At Christmas 2005, shortly before I started blogging, I put a piece of my homework from my writing class, 'Ain't Life Grand', in a few Christmas cards I sent to friends. I think I spend all this time writing because I like to share my thoughts with my friends and whoever else may be interested. The path one takes in life can be viewed as one big random accident, or as part of an orchestrated plan that's predetermined. Who knows which is right?
Well, blow me down with a feather. An email came yesterday with the subject- Re Just re reading your 'Aint Life Grand'. My friend Glenda asked, "How is the Douglas Fir? Has it survived?
At first I had to think hard about just what it was she was referring to. I haven't got a copy of 'Aint Life Grand', but the gist of it was how I was struggling with my pre Christmas workload in the December heat, whippy snipping the grass in the rosemary plantation at Nobelius Park. Just as I was flagging under sweat and dust and wondering why I bothered, like a bolt from the blue a blast of inspiration hit me when I saw a young Douglas Fir tree I'd planted some time earlier, a tree given to me as a seedling by a dear friend of mine who had pricked it from her garden, potted it, and passed it on to me. She'd given me one earlier, I'd planted it in the park, and some low bastard pinched it. I waited a year or so, thinking the thief may have moved on or been run over by a bus, and planted the replacement. And here it was standing about 5feet high with a big shoot of growth on top, thriving, and now too big to be dug out by the average petty thief. I hoped it wouldn't be sawn off by someone wanting a tree for Christmas.
It has survived, and is now a substantial young tree some 10-12 feet high. It may not have a long term future, as it is in an area of the park which the Vegation Management Plan, conducted by consultants after I planted the tree, designates as important for view lines, and therefore have low growing plantations. Not the place, in other words, for a 140 ft. conifer as the Douglas would one day be. In the last year, a number of mature trees were removed adjacent this area to restore a view to and from the Packing Shed as per the management plan. As Curator of the park I'm bound to the management plan and resigned myself to the fact that one day Freda Lucas's Douglas Fir may have to go. We are planting new trees in the park to improve it and this is a fact of life with gardens and parks, long term planning is necessary.
I have to finish this story with an update of my involvement in Nobelius Park, and I'm thankful to Glenda's email for the prompt. I have officially acted as Curator for nine years, after the ill health of Gus Ryberg necessitated I move from 'Assistant Curator'. I've been on the committee of management for 22 years and served as President of Emerald Museum and Nobelius Park Committee in 1998/9.
The last year has been tumultuous for the Committee. In short, the President resigned last November after 12/13 continuous years as secretary or president. The secretary resigned at the same time. The VP reluctantly became president, the lady who was about to step into the Treasurer's role to relieve our 92 yo Treasurer, who needed a break, became Secretary. In the New Year, the Secretary took on Treasurer as well. We continued till April when the new President resigned from the committee and, almost simultaneously the new Secretary/Treasurer suffered a severe back injury. At the May meeting I was elected President, Old George stepped back in as temporary Treasurer and another Committee member filled in as Acting Secretary.
We got to the Biennial General Meeting last week. I was elected President. There were no acceptances for Secretary or Treasurer. There was no Committee elected. We didn't get to 'Curator'. So now officially I have no role whatsoever. It's in the Cardinia Shire Council's court as to what happens now. They own the Park and Museum building. All I can know is that I did my best for a long time and can walk away proud for that.
Ain't life grand.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Act Justly, Love Tenderly....
My mother Elvie, who is also a work colleague and good friend, spent last week in hospital having a minor operation on her eye, an attempt to improve her vision following a heammorrage behind her good eye. In short, with macular degeneration causing this deterioration, her vision is severely limited and she's resigned to blindness at some point.
She hadn't felt well for some days before the appointment at St. Vincent's private hospital in Melbourne, having the flu, pain in her abdomen, and nausea, causing lack of appetite. Meredith's GP husband Roger wrote a letter for Elv to take with her detailing her symptoms and making some suggestions for tests. Consequently Elv was in hospital from Monday to Saturday evening having all manner of tests including gastroscopy, colonoscopy etc. She didn't eat all week.
Her eyesight maybe slightly better she says, however they could find no cause for the pain and nausea which remains. But she is now eating. She is so glad to be home, and is throwing herself at her work, which she loves. We talked while we had afternoon tea yesterday. A religious lady, a Baptist historically, she had to fill out a form where you tick boxes. She ticked Baptist on the religion question, thinking it was protocol only, in case you died on them or looked like it.
To her surprise she was visited a couple of days later by a Bappo minister with whom she had much in common in terms of belief, values, and general interest. He was a lovely man who brightened the otherwise arduous and boring week. She didn't expect this in a Catholic hospital. As we spoke I looked at a letter Elv had placed in front of me on the table, where I always sit. It was from George, a Catholic priest who is working in Peru after some years in Chile until a year or so ago. George is Elvie's old friend Pat's nephew (Pat worked for Elvie in the Sth Yarra florist shop from about 1960- 1973 and the two were great friends until Pat died of lung cancer last year). He often brought Pat up to see us at Christmas when he was in Australia, or Lyle and Elvie drove down to Pat's.
The letter was dated last March and I'd read it before. It was interesting to me particularly, having visited Peru with Lib in 2005. I told Elvie I'd write to George after she had, then promply forgot about it. Elv didn't get around to it either, and now her letter writing days are over due to the diminished eyesight, so she passed it back to me.
Now George is one of the nicest blokes you could meet. A huge bear of of a man with an obvious love of good tucker, always a good sign, he's open minded, tolerant of other beliefs, and compassionate to the poverty and misfortune in the third world countries he works. We are not close friends, but I wanted to write to him as I understood from his letters he was having a difficult time in Peru with his superiors and in some cases a less than ideal relationship with parishioners.
I quote some of his most recent letter.
"Last night I and Allan went to hear Fr. Marcos Arana, a diocesan priest from Cajamarca in the north of Peru talk about 'Poverty and Ecology'. The region where he works suffers from a lot of conflict between mining interests, some of them Australian, and small farmers who depend on the water miners contaminate to irrigate their crops. He told us that statistically 86% of all water used in Peru is directed towards agricultural use which is responsible for 2% of the contamination of water in the country. Mining in contrastwhich provides only 2% of the workforce pollutes up to 25% of all water sources in Peru. It seems to be an unhappy coincidence that a lot of the gold sought by miners is found near the available water resources used by agriculturalists who soon find themselves in conflict with the mining consortiums who contaminate the water used by both. Unfortunately too the gov't imposes few controls on the mining companies by way of insisting that they clean up the areas mined afterwards as would happen in the USA or Australia etc., so many small agriculturalists are left unprotected by the very people who should protect them. It's a sad fact of life here in Peru that the Gov't is hellbent on helping outside monied interests maximise their profits often at the expense of local people. At this very moment the Peruvian Gov't is trying to pass a law that will make access to water an economic commodity that can be utilized by those with money rather than as a human right. A lot of social injustice in Peru begins at high levels and that plus the endemic corruption so evident in this country make it hard for the poor who have very little protection before the law. People here have very little faith in the law and gov't institutions. One example of this occurred in the north of Peru recently. Three would be bandits stopped a bus to rob all the passengers. However their luck ran out when the passengers suddenly realised that the three men were only carrying fake guns and toy pistols. They were lynched by the outraged mob and died on the very edge of the road where they would have made their escape had their guns been real. What is the motto here? Don't steal or rob, or only with real guns?
I would like to thank those friends of mine who have sent gifts of money to help me with my mission work. I really appreciate your help and for thinking of me. Anyway, I hope that this brief letter finds you all well in Australia and that the blessings of the risen Lord bring you much joy this Easter.
Yours in Christ,
Fr. George **********.
P.S. Elvie, I trust life is treating you kindly. I keep Lyle in my prayers. I'm sure he's up there with God preparing the banquet."
While Elv was waiting in the foyer at St. V's for her Emerald Taxi she saw some writing on a window. She could make out "Act", so she went over to investigate. The full script said,
"Act Justly,
Love Tenderly,
Walk humbly with your God."
It's from the Bible, Micah 6 verse 8. If people regardless of race, religion, or nationality heeded those 9 words, we'd be close to paradise on Earth.
She hadn't felt well for some days before the appointment at St. Vincent's private hospital in Melbourne, having the flu, pain in her abdomen, and nausea, causing lack of appetite. Meredith's GP husband Roger wrote a letter for Elv to take with her detailing her symptoms and making some suggestions for tests. Consequently Elv was in hospital from Monday to Saturday evening having all manner of tests including gastroscopy, colonoscopy etc. She didn't eat all week.
Her eyesight maybe slightly better she says, however they could find no cause for the pain and nausea which remains. But she is now eating. She is so glad to be home, and is throwing herself at her work, which she loves. We talked while we had afternoon tea yesterday. A religious lady, a Baptist historically, she had to fill out a form where you tick boxes. She ticked Baptist on the religion question, thinking it was protocol only, in case you died on them or looked like it.
To her surprise she was visited a couple of days later by a Bappo minister with whom she had much in common in terms of belief, values, and general interest. He was a lovely man who brightened the otherwise arduous and boring week. She didn't expect this in a Catholic hospital. As we spoke I looked at a letter Elv had placed in front of me on the table, where I always sit. It was from George, a Catholic priest who is working in Peru after some years in Chile until a year or so ago. George is Elvie's old friend Pat's nephew (Pat worked for Elvie in the Sth Yarra florist shop from about 1960- 1973 and the two were great friends until Pat died of lung cancer last year). He often brought Pat up to see us at Christmas when he was in Australia, or Lyle and Elvie drove down to Pat's.
The letter was dated last March and I'd read it before. It was interesting to me particularly, having visited Peru with Lib in 2005. I told Elvie I'd write to George after she had, then promply forgot about it. Elv didn't get around to it either, and now her letter writing days are over due to the diminished eyesight, so she passed it back to me.
Now George is one of the nicest blokes you could meet. A huge bear of of a man with an obvious love of good tucker, always a good sign, he's open minded, tolerant of other beliefs, and compassionate to the poverty and misfortune in the third world countries he works. We are not close friends, but I wanted to write to him as I understood from his letters he was having a difficult time in Peru with his superiors and in some cases a less than ideal relationship with parishioners.
I quote some of his most recent letter.
"Last night I and Allan went to hear Fr. Marcos Arana, a diocesan priest from Cajamarca in the north of Peru talk about 'Poverty and Ecology'. The region where he works suffers from a lot of conflict between mining interests, some of them Australian, and small farmers who depend on the water miners contaminate to irrigate their crops. He told us that statistically 86% of all water used in Peru is directed towards agricultural use which is responsible for 2% of the contamination of water in the country. Mining in contrastwhich provides only 2% of the workforce pollutes up to 25% of all water sources in Peru. It seems to be an unhappy coincidence that a lot of the gold sought by miners is found near the available water resources used by agriculturalists who soon find themselves in conflict with the mining consortiums who contaminate the water used by both. Unfortunately too the gov't imposes few controls on the mining companies by way of insisting that they clean up the areas mined afterwards as would happen in the USA or Australia etc., so many small agriculturalists are left unprotected by the very people who should protect them. It's a sad fact of life here in Peru that the Gov't is hellbent on helping outside monied interests maximise their profits often at the expense of local people. At this very moment the Peruvian Gov't is trying to pass a law that will make access to water an economic commodity that can be utilized by those with money rather than as a human right. A lot of social injustice in Peru begins at high levels and that plus the endemic corruption so evident in this country make it hard for the poor who have very little protection before the law. People here have very little faith in the law and gov't institutions. One example of this occurred in the north of Peru recently. Three would be bandits stopped a bus to rob all the passengers. However their luck ran out when the passengers suddenly realised that the three men were only carrying fake guns and toy pistols. They were lynched by the outraged mob and died on the very edge of the road where they would have made their escape had their guns been real. What is the motto here? Don't steal or rob, or only with real guns?
