became lost by going to the wrong 'Coles', and learned there were now three 'Coles' in Pakenham.
One lady, she looked younger than me, when I explained this was my first visit to the new estates, told me that she used to drive cattle through here, right where we were sitting, from their farm at Lang Lang to another paddock they owned on the other side of the small hill. "Along the roads?" I asked.
"Some of the way, but other farmers let us through their paddocks. It was all open country."
She was an interesting lady. As a child she and siblings walked 7km to school and back. When she was young she left home to travel round Australia and spent three and a half years getting from Melbourne to Darwin via Perth, working as she went in hotels, orchards, fishing trawlers, aboriginal missions, whatever she could find. She still had itchy feet when she got back so she took off driving north by herself in a '69 Fairlane, taking 3 months to get to Cape York.
Here I am two days later, reconciling the new Pakenham estates. A friend holidaying in a small Mexican fishing village sent me an email saying they were watching the sun set into the Carribean Sea. Makes me want to jump on a plane.
Yesterday I asked Lib about the lady who was off a farm and worked her way around Australia. Lib said, "I don't know her well, that's Tracey, she's a good friend of the Helen whose party it was. She's recovering from heavy chemo cancer treatment."
I would never have guessed. She seemed so strong, confidant, and unphased.
My tree of the week is Eucalyptus pulverulenta. Indigenous to the southern tablelands of NSW, the Silver Mountain Gum is an excellent foliage tree. I've had some growing here at home and at the farm for many years and used the foliage but never really managed the trees properly.
Late last September, when I was visiting a couple of old dogwood trees I pick blossom from each year on the property behind the farm, I noticed a row of 'blue gums' cut back along the drive to the house. The chap who lives in the house, John Rainor, works for Burnley Horticultural College, and when I asked if that foliage was going to waste and if so could I have some, he told me to take whatever I liked, he'd just cut them back as he's doing a thesis on Euc. pulverulenta and the best way to manage them. If they are left to there own device they quickly become straggly and deteriorate. It's best to cut them down hard every year or two in September to about two feet high therefore promoting vigorous new growth.
I was tardy and didn't do mine till early November but they've responded with healthy new growth. As I did this I collected some seed which I dried off in a paper bag and a few weeks ago tossed the seed into a seed bed and to my joy a healthy crop of babies is coming up, the most advanced are just starting to get the second pair of leaves. Nature is wonderful.
John Rainer says that the college is looking for attractive native garden plants they can promote as useful, dry tolerant, and manageable in town and city situation and the silver mountain gum is all of that.
Lib had a small hand drawn map giving rough directions which showed it was somewhere near a Coles store, so after some indecision when we hit the Prince's Hwy, Robbie, who'd come for the ride, said there was a Coles in the new estate back towards Berwick. We did a tour of 'Lakeside', finding Coles, but it was on the wrong side of the road according to Lib's basic map. As we drove round and round looking for Overland Rise without success, I thought we might have well been in Memphis USA judging from the architecture. The streets and houses seemed deserted, no people to be seen. I guessed they were all inside enjoying the air conditioning. "We'll find someone we can ask working in their garden," I said optimistically, sorry I'd agreed to go in the first place.
"What gardens?" Rob said.
At last we saw a young man and his wife leaving a house with a pusher to take a walk, presumably to get baby to sleep. He said we were a long way off course, explaining there was another 'Coles' at Heritage Springs so off we went and found the other 'Coles', which wasn't difficult when we got close, there were a dozen big signs along the road partition advertising its proximity.
Still, we had nothing to help us find Overland Rise, but it had to be close. With the clarity a man not long out of a hot bath, I said, "Let's head towards that hill, it the only one and Overland Rise has to go up it."
We turned down Heritage Drive and all looked at the street names as we approached. There was Stockman's Ct., twice, it must have done a loop and came back, Coolibah Crescent, Damper Drive, and then bingo, Overland Rise.
We found the house. There was very little room in front for a garden but the back yard was a fair size. It reminded me of suburban Mt. Waverley where I grew up, a timber fence 5/6 feet high surrounding the perimeter. Above the fence on the side, just a foot away from it, stood the imposing brick wall of the next house. The evening progressed pleasantly. We explained that we became lost by going to the wrong 'Coles', and learned there were now three 'Coles' in Pakenham.
One lady, she looked younger than me, when I explained this was my first visit to the new estates, told me that she used to drive cattle through here, right where we were sitting, from their farm at Lang Lang to another paddock they owned on the other side of the small hill. "Along the roads?" I asked.
"Some of the way, but other farmers let us through their paddocks. It was all open country."
She was an interesting lady. As a child she and siblings walked 7km to school and back. When she was young she left home to travel round Australia and spent three and a half years getting from Melbourne to Darwin via Perth, working as she went in hotels, orchards, fishing trawlers, aboriginal missions, whatever she could find. She still had itchy feet when she got back so she took off driving north by herself in a '69 Fairlane, taking 3 months to get to Cape York.
Here I am two days later, reconciling the new Pakenham estates. A friend holidaying in a small Mexican fishing village sent me an email saying they were watching the sun set into the Carribean Sea. Makes me want to jump on a plane.
Yesterday I asked Lib about the lady who was off a farm and worked her way around Australia. Lib said, "I don't know her well, that's Tracey, she's a good friend of the Helen whose party it was. She's recovering from heavy chemo cancer treatment."
I would never have guessed. She seemed so strong, confidant, and unphased.
My tree of the week is Eucalyptus pulverulenta. Indigenous to the southern tablelands of NSW, the Silver Mountain Gum is an excellent foliage tree. I've had some growing here at home and at the farm for many years and used the foliage but never really managed the trees properly.
Late last September, when I was visiting a couple of old dogwood trees I pick blossom from each year on the property behind the farm, I noticed a row of 'blue gums' cut back along the drive to the house. The chap who lives in the house, John Rainor, works for Burnley Horticultural College, and when I asked if that foliage was going to waste and if so could I have some, he told me to take whatever I liked, he'd just cut them back as he's doing a thesis on Euc. pulverulenta and the best way to manage them. If they are left to there own device they quickly become straggly and deteriorate. It's best to cut them down hard every year or two in September to about two feet high therefore promoting vigorous new growth.
I was tardy and didn't do mine till early November but they've responded with healthy new growth. As I did this I collected some seed which I dried off in a paper bag and a few weeks ago tossed the seed into a seed bed and to my joy a healthy crop of babies is coming up, the most advanced are just starting to get the second pair of leaves. Nature is wonderful.
John Rainer says that the college is looking for attractive native garden plants they can promote as useful, dry tolerant, and manageable in town and city situation and the silver mountain gum is all of that.
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Emu Eggs, Bombs Away
Maria woke at 2.00am last Friday, alarmed at the sound of an explosion in her house. Thinking the explosion must be gas related, she quickly set about finding it. It didn't take long to find the source of the big bang.
More than a year ago, Maria's grandchilren had been wandering in the far reaches of her fifty acres and came back with an emu egg, much to their amusement. The egg sat in a bowl in Maria's living room, a novelty item for visitors, including the grandchildren on subsequent visits.
It was the emu egg that blew, spraying the living room with it it's vile smelling contents. A smell so bad that many hours of cleaning and deodorising had failed to remove. I had no wish to go inside and sample it myself, prefering when finished my little gardening job to decline Maria's offer of a cup of tea and a sandwich. I remember in my youth riding my pushbike from Mt. Waverley to Doncaster with Graeme Edgelow to visit friends of his family who owned a duck farm. There were thousands of ducks both inside the delapidated sheds and wandering outside. There were duck eggs all over the place and once Graeme picked up an egg and threw it at me, which of course began a duck egg fight. All very well till you got hit with an old rotten one. Nothing is quite like the stink. Imagine a large emu egg cooking up to explode during all that hot weather.
Jod was amused by the exploding emu egg story when I told him later. A wicked laugh came over him as he told me of the time when as kids, he and Steve Edgelow, Graeme's older brother, went to the Melbourne Zoo with the intention of stealing emu eggs for their bird egg collections. The mission successful, coming home on the train with a bag containing more eggs than they needed, when the train was between Spencer St. and Flinders St. stations at the bottom end of of Flinders St where the train goes over the bridge, they pelted emu eggs onto the rooves of cars. Imagine some poor bloke down on his luck having to go home with his car splattered and possibly dented and tell his wife the mess was caused by emu eggs that fell from high.
More than a year ago, Maria's grandchilren had been wandering in the far reaches of her fifty acres and came back with an emu egg, much to their amusement. The egg sat in a bowl in Maria's living room, a novelty item for visitors, including the grandchildren on subsequent visits.
It was the emu egg that blew, spraying the living room with it it's vile smelling contents. A smell so bad that many hours of cleaning and deodorising had failed to remove. I had no wish to go inside and sample it myself, prefering when finished my little gardening job to decline Maria's offer of a cup of tea and a sandwich. I remember in my youth riding my pushbike from Mt. Waverley to Doncaster with Graeme Edgelow to visit friends of his family who owned a duck farm. There were thousands of ducks both inside the delapidated sheds and wandering outside. There were duck eggs all over the place and once Graeme picked up an egg and threw it at me, which of course began a duck egg fight. All very well till you got hit with an old rotten one. Nothing is quite like the stink. Imagine a large emu egg cooking up to explode during all that hot weather.
Jod was amused by the exploding emu egg story when I told him later. A wicked laugh came over him as he told me of the time when as kids, he and Steve Edgelow, Graeme's older brother, went to the Melbourne Zoo with the intention of stealing emu eggs for their bird egg collections. The mission successful, coming home on the train with a bag containing more eggs than they needed, when the train was between Spencer St. and Flinders St. stations at the bottom end of of Flinders St where the train goes over the bridge, they pelted emu eggs onto the rooves of cars. Imagine some poor bloke down on his luck having to go home with his car splattered and possibly dented and tell his wife the mess was caused by emu eggs that fell from high.
