Dam adventures

Well here I am its 3am in the morning, I'm wide awake, my mind won't sleep so I may as well get up and type. My last (and only) exam for this semester was yesterday so I'm in that strange post study state where one slowly adjusts to another life that has been on hold for the semester. I finished a couple of jobs yesterday afternoon that had been waiting for that post exam state. The next two days are booked for helping to set up an exhibition here in town. Then its the Festival of Voice over the June long weekend. There are a few events that I am planning on experiencing.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch ... well here at home. The puppies are eight weeks old on Thursday and head off to their new homes this coming weekend. I have been observing how rapidly they grow and develop their independence. When locking up the chooks this evening with Miske and her tribe tearing along, while closing the bottom gate, they decided they needed to venture into the bottom paddock and slipped through the gate. Fine. But before you knew it they were tearing down the hill to the dam for one last paddle and play before sundown. Five black and white beasties gallivanting on the steep white slope of the dam. The water fascinates them. They reminded me of haggises ( I don't know if that is how it is spelt) those lop sided mythological animals that frequent the steep hillsides of Scotland. Even with all their rough and tumble they do no more than half a roll before they regain their footing. I think they enjoy the challenge.

I've been trying to teach them to fetch sticks out of the water - yes I know - they are young. They intensely watch Miske fetching her big stick after it splashes into the dam when thrown. Zoe has done a dive into the water just like Miske - but she hasn't repeated her effort. Angus has collected some little sticks from the water and brought them out, but only those bits within reach without actually swimming. Although he has accidentally gone swimming when he suddenly found he'd lost his footing. They try to pick up stones from under the water on the edge but baulk at the sensation of a submerged nose.

Whereas when they were younger as soon as they were called they'd come tearing after you, now they are just as likely to stay put if they are still having fun - though as soon as they realise they are the last one left behind they high tail it home. That independent spirit tells me they are ready to go, but it will be a sadness, it always is, each one of them is a lovely little personality. And they are so loving. Yesterday morning Mark let them out of their pen before I'd got up to do their breakfast. They all came tearing into the bedroom, tails wagging furiously, bouncing up and down, trying to jump onto the bed where I was. Lift them up and you are buried under an avalanche of wriggling puppy all trying to get a piece of your attention.

Odyssey to suburbia

On the weekend we did another of our -mad- dashes to Perth, this time to hear Shaun Tan talk about his work and to view the animation of The Lost Thing. This was part of the opening event for his exhibition Suburban Odyssey showing at the Fremantle Arts Centre till 15 July 2012.

Part of the madness was due to a carload of five puppies - six weeks old now - and their mum, Miske. We left at 9am and the first half hour was mayhem, with five crying puppies wanting to be anywhere but in the car - despite the rib bones I'd given them as a distraction. Mark very wisely wore his earplugs while I sat in the back with them till they settled. From Mt Barker onwards things improved, one puppy settled at my feet on the floor of the passenger seat, the rest stayed in the back sleeping and occasionally complaining. Reaching suburbia and running late we quickly organised a car swap. My parents bravely took our car with puppies and we took their car arriving in Fremantle in good time for the talk. Unfortunately because of the huge crowd attending, the talk was moved from the Arts Centre to Notre Dame University so we didn't get to see his exhibition this time around. The day had been quite long enough ... We will see the exhibition next month I hope.

Shaun started by showing The Lost Thing, the trailer for it is above. Its a great little tale about amongst other things seeing the unusual and magic in your everyday life. Travelling up to Perth and into the city one really notices the busy-ness of everyone filling the city malls - endlessly dressed in business black - and the cars zooming along on an endless loop. Caught in the treadmill of our own making. People get so engrossed in what they are doing they miss the little things (or important things) - like the lost thing - until it trips them up. The story is peopled with bored unseeing office workers in a nightmarish bureaucracy but secret places to be found if you look. How many times do we see something strange but not investigate or wonder and simply forget about it?