I would like to thank those friends of mine who have sent gifts of money to help me with my mission work. I really appreciate your help and for thinking of me. Anyway, I hope that this brief letter finds you all well in Australia and that the blessings of the risen Lord bring you much joy this Easter.
Yours in Christ,
Fr. George **********.
P.S. Elvie, I trust life is treating you kindly. I keep Lyle in my prayers. I'm sure he's up there with God preparing the banquet."
While Elv was waiting in the foyer at St. V's for her Emerald Taxi she saw some writing on a window. She could make out "Act", so she went over to investigate. The full script said,
"Act Justly,
Love Tenderly,
Walk humbly with your God."
It's from the Bible, Micah 6 verse 8. If people regardless of race, religion, or nationality heeded those 9 words, we'd be close to paradise on Earth.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Still No Pinging
Touch wood, still no bellbirds yet around home.
Whilst walking down Monbulk Rd. in Emerald last Friday I heard some, but not here at home. I was surprised to hear them in Emerald. I went to my writing class at the community centre, keen to see my old classmates and maybe a new bod or two, only to find the new term doesn't start till next Friday. I'd sent Gordy on to the farm in the van with instruction to come back and pick me up at 3 o'clock, so I relished the opportunity to walk.
I love to walk. You hear and see so much more than travelling in a car. It's all happening in birdland. On the weekend I saw a family of small birds in our street, thornbills I suspect, busily twittering and working through a messmate tree, feeding on tiny insects on the leaves. These are the insects that the bellbirds 'farm', in order to feed on the sweet sticky secretions. They aggressively chase away all the small birds, the natural predators of these insects, which in turn leads to a population increase of insects which can be to the point of causing tree ill health and death.
I also saw a tree creeper on our place, working up and down the trunk after insects/grubs, which I've not seen here before. I suspect it has moved in the absence of bellbirds.
Mr Whippy is back. I saw him when attracted by his scritchy cackling the other day and since then have heard both he and his partner calling. They must be getting ready to start a new family. I saw a crow fly high overhead with a stick in its mouth into the top of a tall pine tree in Quinn Rd. last week. There's been plenty of galahs around, looking relaxed, and some black cockies. Both these tend to move in and out. There's also lots of currawongs, magpies, and peewees, along with the the rosellas, spinebills, doves, blackbirds, minas and white cockies. On my walk I noticed many times bits of bay leaves on the pavement near the bus stop outside the pub and wondered what was eating them, until I saw a group of immature crimson rosellas chewing the flower buds and breaking bits off the tree as they did. Every day I watch and listen for the return of the bellbirds but so far so good.
It was sunny this morning and dry underfoot after a couple of windy days. Following the good rain of a week or two back, another 50 ml plus, Melbourne's reservoirs finally started to rise instead of fall. One day they went up 2000 megalitres in a 24hr period, and for the next week they've continued to rise although the daily increase has now dwindled to about 200 meg. a day. We need more rain in the catchments to keep the flows up.
Whilst walking down Monbulk Rd. in Emerald last Friday I heard some, but not here at home. I was surprised to hear them in Emerald. I went to my writing class at the community centre, keen to see my old classmates and maybe a new bod or two, only to find the new term doesn't start till next Friday. I'd sent Gordy on to the farm in the van with instruction to come back and pick me up at 3 o'clock, so I relished the opportunity to walk.
I love to walk. You hear and see so much more than travelling in a car. It's all happening in birdland. On the weekend I saw a family of small birds in our street, thornbills I suspect, busily twittering and working through a messmate tree, feeding on tiny insects on the leaves. These are the insects that the bellbirds 'farm', in order to feed on the sweet sticky secretions. They aggressively chase away all the small birds, the natural predators of these insects, which in turn leads to a population increase of insects which can be to the point of causing tree ill health and death.
I also saw a tree creeper on our place, working up and down the trunk after insects/grubs, which I've not seen here before. I suspect it has moved in the absence of bellbirds.
Mr Whippy is back. I saw him when attracted by his scritchy cackling the other day and since then have heard both he and his partner calling. They must be getting ready to start a new family. I saw a crow fly high overhead with a stick in its mouth into the top of a tall pine tree in Quinn Rd. last week. There's been plenty of galahs around, looking relaxed, and some black cockies. Both these tend to move in and out. There's also lots of currawongs, magpies, and peewees, along with the the rosellas, spinebills, doves, blackbirds, minas and white cockies. On my walk I noticed many times bits of bay leaves on the pavement near the bus stop outside the pub and wondered what was eating them, until I saw a group of immature crimson rosellas chewing the flower buds and breaking bits off the tree as they did. Every day I watch and listen for the return of the bellbirds but so far so good.
It was sunny this morning and dry underfoot after a couple of windy days. Following the good rain of a week or two back, another 50 ml plus, Melbourne's reservoirs finally started to rise instead of fall. One day they went up 2000 megalitres in a 24hr period, and for the next week they've continued to rise although the daily increase has now dwindled to about 200 meg. a day. We need more rain in the catchments to keep the flows up.
Monday, July 13, 2009
You Don't Notice What's Not There
A few weeks ago I realised I hadn't seen or heard a bellbird for a while. I didn't rush to blog about it, it may be that they're around, but quieter and less visible in early winter, when logically the aggression of these angry beasties may be reduced due to no breeding or young to protect. I meant to ask Lib and the boys if they'd seen or heard them, but kept forgetting, then when I eventually did they said they hadn't noticed their abscence.
I still haven't seen or heard one, and, as they're reputed to be nomadic, they may well return to breed soon. I live in hope they may have moved on for an extended period, giving other small birds a bit of a go, and even kookaburras, which I have heard in our immediate area in the mornings. Normally they're harrassed unmercifully by bellbirds if they venture into their territory.
I still haven't seen or heard one, and, as they're reputed to be nomadic, they may well return to breed soon. I live in hope they may have moved on for an extended period, giving other small birds a bit of a go, and even kookaburras, which I have heard in our immediate area in the mornings. Normally they're harrassed unmercifully by bellbirds if they venture into their territory.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Swelling Buds
The western slopes of hills, gullies and dips, shaded areas where the sun had not reached, and even the rooves of some houses, were white with frost this morning.
On my way up I dropped off a bottle of wine, a Taylors Clare valley cab sav, and an old book I grabbed in haste, 'Exodus' by Leon Uris, at Lance and Fiona's. I wrote a card wishing Lance happy 40th birthday. Last week on my walk I met Fiona, she invited me to the party of last Saturday 4th July, but I didn't make it. The boys and I went to the footy that day to watch the Demons beat the Eagles in a rare victory this year. Lib didn't come, she had a relapse of the flu and stayed in bed. After a busy week and the footy I was too tired to take on a party.
I don't know if Lance and Fiona are wine drinkers but if not, the wine is a gesture of good cheer and will be handy one day when they entertain. I read 'Exodus' many years ago, more than ten, and enjoyed it, although I'd have to read it again to discuss it with someone. I like historical type narrative a la Uris/Michener. If Lance isn't a reader there's no harm done, maybe Fiona is, or he can pass it on. But what better than good wine and a good book as a gesture? I already have given them plenty of honey in exchange for the English box I've picked in their garden.
Another day of bright sunshine after the frost. The trees and gardens look happy after the 50ml plus of rain over the last week. We've been picking plenty of early prunus blossom, also japonica, the allspice was a treat, and hellabores are flowering. Melbourne's water storages have at last starting going up rather than down. All is well when it rains. Rain. The Quencher. Of thirst and parched landscape. The antidote of bushfires.
I was surprised on Sunday to see the swelling buds on the lilac trees. They seem so advanced. Last Friday in Glen Binstead's garden he said the same thing, when I went there to dig up suckers under a mauve lilac, after he'd offered them to me. I left them in a bag till Sunday when I potted them, and was pleased to have 25 in total. I put them next to the white ones I dug at Huit's last winter, which are ready to plant out. The buds are big and strong looking. All too soon the spring rush.
On my way up I dropped off a bottle of wine, a Taylors Clare valley cab sav, and an old book I grabbed in haste, 'Exodus' by Leon Uris, at Lance and Fiona's. I wrote a card wishing Lance happy 40th birthday. Last week on my walk I met Fiona, she invited me to the party of last Saturday 4th July, but I didn't make it. The boys and I went to the footy that day to watch the Demons beat the Eagles in a rare victory this year. Lib didn't come, she had a relapse of the flu and stayed in bed. After a busy week and the footy I was too tired to take on a party.
I don't know if Lance and Fiona are wine drinkers but if not, the wine is a gesture of good cheer and will be handy one day when they entertain. I read 'Exodus' many years ago, more than ten, and enjoyed it, although I'd have to read it again to discuss it with someone. I like historical type narrative a la Uris/Michener. If Lance isn't a reader there's no harm done, maybe Fiona is, or he can pass it on. But what better than good wine and a good book as a gesture? I already have given them plenty of honey in exchange for the English box I've picked in their garden.
Another day of bright sunshine after the frost. The trees and gardens look happy after the 50ml plus of rain over the last week. We've been picking plenty of early prunus blossom, also japonica, the allspice was a treat, and hellabores are flowering. Melbourne's water storages have at last starting going up rather than down. All is well when it rains. Rain. The Quencher. Of thirst and parched landscape. The antidote of bushfires.
I was surprised on Sunday to see the swelling buds on the lilac trees. They seem so advanced. Last Friday in Glen Binstead's garden he said the same thing, when I went there to dig up suckers under a mauve lilac, after he'd offered them to me. I left them in a bag till Sunday when I potted them, and was pleased to have 25 in total. I put them next to the white ones I dug at Huit's last winter, which are ready to plant out. The buds are big and strong looking. All too soon the spring rush.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
A Fiery Torch
The contrast today, from yesterday morning, was extreme. Today bright sunshine, clear blue skies. Yesterday, an enveloping mist restricting vision in every direction.
It was exhilerating today as I went up Launching Place Rd. The sun, rising over the northeast hills, shone brilliantly on a liquid amber tree in Kevin and Denise Burns' garden. The tree, amazingly still holding it's leaves and 'autumn' colour, lit up in a blaze of gold and orange through to bright purple in a spectacular natural performance, reminding me what wonderful solar receptors trees are.
The little piece of Earth I call home is rejoicing in the rain of the last few days.
It was exhilerating today as I went up Launching Place Rd. The sun, rising over the northeast hills, shone brilliantly on a liquid amber tree in Kevin and Denise Burns' garden. The tree, amazingly still holding it's leaves and 'autumn' colour, lit up in a blaze of gold and orange through to bright purple in a spectacular natural performance, reminding me what wonderful solar receptors trees are.
The little piece of Earth I call home is rejoicing in the rain of the last few days.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Good Luck Jim
I like to think I met Jim Stynes once, even though it was a fleeting exchange between us. Only two sentences, as he walked past me.
"G'day mate, How're you doing?" Jim stands about 198cm in his socks, but as he spoke in his strong Irish accent, he looked up at me in my bright yellow raincoat, standing on a platform in the light rain.
"I'm good mate. Thanks. Have a good year."
Jim continued walking but I could tell he would have stopped for a yarn if I'd shown I wanted him to. As the rain was getting heavier and the crowd was dispersing, I didn't want to hold him up, especially as he'd just finished signing autographs for a queue of people in a marquee.
We were on the oval at Caulfield Grammar school, at the family day of the Melbourne Football Club early in 1999. I know what year it was, we were on our way to catch the 'Spirit of Tasmania' for a family camping holiday in the car we bought in May 1998. We dropped in on the family day on the way to Port Melbourne.
Gordon would have been thirteen years old, and he was the last person in Jim's queue. He'd been trying to muster the courage for an an hour or so to approach Jim, his favourite player, as the players mingled with fans. Shy kids like Gord can often be left out. I'd encouraged Gord a number of times to make a move, explaining that this day was all about supporters being able to mix with players and get autographs. I was determined not to spoon feed him, and do it for him. Lib and Rob were off somewhere else getting autographs, but Gord stayed close to either me or Jim.