Monday, December 31, 2007
New year's Eve
The forecast temperature high on this new year's eve is 42C, however it was a reasonably cool morning when I walked early after Lib left for work. As is my custom I started Lib's car to warm it before she leaves and young 'Pip' jumped up on my lap as I sat in the car tuning the radio, a routine the little dog has established lately.
There's a giant messmate tree in the neighbour's property directly in front as you sit in the car looking down the drive which turns to the right and exits our property at the eastern end. I noticed this morning that old leaves, more than I'd ever noticed before, were constantly dropping from this tree and flitting to earth as if in the expectation of the very hot day ahead. There was barely a breath of breeze.
My walk was pleasant enough, except for the masses of flies that were thicker than usual and clingy and crawly as if also in expectation of the heat. What a contrast to my morning walks two years ago when I began the habit on new years day 2006, while we holidayed at Blairgowrie at our friend's (John and Raylene) beach house. I walked along the back beach and the ocean breeze kept flies away. Two years I've been walking. Say 700 walks by 4.5 km, about 3150km if you added it up or perhaps from Melbourne to Cairns Qld almost. Let's hope I stay well enough for several more years to keep it up till I can say I've walked the equivalent of round Australia.
After feeding the dogs I thought before it got hot I'd turn over a bit of ground in the vegie garden which previously had broad beans growing. I planted some parsley seedlings that Len Smedley had given me before Christmas. 'Moss triple curled' Len said it was, 'the best for strength and longevity.' I was happy to have them, I always try to have parsley coming on, I use it in all my cooking, in particular my old favourites, the soups, stews, and spaghetti meat sauce. Not to mention omelettes. A handful of parsley and silver beet with whatever makes a quick, simple, nutritious and inexpensive affair.
Lib cleaned out the laundry cupboard recently and found some vegie seeds so I kept at it and put in some spring onion and broccoli seed and a few beans, and butternut pumpkin seeds I'd saved from the slops bucket. I roughed up some groung and threw in a packet of Russell Lupin flower seeds (the packet was dated use before 00 but you never know, they may come up). Gee it was good to have time to do a bit in the garden, beyond just mowing and whipper snipping. I watered all the seeds in, then climbed on the roof to put an old thick blanket over the sky light to help keep the house cooler. All the windows are shut and the curtains drawn, I just hope the wind doesn't pick up which would bring the anxiety of possible bushfires.
I checked the bees quickly yesterday. The heavy nectar flow, probably from clover, that was there last Thursday after the good rain before Christmas, had slowed right down with the heat and dry since. If the hives had filled I was preparing to psyche myself up to extract the honey but they aren't filled and there's no urgency. The frame with less wires I put in, to give some honeycomb to my neighbours, is only about half drawn out and full so I left it there hoping it fills reasonably quickly so it stays nice and white and fresh.
I look forward to 2008 with optimism. Rain is the key. The grass hay season hereabouts has been prodigious. I saw the four mudlark chicks together this morning sitting on the railings around Janice's horse pen. Also, on the bird scene, I can also report that our whipbirds successfully raised another pair of young, the second year in a row, and also at the farm, a whipbird pair raised young bringing great pleasure to Elvie, Meredith and Jod.
I killed my first European wasp nest of the season yesterday. I'll have to be vigilant as 'Pip' is at risk, she goes so hard at everything. To her great excitement she discovered echidnas the other day, fortunately she's no threat or match due to the spikes. I read the other day that Jack Russells are prone to death by snake bite because they attack them with no fear. If she survives this summer she should be right, surely she'll slow down into her second year.
There's a giant messmate tree in the neighbour's property directly in front as you sit in the car looking down the drive which turns to the right and exits our property at the eastern end. I noticed this morning that old leaves, more than I'd ever noticed before, were constantly dropping from this tree and flitting to earth as if in the expectation of the very hot day ahead. There was barely a breath of breeze.
My walk was pleasant enough, except for the masses of flies that were thicker than usual and clingy and crawly as if also in expectation of the heat. What a contrast to my morning walks two years ago when I began the habit on new years day 2006, while we holidayed at Blairgowrie at our friend's (John and Raylene) beach house. I walked along the back beach and the ocean breeze kept flies away. Two years I've been walking. Say 700 walks by 4.5 km, about 3150km if you added it up or perhaps from Melbourne to Cairns Qld almost. Let's hope I stay well enough for several more years to keep it up till I can say I've walked the equivalent of round Australia.
After feeding the dogs I thought before it got hot I'd turn over a bit of ground in the vegie garden which previously had broad beans growing. I planted some parsley seedlings that Len Smedley had given me before Christmas. 'Moss triple curled' Len said it was, 'the best for strength and longevity.' I was happy to have them, I always try to have parsley coming on, I use it in all my cooking, in particular my old favourites, the soups, stews, and spaghetti meat sauce. Not to mention omelettes. A handful of parsley and silver beet with whatever makes a quick, simple, nutritious and inexpensive affair.
Lib cleaned out the laundry cupboard recently and found some vegie seeds so I kept at it and put in some spring onion and broccoli seed and a few beans, and butternut pumpkin seeds I'd saved from the slops bucket. I roughed up some groung and threw in a packet of Russell Lupin flower seeds (the packet was dated use before 00 but you never know, they may come up). Gee it was good to have time to do a bit in the garden, beyond just mowing and whipper snipping. I watered all the seeds in, then climbed on the roof to put an old thick blanket over the sky light to help keep the house cooler. All the windows are shut and the curtains drawn, I just hope the wind doesn't pick up which would bring the anxiety of possible bushfires.
I checked the bees quickly yesterday. The heavy nectar flow, probably from clover, that was there last Thursday after the good rain before Christmas, had slowed right down with the heat and dry since. If the hives had filled I was preparing to psyche myself up to extract the honey but they aren't filled and there's no urgency. The frame with less wires I put in, to give some honeycomb to my neighbours, is only about half drawn out and full so I left it there hoping it fills reasonably quickly so it stays nice and white and fresh.
I look forward to 2008 with optimism. Rain is the key. The grass hay season hereabouts has been prodigious. I saw the four mudlark chicks together this morning sitting on the railings around Janice's horse pen. Also, on the bird scene, I can also report that our whipbirds successfully raised another pair of young, the second year in a row, and also at the farm, a whipbird pair raised young bringing great pleasure to Elvie, Meredith and Jod.
I killed my first European wasp nest of the season yesterday. I'll have to be vigilant as 'Pip' is at risk, she goes so hard at everything. To her great excitement she discovered echidnas the other day, fortunately she's no threat or match due to the spikes. I read the other day that Jack Russells are prone to death by snake bite because they attack them with no fear. If she survives this summer she should be right, surely she'll slow down into her second year.
Monday, December 24, 2007
Merry Christmas
Who could have wished for a better Christmas present than 110 ml of rain over the past four days. To anyone who reads my blog, I consider you a valued friend and to all my friends I wish you a happy Christmas and New Year.
C'est La Vie
"As long as there are people on earth, they will be sexually active."
A psychologist/counsellor, who helped me settle some demons more than twenty years ago, made that comment to sister Meredith at a time when she was struggling following the break down of her marriage. It was said in the context of helping her deal with her fear and anxiety for her daughters who were approaching adolescence. Meredith told me about it as I drove her back from a session with the counsellor/friend/mentor. It was a tough time for her, suddenly on her own without the policeman husband and father.
I've thought of the comment many times when trying to come to terms with things in the years since. He could have said, "As long as there are people on earth there will be prejudice and bigotry." What it means to me is that human nature is as it is, and you need to accept things first, as a starting point, calmly and sensibly, and then do your best from there.
My tree of the week is the sweet pittosporum, also known as the tree daphne. We have half a dozen or so on our place. These are mainly large mature trees. I value them highly for their shade, windbreak and fire retardant quality, food and shelter for birds, and the magnificent scent of their flowers in early and mid spring. They are a source of nectar for my honey bees as well as native bees, moths and butterflies. The only downside of their ability to attract feeding birds with their fruit is the subsequent spread of seedlings, however I have found this is a minor problem. One or two maintenance tours of the property a year removing unwanted seedlings by hand pulling, and mowing or whippersnipping at fire tidy up time, does the trick.
In the mail the other day came a 'notice of an application for a planning permit'. The permit is to: remove vegetation (sweet pittosporum) from the Gembrook road reservations, the applicant for the permit is Cardinia Shire Council. Further reading of the notice shows there are 26 Roadsides involved with an average 40 trees per road= approx. 1040 trees. That's a lot of trees to take out in one hit.
Now and again you have to support the underdog so I'll lodge an objection when I have a little free time after Christmas.
It seems to me poor management to completely ignore roadsides for many years then declare war on the strongest species and remove all these in one swoop, disregarding the benefits of this wonderful tree that delight the senses of man, bird, butterfly and bee, not to mention the basic oxygen pumping, carbon removing attributes at a time of worrying climate change.
It's my view that instead of removing all the sweet pittosporums holus bolus there should be a balanced approach based on annual roadside maintenance removing unwanted seedlings and other weeds such as blackberry and ragwort, both of which, as noxious weeds, should not be there at all except for the obvious neglect of roadside reserves for many years.
Sweet pittosporum is considered as an environmental weed in the Cardinia Shire Council. It's only a problem if land is neglected. It's time we learnt to look after the land, not have a war on one particular useful species. How about a bit of regular sensible maintenance.