'A moment of nostalgia on the way home from work'
from the end of The Lost Thing 

Some of the background imagery comes from Shaun's observations of scenes of suburbia. They are beautifully rendered, potent with feeling, angular building set against sketchy and mysterious greenery, peopled by crows, the streets one sees in the early hours of the morning. Empty streets that don't quite feel empty. The exhibition is largely about these suburban scenes by Tan. He describes his memories of growing up in Perth as 'long, hot afternoons, wide and empty suburban streets, the drawl of crows, ocean air, unfiltered light ... being somewhere and nowhere at the same time. Sound familiar? Especially the somewhere and nowhere - Perth is so far from anywhere else - you could almost be at the end of the world. And the suburban sprawl ...

Night Train, Mt Lawley

'Fighting crows'

Tan explained how he loved to play with the absurd, the what if of imagination - that along with close observation of that which was around him. He said he loves to play with that - images like the buffalo in the vacant grassy block, directing the little girl - arise from that. Too often we do forget to play with ideas and allow the absurd speak its mind and lead us to who knows where. It reminds me of the vacant blocks we used to play in as kids when visiting our grandparents - we'd imagine all sorts of things in there - apart from    weird finds of bits and pieces and spooky dilapidated buildings. 

Image from Tales from Outer Suburbia

Another what if - the giant groper in The Red Tree

He describes his work as a combination of reality, fantasy, childish play and adult reflection. This is evident in his illustrated books. They are often thought of as being for children because they are illustrated with little text. However the subject matter often gives pause for serious reflection, poses philosophical questions, plays games and reveals hidden references on closer scrutiny.

Tan spoke about The Rabbits which John Marsden wrote and he illustrated. Its an allegorical tale about colonisation, a subject which Tan says he finds fascinating from a political as well as 'an event of utter strangeness where two very different worlds collide'. The story has echoes throughout the world - the might of power and ignorance playing out with degrees of environmental and cultural destruction. Apparently this book was banned in some Queensland schools - it must have been a bit too close to the bone. I think the book is fantastic (in both senses of the word) even though the end is depressing/disturbing/too true.

'Houses' from The Rabbits

Just to finish - I so love this image from Tales from Outer Suburbia. Two brothers set out to find out if the road just ends where the street directory stops - like a missing page. This is what they find. Paved to the edge of the world. Its beautiful, sitting on the edge of the world ... the birds can fly out past the edge ... and the water draining to the ineffable somewhere else.

'How great it must have been long ago, when the world was still unknown' from Tales from Outer Suburbia

Link to Shaun Tan's website here.

in the pursuit of knowledge

I started writing this on my fathers's birthday, earlier this month, but have been waiting on some images which I now have. Dad's life has been spent absorbing knowledge and understanding of the world around us, particularly but not exclusively the natural world. It is his influence that has led me down the path of my love for the bush and work in revegetation as well as my passion for photography. Our early experiences of other cultures probably led me to be studying anthropology today, although it was not a conscious thing, it gradually evolved. We tend to absorb a lot of things by osmosis rather like the getting of our own version of 'culture'. Our path in life begins in tracks we walked down as youngsters with our family till we adventure off on our own: sometimes keeping close by and sometimes heading off far away from our beginnings.

Dad and my sister beside an enormous macrozamia palm
 in the Perth hills - note the bare feet

From a young age, probably as soon as we could walk, we spent time exploring the bush, learning about everything that walked, crawled and flew as well as all the plant life. Dad had done the same thing when he was a boy, exploring the swamps around Bassendean and Bayswater with his dog and canoe. Most of these swamps have long been filled in and covered with playing fields or housing. Many holidays were spent camping in the bush. Dad took us off for walks of discovery while Mum rested back at the campsite, taking a well earned rest from being pestered by four active children.