As the rain started, the crowd thinned quickly. I reckon I was the only person with a raincoat as I stood on the temporary stage, a good vantage point for short fellas, where the players had earlier been introduced, and watched Gord jump on the end of Jim's queue when there were only three left. I was pleased he'd taken the plunge. When there was only one person ahead of him I was expecting Gord to bolt at the last minute, but he didn't.
Gord, with his back to me, stepped up to Jim with his pen and paper to be signed. Jim's mouth was moving so I could tell he was talking to Gord. As he did he looked over Gord's head in my direction, about 30 or forty feet away. I think I had a beaming smile, I was so happy Gord had met and talked to his hero, and off his own bat.
Jim shook Gord's hand and, with no more people in the queue, left the marquee and walked directly towards me, said his g'day, and kept walking. I knew Jim had seen me standing back watching and had read the situation perfectly. I was so impressed by his perception.
Jim retired that year. Melbourne's revival of 1998, when they made the prelim final with new coach Neale Daniher, and young springheeled ruckman Jeff White playing a leading role, didn't translate to 1999. Jim was a battle scarred old war horse hanging on in the hope of a premiership, but it wasn't to be. He retired before the season was out if I recall correctly.
Ten years on, I'm not surprised by the enormous achievements of Jim Stynes since his playing retirement. I sent him a Christmas card last December. I wished him all the best and thanked him for his efforts to save the MFC. I included a note, saying a friend of mine, a 92 year old lady in Gembrook, Grace Delarue, told me a couple of years ago her son finished his minor sponsorsip with Melbourne, for the reason that the club hadn't followed through on it's end of the arrangement, despite a number of requests. I always felt I should write to the President of the MFC to inform them, but I didn't get around to it. When Jim became President my intention reaffirmed but I still didn't get around to it. Jim launched the fundraising campaign which raised $3.1 million. I sent the Christmas card in a rush, disappointed I hadn't written earlier as intended. I knew the club was searching for corporate sponsorship, but my message to Jim was that if reparations hadn't been made with Grace's son, it was time it was righted.
I don't know how much, if any, my note contributed, it may have all been in the pipeline anyway, but I like to think I played a part. On our way back from holiday in March, when Lib and I pulled in to a motel in Mt. Gambier and read the Herald Sun, a sports headline gave details of new major sponsor for the MFC, none other than Delarue Tyres (distributor of Hankook Tyres). Grace's son Laurie's company had committed $2.25 million over 3 years.
We, along with thousands of others I'm sure, will be sending Jim and his family our best wishes in his current battle.
"G'day mate, How're you doing?" Jim stands about 198cm in his socks, but as he spoke in his strong Irish accent, he looked up at me in my bright yellow raincoat, standing on a platform in the light rain.
"I'm good mate. Thanks. Have a good year."
Jim continued walking but I could tell he would have stopped for a yarn if I'd shown I wanted him to. As the rain was getting heavier and the crowd was dispersing, I didn't want to hold him up, especially as he'd just finished signing autographs for a queue of people in a marquee.
We were on the oval at Caulfield Grammar school, at the family day of the Melbourne Football Club early in 1999. I know what year it was, we were on our way to catch the 'Spirit of Tasmania' for a family camping holiday in the car we bought in May 1998. We dropped in on the family day on the way to Port Melbourne.
Gordon would have been thirteen years old, and he was the last person in Jim's queue. He'd been trying to muster the courage for an an hour or so to approach Jim, his favourite player, as the players mingled with fans. Shy kids like Gord can often be left out. I'd encouraged Gord a number of times to make a move, explaining that this day was all about supporters being able to mix with players and get autographs. I was determined not to spoon feed him, and do it for him. Lib and Rob were off somewhere else getting autographs, but Gord stayed close to either me or Jim.
As the rain started, the crowd thinned quickly. I reckon I was the only person with a raincoat as I stood on the temporary stage, a good vantage point for short fellas, where the players had earlier been introduced, and watched Gord jump on the end of Jim's queue when there were only three left. I was pleased he'd taken the plunge. When there was only one person ahead of him I was expecting Gord to bolt at the last minute, but he didn't.
Gord, with his back to me, stepped up to Jim with his pen and paper to be signed. Jim's mouth was moving so I could tell he was talking to Gord. As he did he looked over Gord's head in my direction, about 30 or forty feet away. I think I had a beaming smile, I was so happy Gord had met and talked to his hero, and off his own bat.
Jim shook Gord's hand and, with no more people in the queue, left the marquee and walked directly towards me, said his g'day, and kept walking. I knew Jim had seen me standing back watching and had read the situation perfectly. I was so impressed by his perception.
Jim retired that year. Melbourne's revival of 1998, when they made the prelim final with new coach Neale Daniher, and young springheeled ruckman Jeff White playing a leading role, didn't translate to 1999. Jim was a battle scarred old war horse hanging on in the hope of a premiership, but it wasn't to be. He retired before the season was out if I recall correctly.
Ten years on, I'm not surprised by the enormous achievements of Jim Stynes since his playing retirement. I sent him a Christmas card last December. I wished him all the best and thanked him for his efforts to save the MFC. I included a note, saying a friend of mine, a 92 year old lady in Gembrook, Grace Delarue, told me a couple of years ago her son finished his minor sponsorsip with Melbourne, for the reason that the club hadn't followed through on it's end of the arrangement, despite a number of requests. I always felt I should write to the President of the MFC to inform them, but I didn't get around to it. When Jim became President my intention reaffirmed but I still didn't get around to it. Jim launched the fundraising campaign which raised $3.1 million. I sent the Christmas card in a rush, disappointed I hadn't written earlier as intended. I knew the club was searching for corporate sponsorship, but my message to Jim was that if reparations hadn't been made with Grace's son, it was time it was righted.
I don't know how much, if any, my note contributed, it may have all been in the pipeline anyway, but I like to think I played a part. On our way back from holiday in March, when Lib and I pulled in to a motel in Mt. Gambier and read the Herald Sun, a sports headline gave details of new major sponsor for the MFC, none other than Delarue Tyres (distributor of Hankook Tyres). Grace's son Laurie's company had committed $2.25 million over 3 years.
We, along with thousands of others I'm sure, will be sending Jim and his family our best wishes in his current battle.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
New Financial Year
The first of July has come with gales from the northwest. They huffed and puffed and tried to blow my house down for 24 hours. During the night, they blew over 'The Fussy Painter's' garbage bin in Launching Place Rd., spreading all manner of plastic, foodscraps, old toilet roll centres and assorted litter over about 100 metres of roadway. I'm sure he'll gather it up when he knows. I don't know him but by the way he waves and calls out "hello" I'm sure he wouldn't be the type to leave his litter in the street. He must have missed the pick up last week, or the truck simply missed his bin.
That can happen. Leo and Pat Buckley's hard waste was left on the nature strip last week, while everyone else's was collected. When they rang to report it being left behind, the contractors wouldn't believe, at first, that it was out there beforehand. There was a heated exchange. Pat hung up in the end saying, "Well, I haven't got time to argue with you about it." The contractors rang back apologizing, saying it would be collected. It's still there today.
Fortunately there are no trees down. At least the wind brought some rain with it, although, again, disappointingly, it was only 6ml. The paper this morning said that the reservoirs went down by over 700 megalitres in the 24 hours before yesterday's reading. The sky is grey and heavy without a skerrick of blue, so maybe there's a bit more to come yet in this change.
That can happen. Leo and Pat Buckley's hard waste was left on the nature strip last week, while everyone else's was collected. When they rang to report it being left behind, the contractors wouldn't believe, at first, that it was out there beforehand. There was a heated exchange. Pat hung up in the end saying, "Well, I haven't got time to argue with you about it." The contractors rang back apologizing, saying it would be collected. It's still there today.
Fortunately there are no trees down. At least the wind brought some rain with it, although, again, disappointingly, it was only 6ml. The paper this morning said that the reservoirs went down by over 700 megalitres in the 24 hours before yesterday's reading. The sky is grey and heavy without a skerrick of blue, so maybe there's a bit more to come yet in this change.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Off, On Again?
The Gembrook market of Sunday 31 May was supposedly the last. The next morning a black sticker bearing the words in white "CLOSED DOWN" had been slapped on the sign advertising the market in the main street. Both the sign, which I described recently as a blot on the streetscape, and the sticker, remain today, nearly a month later. For a while there I thought soon I'd be spared this ugliness every day as I walked past.
It unfolded that the Cardinia Shire Council's insurer had advised that some of the Council's Section 86 special committees, including the Gembrook market committee, may not be eligible for this status and therefore were not eligible for insurance coverage provided through council. The council offered to help the market committee through this to enable them totake out their own insurance but the market committee spat the dummy and ceased operation.
I heard jungledrums rumbling in the weeks before the last market. I bumped into a local chap in the newsagency who held doubts at a number of the claims and demands of the market organizers. He told me he'd been in touch with the council, about public safety in the crowded market environment, in particular the ruling by the organizers, whom he termed "market nazi's in orange coats", that the coffee vendor couldn't provide his customers with lids for the hot coffee in disposable mugs because the lids were plastic. Plastic was banned by the market committee.
"A few years ago my son nearly had his cock burnt off when he took his order at the drive-in take away window at 'X'(a high profile takeaway food chain store). The girl tipped the tray too much and the hot coffee spilled in his lap. Now he didn't take legal action but soon afterwards someone else did, and 'X' had a liability payout of $millions. Furthermore they were reqired to spend many more $millions installing temperature control for coffee at all their outlets nationwide as well as providing sturdy snap on lids. Now if I was to buy a hot coffee at the market, without a lid, and someone were to knock me in the the crowded walkway, and the coffee was to spill into a baby's pusher, who's liable for the legal ramifications."
I've wondered about public liability and local markets. As a small business operator who has members of the public coming onto our property I've had to live with high insurance premiums. The domestic household insurers will not cover our farmhouse because a business is conducted on the property, necessitating us to have commercial cover, which costs three times as much. I had always felt somewhat irritated that the market stall holders compete with us reducing our custom, but don't have the same overheads. I was not surprised the issue had finally arisen.
Moves are now afoot to bring the market back. Local MP Tammy Lobato held a meeting to try to form a new committee that would take on the insurance challenge with the assistance of council. Apparently three local bodies are interested, and the matter is being sorted through.
If they must have a market, frankly I can't see why they do although I acknowledge that the local traders have a once a month spin off, let's hope the new committee gets a new sign that's pleasant to the eye, if they indeed need a permanent sign. Couldn't it just be publicized by local newspapers and flyers and temporary posters?
And while I'm on the subject of signs, check out this one, very close to the market sign.
It's hideously ugly, and nonsensical, as most of the businesses advertised on the sign are not in Gembrook. The map of the district shows nothing in terms of Gembrook itself. It's been there for years. Crazy!
It unfolded that the Cardinia Shire Council's insurer had advised that some of the Council's Section 86 special committees, including the Gembrook market committee, may not be eligible for this status and therefore were not eligible for insurance coverage provided through council. The council offered to help the market committee through this to enable them totake out their own insurance but the market committee spat the dummy and ceased operation.
I heard jungledrums rumbling in the weeks before the last market. I bumped into a local chap in the newsagency who held doubts at a number of the claims and demands of the market organizers. He told me he'd been in touch with the council, about public safety in the crowded market environment, in particular the ruling by the organizers, whom he termed "market nazi's in orange coats", that the coffee vendor couldn't provide his customers with lids for the hot coffee in disposable mugs because the lids were plastic. Plastic was banned by the market committee.
"A few years ago my son nearly had his cock burnt off when he took his order at the drive-in take away window at 'X'(a high profile takeaway food chain store). The girl tipped the tray too much and the hot coffee spilled in his lap. Now he didn't take legal action but soon afterwards someone else did, and 'X' had a liability payout of $millions. Furthermore they were reqired to spend many more $millions installing temperature control for coffee at all their outlets nationwide as well as providing sturdy snap on lids. Now if I was to buy a hot coffee at the market, without a lid, and someone were to knock me in the the crowded walkway, and the coffee was to spill into a baby's pusher, who's liable for the legal ramifications."