I'll keep you posted, but I don't really expect them to take any notice of my objection. C'est La Vie.
A psychologist/counsellor, who helped me settle some demons more than twenty years ago, made that comment to sister Meredith at a time when she was struggling following the break down of her marriage. It was said in the context of helping her deal with her fear and anxiety for her daughters who were approaching adolescence. Meredith told me about it as I drove her back from a session with the counsellor/friend/mentor. It was a tough time for her, suddenly on her own without the policeman husband and father.
I've thought of the comment many times when trying to come to terms with things in the years since. He could have said, "As long as there are people on earth there will be prejudice and bigotry." What it means to me is that human nature is as it is, and you need to accept things first, as a starting point, calmly and sensibly, and then do your best from there.
My tree of the week is the sweet pittosporum, also known as the tree daphne. We have half a dozen or so on our place. These are mainly large mature trees. I value them highly for their shade, windbreak and fire retardant quality, food and shelter for birds, and the magnificent scent of their flowers in early and mid spring. They are a source of nectar for my honey bees as well as native bees, moths and butterflies. The only downside of their ability to attract feeding birds with their fruit is the subsequent spread of seedlings, however I have found this is a minor problem. One or two maintenance tours of the property a year removing unwanted seedlings by hand pulling, and mowing or whippersnipping at fire tidy up time, does the trick.
In the mail the other day came a 'notice of an application for a planning permit'. The permit is to: remove vegetation (sweet pittosporum) from the Gembrook road reservations, the applicant for the permit is Cardinia Shire Council. Further reading of the notice shows there are 26 Roadsides involved with an average 40 trees per road= approx. 1040 trees. That's a lot of trees to take out in one hit.
Now and again you have to support the underdog so I'll lodge an objection when I have a little free time after Christmas.
It seems to me poor management to completely ignore roadsides for many years then declare war on the strongest species and remove all these in one swoop, disregarding the benefits of this wonderful tree that delight the senses of man, bird, butterfly and bee, not to mention the basic oxygen pumping, carbon removing attributes at a time of worrying climate change.
It's my view that instead of removing all the sweet pittosporums holus bolus there should be a balanced approach based on annual roadside maintenance removing unwanted seedlings and other weeds such as blackberry and ragwort, both of which, as noxious weeds, should not be there at all except for the obvious neglect of roadside reserves for many years.
Sweet pittosporum is considered as an environmental weed in the Cardinia Shire Council. It's only a problem if land is neglected. It's time we learnt to look after the land, not have a war on one particular useful species. How about a bit of regular sensible maintenance.
I'll keep you posted, but I don't really expect them to take any notice of my objection. C'est La Vie.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Messmates, Mudlarks.
Messmate stringybark is my tree of the week. This tree, which began flowering heavily this time last year and produced honey through most of last summer, isn't flowering this year.
Messmate stringybark is an important tree to the timber industry in Victoria and Tasmania mainly but also grows in the ranges of NSW including the northern tablelands. The timber is used for construction, interior finish, and pulp production. It will grow to 150- 225 ft or more in ideal moist, fertile forest conditions.
We have a number of them on our place, maybe 15, without me going around counting them, the largest of them approaching 100 feet high I estimate. A week ago when returning from my walk I saw a mudlark fly into the higher branches of the tallest, then fly across to what looked like a nest. I got the binoculars from inside and sure enough there was the neat, round pee-wee nest with what looked like two advanced chicks.
I watched them for a few minutes every day last week and decided there was three chicks. They were excercising their wings and standing on the edge of the nest and about to fly. I had a busy day yesterday starting work early and finishing late so I didn't get to look till late in the evening before hopping in the tub. The nest was empty and I felt a pang of disappointment that my babies had gone and I hadn't seen them fly, then I saw a parent mudlark fly into the messmate tree and I followed her with the binos. There on a branch of the tree about 20 feet away from the nest were four mudlark chick lineds up in a row, their white chests and beaks protruding over the edge of the branch.
Early this morning they were still in the messmate tree, spaced out, and each one doing little flights of five feet or so across to other branches. Mum and Dad would come now and again with some food for them. After my walk I checked again and they'd left the messmate tree, leaving me again a little dissappointed. Then I saw a parent fly into a dead blackwood tree on the other side of Bond's Lane and there they were lined up again in the bare branches, some thirty or forty feet from the nest. I expect they'll stick around as a family for a time while the parents teach them to forage for their own food.
I told Jod about the mudlark nest last Friday. He said he hadn't seen one of them for ages. He said, "Do you know mudlarks are all over Australia, even in the deserts, and they always build a mud nest." I checked the bird book, he was right, the distribution map of the Australian magpie lark showed all of mainland Australia coloured in.
One of my tree books, 'Forest Trees of Australia'(1975), says of messmate that overseas plantings have given good results in several countries such as the Nilgiri Hills in India, parts of South Africa and in the better rainfall areas of New Zealand.
Messmate stringybark is an important tree to the timber industry in Victoria and Tasmania mainly but also grows in the ranges of NSW including the northern tablelands. The timber is used for construction, interior finish, and pulp production. It will grow to 150- 225 ft or more in ideal moist, fertile forest conditions.
We have a number of them on our place, maybe 15, without me going around counting them, the largest of them approaching 100 feet high I estimate. A week ago when returning from my walk I saw a mudlark fly into the higher branches of the tallest, then fly across to what looked like a nest. I got the binoculars from inside and sure enough there was the neat, round pee-wee nest with what looked like two advanced chicks.
I watched them for a few minutes every day last week and decided there was three chicks. They were excercising their wings and standing on the edge of the nest and about to fly. I had a busy day yesterday starting work early and finishing late so I didn't get to look till late in the evening before hopping in the tub. The nest was empty and I felt a pang of disappointment that my babies had gone and I hadn't seen them fly, then I saw a parent mudlark fly into the messmate tree and I followed her with the binos. There on a branch of the tree about 20 feet away from the nest were four mudlark chick lineds up in a row, their white chests and beaks protruding over the edge of the branch.
Early this morning they were still in the messmate tree, spaced out, and each one doing little flights of five feet or so across to other branches. Mum and Dad would come now and again with some food for them. After my walk I checked again and they'd left the messmate tree, leaving me again a little dissappointed. Then I saw a parent fly into a dead blackwood tree on the other side of Bond's Lane and there they were lined up again in the bare branches, some thirty or forty feet from the nest. I expect they'll stick around as a family for a time while the parents teach them to forage for their own food.
I told Jod about the mudlark nest last Friday. He said he hadn't seen one of them for ages. He said, "Do you know mudlarks are all over Australia, even in the deserts, and they always build a mud nest." I checked the bird book, he was right, the distribution map of the Australian magpie lark showed all of mainland Australia coloured in.
One of my tree books, 'Forest Trees of Australia'(1975), says of messmate that overseas plantings have given good results in several countries such as the Nilgiri Hills in India, parts of South Africa and in the better rainfall areas of New Zealand.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Grevillea Robusta
My tree of the week is the 'silky oak'. You can't help but notice them at the moment with their fiery splash of orange in the landscape. I've admired several on my walk over the past few weeks, highly visible even at a distance. Returning this morning I stopped to admire the one at the top end of Quinn Rd.
A white cocky was perched in the top branches. Besides the odd squawk, it just sat in the top of the tree, seemingly watching me, as I was it. Another large bird which I made out to be a currawong, was also in the tree quite close to the cocky, but more inside the tree. These birds didn't seem to mind each others company in the slightest, which I was musing over, given that both are aggressive birds, when the currawong approached the cocky closer and closer till they eyeballed. After a second or two the cocky did a spectacular leap and wing flap off the branch theatrically and flew away screeching, as if it feared contracting bird flu.
The currawong took a step across to the precise point on the branch where the cocky was standing and did a huge poo, which splashed it's way earthward through grevillea flowers. It then puffed up its feathers in a self satified manner, seemingly happy to have dropped its load and displaced cocky. It did a big shake, restoring its feathers, and gave a few calls of its own.
Of course the 'silky oak' isn't an oak but a tree-type grevillea which grows naturally in the rainforests of the east, particulary Queensland. It's often planted in gardens as an ornamental, and the timber is excellent for furniture. We have one at the farm which the Punjab brought up from his family home as a seedling of a large tree which was removed, from memory. Three or four years ago it was looking sick and 70% defoliated but it seems to have recovered and has flowered brilliantly this year.
So Punjab, as you are bunkered down in the Yukon in the norther winter, you can take comfort that we've enjoyed the flowering of the silky oak you gave us in 1973. It too, is a popular bird roost.
A white cocky was perched in the top branches. Besides the odd squawk, it just sat in the top of the tree, seemingly watching me, as I was it. Another large bird which I made out to be a currawong, was also in the tree quite close to the cocky, but more inside the tree. These birds didn't seem to mind each others company in the slightest, which I was musing over, given that both are aggressive birds, when the currawong approached the cocky closer and closer till they eyeballed. After a second or two the cocky did a spectacular leap and wing flap off the branch theatrically and flew away screeching, as if it feared contracting bird flu.
The currawong took a step across to the precise point on the branch where the cocky was standing and did a huge poo, which splashed it's way earthward through grevillea flowers. It then puffed up its feathers in a self satified manner, seemingly happy to have dropped its load and displaced cocky. It did a big shake, restoring its feathers, and gave a few calls of its own.
Of course the 'silky oak' isn't an oak but a tree-type grevillea which grows naturally in the rainforests of the east, particulary Queensland. It's often planted in gardens as an ornamental, and the timber is excellent for furniture. We have one at the farm which the Punjab brought up from his family home as a seedling of a large tree which was removed, from memory. Three or four years ago it was looking sick and 70% defoliated but it seems to have recovered and has flowered brilliantly this year.