Early morning at Pigramunna Beach
no one up but me and the cockies

My favourite was the 'early morning walks', up with the first light, catching a beautiful sunrise, listening to the dawn chorus of birds, walking the beach at low tide with no one else around. In bare feet we could feel the crunch of fallen leaves, the roughness of rocks and cool splash as ocean waves washed in and sucked out the sand from under our toes.

This is a photo of Reid taken from the water tower by Dad in 1958. He had gone back out there in '58 while doing a thesis on Nullabor plants. In the foreground are water tanks for the steam engines that formerly had been in use along the trans-line. Immediately behind are the houses for the fettlers. It was their children that Dad taught. The road leads to the school in the mid-distance and to the left of that is the school house. 

I remember the stories Dad told us of his time teaching out at Reid in 1954 and Coonanna in 1955 on the trans-line before my parents married. Where other young teachers sent out there may have recoiled in horror, Dad thrived. He learnt to speak and write Greek so he could teach the children of the Greek immigrants who had the adventure/culture shock of working out on the Trans Australian Railway Line.  Dad rode his bicycle from  Coonanna to Cundeelee to Zanthus and back to Coonanna in a weekend. He visited the Wongi at Cundeelee several times and spent a lot of time with a Wongi man who lived on the outskirts of Coonanna learning a lot from them. Dad told us there were things he'd been told by the Wongi that we could not be told. We always wondered what the secrets were but knew he'd never tell us. He read us Aboriginal Dreamtime stories. We learnt to throw spears with a woomera and tried to throw boomerangs so that they would return - unsuccessfully as I recall.  Dad explored the caves on the Nullabor Plains, riding his bicycle from blow hole to blow hole, sometimes  tethering a rope to his bike as he clambered down. Funnily enough, in my late teens and early twenties I went caving whenever I had the opportunity, even doing some trips to the Nullabor.

Sing Sing dancers in Kokoda, 1969.

In 1969 we went to Papua New Guinea to live for four years. Dad was a patrol officer in the Northern Districts. We lived in Kokoda for three months and spent the rest of our time in Popondetta. For Dad it was an experience of a lifetime - being paid to do something he loved. For us, as kids, Kokoda was like paradise     an exciting new world to be explored, isolated from everywhere, green, lush, so much to learn. Even the odd WW2 relic to be found in the jungle, apart from the more obvious airstrip and bunker. Dad travelled throughout the district on foot, by boat, helicopter and plane. Meeting many people, tribal groups, learning new languages, a new environment full of fascinating plants and animals: all there with stories to be told.

Mum and Dad at Popondetta airport in 
the early 70's taken  as I was heading 
off to boarding school

Mum had the more mundane world of day to day life without the trips into the jungle, but that was still very different from our former life in the hills of Perth. There  were the colourful markets with an ever changing array of fresh and exotic (to our eyes) range of foods. For instance there were sugar bananas, orange fleshed bananas, short and long bananas and enormous plantains. Another delicacy was steamed pumpkin tips - down here they just not as sweet. Sugar cane - sweet and messy. Taro - fine if you peel it. I remember once Mum was away in Port Moresby and Dad did the cooking - taro with the skin on - as bitter as - yuk! We all tried to surreptitiously feed the dog - hungry dog is all I can say.

I should mention that small planes like Cessna's and Pilatus Porter's  used the grass airstrip - visible in the background - and the old wartime Girua airstrip was used whenever the occasional DC3 came in or in the wet season.

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Sing Sing dancers in Kokoda with Kundu drums. This Sing Sing was in celebration of the opening of the new building for the local government offices, 1970. 

We experienced several 'sing sings' with spectacular costumes of  feathers, fur, shells, flowers, tapa cloth and coloured banana grass skirts, the best singing voices we had ever heard, and big feasts of pig and taro. We learnt to do the dance steps for Sing Sings, learning to get the grass skirts swinging- although we were no match for the locals. My brothers went fishing in the streams for tiny fish with the local boys - and came home with sunburnt backsides. Ouch. I don't recall they ate the fish, probably the other boys took the strings of tiny fish to fry up whole - the fish were eaten bones and all. On weekends we swam in fast running mountain streams, cold and clear, or warm tropical ocean bays where the black beaches were plagued by sand flies. The adventures in PNG extended to climbing Mt Lamington, an active volcano that was hot and sulphurous at the summit. We camped the night on the rim of the crater before next morning first descending that rim and then ascending to the peak. Our Papuan guide, seen standing in the photo, was as fit as a fiddle, climbing (running really) up and down several times to our one exhausting climb up the mountain.