I've wondered about public liability and local markets. As a small business operator who has members of the public coming onto our property I've had to live with high insurance premiums. The domestic household insurers will not cover our farmhouse because a business is conducted on the property, necessitating us to have commercial cover, which costs three times as much. I had always felt somewhat irritated that the market stall holders compete with us reducing our custom, but don't have the same overheads. I was not surprised the issue had finally arisen.
Moves are now afoot to bring the market back. Local MP Tammy Lobato held a meeting to try to form a new committee that would take on the insurance challenge with the assistance of council. Apparently three local bodies are interested, and the matter is being sorted through.
If they must have a market, frankly I can't see why they do although I acknowledge that the local traders have a once a month spin off, let's hope the new committee gets a new sign that's pleasant to the eye, if they indeed need a permanent sign. Couldn't it just be publicized by local newspapers and flyers and temporary posters?
And while I'm on the subject of signs, check out this one, very close to the market sign.
It's hideously ugly, and nonsensical, as most of the businesses advertised on the sign are not in Gembrook. The map of the district shows nothing in terms of Gembrook itself. It's been there for years. Crazy!
Friday, June 26, 2009
Blue Skies, Nothin But Blue Skies
I couldn't help but have Willie Nelson's song in mind this morning on my walk as I watched Glen Binstead mowing Grace Delarue's lawn before 8.00am. This, in the middle of winter with a pefect blue dome overhead, and dew glistening on leaves in the bright sunshine. I'd just checked the reservoir levels in the Herald Sun in the newsagency, they fell over 500 megalitres, about half what they would on a summer's day, in the the twenty four hours before yesterday's reading.
The reservoir levels used to start rising in May and continue on the up till some time in November. Here we are nearly in July, levels are at record low, and still going down big time. I can't help but feel a little depressed about it.
The reservoir levels used to start rising in May and continue on the up till some time in November. Here we are nearly in July, levels are at record low, and still going down big time. I can't help but feel a little depressed about it.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
It All Helps
We had 5ml of rain during the night, which is better than nothing, but disappointing. That seems to be the trend these days, rain often passes by or teases.
On a light note, the cartoon by Mark Knight in The Herald Sun today was a beauty. A ute driven by someone resembling Kevin Rudd and with a passenger like Wayne Swan had a bloke, a good caricature of Malcolm T, with a chain around his neck, in the back of the ute.
A lizard or some small creature on the ground had a caption, "Malcolm is back on his chain."
On a light note, the cartoon by Mark Knight in The Herald Sun today was a beauty. A ute driven by someone resembling Kevin Rudd and with a passenger like Wayne Swan had a bloke, a good caricature of Malcolm T, with a chain around his neck, in the back of the ute.
A lizard or some small creature on the ground had a caption, "Malcolm is back on his chain."
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Rain Coming ?
The clouds to the east and northeast were rosy pink on the underside of sheeting grey this morning, as I made my way up the 'dead horse' hill (apparently a draught horse dropped dead hauling a dray of timber up Quinn Rd, which was the main road before it was re routed). Very different to yesterday, there's more cloud altogether, and a nice grey colour building in the west.
If you think I have a fixation with the weather and particularly rain, you're right. I heard it said on the radio today that the 19th century was the century of the goldrush, the 20th the oil rush, is the 21st century to be that of the water rush? It could well be. Southeast Australia, and the southwest, seems to be drying out.
It worries me enormously there's so much sceptism in the community about global warming, and apathy generally, about the degrading agricultural landscape and river systems. While Rome burns, as has Victoria regularly in recent years, Nero fiddles. Our leaders today are demanding apologies and resignations in the wash of Utegate, which looks like a fizzer, by the way. Last week the papers and TV were full of the demise of 'Twopence' Moran. The week before there was outrage because there was some doubt that ACDC might not be able to use Etihad stadium for it's concerts next Febuary because of the NAB Cup. It's all pretty sick and depressing really.
I've long believed that Australia needs a massive revegetation program to repair ecological damage. Even now, with so much more pressure exerted by environmentalists, logging of old growth forests continues in Tasmania and Victoria, and the humdinger of all pulp mills is close to happening. Our record is very bad for loss of wildlife species and flora, and Australia is the highest per capita greenhouse gas emitter.
As the forests have shrunk and dried out, they catch fire regularly, and we're told last summer's destruction will be more likely in future. There's the inevitable push to control burn more native bush to save life and property, but this will further dry everything out. Farmers are going broke in northern and western Victoria while the state government announces the proposed release of thousands of hectares of agricultural land close to Melbourne for residential development. How many desal plants will be needed in twenty years?
I love rain. And trees and forests. They attract rain. We need more. They suck moisture from underground and expire into the atmosphere, they lower the salt table. Timber is still the cheapest and most environment friendly building material, yet there's a looming world wide shortage. I don't mean fire prone native trees exclusively. There are 600 different types of oaks in the world. I'm sure suitable trees could be found for a variety of purpose and use, not the least of which is absorbing carbon from the atmosphere.
I would happily pay more tax, say on petrol, another fifty cents a litre, if the money was used to create forests or regenerate vegetation on degraded land. Maybe the state government could put an emission levy on registration of cars for private use, say $1000 each. What would that raise, $3 billion annually? That'd be a good start to building new 'green' industry and green jobs in planning and management. Down the track, there'd even be a harvest.
In the meantime I'll keep watching the clouds, and praying for change.
If you think I have a fixation with the weather and particularly rain, you're right. I heard it said on the radio today that the 19th century was the century of the goldrush, the 20th the oil rush, is the 21st century to be that of the water rush? It could well be. Southeast Australia, and the southwest, seems to be drying out.
It worries me enormously there's so much sceptism in the community about global warming, and apathy generally, about the degrading agricultural landscape and river systems. While Rome burns, as has Victoria regularly in recent years, Nero fiddles. Our leaders today are demanding apologies and resignations in the wash of Utegate, which looks like a fizzer, by the way. Last week the papers and TV were full of the demise of 'Twopence' Moran. The week before there was outrage because there was some doubt that ACDC might not be able to use Etihad stadium for it's concerts next Febuary because of the NAB Cup. It's all pretty sick and depressing really.
I've long believed that Australia needs a massive revegetation program to repair ecological damage. Even now, with so much more pressure exerted by environmentalists, logging of old growth forests continues in Tasmania and Victoria, and the humdinger of all pulp mills is close to happening. Our record is very bad for loss of wildlife species and flora, and Australia is the highest per capita greenhouse gas emitter.
As the forests have shrunk and dried out, they catch fire regularly, and we're told last summer's destruction will be more likely in future. There's the inevitable push to control burn more native bush to save life and property, but this will further dry everything out. Farmers are going broke in northern and western Victoria while the state government announces the proposed release of thousands of hectares of agricultural land close to Melbourne for residential development. How many desal plants will be needed in twenty years?
I love rain. And trees and forests. They attract rain. We need more. They suck moisture from underground and expire into the atmosphere, they lower the salt table. Timber is still the cheapest and most environment friendly building material, yet there's a looming world wide shortage. I don't mean fire prone native trees exclusively. There are 600 different types of oaks in the world. I'm sure suitable trees could be found for a variety of purpose and use, not the least of which is absorbing carbon from the atmosphere.
I would happily pay more tax, say on petrol, another fifty cents a litre, if the money was used to create forests or regenerate vegetation on degraded land. Maybe the state government could put an emission levy on registration of cars for private use, say $1000 each. What would that raise, $3 billion annually? That'd be a good start to building new 'green' industry and green jobs in planning and management. Down the track, there'd even be a harvest.
In the meantime I'll keep watching the clouds, and praying for change.
Monday, June 22, 2009
A Good Start To The Week
June 22 rings no bells for me historically. Today, days start getting longer. Meryl Streep's birthday, I heard. Utegate day, someone said on the morning news.
As I walked down Launching Place Rd. earlier the sun was bright and in my face, the sky above clear and blue, and a grey mist lay low in the Shepherd's Creek valley where the sun had not yet reached. Soon, large pine trees shielded my eyes fom the sun allowing me a good look at the magnificent vista in the distance. In an otherwise cloudless sky, grey and white masses sat on the Warburton Ranges, meshing together to resemble snow covered Andes peaks. The only give away was odd white shapes billowing up here and there like giant puffs.
Clouds are often spectacular. I should cloud gaze more often. There's something reassuring about them, I think we all spent time looking at them when we were kids.
So maybe we lose Ruddy today, maybe Teasurer Swan, maybe Malcolm T. We'll see. The clouds will roll on. No doubt The Universe is unfolding as it should.
Where have all the rainclouds gone?
As I walked down Launching Place Rd. earlier the sun was bright and in my face, the sky above clear and blue, and a grey mist lay low in the Shepherd's Creek valley where the sun had not yet reached. Soon, large pine trees shielded my eyes fom the sun allowing me a good look at the magnificent vista in the distance. In an otherwise cloudless sky, grey and white masses sat on the Warburton Ranges, meshing together to resemble snow covered Andes peaks. The only give away was odd white shapes billowing up here and there like giant puffs.
Clouds are often spectacular. I should cloud gaze more often. There's something reassuring about them, I think we all spent time looking at them when we were kids.
So maybe we lose Ruddy today, maybe Teasurer Swan, maybe Malcolm T. We'll see. The clouds will roll on. No doubt The Universe is unfolding as it should.
Where have all the rainclouds gone?
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
El Nino Blow
That's the headline on today's The Weekly Times. In smaller print is 'Farmers Brace for Continuing Drought'.
Two weeks ago I took out a year's subscription, mainly to get the inducement offer of 'The Cook's Book' which is a ripper. I was so pleased to see an article in the first weeks subscription, stating that Japanese scientists were predicting a wetter than average winter and spring for Victoria, that I cut it out and took it to the farm where Meredith stuck it on the fridge. In the next week we had 50ml of rain and farmers in the wheat growing areas had the same or more and all was optimism.
Now, Professor Yamagata says the readings now say the El Nino will kill the rain inducing Indian Ocean Dipole event which was previously forecast. Talk about being set up to be shot down. With Melbourne's reservoirs showing 25.8 full, that's more than 3% lower than the lowest figure last year, and still going down, the prospect of a dry winter and spring is a hideous one, for city dwellers, small business and farmers alike.
Two weeks ago I took out a year's subscription, mainly to get the inducement offer of 'The Cook's Book' which is a ripper. I was so pleased to see an article in the first weeks subscription, stating that Japanese scientists were predicting a wetter than average winter and spring for Victoria, that I cut it out and took it to the farm where Meredith stuck it on the fridge. In the next week we had 50ml of rain and farmers in the wheat growing areas had the same or more and all was optimism.
Now, Professor Yamagata says the readings now say the El Nino will kill the rain inducing Indian Ocean Dipole event which was previously forecast. Talk about being set up to be shot down. With Melbourne's reservoirs showing 25.8 full, that's more than 3% lower than the lowest figure last year, and still going down, the prospect of a dry winter and spring is a hideous one, for city dwellers, small business and farmers alike.
Monday, June 15, 2009
You Never Know What's Coming
Young Pip, who is two years old this June, yesterday managed to get herself a bellyful of snailbait. I left her at the vet's in Avonsleigh about 6.20 pm on a drip with the prognosis to take home to Lib and the boys that she had a better than 50% chance. It happened all so accidently and easily, but it was my fault.
The whole trauma up to 6.20 when I left her at the vet's, was played out inside two hours, but the tale has it's origin a week ago, last Monday. I went into the vegie garden at the farm to see how my broccoli plants were going. I'd planted a batch of seedlings out, another week earlier, and we'd had 50ml of much needed rain since, so I was expecting them to be thriving. Not so. 90% of them were chewed off almost at ground level, obviously by a rabbit.