So Punjab, as you are bunkered down in the Yukon in the norther winter, you can take comfort that we've enjoyed the flowering of the silky oak you gave us in 1973. It too, is a popular bird roost.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Dunbar
Jessie drifted in and out of consciousness. Her mind wandered. She thought she was in field hospitals in France in WWI, stroking the foreheads of dying young men. She loved them, she loved many men. She thought she was on Blackrock beach watching her newfound friend Tom Roberts paint. She was ten years old when they met there, beginning their lifelong friendship, and deciding her course as an artist. She loved Tom. She thought she was in Dunbar's garden, in the shade of the copper beech, looking across to the lillium garden in the front, between the chestnut and the Douglas fir. Her favourite place.
Her friend Willy trusted her and told her many things. She watched him helping the gardener. His clothes were rags and he'd not shaved for years. He lived in a hut somewhere in the bush off Monbulk Rd. He pushed a rusty pram in which he carried things he'd scrounged. He was a mystery to others, 'old Sneezewich', but he wasn't old. Jessie knew the story he'd told no other.
She was in Sydney, etching the construction of the harbour bridge. She was in Hermannsberg Mission in 1932, where young aboriginal Albert Namitjira guided her when she painted in the area. She was at school in Switzerland. She was was in Java in 1911, where she'd gone alone via New Guinea discovering the 'artistic vision of the East.' Back in Dunbar's garden she watched as the gardener gave Willy a bunch of carrots.
Willy was once a member of the Vienna Boys Choir. When WW2 was declared on 3 Sep 1939, the day after their final Australian concert in Perth, the 14 choristers were no longer celebrities but, in effect, Australia's youngest prisoners of war. Board and lodging was arranged for them with local families by the Archbishop Daniel Mannix who made them choir of his cathedral.
Willy, with two other boys and choirmaster George Gruber, moved in with Henrietta Marsh at her Brighton home. George and Henrietta quickly became lovers. They travelled to Emerald for passion filled weekends at Henrietta's country residence, Dunbar.
Willy's mentor and choirmaster, who had a wife and two children in Austria, was arrested in March 1941 and charged with having Nazi links. After catching the resourceful George seducing a 17yo girl, Henrietta, vengeful, dobbed him in. He was sent to a Tatura internment camp. Willy "worshipped" George and was shattered by his arrest and incarceration. Willy agitated to have Gruber freed and cheekily sang pro-German songs outside the police station where he had to report weekly.
Willy, aged 15, was sent to an internment camp in Sth. Australia where he was imprisoned with older enemy nationals. His fair wavy hair and youthful good looks resulted in severe indignity. Willy was released after the war and continued to plead for Gruber's release. Eventually he suffered emotional collapse.
Gruber was deported to Austria in November 1947. Willy "went bush" and disappeared. His Austrian family searched, but never found him.
Despite being ready to die, Jessie involuntarily fought for breath in her last hours. When the hand of death closed on her, Willy's secret died with her. Willy, when he heard, mourned. Never again would he see her arresting blue eyes and feel her warmth, gentleness, humour and endearing eccentricity.
Jessie Constance Alicia Traill, one of Australia's leading printmakers, died at Dunbar Private Hospital, Emerald, Victoria, on May 15th, 1967, at the age of 86, having lived an exceptional life dedicated to her art and to her country.
Cindy looked at the sky. Dark, heavy clouds massing, it was 'as black as a dog's guts.' She waited for the honey man. He was coming to prune a large camellia in her garden. She'd contacted him because he used to cut foliage in her parents garden at Emerald before the property was sold in 2005.
Just as the honey man pulled his van up out the front, the rain started. A few drops, then light rain, slowly becoming heavier. They stood looking at the camellia, discussing its pruning, from the shelter of the porch. "It doesn't look like you'll be able to do it today though. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
The rain was now thick and continuous. Cindy and the honey man talked about the good old days and joint acquaintances. Not that they were old friends, but he'd picked at Dunbar for the better part of two decades, as she grew up. Cindy loved the old family home and it was a real shock when her parent's marriage hit the rocks, totally unforseen.
The honey man was interested in the old house and Cindy told him all she knew. It was built in 1927 on foundations of bluestone salvaged from the old Melbourne Town Hall which burned down in 1925. Two huge wooden sliding doors, also salvaged from the town hall, divided the large house into two identical halves for dual occupancy. The builder lived in one half and the children in the other. It was sold to socialite Henrietta Marsh who used it as a guest house named 'Emerald Chalet'.
After the war it was sold and used as a private hospital. Many people died there in the late years of their lives. Growing up, Cindy said she was often deeply moved by the feeling that spirits were present. "Neighbours bought the house," she told the honey man, "potato growers from Gembrook who have a big cool store behind 'Dunbar', and who truck loads of potatos to Dandenong every day to their chip factory, as in fish and chips."
"I always wondered what was back there, having often seen the semi go out in the afternoons over the years."
Cindy said she'd email him some of the stuff she'd found out on the internet about Dunbar. She'd heard the new owners were thinking of demolishing the house and she was looking into how to prevent this. With the rain still coming down he gave up any hope of working on the camellia and left for the twenty minute drive back to Emerald.
After taking a wrong turn in the hilly backstreets of Tecoma, which led to a dead end and enormous difficulty, and damn near a burnt out clutch trying to back the trailer up a steep hill and into a drive with very little manoeuvring space in the pouring rain and gushing gutters, the honey man took a detour to have a look at Dunbar. The last time he was there to enquire whether he might cut some cherry laurel an Italian man on a tractor had given him short shift.
The roof of Dunbar was gone, all the windows and doors removed. All that remained was the bare walls standing eerily. Presumably, waiting for the bulldozer.
Her friend Willy trusted her and told her many things. She watched him helping the gardener. His clothes were rags and he'd not shaved for years. He lived in a hut somewhere in the bush off Monbulk Rd. He pushed a rusty pram in which he carried things he'd scrounged. He was a mystery to others, 'old Sneezewich', but he wasn't old. Jessie knew the story he'd told no other.
She was in Sydney, etching the construction of the harbour bridge. She was in Hermannsberg Mission in 1932, where young aboriginal Albert Namitjira guided her when she painted in the area. She was at school in Switzerland. She was was in Java in 1911, where she'd gone alone via New Guinea discovering the 'artistic vision of the East.' Back in Dunbar's garden she watched as the gardener gave Willy a bunch of carrots.
Willy was once a member of the Vienna Boys Choir. When WW2 was declared on 3 Sep 1939, the day after their final Australian concert in Perth, the 14 choristers were no longer celebrities but, in effect, Australia's youngest prisoners of war. Board and lodging was arranged for them with local families by the Archbishop Daniel Mannix who made them choir of his cathedral.
Willy, with two other boys and choirmaster George Gruber, moved in with Henrietta Marsh at her Brighton home. George and Henrietta quickly became lovers. They travelled to Emerald for passion filled weekends at Henrietta's country residence, Dunbar.
Willy's mentor and choirmaster, who had a wife and two children in Austria, was arrested in March 1941 and charged with having Nazi links. After catching the resourceful George seducing a 17yo girl, Henrietta, vengeful, dobbed him in. He was sent to a Tatura internment camp. Willy "worshipped" George and was shattered by his arrest and incarceration. Willy agitated to have Gruber freed and cheekily sang pro-German songs outside the police station where he had to report weekly.
Willy, aged 15, was sent to an internment camp in Sth. Australia where he was imprisoned with older enemy nationals. His fair wavy hair and youthful good looks resulted in severe indignity. Willy was released after the war and continued to plead for Gruber's release. Eventually he suffered emotional collapse.
Gruber was deported to Austria in November 1947. Willy "went bush" and disappeared. His Austrian family searched, but never found him.
Despite being ready to die, Jessie involuntarily fought for breath in her last hours. When the hand of death closed on her, Willy's secret died with her. Willy, when he heard, mourned. Never again would he see her arresting blue eyes and feel her warmth, gentleness, humour and endearing eccentricity.
Jessie Constance Alicia Traill, one of Australia's leading printmakers, died at Dunbar Private Hospital, Emerald, Victoria, on May 15th, 1967, at the age of 86, having lived an exceptional life dedicated to her art and to her country.
Cindy looked at the sky. Dark, heavy clouds massing, it was 'as black as a dog's guts.' She waited for the honey man. He was coming to prune a large camellia in her garden. She'd contacted him because he used to cut foliage in her parents garden at Emerald before the property was sold in 2005.
Just as the honey man pulled his van up out the front, the rain started. A few drops, then light rain, slowly becoming heavier. They stood looking at the camellia, discussing its pruning, from the shelter of the porch. "It doesn't look like you'll be able to do it today though. Would you like a cup of coffee?"
The rain was now thick and continuous. Cindy and the honey man talked about the good old days and joint acquaintances. Not that they were old friends, but he'd picked at Dunbar for the better part of two decades, as she grew up. Cindy loved the old family home and it was a real shock when her parent's marriage hit the rocks, totally unforseen.
The honey man was interested in the old house and Cindy told him all she knew. It was built in 1927 on foundations of bluestone salvaged from the old Melbourne Town Hall which burned down in 1925. Two huge wooden sliding doors, also salvaged from the town hall, divided the large house into two identical halves for dual occupancy. The builder lived in one half and the children in the other. It was sold to socialite Henrietta Marsh who used it as a guest house named 'Emerald Chalet'.
After the war it was sold and used as a private hospital. Many people died there in the late years of their lives. Growing up, Cindy said she was often deeply moved by the feeling that spirits were present. "Neighbours bought the house," she told the honey man, "potato growers from Gembrook who have a big cool store behind 'Dunbar', and who truck loads of potatos to Dandenong every day to their chip factory, as in fish and chips."
"I always wondered what was back there, having often seen the semi go out in the afternoons over the years."
Cindy said she'd email him some of the stuff she'd found out on the internet about Dunbar. She'd heard the new owners were thinking of demolishing the house and she was looking into how to prevent this. With the rain still coming down he gave up any hope of working on the camellia and left for the twenty minute drive back to Emerald.
After taking a wrong turn in the hilly backstreets of Tecoma, which led to a dead end and enormous difficulty, and damn near a burnt out clutch trying to back the trailer up a steep hill and into a drive with very little manoeuvring space in the pouring rain and gushing gutters, the honey man took a detour to have a look at Dunbar. The last time he was there to enquire whether he might cut some cherry laurel an Italian man on a tractor had given him short shift.
The roof of Dunbar was gone, all the windows and doors removed. All that remained was the bare walls standing eerily. Presumably, waiting for the bulldozer.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Pat and Carmel
Some sad news came last week. Pat Mahoney, Elvie's great friend, rang to say she was coming up to the farm to visit, as she does before Christmas most years, only this time she broke the news that she was under treatment for lung cancer. Pat had been a heavy smoker for what must be close to 50 years until she bravely gave up the fags four years ago.
She started work for Elvie in her Sth.Yarra florist shop in the early 1960's. It was a pivotal time in our family history. My father, Lyle, who would have turned 82 on the first of December had he not died last March, received an inheritance from a wealthy aunt. He purchased the florist shop, not the freehold, the business, for an absurd sum. Within twelve months he was out of there, the business not delivering what he'd hoped financially, and he no longer able to stand the confinement of four walls each day. Elvie, her three children now at school, had gone to help out in the shop answering Lyle's SOS. She had no background in floristry but this grocer's daughter was an able bookkeeper, had good phone manner, and was a natural tea maker and floor sweeper. And no less importantly, she was a quick learner, adaptable, and had the determination and persistence you'd expect from the offspring of a sergeant of the 57th battalion who'd served more than 1000 days overseas, including the western front, in WW1.
Elvie employed a shop manager/florist, and a junior, a teenage girl named Carmel. The manager brought to Elvie's attention, after some time, that he believed Carmel was helping herself from the till. Elvie sacked her, making no accusations, citing unsuitability. Not long after she discovered it was actually the manager who was rifling the till, so he went too. She employed a new manager, the prickly but efficient, blue rinsed, Ruby Gilbert, and a florist , Pat Mahoney. Ten years of successful business followed.
Pat was a gun florist. A tall, attractive lady who always retained her youthful looks and good humour, she moved into the residence behind and above the shop with her alcoholic husband. Despite the alcoholic husband, who would not hesitate to give his wife a black eye in drunken rage, and the fact that Pat was catholic and a heavy smoker, Elvie and Pat clicked. They needed and supported one and other through many difficult times. Elvie sold her florist business, which had a staff of seven by this time, in the early 1970's, not long after Elvie and Lyle bought the land at Emerald with a vision of growing trees for foliage.
Many years later, mid/late 1980's, one of the shops we delivered foliage to in Melbourne was 'Blossom's of Toorak'. The owner of this business was no less than young Carmel, a generation later. Having known me as a child, she always greeted me warmly and it was a pleasure to go to her shop. To cut a long story short, we stopped delivering to Melbourne in the early 1990's, instead selling to wholesalers who picked up at the farm. This didn't suit Carmel, who couldn't abide the wholesaler's prices. She began driving up to the farm once a week to buy foliage and posies. She'd bring her mother with her for the drive. It was as much a social thing as it was business.
Carmel's mother, we learnt, was not her mother by birth. She used to live across the road from Carmel's family, and having no children of her own she took an interest in her. Carmel's parents were alcoholics who neglected her dreadfully. Her adoptive mother went to her parents one day and asked them could she adopt her, as she'd grown to love the 4 year old girl dearly. Of course Carmel thought of her adoptive mother as real mother, and has looked after her faithfully in her old age. Carmel rang last week to say she couldn't make it, her mother, who in recent months had moved into a nursing home, had died.
Pat's husband died of drink related illness decades ago and Pat has lived in a flat in St.Kilda and works in an opportunity shop. She has one married daughter who was born in the early days at the Sth.Yarra shop.
Carmel never married and lives alone. She's had a florist business all these years, in Toorak, where she pays rent. An amazing achievement. I think she'll probably retire shortly as her lease is due to be renewed.
She started work for Elvie in her Sth.Yarra florist shop in the early 1960's. It was a pivotal time in our family history. My father, Lyle, who would have turned 82 on the first of December had he not died last March, received an inheritance from a wealthy aunt. He purchased the florist shop, not the freehold, the business, for an absurd sum. Within twelve months he was out of there, the business not delivering what he'd hoped financially, and he no longer able to stand the confinement of four walls each day. Elvie, her three children now at school, had gone to help out in the shop answering Lyle's SOS. She had no background in floristry but this grocer's daughter was an able bookkeeper, had good phone manner, and was a natural tea maker and floor sweeper. And no less importantly, she was a quick learner, adaptable, and had the determination and persistence you'd expect from the offspring of a sergeant of the 57th battalion who'd served more than 1000 days overseas, including the western front, in WW1.
Elvie employed a shop manager/florist, and a junior, a teenage girl named Carmel. The manager brought to Elvie's attention, after some time, that he believed Carmel was helping herself from the till. Elvie sacked her, making no accusations, citing unsuitability. Not long after she discovered it was actually the manager who was rifling the till, so he went too. She employed a new manager, the prickly but efficient, blue rinsed, Ruby Gilbert, and a florist , Pat Mahoney. Ten years of successful business followed.
Pat was a gun florist. A tall, attractive lady who always retained her youthful looks and good humour, she moved into the residence behind and above the shop with her alcoholic husband. Despite the alcoholic husband, who would not hesitate to give his wife a black eye in drunken rage, and the fact that Pat was catholic and a heavy smoker, Elvie and Pat clicked. They needed and supported one and other through many difficult times. Elvie sold her florist business, which had a staff of seven by this time, in the early 1970's, not long after Elvie and Lyle bought the land at Emerald with a vision of growing trees for foliage.
Many years later, mid/late 1980's, one of the shops we delivered foliage to in Melbourne was 'Blossom's of Toorak'. The owner of this business was no less than young Carmel, a generation later. Having known me as a child, she always greeted me warmly and it was a pleasure to go to her shop. To cut a long story short, we stopped delivering to Melbourne in the early 1990's, instead selling to wholesalers who picked up at the farm. This didn't suit Carmel, who couldn't abide the wholesaler's prices. She began driving up to the farm once a week to buy foliage and posies. She'd bring her mother with her for the drive. It was as much a social thing as it was business.
Carmel's mother, we learnt, was not her mother by birth. She used to live across the road from Carmel's family, and having no children of her own she took an interest in her. Carmel's parents were alcoholics who neglected her dreadfully. Her adoptive mother went to her parents one day and asked them could she adopt her, as she'd grown to love the 4 year old girl dearly. Of course Carmel thought of her adoptive mother as real mother, and has looked after her faithfully in her old age. Carmel rang last week to say she couldn't make it, her mother, who in recent months had moved into a nursing home, had died.
Pat's husband died of drink related illness decades ago and Pat has lived in a flat in St.Kilda and works in an opportunity shop. She has one married daughter who was born in the early days at the Sth.Yarra shop.
Carmel never married and lives alone. She's had a florist business all these years, in Toorak, where she pays rent. An amazing achievement. I think she'll probably retire shortly as her lease is due to be renewed.
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Trees
My routine varied this morning due to a shortage of time. Lib starts work an hour later, at 8.ooam, every second Thursday when her day isn't working with patients, but catching up on documentation. So when I woke a little later than usual at 6.30am it was too late to get my walk in and still be around to make a cup of tea and discuss the day before she left at 7.30.
After she left I bundled both dogs into the van and drove up to the town, parking at Puffing Billy station and taking off for a short walk along the railway line. This was a quick easy option without the need to have them on a lead. I've been taking young 'Pip' on my walk for the last 10 days now and I have to admit it has tested my patience. She's turning out to be an excellent little dog, but taking two dogs instead of one has detracted from the sheer joyful relaxed bliss of the walk. It's OK on those stretches where I let them off the lead but otherwise both my hands are full and it's hard to stop to pick up a can or other litter without a juggling act. And young 'Pip' changes direction erratically, stops and starts, and even barks at passing cars and leaps at them, and wants to chase every bird she sees. Today
with 'Snowy' and 'Pip' free to run, but still follow me, I was free to look at the trees or the views. A mist hung in the valley, clinging to trees and dripping to the ground. There's a variety of tree types around the station and railway line, evergreen and deciduous, including bhutan, baltic, and radiata pines, cypress, fir, spruce, oaks, elm, planes, tulip trees, poplars, holly, bay, and of course messmates and peppermints, and they enjoy misty mornings. The ground round the base, under the canopy line can be quite wet yet bone dry away from the tree. They're expert at trapping moisture from the air.
Where would I be without trees to keep me sane. I have realized it so forcefully, trees are my major interest in life. The great thing is that just about everywhere you go there are trees to look at and try to identify. They're wonderful things. They give us timber for building, fuel for heating, fruit and foliage for food and beauty, and they suck carbon from the air and produce oxygen.