A gardener so much enjoys seeing the progress of his labours, especially when you grow things from seed and nurture them through dryspells and caterpillar and slug attack. To make it worse, there was a rabbit fence around the vegie garden but someone who worked for us in recent times, while doing a clean out in the garden, had cut a hole in the fence so that he had less distance to walk pushing his wheelbarrow, rather than to walk further each trip to the gate at the lower end.
When I got back into the garden this autumn there didn't seem to be any rabbits around so I also made use of the hole in the fence rather than spend ten minutes putting the rabbit wire back up. This I now regret. I fixed the fence. I scrounged around at home and found enough seedlings left over, previously thought to be inferior, and took them to the farm with me last Friday. Toward the end of the day in fading light I planted them out, somewhat soothing the disappointment caused by the rabbit. Last thing, almost in darkness, I threw some snail pellets around them, thinking I couldn't stand it if slugs and snails ate the next lot. I usually use the 'dog safe' type, especially at home where there are dogs, but not having any on board I used some 'Baysol blue' that I found in the farm shed.
Pleased to be finished I put the tin of the remaining snail bait in my toolbox in the van and dashed off to do some shopping. I'd arranged with Karen at the Gembrook Pizza shop to pick up, at 6.30pm, two pizzas and 3 serves of cannelloni that Lib loves, I was on schedule. Rob had had an exam that day and was crook as a dog with the flu and crashed to bed, but the rest of us enjoyed our Friday night takeaway, sitting by the fire and watching TV.
Unusually, I didn't use the van on Saturday. I poked around home getting firewood into the shed and having a rest. I used Lib's car to go up the street, and check Vilma's garden. Despite it being a windy night the grass was too wet at Vilma's to spray under her blueberries. Sunday I woke up with a burning throat, the dreaded lurgie that Lib and Rob had already had. I didn't even do my morning walk. Lib went to work at 6.30 am and I went back to bed. Feeling a bit crook when I got up, I stayed inside and wrote my letter to Phil Allchin in WA and did the vegies for the Sunday roast etc. It had been my plan to go to the farm and put some string around the broad beans to hold them up, so when Lib came home and with the fire going and firewood in, I thought I'd make up for the dogs missing their morning walk and take them to the farm for a run.
I loaded them into the van at 4.30., stopped at the post box outside Sal's supermarket on the way to post my letter, and had a chat for five minutes to Gary and Anita Stephens who were mowing and cutting back outside the physio's clinic. Anita said she would rake up all her autumn leaves into bags for me as she has done for a couple of decades, with the exception of the last couple of years following her car accident. At the farm, the dogs ran about outside the vegie garden trying to sniff out rabbits, having a lovely time, while I tied up the broadies and threw the ash from my fireplace around the pansies and silverbeet.
The days are so short now, light was fading, I looked about for the dogs to get them in the van. Pip was about twenty feet away, looking like she was trying to do a toilet. Her movements were odd, her back was arching jerkily. I thought she might be constipated. I went over, I could see no bowel motion on the ground. She went to the van, not jumping up as she usually does. I picked her up, she was shaking. I drove to the house to see Elvie and Meredith and fill up a few jars of honey. I told them something was wrong with Pip, I didn't know if it was serious, maybe it was, maybe a bowel obstruction or something life threatening. On Sunday evening, bugger it.
I rang Tom, our Gembrook vet. A recorded message said he was unavailable till Monday, and in emergency ring the Avonsleigh vet or Cranbourne. A young lady, Fiona at Avonsleiegh, said she would be at the clinic at 5.45pm, somebody was coming in to pick up a dog, she would need to talk to them and would see us at 6.00pm. "Are you aware it will be an out of hours fee?" I went back to the van. Pip was in full tremors and dribbling at the mouth, and bum, frothy dribble. Her abdomen was so tight and her back half as stiff as a board. She lay in a gap between two boxes, seemingly in great pain. Now her tongue was hanging out.
I went to the Avonsleigh vet and spent ten agonizing minutes while the vet and a lady picking up a German shepherd with a bucket on it's head discussed what she was do when she got the dog home. The lady asked the same question six times using different words, the vet gave the same answer six times. I nearly yelled out, "My fucking dog is dying while you are talking." I didn't, I didn't want to alienate the person who could help me. Pip had staggered to her feet, as if in a last ditch panic, and made a convulsive arch, while the vet asked me my address and tapped at her computer. Little Pip, with a huge effort, or so it looked, spewed up a big blue vomit. I'd fed the dogs before we'd left home, knowing it'd be dark when we got back. Much of her evening meal was on the floor, died blue by what was now obviously blue snail bait. She'd found the tin in my tool box, probably bored when I'd stopped to talk to Anita and Gary, if she hadn't already while I was driving. I had totally forgotten I'd put it there the previous Friday.
We went into the vet's rooms. Fiona gave Pip three injections, one to help the heart keep working, one to calm her muscles, and another to help her spew more, which she did. The senior vet John Hamilton turned up and he and Fiona put Pip on the drip and explained to me how deadly that blue shit is with dogs. It can cause blindness and brain damage if it doesn't kill them. It affects the nervous system. It was fortunate I'd fed her before she ate it, that diluted it and slowed its absorption. I think it probably helped her spew too.
I rang the vet this morning at 8.30 as instructed, then Lib to tell her the good news. Pip survived the night, she showed no obvious damage, and should be OK. After a long night and a sad walk in the morning with just 'Snow', I couldn't have been more relieved if I was on death row and given a reprieve.
The whole trauma up to 6.20 when I left her at the vet's, was played out inside two hours, but the tale has it's origin a week ago, last Monday. I went into the vegie garden at the farm to see how my broccoli plants were going. I'd planted a batch of seedlings out, another week earlier, and we'd had 50ml of much needed rain since, so I was expecting them to be thriving. Not so. 90% of them were chewed off almost at ground level, obviously by a rabbit.
A gardener so much enjoys seeing the progress of his labours, especially when you grow things from seed and nurture them through dryspells and caterpillar and slug attack. To make it worse, there was a rabbit fence around the vegie garden but someone who worked for us in recent times, while doing a clean out in the garden, had cut a hole in the fence so that he had less distance to walk pushing his wheelbarrow, rather than to walk further each trip to the gate at the lower end.
When I got back into the garden this autumn there didn't seem to be any rabbits around so I also made use of the hole in the fence rather than spend ten minutes putting the rabbit wire back up. This I now regret. I fixed the fence. I scrounged around at home and found enough seedlings left over, previously thought to be inferior, and took them to the farm with me last Friday. Toward the end of the day in fading light I planted them out, somewhat soothing the disappointment caused by the rabbit. Last thing, almost in darkness, I threw some snail pellets around them, thinking I couldn't stand it if slugs and snails ate the next lot. I usually use the 'dog safe' type, especially at home where there are dogs, but not having any on board I used some 'Baysol blue' that I found in the farm shed.
Pleased to be finished I put the tin of the remaining snail bait in my toolbox in the van and dashed off to do some shopping. I'd arranged with Karen at the Gembrook Pizza shop to pick up, at 6.30pm, two pizzas and 3 serves of cannelloni that Lib loves, I was on schedule. Rob had had an exam that day and was crook as a dog with the flu and crashed to bed, but the rest of us enjoyed our Friday night takeaway, sitting by the fire and watching TV.
Unusually, I didn't use the van on Saturday. I poked around home getting firewood into the shed and having a rest. I used Lib's car to go up the street, and check Vilma's garden. Despite it being a windy night the grass was too wet at Vilma's to spray under her blueberries. Sunday I woke up with a burning throat, the dreaded lurgie that Lib and Rob had already had. I didn't even do my morning walk. Lib went to work at 6.30 am and I went back to bed. Feeling a bit crook when I got up, I stayed inside and wrote my letter to Phil Allchin in WA and did the vegies for the Sunday roast etc. It had been my plan to go to the farm and put some string around the broad beans to hold them up, so when Lib came home and with the fire going and firewood in, I thought I'd make up for the dogs missing their morning walk and take them to the farm for a run.
I loaded them into the van at 4.30., stopped at the post box outside Sal's supermarket on the way to post my letter, and had a chat for five minutes to Gary and Anita Stephens who were mowing and cutting back outside the physio's clinic. Anita said she would rake up all her autumn leaves into bags for me as she has done for a couple of decades, with the exception of the last couple of years following her car accident. At the farm, the dogs ran about outside the vegie garden trying to sniff out rabbits, having a lovely time, while I tied up the broadies and threw the ash from my fireplace around the pansies and silverbeet.
The days are so short now, light was fading, I looked about for the dogs to get them in the van. Pip was about twenty feet away, looking like she was trying to do a toilet. Her movements were odd, her back was arching jerkily. I thought she might be constipated. I went over, I could see no bowel motion on the ground. She went to the van, not jumping up as she usually does. I picked her up, she was shaking. I drove to the house to see Elvie and Meredith and fill up a few jars of honey. I told them something was wrong with Pip, I didn't know if it was serious, maybe it was, maybe a bowel obstruction or something life threatening. On Sunday evening, bugger it.
I rang Tom, our Gembrook vet. A recorded message said he was unavailable till Monday, and in emergency ring the Avonsleigh vet or Cranbourne. A young lady, Fiona at Avonsleiegh, said she would be at the clinic at 5.45pm, somebody was coming in to pick up a dog, she would need to talk to them and would see us at 6.00pm. "Are you aware it will be an out of hours fee?" I went back to the van. Pip was in full tremors and dribbling at the mouth, and bum, frothy dribble. Her abdomen was so tight and her back half as stiff as a board. She lay in a gap between two boxes, seemingly in great pain. Now her tongue was hanging out.
I went to the Avonsleigh vet and spent ten agonizing minutes while the vet and a lady picking up a German shepherd with a bucket on it's head discussed what she was do when she got the dog home. The lady asked the same question six times using different words, the vet gave the same answer six times. I nearly yelled out, "My fucking dog is dying while you are talking." I didn't, I didn't want to alienate the person who could help me. Pip had staggered to her feet, as if in a last ditch panic, and made a convulsive arch, while the vet asked me my address and tapped at her computer. Little Pip, with a huge effort, or so it looked, spewed up a big blue vomit. I'd fed the dogs before we'd left home, knowing it'd be dark when we got back. Much of her evening meal was on the floor, died blue by what was now obviously blue snail bait. She'd found the tin in my tool box, probably bored when I'd stopped to talk to Anita and Gary, if she hadn't already while I was driving. I had totally forgotten I'd put it there the previous Friday.
We went into the vet's rooms. Fiona gave Pip three injections, one to help the heart keep working, one to calm her muscles, and another to help her spew more, which she did. The senior vet John Hamilton turned up and he and Fiona put Pip on the drip and explained to me how deadly that blue shit is with dogs. It can cause blindness and brain damage if it doesn't kill them. It affects the nervous system. It was fortunate I'd fed her before she ate it, that diluted it and slowed its absorption. I think it probably helped her spew too.
I rang the vet this morning at 8.30 as instructed, then Lib to tell her the good news. Pip survived the night, she showed no obvious damage, and should be OK. After a long night and a sad walk in the morning with just 'Snow', I couldn't have been more relieved if I was on death row and given a reprieve.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Old Soldiers
I've had little time to post lately. Not that I've been short of ideas; I have too many going around in the conscious and subconscious, if I could focus on one at a time it would be better. I wrote a letter today to an old mate of Lib's dad. I'll copy it here as it'll help me learn how to do things and also it may be interesting to some. It will be self explanatory.
Dear Phil,
Glenda Salter, daughter of George Atchison, told me, after she spoke to you on the phone recently, that you were interested in my relationship with Bill Meek, and also that you would like some news of Bill’s widow Molly. Glenda told me you’d written to Jack Cullen who lives in Wangaratta and sees Molly regularly, but she thought I may like to write to you personally, which I’m pleased to do.