I'm reading James Michener's 'Texas' and I came to a part where Jubal and Mattie Quimper came across a new tree on their journey through the wilds, a tree with large thorns and rough large fruit, an osage orange. Immediately I remembered seeing a row of trees, unfamiliar to me, along a road out the back of Bendigo some years ago. After some investigation I found out they were the osage orange, Maclura pommifera, a native of Nth America. It's exciting. Apparently the fruit is useless to man and beast but because of the thorns they can make an impenetrable hedge and the hard, flexible timber is prized for making archery bows.
Last week I was in the garden under two Nyssa sylvaticas we have in the back yard and the hum of bees on the inconspicuous flowers was extraordinary. The Nyssa is also a native of Nth America and produces good honey crops in the south of USA, known as tupelo honey. The Quimpers stopped travelling and took up land and built a 'cave house' when they found a place on a river with a lot of bee trees and honey. As coincidence has it I'm currently applying for a grant from the Cardinia council under the shire beautification scheme to purchase and plant 6 Nyssa sylvaticas in Nobelius Heritage Park. The price from Established Tree Transplanters is $187 each for two metre tall trees next winter. I touch wood that the application will be successful. The Nyssa has spectacular autumn foliage, as good as it gets, all the reds through to bold yellow.
After she left I bundled both dogs into the van and drove up to the town, parking at Puffing Billy station and taking off for a short walk along the railway line. This was a quick easy option without the need to have them on a lead. I've been taking young 'Pip' on my walk for the last 10 days now and I have to admit it has tested my patience. She's turning out to be an excellent little dog, but taking two dogs instead of one has detracted from the sheer joyful relaxed bliss of the walk. It's OK on those stretches where I let them off the lead but otherwise both my hands are full and it's hard to stop to pick up a can or other litter without a juggling act. And young 'Pip' changes direction erratically, stops and starts, and even barks at passing cars and leaps at them, and wants to chase every bird she sees. Today
with 'Snowy' and 'Pip' free to run, but still follow me, I was free to look at the trees or the views. A mist hung in the valley, clinging to trees and dripping to the ground. There's a variety of tree types around the station and railway line, evergreen and deciduous, including bhutan, baltic, and radiata pines, cypress, fir, spruce, oaks, elm, planes, tulip trees, poplars, holly, bay, and of course messmates and peppermints, and they enjoy misty mornings. The ground round the base, under the canopy line can be quite wet yet bone dry away from the tree. They're expert at trapping moisture from the air.
Where would I be without trees to keep me sane. I have realized it so forcefully, trees are my major interest in life. The great thing is that just about everywhere you go there are trees to look at and try to identify. They're wonderful things. They give us timber for building, fuel for heating, fruit and foliage for food and beauty, and they suck carbon from the air and produce oxygen.
I'm reading James Michener's 'Texas' and I came to a part where Jubal and Mattie Quimper came across a new tree on their journey through the wilds, a tree with large thorns and rough large fruit, an osage orange. Immediately I remembered seeing a row of trees, unfamiliar to me, along a road out the back of Bendigo some years ago. After some investigation I found out they were the osage orange, Maclura pommifera, a native of Nth America. It's exciting. Apparently the fruit is useless to man and beast but because of the thorns they can make an impenetrable hedge and the hard, flexible timber is prized for making archery bows.
Last week I was in the garden under two Nyssa sylvaticas we have in the back yard and the hum of bees on the inconspicuous flowers was extraordinary. The Nyssa is also a native of Nth America and produces good honey crops in the south of USA, known as tupelo honey. The Quimpers stopped travelling and took up land and built a 'cave house' when they found a place on a river with a lot of bee trees and honey. As coincidence has it I'm currently applying for a grant from the Cardinia council under the shire beautification scheme to purchase and plant 6 Nyssa sylvaticas in Nobelius Heritage Park. The price from Established Tree Transplanters is $187 each for two metre tall trees next winter. I touch wood that the application will be successful. The Nyssa has spectacular autumn foliage, as good as it gets, all the reds through to bold yellow.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Rain Again, Thank Goodness.
I got wet through walking this morning. That's the first real rain since the magnificent 60ml on the 4th of this month. Since then it's been dry, with warm to hot weather and huge numbers of annoying flies trying to crawl into the eyes, ears and nose. There was a few spots and light showers last Sunday but not enough to wet anything properly. We've had 16ml overnight and this morning, and it looks like there could be more showers around.
I've been busy lately at the farm and around the traps cutting grass and picking foliage. We've started on the beech and some of the camellia new growth is firm enough. I picked thirty bunches of Gracie's yesterday. I met her gardener, he said it would be OK if I picked some beech from his place and get some camellia some time. Interestingly I learned in our conversation that he did his nurseryman's apprenticeship at Nobelius Nursery when it was run by Cliff and Arch Nobelius in the 1950's. And, he's been a water diviner all his adult life and is going to call in at the farm in a couple of weeks and try to find a underground stream we hope is there. Not that I'm keen to put in a bore, it would be costly with no guarantees, but it's an option worth some thought.
I looked at the bees on Saturday last. I'd noticed them hunting around the shed for weeks making me think there was a shortage of nectar, for them to be sniffing out the stored combs. I was right, there was very little coming in and the hives had struggled to draw out the foundation I'd put in them late in October as a swarm control measure. I put all my supers of combs out on the hives to stop the wax moths destroying them which isn't ideal when there's no honey coming in but it's either that or start fumigating the stored combs which I don't want to do. Wax moths, or more correctly their larvae, hatch and grow quickly when the nights warm up, and chew through the stored honeycomb searching for protein in pollen. (They could be called pollen moths)
It's not shaping up as a good year for honey but this rain might improve things temporarily with the blackberry and cotoneaster flowering.
I've been busy lately at the farm and around the traps cutting grass and picking foliage. We've started on the beech and some of the camellia new growth is firm enough. I picked thirty bunches of Gracie's yesterday. I met her gardener, he said it would be OK if I picked some beech from his place and get some camellia some time. Interestingly I learned in our conversation that he did his nurseryman's apprenticeship at Nobelius Nursery when it was run by Cliff and Arch Nobelius in the 1950's. And, he's been a water diviner all his adult life and is going to call in at the farm in a couple of weeks and try to find a underground stream we hope is there. Not that I'm keen to put in a bore, it would be costly with no guarantees, but it's an option worth some thought.
I looked at the bees on Saturday last. I'd noticed them hunting around the shed for weeks making me think there was a shortage of nectar, for them to be sniffing out the stored combs. I was right, there was very little coming in and the hives had struggled to draw out the foundation I'd put in them late in October as a swarm control measure. I put all my supers of combs out on the hives to stop the wax moths destroying them which isn't ideal when there's no honey coming in but it's either that or start fumigating the stored combs which I don't want to do. Wax moths, or more correctly their larvae, hatch and grow quickly when the nights warm up, and chew through the stored honeycomb searching for protein in pollen. (They could be called pollen moths)
It's not shaping up as a good year for honey but this rain might improve things temporarily with the blackberry and cotoneaster flowering.
Galah Paddock Update
The excavations went for the best part of a week. The machinery, a bulldozer, an excavator, a bobcat and tip truck, have all left. the tip truck carted many loads of topsoil away, not far, because he was back quickly. There's a big gouge now on the high side of the paddock, levelled presumably as the housesite. There's a big depession or hole on the low side of this gouge, perhaps for the septic tank. Then away from the house on the low side of the paddock is another levelled area, I'd say for a large shed.
The galahs were in the paddock next door on the weekend, I counted sixteen. On Monday twelve were sitting on the electricity wires. This morning with all the machinery gone and no human activity they were back in their paddock, browsing through the disturbed earth, looking for whatever they forage for.
There's a blue and yellow portaloo on site ready for the tradesmen who'll soon be working, and a layer of metal (gravel) has been laid on the driveway to the housesite.
The galahs were in the paddock next door on the weekend, I counted sixteen. On Monday twelve were sitting on the electricity wires. This morning with all the machinery gone and no human activity they were back in their paddock, browsing through the disturbed earth, looking for whatever they forage for.
There's a blue and yellow portaloo on site ready for the tradesmen who'll soon be working, and a layer of metal (gravel) has been laid on the driveway to the housesite.
Election Market Update
Who would have ever thought that with four days to go to the election Labour would be at $1.25 and the Coalition $4.50? This with a 16 seat majority held by the government.
In La Trobe, Labour's Rodney Cocks has shortened to $1.50 and the sitting member, ex policeman Jason Wood, has drifted to $2.40. I took a little of the $1.50 offered.
In Bennelong, Maxine McKew has come in to $2.20, while the incumbent PM is $1.60
I had another little bite at $2.20. I caught a little of the joint Howard/Costello interview on TV on Monday night. What a comedy act! But unconvincing.
I can't wait till it's over, I'm so sick of politics and so is just about everyone I talk to.
In La Trobe, Labour's Rodney Cocks has shortened to $1.50 and the sitting member, ex policeman Jason Wood, has drifted to $2.40. I took a little of the $1.50 offered.
In Bennelong, Maxine McKew has come in to $2.20, while the incumbent PM is $1.60
I had another little bite at $2.20. I caught a little of the joint Howard/Costello interview on TV on Monday night. What a comedy act! But unconvincing.
I can't wait till it's over, I'm so sick of politics and so is just about everyone I talk to.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Hipocrites
It has been logically asserted that we're all hipocrites and hipocrisy is an essential basis of civilization, as a lubricant for the smooth running of private and public life. I don't disagree, however it should be considered that there are degrees of hipocrisy and the consequences of the different forms vary greatly from beneficial to extremely damaging.