I first met Bill in 1979 or early 1980, in Wangaratta, where I worked for the Dep’t of Agriculture as an apiary inspector. Bill’s youngest daughter Libby was a nurse at the Wangaratta Base Hospital and had a nurse friend who lived in the same block of flats as me, near the hospital. We met when Lib visited her friend, and a friendship grew as we met at social functions, as you do in a country town.
Lib was planning to do a trip to the U.S. early in 1980 with the friend who lived two doors from me. Lib had relatives in Canada and California and her older sisters had been over to see them previously so it was high on Lib’s priorities to also do the OS thing. Before they had made concrete bookings, Lib’s friend pulled out. Lib was disappointed when I visited her at her flat she shared with another nurse. She said she would go alone.
I had been to the US and Mexico with two mates on a holiday the previous year and frankly, had found US cities, especially downtown bus stations, a bit scary, but having enjoyed the travel and not liking to think of Lib over there alone, I said I’d go with her if she’d like. So it was some time before our May 1980 trip that I met Bill and Molly, with them keen to meet the person who was to accompany Lib to America. Molly had retired from her secretarial work at the WBH and Bill was semi-retired, still working from home as a stockbroker’s agent, but scaling down.
Well thirty years have passed so quickly. Lib and I were married on 31 Jan 1981 in the church opposite Brown Bros winery (Ed's note- how appropriate!) followed by a reception at ‘The Old Emu’ restaurant in Milawa. In the almost twenty years I was fortunate to have Bill as a father-in-law I found him to be one of the most pleasant people I’ve ever met; always calm, good natured and considerate of others. He was devoted to Molly. Lib’s sisters, Margaret and Pat, in Bairnsdale and Bendigo, have enjoyed successful marriages and raised families, with their now adult children making their way in the world. Lib and I left Wangaratta in 1981 and moved to Gembrook, where we reside still with our two adult boys, Gordon and Robbie. Gord is doing horticulture at TAFE and Rob biotechnology at Monash Uni. I am in a family herb/flower/foliage farm/nursery business at Emerald and Lib still nurses.
Since Bill died in 2000 Molly has battled on remarkably well. She turned 90 last January, and has struggled lately with an infected leg and other ills associated with old age, eg. osteoporosis, arthritis and poor circulation. Her mind is still as sharp as ever and she remains a great conversationalist with a wealth of knowledge. We saw her in Wang recently, she was in hospital recovering from the leg infection. Before this year’s reunion, Gunny Waddell and Jack Cullen took Moll and her neighbour Nell, also a widow, out to lunch to a restaurant/cafe in the King Valley somewhere. Gunny drove them, and insisted on paying. They had a lovely day. Unfortunately Molly gave her leg a slight knock on the car door which broke the skin and led to the infection. She’s home now. I’ll tell her of course that I’ve written to you.
I met George Atchison's sister, Ida Pullar, in Gembrook in 1995. A couple of years into our friendship we discovered that my father-in-law Bill Meek spent five years in the army in the same unit as George and Ron Atchison (who had already passed away). Consequently I became good friends with George and his daughter Glenda, Ida’s niece. I’ve met Jack Cullen a number of times, he was headmaster at Wang High School when Lib was a student there and I met Gunny Waddell at Bill’s funeral.
I see in Bill’s notes about his war years that he met you, Phil, at Puckapunyal in 1940- nearly seventy years ago. He mentioned that you went to Brighton Grammar, as he had. I hope this letter arrives with you in good health. I’d be thrilled to receive a reply giving a brief outline of your life since WW2, if you are up to it. I’ve only been to WA once, in 2004. I would have looked you up had I known of you.
Glenda says Lib and I would be most welcome at the next reunion, 24 April 2010. Glenda met your daughters at this year's. I hope Lib and I can get there to meet Glenda and your daughters.
Dear Phil,
Glenda Salter, daughter of George Atchison, told me, after she spoke to you on the phone recently, that you were interested in my relationship with Bill Meek, and also that you would like some news of Bill’s widow Molly. Glenda told me you’d written to Jack Cullen who lives in Wangaratta and sees Molly regularly, but she thought I may like to write to you personally, which I’m pleased to do.
I first met Bill in 1979 or early 1980, in Wangaratta, where I worked for the Dep’t of Agriculture as an apiary inspector. Bill’s youngest daughter Libby was a nurse at the Wangaratta Base Hospital and had a nurse friend who lived in the same block of flats as me, near the hospital. We met when Lib visited her friend, and a friendship grew as we met at social functions, as you do in a country town.
Lib was planning to do a trip to the U.S. early in 1980 with the friend who lived two doors from me. Lib had relatives in Canada and California and her older sisters had been over to see them previously so it was high on Lib’s priorities to also do the OS thing. Before they had made concrete bookings, Lib’s friend pulled out. Lib was disappointed when I visited her at her flat she shared with another nurse. She said she would go alone.
I had been to the US and Mexico with two mates on a holiday the previous year and frankly, had found US cities, especially downtown bus stations, a bit scary, but having enjoyed the travel and not liking to think of Lib over there alone, I said I’d go with her if she’d like. So it was some time before our May 1980 trip that I met Bill and Molly, with them keen to meet the person who was to accompany Lib to America. Molly had retired from her secretarial work at the WBH and Bill was semi-retired, still working from home as a stockbroker’s agent, but scaling down.
Well thirty years have passed so quickly. Lib and I were married on 31 Jan 1981 in the church opposite Brown Bros winery (Ed's note- how appropriate!) followed by a reception at ‘The Old Emu’ restaurant in Milawa. In the almost twenty years I was fortunate to have Bill as a father-in-law I found him to be one of the most pleasant people I’ve ever met; always calm, good natured and considerate of others. He was devoted to Molly. Lib’s sisters, Margaret and Pat, in Bairnsdale and Bendigo, have enjoyed successful marriages and raised families, with their now adult children making their way in the world. Lib and I left Wangaratta in 1981 and moved to Gembrook, where we reside still with our two adult boys, Gordon and Robbie. Gord is doing horticulture at TAFE and Rob biotechnology at Monash Uni. I am in a family herb/flower/foliage farm/nursery business at Emerald and Lib still nurses.
Since Bill died in 2000 Molly has battled on remarkably well. She turned 90 last January, and has struggled lately with an infected leg and other ills associated with old age, eg. osteoporosis, arthritis and poor circulation. Her mind is still as sharp as ever and she remains a great conversationalist with a wealth of knowledge. We saw her in Wang recently, she was in hospital recovering from the leg infection. Before this year’s reunion, Gunny Waddell and Jack Cullen took Moll and her neighbour Nell, also a widow, out to lunch to a restaurant/cafe in the King Valley somewhere. Gunny drove them, and insisted on paying. They had a lovely day. Unfortunately Molly gave her leg a slight knock on the car door which broke the skin and led to the infection. She’s home now. I’ll tell her of course that I’ve written to you.
I met George Atchison's sister, Ida Pullar, in Gembrook in 1995. A couple of years into our friendship we discovered that my father-in-law Bill Meek spent five years in the army in the same unit as George and Ron Atchison (who had already passed away). Consequently I became good friends with George and his daughter Glenda, Ida’s niece. I’ve met Jack Cullen a number of times, he was headmaster at Wang High School when Lib was a student there and I met Gunny Waddell at Bill’s funeral.
I see in Bill’s notes about his war years that he met you, Phil, at Puckapunyal in 1940- nearly seventy years ago. He mentioned that you went to Brighton Grammar, as he had. I hope this letter arrives with you in good health. I’d be thrilled to receive a reply giving a brief outline of your life since WW2, if you are up to it. I’ve only been to WA once, in 2004. I would have looked you up had I known of you.
Glenda says Lib and I would be most welcome at the next reunion, 24 April 2010. Glenda met your daughters at this year's. I hope Lib and I can get there to meet Glenda and your daughters.
Monday, June 01, 2009
Gardiners Creek
Carmel, the charming new owner of 'Pandora's Book Cafe' in Gembrook, grew up on a farm outside Wangaratta, where she learned to cook good wholesome food. She left for the 'big smoke', as many young country people do, when she was 18, then went back home to Wang for a decade, if I recall correctly, before recently moving south again.
I was in 'Pandora's' on Saturday when I spotted a book as I browsed, waiting for my soup. The 'History of Camberwell', or close to that, was the title, by Geoffrey Blainey. I read the first few pages, it triggering a myriad of memories while I indulged the tomato and bacon soup with crispy buttered toast.
I spent a fair bit of time playing in Gardiners Creek as a child. Not as much as my my mother did; she grew up in Ashburton, 9 Donald St, a couple of stone throws east of the creek. When her parents moved there in the 1920's, their house was the first in the street and in the immediate vicinity. They were surrounded by paddocks. Elvie was their third child and only daughter, born in 1928.
Mum tells me the west side of the creek was swampy flatland that flooded when the creek, normally a gentle trickle, rose and spilled over it's deep banks. As the water subsided in the weeks following, various ponds remained, 20 or 30 feet long, scattered all along the flat. This was the 1930's, Elv's childhood. There were always tadpoles in these ponds. The creek and ponds provided a natural playground for kids and a haven for waterbirds like ducks, ibis, cranes and coots. In the trees and scrub there were crows, magpies, peewees, currawongs, robins and bluewrens.
This swampland had become sportsfields by the late 1950's and early '60's when I used to play in the creek, usually with Meredith, mum having dropped us off at her mum's on Saturdays and during school holidays on her way to her shop in Sth.Yarra. Jod, a bit older, was left at home in Mt.Waverley, roaming the bush and countryside looking for bird's eggs with his mates.
In our play in the creek we made dams and diverted water into holes we'd dug, making 'milk', the creek bed being a white clay that easily made the water look milky. We'd go back to nanna's house for lunch followed by an explore in her garden, or finding worms for the chooks, before the lure of the creek called us back. If the water was high we weren't allowed in, with strict orders to stand well back away from the footbridge to watch the torrent. The footbridge washed away a number of times in mum's day.
All these years later, sitting in 'Pandora's Book Cafe' reading Blainey's book, I learned where Gardiners Creek got its name. Not long after the aborigines that hunted possums, kangaroo and wallaby in the grasslands and black and teal ducks in the swamps first saw the white sails of a schooner in the river and tents along the bank, John Gardiner, a pastoralist from Tasmania brought a thousand sheep across Bass Strait. A storm caused the loss overboard of 130 sheep and drove the ship ashore well short. Gardiner walked overland to 'Bearbrass', around Western Port Bay.
He explored up river and found the grazing land so impressive he teamed up with his ship's captain to drive a mob of sheep overland from southern NSW, no longer wanting to risk Bass Strait. He was probably the first white man to build a residence in the area, somewhere near where Scotch College stands today. Around 1840, there were 4000 people in the new colony. There was a real estate boom as land was sold off around what is now inner Melbourne. Auctions were flooded with bids, prices went up and up, such was buyer confidence, before the hammer closed the sale to the bravest speculator.
My parents were married in the Gardiner Church of Christ in 1948. My father played footy for their football team in the eastern suburbs churches comp. I used to change from the train to the tram at Gardiner station when I attended Camberwell Grammar. Both sets of grandparents lived in the area all their married lives. My parents grew up there. Somehow it was nice to find out the origin of the name Gardiner. I asked mum did she know. She didn't and was glad to hear.
I checked the Melways to see the start and finish of Gardiners Creek. Upstream from where I used to play as a kid it meanders through Ashburton and Burwood and seems to start near the intersection of Middleborough and Canterbury Rds, in Wembley Park Boxhill. Maybe its creation is a rising spring or confluence of a number of small ones. It's something I'll explore one day when I'm in Melbourne. Downstream from Darling/Asburton it runs into the Yarra at Heyington.
In the 170 years since John Gardiner brought his sheep to graze on the banks of what was to become Gardiners Creek, the 4000 population of 'Bearbrass' has become nearly 4 million, of a Melbourne stretching from Pakenham to Melton and beyond. Strewth!
Give Carmel's soup a go, and have a browse of the books. You won't be sorry.
I was in 'Pandora's' on Saturday when I spotted a book as I browsed, waiting for my soup. The 'History of Camberwell', or close to that, was the title, by Geoffrey Blainey. I read the first few pages, it triggering a myriad of memories while I indulged the tomato and bacon soup with crispy buttered toast.
I spent a fair bit of time playing in Gardiners Creek as a child. Not as much as my my mother did; she grew up in Ashburton, 9 Donald St, a couple of stone throws east of the creek. When her parents moved there in the 1920's, their house was the first in the street and in the immediate vicinity. They were surrounded by paddocks. Elvie was their third child and only daughter, born in 1928.
Mum tells me the west side of the creek was swampy flatland that flooded when the creek, normally a gentle trickle, rose and spilled over it's deep banks. As the water subsided in the weeks following, various ponds remained, 20 or 30 feet long, scattered all along the flat. This was the 1930's, Elv's childhood. There were always tadpoles in these ponds. The creek and ponds provided a natural playground for kids and a haven for waterbirds like ducks, ibis, cranes and coots. In the trees and scrub there were crows, magpies, peewees, currawongs, robins and bluewrens.
This swampland had become sportsfields by the late 1950's and early '60's when I used to play in the creek, usually with Meredith, mum having dropped us off at her mum's on Saturdays and during school holidays on her way to her shop in Sth.Yarra. Jod, a bit older, was left at home in Mt.Waverley, roaming the bush and countryside looking for bird's eggs with his mates.
In our play in the creek we made dams and diverted water into holes we'd dug, making 'milk', the creek bed being a white clay that easily made the water look milky. We'd go back to nanna's house for lunch followed by an explore in her garden, or finding worms for the chooks, before the lure of the creek called us back. If the water was high we weren't allowed in, with strict orders to stand well back away from the footbridge to watch the torrent. The footbridge washed away a number of times in mum's day.
All these years later, sitting in 'Pandora's Book Cafe' reading Blainey's book, I learned where Gardiners Creek got its name. Not long after the aborigines that hunted possums, kangaroo and wallaby in the grasslands and black and teal ducks in the swamps first saw the white sails of a schooner in the river and tents along the bank, John Gardiner, a pastoralist from Tasmania brought a thousand sheep across Bass Strait. A storm caused the loss overboard of 130 sheep and drove the ship ashore well short. Gardiner walked overland to 'Bearbrass', around Western Port Bay.
He explored up river and found the grazing land so impressive he teamed up with his ship's captain to drive a mob of sheep overland from southern NSW, no longer wanting to risk Bass Strait. He was probably the first white man to build a residence in the area, somewhere near where Scotch College stands today. Around 1840, there were 4000 people in the new colony. There was a real estate boom as land was sold off around what is now inner Melbourne. Auctions were flooded with bids, prices went up and up, such was buyer confidence, before the hammer closed the sale to the bravest speculator.
My parents were married in the Gardiner Church of Christ in 1948. My father played footy for their football team in the eastern suburbs churches comp. I used to change from the train to the tram at Gardiner station when I attended Camberwell Grammar. Both sets of grandparents lived in the area all their married lives. My parents grew up there. Somehow it was nice to find out the origin of the name Gardiner. I asked mum did she know. She didn't and was glad to hear.
I checked the Melways to see the start and finish of Gardiners Creek. Upstream from where I used to play as a kid it meanders through Ashburton and Burwood and seems to start near the intersection of Middleborough and Canterbury Rds, in Wembley Park Boxhill. Maybe its creation is a rising spring or confluence of a number of small ones. It's something I'll explore one day when I'm in Melbourne. Downstream from Darling/Asburton it runs into the Yarra at Heyington.
In the 170 years since John Gardiner brought his sheep to graze on the banks of what was to become Gardiners Creek, the 4000 population of 'Bearbrass' has become nearly 4 million, of a Melbourne stretching from Pakenham to Melton and beyond. Strewth!
Give Carmel's soup a go, and have a browse of the books. You won't be sorry.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The First Lady's First Boyfriend
Last Thursday, at an extraordinary meeting of the Emerald Museum and Nobelius Heritage Park committee, I was elected president. Since our AGM last August two presidents have resigned, the first before Christmas, and after stepping from VP to President, the second a couple of weeks ago. I was the only member at the meeting willing to step into the breech.
There's another AGM in a couple of months so my presidency may well be shortlived. Whilst it's not something I sought, I'm not unhappy to do it, if not only because as president I can now officially refer to my good wife Elizabeth as my first lady, a title to which she's most deserving.
Now also, I can reveal a little known fact about my first lady, who happens to be an avid fan of singer/songwriter/poet Leonard Cohen. I think she finds him the most attractive man alive. It must be an intellectual thing because he's 75 and while his hair may not be as white as mine, man, have you seen the hooter. But try as I might I just cannot match him with the poetry, in fact I've almost given up trying to write even the most basic verse. It escapes me totally.
My first lady was given a Leonard Cohen DVD at Christmas by her sister Margaret, who can be my second lady anytime she likes, and our friends John and Raylynn (another in the running for second lady), cultured people who regularly holiday in France and with a similar love of music, gave her another DVD recently titled 'Leonard Cohen Live in London.'
So the husky tones of this amazing man with such power over women regularly resonates from our house into the trees and hillsides of Gembrook. The first of these DVD's has a collection of other artists singing Cohen songs including James Wainwright and one of the McGarrigle daughters and a fellow with a similar voice and style to Cohen, Nick Cave.
This is the good bit, and may partly explain the trance like state Lib enters while listening to Cohen. Nick Cave, the Nick Cave, was Lib's first boyfriend. They were in the same year at Wangaratta High School. My first lady told me the other night she remembers walking down Phillipson St. hand in hand with Nick Cave after school, when they were in Form 2, now called Year 8.
How about that!
There's another AGM in a couple of months so my presidency may well be shortlived. Whilst it's not something I sought, I'm not unhappy to do it, if not only because as president I can now officially refer to my good wife Elizabeth as my first lady, a title to which she's most deserving.
Now also, I can reveal a little known fact about my first lady, who happens to be an avid fan of singer/songwriter/poet Leonard Cohen. I think she finds him the most attractive man alive. It must be an intellectual thing because he's 75 and while his hair may not be as white as mine, man, have you seen the hooter. But try as I might I just cannot match him with the poetry, in fact I've almost given up trying to write even the most basic verse. It escapes me totally.
My first lady was given a Leonard Cohen DVD at Christmas by her sister Margaret, who can be my second lady anytime she likes, and our friends John and Raylynn (another in the running for second lady), cultured people who regularly holiday in France and with a similar love of music, gave her another DVD recently titled 'Leonard Cohen Live in London.'
So the husky tones of this amazing man with such power over women regularly resonates from our house into the trees and hillsides of Gembrook. The first of these DVD's has a collection of other artists singing Cohen songs including James Wainwright and one of the McGarrigle daughters and a fellow with a similar voice and style to Cohen, Nick Cave.
This is the good bit, and may partly explain the trance like state Lib enters while listening to Cohen. Nick Cave, the Nick Cave, was Lib's first boyfriend. They were in the same year at Wangaratta High School. My first lady told me the other night she remembers walking down Phillipson St. hand in hand with Nick Cave after school, when they were in Form 2, now called Year 8.
How about that!
Monday, May 25, 2009
Grow Old Along With Me
About three weeks ago, I took the Emerald U3A horticulture group on a tour of Chamomile Farm and gave a talk. The easiest way to do this was to relate the history of the farm the changes to our business over the years.
If you don't know, U3A is University of the 3rd Age, a learning facility where older people can study a wide range of things from music to horticulture to philosophy, in a relaxed environment. I like the idea, as it's learning for the sake of learning, rather than qualification. It was a useful exercise for me too. Sometimes to stop and think about the past, and changes over the years, helps focus on the direction of the future. The talk went something like this.
My parents bought our 6.5 acres at Emerald in 1971, in what would now perhaps be called a tree change. The land was a treeless paddock previously used for growing potatos. The intention was to grow trees for foliage for the florist industry in which both mum and dad had been involved for more than a decade, in a shop in Sth. Yarra.
With their youngest child, sister Meredith, in her last year of secondary schooling and sons Jod and yours truly in full time employment, the project quickly gathered momentum and the family home in Mt Waverley was sold to fund the project of building a new dream house, one that I'm sure would have been regarded as somewhat a Mc.Mansion by the locals at sleepy Emerald, had the term been invented. Indeed I don't think at the time the art of hamburger fast food had progressed beyond the local fish and chip shop in Australia.
For my part, I was busy with the self absorbed lifestyle of a 19yo, mildly interested in what seemed to be a parental mid life crisis. When the family moved into the new house in Emerald, in September 1972, I wasn't with them. I was at Puckapunyal, having started my 'National Service' a week or two earlier, having been conscripted by ballot. Gough Whitlam swept to power in the federal election on 8 Dec 1972 and soon into the next year made it possible for conscripts to leave the army at any time. I didn't hang around for long and spent most of 1973 at Emerald working to establish a garden, while waiting to start a beekeeping course in 1974 at Qld Agricultural College. I was fortunate that the Whitlam government made training available, with an allowance, for all nashos, regardless of whether they completed their term.
Mum and dad had borrowed money to finish their house and buy some machinery and 1973 was a sharp learning curve. With numerous beech trees, lilacs and dogwoods planted to provide income at some point in the future, the realisation came, after mum sold her florist business (the commuting was demanding and an energy crisis pushed up fuel price), that in the meantime we had no income. We put in a half acre of kiwi fruit but return from this was also futuristic so we set about growing beans and carrots for cashflow. The trials and tribulations of novice farmers were agonizing. Weeds and beetles nearly wiped us out but we did not lack pluck or enthusiasm. Fortunately it rained regularly in those days, but it was often too wet to work.
I was at QAC 1974, always eager for mail, when some photos of the carrot harvest arrived. Dad found an organic fruit and veg shop in Elwood, which bought our entire crop over a period of months. Bruce still buys lemons, limes and kiwifruit from us and has been a loyal customer and friend for all the 35 years since that first crop. In those early years we tried different crops, including some offbeat like buckwheat, for some dubious characters who promised much but payed little, but Bruce always paid top price.
In 1975 after a summer working for a beekeeper in the S.A. mallee, I worked for a beekeeper who had a beekeeping supplies business in Melbourne, which enabled me to live at Emerald. I had bought a load of bees and worked some of my boss's on a share basis. He sold a lot of honey around Melbourne to shops and had a contract to supply mental hospitals etc. He suggested we should sell honey at the farm door at Emerald to generate some cash flow. We put a sign up 'Honey for Sale', a trickle of people came which slowly built in number. Mum and Meredith mucked about propogating a few herb plants in the glasshouse we'd built and put a few pots on a table outside the house where people walked past to buy their honey. The pots of herbs sold, so more were put out, and in the end they couldn't keep up. By accident we became a herb farm/nursery.
This wasn't as simple as it sounds. Our financiacial hardships of '73-75 stressed the venture and family. For much of that period it was a hand to mouth existence struggling all the time to pay the bills. Mum and Meredith scrounged flowers to make posies, and bunched forget-me-nots and buttercups. Dad took these to Kevin O'Neill, who was making a name as 'the society florist', and whom they knew from their Sth.Yarra days when he was a young man who worked for John Holdsworth, the competition up the road. Kevin saved us really. He bought anything we took in with great enthusiasm and encouragement.
Soon after leaving my employment late in 1975 to give more time to my bees and the 'share bees', a crisis came to a head at the farm and it looked like the property was to be sold. A neighbour came across an ad in 'The Age' for an apiary inspector's job in Wangaratta. I applied for it and spent the next 5 years away working for the Dep't of Agriculture.
In the meantime, they hung on at the farm. A wave of interest in herbs swelled and rolled on. Our 'honey and herbs' theme caught the wave and our herb farm became well known locally and far and wide. I married in 1981 and came back to help out at the farm in a business which now was a thriving herb nursery. Cut herbs for restaurants also took off and we continued growing organic vegies, and by now many foliage and blossom trees were producing.