There are probably numerous times every day when I conceal my real thoughts and emotions in the interests of tact and good manners. In so doing I maintain good relations with other people including family, friends and neighbours. Call it diplomacy or common sense, but without it I'd quickly become odious, obnoxious and objectionable to those around me, and therefore counterproductive. A bit like brother Jod on a bad day.
Now I don't say that to criticize Jod. Readers who have known Jod will understand me clearly, others may not, but I was discussing this very thing with my alter ego, sister Meredith, during the week. Bear in mind that for all of our respective 55 and 53 years we have shared Jod as older brother. For the first almost 20 years of our lives we lived in the same family home and for much of this time he was the archetype tyrranical bully.
Meredith's first husband was a local policeman. The marriage lasted ten years before Meredith left and, after some more years, a divorce was finalized. There was pain and trauma in that block of years and we, i.e. Meredith and me, have an insightful if somewhat cynical view of the police force. We discussed briefly last week the front page controversy raging in the Victorian Police Force, which has resulted in the resignation of two assistant commissioners and the suspension from the force of the head of the police association, amidst allegations of corruption and tipping off murder suspects.
Meredith told me that in the early 1980's she remembers one of the leading characters in the present controversy being awarded a police valour medal for shooting a dangerous criminal. His partner in the car at the time was the 'Toff'. The 'Toff', later to go on to the special operations group, was an Arnie Shwarzeneger body builder type and a gun freak. He was ultimately sacked from the force over a serious sexual indiscretion but he's in this story because he was married to a policewoman who worked at the same local station as Meredith's husband. (They are now divorced and to complete the musical chairs the 'Toff's ex wife is now married to Meredith's ex husband.)
Meredith, on the subject of hipocrisy, asked me did I remember the time in the early 80's when the new sergeant at the police station where Meredith's husband and 'Toff's wife worked was trying to find them during one night shift. The sergeant was straight, and therefore hated by the less than straight staff under him. He tried his best to get Meredith's husband and 'Toff's wife to do some work but hit the proverbial brick wall. There was a prevailing notion at the station, not shared by the sergeant, that if you were a 'twenty year man' you didn't have to actually do anything.
On this occasion, the sergeant became so frustrated, and worried, that he couldn't contact his senior constables on the car radio, he organized a car from another station to look for them. They were found inside the home of another policeman, who was off duty, where they couldn't be contacted on the radio because the car was unattended. This enraged the sergeant, who ordered 'Toff's wife to be breathalyzed, her being the listed driver that night. She was well over .05 and was charged internally with misconduct. There was a hell of a hullabulloo at the station but the sergeant stood his ground and proceeded, but somehow at the subsequent internal hearing there was no penalty.
We might all be hipocrits, but there's hipocrisy, and there's hipocrisy. Another contrast with the harmless type is that in recent times of Richard Pratt and Steve Vizard, found guilty of price fixing and insider trading, to skim hundreds of millions of dollars, while shining in the glow of philanthropy.
There are probably numerous times every day when I conceal my real thoughts and emotions in the interests of tact and good manners. In so doing I maintain good relations with other people including family, friends and neighbours. Call it diplomacy or common sense, but without it I'd quickly become odious, obnoxious and objectionable to those around me, and therefore counterproductive. A bit like brother Jod on a bad day.
Now I don't say that to criticize Jod. Readers who have known Jod will understand me clearly, others may not, but I was discussing this very thing with my alter ego, sister Meredith, during the week. Bear in mind that for all of our respective 55 and 53 years we have shared Jod as older brother. For the first almost 20 years of our lives we lived in the same family home and for much of this time he was the archetype tyrranical bully.
Meredith's first husband was a local policeman. The marriage lasted ten years before Meredith left and, after some more years, a divorce was finalized. There was pain and trauma in that block of years and we, i.e. Meredith and me, have an insightful if somewhat cynical view of the police force. We discussed briefly last week the front page controversy raging in the Victorian Police Force, which has resulted in the resignation of two assistant commissioners and the suspension from the force of the head of the police association, amidst allegations of corruption and tipping off murder suspects.
Meredith told me that in the early 1980's she remembers one of the leading characters in the present controversy being awarded a police valour medal for shooting a dangerous criminal. His partner in the car at the time was the 'Toff'. The 'Toff', later to go on to the special operations group, was an Arnie Shwarzeneger body builder type and a gun freak. He was ultimately sacked from the force over a serious sexual indiscretion but he's in this story because he was married to a policewoman who worked at the same local station as Meredith's husband. (They are now divorced and to complete the musical chairs the 'Toff's ex wife is now married to Meredith's ex husband.)
Meredith, on the subject of hipocrisy, asked me did I remember the time in the early 80's when the new sergeant at the police station where Meredith's husband and 'Toff's wife worked was trying to find them during one night shift. The sergeant was straight, and therefore hated by the less than straight staff under him. He tried his best to get Meredith's husband and 'Toff's wife to do some work but hit the proverbial brick wall. There was a prevailing notion at the station, not shared by the sergeant, that if you were a 'twenty year man' you didn't have to actually do anything.
On this occasion, the sergeant became so frustrated, and worried, that he couldn't contact his senior constables on the car radio, he organized a car from another station to look for them. They were found inside the home of another policeman, who was off duty, where they couldn't be contacted on the radio because the car was unattended. This enraged the sergeant, who ordered 'Toff's wife to be breathalyzed, her being the listed driver that night. She was well over .05 and was charged internally with misconduct. There was a hell of a hullabulloo at the station but the sergeant stood his ground and proceeded, but somehow at the subsequent internal hearing there was no penalty.
We might all be hipocrits, but there's hipocrisy, and there's hipocrisy. Another contrast with the harmless type is that in recent times of Richard Pratt and Steve Vizard, found guilty of price fixing and insider trading, to skim hundreds of millions of dollars, while shining in the glow of philanthropy.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Galah Paddock Excavation
Well, I've been dreading it, but yesterday morning Nov 13 there was a bulldozer in my galah paddock pushing the rich chocolate brown earth into a heap. Last week fresh pegs went up, so I knew something was imminent. This morning an excavator was there as well, some serious earthmoving was underway.
My view into the Shepherds Ck west branch valley (beginning with three springs amongst trees to the left of the photo), which I've enjoyed so many times over the nearly two full years that I've been walking in the morning, will never be the same again. Sad for me.
But I musn't be hypocritical. I live in a house myself, and twenty six years ago I hired a bulldozer to knock down a heap of trees and scrub on our block to clear our house site. That no doubt was a sad day for some people, and birds and animals, who liked it the way it was before my house was built.
The thing is, I conclude, at some point we have to have less growth, no more houses, people, and all the cars, iron and concrete that comes with it. With the climate change factor it has to be sooner rather than later.
I'm voting 'Green' at the federal election on Saturday week. God, I wish more of our politicians could think like Bob Brown. And I say that with no intention of blasphemy. I mean it and pray to God for it. What about China?, you might ask. Well, as Kevin 07 says, we have to set an example. And, the Chinese have at least taken serious and effective measures to reduce population.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
The Humble Blackbird
I tossed in a fresh bone and locked little dog 'Pip' in the laundry with a hot water bottle wrapped in its favourite blanket, and took off down the steps. This morning I felt full to bursting with energy, wanting to power my way up the Quinn Rd. hill. 'Snowy' took off ahead of me as if sharing my impatience to scan the horizon from the top of the hill.
Just as I threw the carry bag up over my shoulder and felt the rhythm of my trekking boots taking over, I saw two blackbirds flitting around the window of the shed. I'm sure they were trying to catch my eye, fearful I'd forgotten them, which I had till I saw them. Every morning I put a handful of mini dog yummies on the windowsill of the shed and at a couple of other strategic places. The blackbirds love them and are there waiting every day. They come up close and almost take the titbits from your hand, as bold as you like.
On the weekend I disturbed a blackbirds nest. It had 3 speckled blue eggs inside and I had to remove it from my burning heap so it wasn't incinerated when I burn the heap, which I'll do in the next few days before the fire restrictions come in on the 12th of November, as has been advertised. I was glad it didn't have fledglings, I would have had to abandon plans to burn and have a dry firehazard heap there all summer. Even disposing of the eggs didn't come easily to me, the birds are a part of the garden and the whole ecosystem that keeps us alive and I have affection for their effort to raise young.
It made me think of Paul, a fellow who lives adjoining Nobelius Park. We had a discussion about blackbirds, and birds in general, a few weeks ago. Paul is a 'greenie'. He loves the natural environment and he approached me in the park to ask what vegetation was being removed. I'd put a sign up, in conjunction with the council, advertising the removal of vegetation and inviting objections. He approached me wanting to know what vegetation was to be removed and when I answered that in the short term the first things to go were the three Japanesese cedars near his place he asked could this be delayed because there were butcher birds nesting there at the time, could we wait till the fledglings had left the nest.
I replied this would be no problem, there was no urgency. I told him that once this permit to remove vegetation was obtained it meant that the vegetation management plan had been approved by council's planning section, which meant that over a period of years, as funding allowed, we would remove more things due to overcrowding, inappropriate siting, etc, without having to obtain a permit each time. I pointed to a prunus niger tree nearby suggesting it as an example.
Now you learn something every day. Paul said he'd be sorry to see the prunus go because the leaves were a good food supply for the ring tailed possums which had drays in the Thujya nearby. We went and looked and saw a blackbird's nest as well. I said "Actually Paul this Thujya is probably to go eventually, as this area in front of the packing shed is zoned for open vista, meaning there will be low growing plantation. The Thuju grows very large and will block the vista."
He said he understood the need to have a longterm plan but before anything was removed, could I let him know so that if the possums were in that dray he'd move them gently to another dray before the tree removal. He said he was unconcerned about the blackbirds, they were an introduced English bird and should not be here at all. He regularly searched the park for their nests and destroyed them.