By the late 1980's we were flat out growing herbs, flowers, foliage and vegies and delivering to Melbourne two or three times a week. Competition had sprung up and the economy took a belting in a credit sqeeze followed by a recesssion. Interest rates went through the roof just at a time we borrowed money for a new van. The van motor blew and the fringe benefit tax and airline's strike knocked the restaurant and tourist industry. Even Kevin O'Neill, whose lavish customers included Christopher Skase and Alan Bond, tightened his belt as the house of cards fell over. We were back struggling to pay the bills.
We sold our restaurant run to Melbourne Herb Supplies which became Australian Herb supplies and sold herbs and flowers to them, with them picking up at the farm. Market gardeners down on the sand were now growing herbs on a large scale and had a longer growing season. Over time our cut herb sales fell away, however the foliage and blossom sales to florists built up, again with wholesalers picking up at farm gate, so this became our main focus through the next decade, and till now. Lately, it seems things have changed none too subtly. The foliage business has become strongly competitive and demand for herbs is building again, both for herbs and flowers in the restaurant trade, and particularly in the florist industry.
The U3A group seemed to enjoy my talk. It made me realize how much change is part of lif and business. I'm busy renovating at the farm, removing those trees and shrubs not producing a return, and preparing new garden beds for herbs. Another challenge, but enjoyable.
On my way home the same day, after a pleasant hour or two in the farm vegie garden, I called into Sally's Foodrite supermarket on the Monbulk Rd. corner. Sally was standing on a small pair of steps reorganizing product on shelves, being helped by two of her girls.
"Be careful there, Sal," I said. I had a flashback to 1981 when I came back from Wangaratta. Sally owned the 'Blue Hills' fish and chip shop and I had mental picture of her heavily pregnant wrapping up my order. Her son Brian is now nearly 30 and a big man.
"It looks a bit like Coxy's days doesn't it?" she said with a grin. Coxy owned the shop befor Sal and Jim, and, as he slowly went broke, (must be back in the last recession) he condensed all the goods into an ever reducing area, leaving the rest starkly empty.
"Are you doing this because you're leaving soon?" Sal has sold out to Safeway. A new supermarket will be built with an underground carpark.
"Yeah, it's easier to look after."
"Do you have a date?"
"Not yet, but it's happening."
"When the date comes, will they knock everything down and dirty your lovely clean floor?"
"Yeah, it'll all go."
It doesn't pay to get too sentimental in this world. Driving home reflecting, I was grateful for my time in the vegie garden. A lady recently gave me seven different types of garlic, I wanted to get it in the ground in May. I haven't grown garlic for many years, and I'm keen to build up some stock. Forking over the soil and making the beds did me good. I stopped for a breather and had a good look at the sundial in the middle of the garden. A figure I assume to be 'Old Father Time', with full beard and dressed in a robe, holds what looks like a scythe.
Underneath him is written, "GROW OLD ALONG WITH ME, THE BEST IS YET TO BE." I went home and said the words to Lib. She gave me a funny look, but I think she got the drift.
If you don't know, U3A is University of the 3rd Age, a learning facility where older people can study a wide range of things from music to horticulture to philosophy, in a relaxed environment. I like the idea, as it's learning for the sake of learning, rather than qualification. It was a useful exercise for me too. Sometimes to stop and think about the past, and changes over the years, helps focus on the direction of the future. The talk went something like this.
My parents bought our 6.5 acres at Emerald in 1971, in what would now perhaps be called a tree change. The land was a treeless paddock previously used for growing potatos. The intention was to grow trees for foliage for the florist industry in which both mum and dad had been involved for more than a decade, in a shop in Sth. Yarra.
With their youngest child, sister Meredith, in her last year of secondary schooling and sons Jod and yours truly in full time employment, the project quickly gathered momentum and the family home in Mt Waverley was sold to fund the project of building a new dream house, one that I'm sure would have been regarded as somewhat a Mc.Mansion by the locals at sleepy Emerald, had the term been invented. Indeed I don't think at the time the art of hamburger fast food had progressed beyond the local fish and chip shop in Australia.
For my part, I was busy with the self absorbed lifestyle of a 19yo, mildly interested in what seemed to be a parental mid life crisis. When the family moved into the new house in Emerald, in September 1972, I wasn't with them. I was at Puckapunyal, having started my 'National Service' a week or two earlier, having been conscripted by ballot. Gough Whitlam swept to power in the federal election on 8 Dec 1972 and soon into the next year made it possible for conscripts to leave the army at any time. I didn't hang around for long and spent most of 1973 at Emerald working to establish a garden, while waiting to start a beekeeping course in 1974 at Qld Agricultural College. I was fortunate that the Whitlam government made training available, with an allowance, for all nashos, regardless of whether they completed their term.
Mum and dad had borrowed money to finish their house and buy some machinery and 1973 was a sharp learning curve. With numerous beech trees, lilacs and dogwoods planted to provide income at some point in the future, the realisation came, after mum sold her florist business (the commuting was demanding and an energy crisis pushed up fuel price), that in the meantime we had no income. We put in a half acre of kiwi fruit but return from this was also futuristic so we set about growing beans and carrots for cashflow. The trials and tribulations of novice farmers were agonizing. Weeds and beetles nearly wiped us out but we did not lack pluck or enthusiasm. Fortunately it rained regularly in those days, but it was often too wet to work.
I was at QAC 1974, always eager for mail, when some photos of the carrot harvest arrived. Dad found an organic fruit and veg shop in Elwood, which bought our entire crop over a period of months. Bruce still buys lemons, limes and kiwifruit from us and has been a loyal customer and friend for all the 35 years since that first crop. In those early years we tried different crops, including some offbeat like buckwheat, for some dubious characters who promised much but payed little, but Bruce always paid top price.
In 1975 after a summer working for a beekeeper in the S.A. mallee, I worked for a beekeeper who had a beekeeping supplies business in Melbourne, which enabled me to live at Emerald. I had bought a load of bees and worked some of my boss's on a share basis. He sold a lot of honey around Melbourne to shops and had a contract to supply mental hospitals etc. He suggested we should sell honey at the farm door at Emerald to generate some cash flow. We put a sign up 'Honey for Sale', a trickle of people came which slowly built in number. Mum and Meredith mucked about propogating a few herb plants in the glasshouse we'd built and put a few pots on a table outside the house where people walked past to buy their honey. The pots of herbs sold, so more were put out, and in the end they couldn't keep up. By accident we became a herb farm/nursery.
This wasn't as simple as it sounds. Our financiacial hardships of '73-75 stressed the venture and family. For much of that period it was a hand to mouth existence struggling all the time to pay the bills. Mum and Meredith scrounged flowers to make posies, and bunched forget-me-nots and buttercups. Dad took these to Kevin O'Neill, who was making a name as 'the society florist', and whom they knew from their Sth.Yarra days when he was a young man who worked for John Holdsworth, the competition up the road. Kevin saved us really. He bought anything we took in with great enthusiasm and encouragement.
Soon after leaving my employment late in 1975 to give more time to my bees and the 'share bees', a crisis came to a head at the farm and it looked like the property was to be sold. A neighbour came across an ad in 'The Age' for an apiary inspector's job in Wangaratta. I applied for it and spent the next 5 years away working for the Dep't of Agriculture.
In the meantime, they hung on at the farm. A wave of interest in herbs swelled and rolled on. Our 'honey and herbs' theme caught the wave and our herb farm became well known locally and far and wide. I married in 1981 and came back to help out at the farm in a business which now was a thriving herb nursery. Cut herbs for restaurants also took off and we continued growing organic vegies, and by now many foliage and blossom trees were producing.
By the late 1980's we were flat out growing herbs, flowers, foliage and vegies and delivering to Melbourne two or three times a week. Competition had sprung up and the economy took a belting in a credit sqeeze followed by a recesssion. Interest rates went through the roof just at a time we borrowed money for a new van. The van motor blew and the fringe benefit tax and airline's strike knocked the restaurant and tourist industry. Even Kevin O'Neill, whose lavish customers included Christopher Skase and Alan Bond, tightened his belt as the house of cards fell over. We were back struggling to pay the bills.
We sold our restaurant run to Melbourne Herb Supplies which became Australian Herb supplies and sold herbs and flowers to them, with them picking up at the farm. Market gardeners down on the sand were now growing herbs on a large scale and had a longer growing season. Over time our cut herb sales fell away, however the foliage and blossom sales to florists built up, again with wholesalers picking up at farm gate, so this became our main focus through the next decade, and till now. Lately, it seems things have changed none too subtly. The foliage business has become strongly competitive and demand for herbs is building again, both for herbs and flowers in the restaurant trade, and particularly in the florist industry.
The U3A group seemed to enjoy my talk. It made me realize how much change is part of lif and business. I'm busy renovating at the farm, removing those trees and shrubs not producing a return, and preparing new garden beds for herbs. Another challenge, but enjoyable.
On my way home the same day, after a pleasant hour or two in the farm vegie garden, I called into Sally's Foodrite supermarket on the Monbulk Rd. corner. Sally was standing on a small pair of steps reorganizing product on shelves, being helped by two of her girls.
"Be careful there, Sal," I said. I had a flashback to 1981 when I came back from Wangaratta. Sally owned the 'Blue Hills' fish and chip shop and I had mental picture of her heavily pregnant wrapping up my order. Her son Brian is now nearly 30 and a big man.
"It looks a bit like Coxy's days doesn't it?" she said with a grin. Coxy owned the shop befor Sal and Jim, and, as he slowly went broke, (must be back in the last recession) he condensed all the goods into an ever reducing area, leaving the rest starkly empty.
"Are you doing this because you're leaving soon?" Sal has sold out to Safeway. A new supermarket will be built with an underground carpark.
"Yeah, it's easier to look after."
"Do you have a date?"
"Not yet, but it's happening."
"When the date comes, will they knock everything down and dirty your lovely clean floor?"
"Yeah, it'll all go."
It doesn't pay to get too sentimental in this world. Driving home reflecting, I was grateful for my time in the vegie garden. A lady recently gave me seven different types of garlic, I wanted to get it in the ground in May. I haven't grown garlic for many years, and I'm keen to build up some stock. Forking over the soil and making the beds did me good. I stopped for a breather and had a good look at the sundial in the middle of the garden. A figure I assume to be 'Old Father Time', with full beard and dressed in a robe, holds what looks like a scythe.
Underneath him is written, "GROW OLD ALONG WITH ME, THE BEST IS YET TO BE." I went home and said the words to Lib. She gave me a funny look, but I think she got the drift.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Funny Mob, Nurses
When I took Lib her breakfast of scrambled egg yesterday, which followed the grapefruit juice, muesli, and herb tea at wake up call, she told me with typical good humour a little Raylynn story. Raylynn has been a work colleague of Lib's for more than twenty years and Raylynn and husband John are dear friends.
"Do you know what Raylynn did the other day?"
"I can guess but I may never get it so perhaps you'd better tell me."
"She slept in the spare room, John annoyed her somehow, she didn't want to sleep with him. She had to get up early."
"What did he do to annoy her," I interrupted, looking for a bit scandal, "Does he snore, or do his hands wander in the night, like most men's?"
"I don't know, he just annoyed her somehow, she didn't say how. Her alarm went off at 5.30am, she had early shift. She rang John on her mobile phone and told him to get up and bring her a cup of tea. He did too."
"Do you know what Raylynn did the other day?"
"I can guess but I may never get it so perhaps you'd better tell me."
"She slept in the spare room, John annoyed her somehow, she didn't want to sleep with him. She had to get up early."
"What did he do to annoy her," I interrupted, looking for a bit scandal, "Does he snore, or do his hands wander in the night, like most men's?"
"I don't know, he just annoyed her somehow, she didn't say how. Her alarm went off at 5.30am, she had early shift. She rang John on her mobile phone and told him to get up and bring her a cup of tea. He did too."
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