This struck me as a bit odd. If the blackbirds shouldn't be here because they aren't native, neither should the Japanese cedars, which provided nesting sites for butcher birds and others, the prunus, which give food to ring tails, and the thujyas, where the ringtails nest.
I told him this, and added that if you followed that logic through, he and I shouldn't be here either as our origins are European, and the impact of our population has been devastating to just about everything indigenous over 150 years.
He saw my point, and we agreed that it's very important to maintain wilderness areas without European species and to preserve large areas of native indigenous bush but this couldn't apply to the whole country if you wanted to house and feed 20 million people.
The humble blackbird plays a part in the whiteman's food chain, establishing itself along with us, in our gardens. It has a role to play eating grubs and insects and I'm sure has a beneficial role in the scheme of things. I know they are territorial but so is nearly everything. I'll keep feeding my brave little blackbirds.
Just as I threw the carry bag up over my shoulder and felt the rhythm of my trekking boots taking over, I saw two blackbirds flitting around the window of the shed. I'm sure they were trying to catch my eye, fearful I'd forgotten them, which I had till I saw them. Every morning I put a handful of mini dog yummies on the windowsill of the shed and at a couple of other strategic places. The blackbirds love them and are there waiting every day. They come up close and almost take the titbits from your hand, as bold as you like.
On the weekend I disturbed a blackbirds nest. It had 3 speckled blue eggs inside and I had to remove it from my burning heap so it wasn't incinerated when I burn the heap, which I'll do in the next few days before the fire restrictions come in on the 12th of November, as has been advertised. I was glad it didn't have fledglings, I would have had to abandon plans to burn and have a dry firehazard heap there all summer. Even disposing of the eggs didn't come easily to me, the birds are a part of the garden and the whole ecosystem that keeps us alive and I have affection for their effort to raise young.
It made me think of Paul, a fellow who lives adjoining Nobelius Park. We had a discussion about blackbirds, and birds in general, a few weeks ago. Paul is a 'greenie'. He loves the natural environment and he approached me in the park to ask what vegetation was being removed. I'd put a sign up, in conjunction with the council, advertising the removal of vegetation and inviting objections. He approached me wanting to know what vegetation was to be removed and when I answered that in the short term the first things to go were the three Japanesese cedars near his place he asked could this be delayed because there were butcher birds nesting there at the time, could we wait till the fledglings had left the nest.
I replied this would be no problem, there was no urgency. I told him that once this permit to remove vegetation was obtained it meant that the vegetation management plan had been approved by council's planning section, which meant that over a period of years, as funding allowed, we would remove more things due to overcrowding, inappropriate siting, etc, without having to obtain a permit each time. I pointed to a prunus niger tree nearby suggesting it as an example.
Now you learn something every day. Paul said he'd be sorry to see the prunus go because the leaves were a good food supply for the ring tailed possums which had drays in the Thujya nearby. We went and looked and saw a blackbird's nest as well. I said "Actually Paul this Thujya is probably to go eventually, as this area in front of the packing shed is zoned for open vista, meaning there will be low growing plantation. The Thuju grows very large and will block the vista."
He said he understood the need to have a longterm plan but before anything was removed, could I let him know so that if the possums were in that dray he'd move them gently to another dray before the tree removal. He said he was unconcerned about the blackbirds, they were an introduced English bird and should not be here at all. He regularly searched the park for their nests and destroyed them.
This struck me as a bit odd. If the blackbirds shouldn't be here because they aren't native, neither should the Japanese cedars, which provided nesting sites for butcher birds and others, the prunus, which give food to ring tails, and the thujyas, where the ringtails nest.
I told him this, and added that if you followed that logic through, he and I shouldn't be here either as our origins are European, and the impact of our population has been devastating to just about everything indigenous over 150 years.
He saw my point, and we agreed that it's very important to maintain wilderness areas without European species and to preserve large areas of native indigenous bush but this couldn't apply to the whole country if you wanted to house and feed 20 million people.
The humble blackbird plays a part in the whiteman's food chain, establishing itself along with us, in our gardens. It has a role to play eating grubs and insects and I'm sure has a beneficial role in the scheme of things. I know they are territorial but so is nearly everything. I'll keep feeding my brave little blackbirds.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Money Talks
Rain, sufficient today to prevent my morning walk for the first time in months, may well be tinkling on the iron roof, but it's the whispers from the betting markets that I'm hearing.
Last week I put $10 on Maxine McKew to rid the Australian parliament of you know who on election day, 24th November. The price at Lasseter's Sportsbook was $2.30 for a dollar, a bit lean I thought, but I like the lady's pluck, and this election promises to be the most interesting in a long time. So I win $13 if bold Maxine makes history. I liked her when she did Lateline, admiring her poise with political heavyweights. She's lost some personal appeal to me now she's a politician, but I still think she's a bit of alright.
The news bulletin this morning gave the results of a poll in Bennelong which indicated she was the preferred candidate on first preference, 48% to $47%, so I checked Lasseter's again and she'd drifted, surprisingly, to $2.40. I went to Centrebet, they have her at $2.60. I couldn't resist and put on another $10. So in total, so far, I'm risking $20, a chance to win $29. GO MAX BABY, I wish you well over the next three weeks and I'm trusting that your background journalistic professionalism will prevent gaffes, unlike nudenut Garrett.
I looked at the other NSW seats and according to the betting there are only three marginal or close- Centrebet has Page $1.83 Lib/$1.87 Labour, Paterson $1.50 Lib/ $2.40 Labour(hardly marginal) and Robertson $1.77 Labour/$1.95 Lib. Lasseter's has them Page $1.80/$1.90, Paterson $1.60/$2.20, and Robertson $1.80/$1.90. The other seats are shoe-ins if you believe the money.
In Victoria much the same applies. Our electorate, La Trobe, is the closest at $1.80 Lib/$1.90 Labour, then there's McMillan and Deakin both $1.72 Lib/$2.00 Labour, and Corangamite $1.65 Lib/$2.10 Labour. It's already over in every other seat if the market's got it right.
I haven't looked at the other states, but on the election result, the betting is Labour at $1.28 and the Coalition $3.50. Much can change in three weeks, the serpent pit is writhing, but that price is a compelling indicator that we may well have a change of government.
Should it happen I will be happy on election night to visit my friend Maria with a good bottle of red to drink in celebration. Maria, my writing teacher, has a strong interest in politics and a dislike for you know who and his politics. She has offered open house on election night. As I look out the window at the rain belting down I'm reminded of my wish, at the end of October, for a wet November. I'm sure Maria's wish for November would have been for the downfall of the Howard regime after 11 sad years during which social justice and much of what Australians were once proud has been degraded and diminished, while the rich and powerful and greedy have raked it in.
As for me, I'm for the Greens. Nature and the environment is my scene, for the good of us all, longterm. Raise taxes I say, especially at the higher income end, to protect the environment and help the needy. My second preference will go to Labour candidate Rodney Cocks. We need change and a new vision.
Aussies be brave!
Last week I put $10 on Maxine McKew to rid the Australian parliament of you know who on election day, 24th November. The price at Lasseter's Sportsbook was $2.30 for a dollar, a bit lean I thought, but I like the lady's pluck, and this election promises to be the most interesting in a long time. So I win $13 if bold Maxine makes history. I liked her when she did Lateline, admiring her poise with political heavyweights. She's lost some personal appeal to me now she's a politician, but I still think she's a bit of alright.
The news bulletin this morning gave the results of a poll in Bennelong which indicated she was the preferred candidate on first preference, 48% to $47%, so I checked Lasseter's again and she'd drifted, surprisingly, to $2.40. I went to Centrebet, they have her at $2.60. I couldn't resist and put on another $10. So in total, so far, I'm risking $20, a chance to win $29. GO MAX BABY, I wish you well over the next three weeks and I'm trusting that your background journalistic professionalism will prevent gaffes, unlike nudenut Garrett.
I looked at the other NSW seats and according to the betting there are only three marginal or close- Centrebet has Page $1.83 Lib/$1.87 Labour, Paterson $1.50 Lib/ $2.40 Labour(hardly marginal) and Robertson $1.77 Labour/$1.95 Lib. Lasseter's has them Page $1.80/$1.90, Paterson $1.60/$2.20, and Robertson $1.80/$1.90. The other seats are shoe-ins if you believe the money.
In Victoria much the same applies. Our electorate, La Trobe, is the closest at $1.80 Lib/$1.90 Labour, then there's McMillan and Deakin both $1.72 Lib/$2.00 Labour, and Corangamite $1.65 Lib/$2.10 Labour. It's already over in every other seat if the market's got it right.
I haven't looked at the other states, but on the election result, the betting is Labour at $1.28 and the Coalition $3.50. Much can change in three weeks, the serpent pit is writhing, but that price is a compelling indicator that we may well have a change of government.
Should it happen I will be happy on election night to visit my friend Maria with a good bottle of red to drink in celebration. Maria, my writing teacher, has a strong interest in politics and a dislike for you know who and his politics. She has offered open house on election night. As I look out the window at the rain belting down I'm reminded of my wish, at the end of October, for a wet November. I'm sure Maria's wish for November would have been for the downfall of the Howard regime after 11 sad years during which social justice and much of what Australians were once proud has been degraded and diminished, while the rich and powerful and greedy have raked it in.
As for me, I'm for the Greens. Nature and the environment is my scene, for the good of us all, longterm. Raise taxes I say, especially at the higher income end, to protect the environment and help the needy. My second preference will go to Labour candidate Rodney Cocks. We need change and a new vision.
Aussies be brave!
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