Our exhausted climbing party only half way to the top of Mt Lamington.
Dad is standing with his back to the photo. 

Dad still is busy giving talks to community groups, sharing his knowledge and enthusiasm for nature, places, people and ideas. Mum and Dad still go out in the bush but they no longer rough it. But you can be guaranteed Dad's camera will get a hammering taking photos, and all the birds will be identified by their calls.

Whenever we visit these days he is busy in his den cataloguing  his slides and identifying new lichens or insects he has come across in his travels.

So how does his influence filter down? There are various permutations of travelling, fishing, hunting feral animals, photography and love of the bush amongst my siblings. In the next generation down there are keen bow hunters (feral animals again) and fishers, and the youngest still love finding bugs to show 'Pop'. When talking to a past student of Dad's recently he remembers being taught yoga and how to kiss a bobtail goanna way back in 1959. I don't know about kissing goanna's - getting your nose bitten could be distinct possibility!

Mum and Dad in the Carnarvon Ranges just a few years ago

Backyards and the bush

I heard Jagath Dheerasekara, a photographer, being interviewed on radio national today and was fascinated by his subject matter. He is a Sri Lankan refugee who now lives in Australia and much of his work deals with Aboriginals, human rights and environmental issues. There is an exhibition of his work currently on at Customs House in Sydney. Looking on line I realised I had seen some of his work at an exhibition I had managed to catch at the Midland Railway Workshops and at the Fremantle Arts Centre in April. It was part of the Divergence: Photographs from Elsewhere exhibition, which was fantastic, interesting, provoking - but that is another story.

This is the joyful image I remember from the Railway Workshops exhibition. The blurb from the Form Divergence catalogue states:

'Nomination of their traditional lands as a domestic nuclear waste dump site in 2007, coupled with proposals for Australia to "lease" uranium and take back nuclear waste from overseas, have generated justifiable fear and concern among the Aboriginal communities in and around Muckaty (Manuwangku), 120 km North of Tennant Creek in the Northern Territory. Manuwangku, under the nuclear cloud attempts to document the spirit, connection to land and collective voice of this community, as they protest in defence of their right to live in a clean environment, free from hazardous waste.'

For more images from this exhibition check out this link to a slide show on Dheerasekara's website.
Manuwangku-Under-the-Nuclear-Cloud-Northern-Territory-Australia-2010-11

Another set of his photographs caught my attention titled The Bed or Stars Sky Breeze Trees. These images were taken in the Ampilatwatja Aboriginal community, 320km from Alice Springs. According to  Dheerasekara  the series of images are a comment on their relationship to land and nature compared to the 'colonizer-imposed' confines of house and fence.

They call to mind sleeping out under the stars as a child on stinking hot nights in summer. Outside the air was cooler, the stars so bright, we watched the milky way as it slowly slipped through the sky. The night sounds of the boobook owl echoed around us. Sometimes if we were lucky we saw a meteor shower. When the easterlies started blowing in the early morning, quite cold at times, we headed inside again. I still love camping out, being that much closer to the sun and moon and stars, feeling the breeze or stormy winds, and the damp early morning air. Best of all when sleeping out you can feel the dawn - I love that.

The last images are from Dheerasekara is from his delightfully urban My Clothesline Diary. Just love that sense of  backyard, everydayness of them. The gradual change of light and seasonality that we tend not to notice. The variations of clothes on the line speaking about the weather and where you've been and what you've been doing in the previous few days.

It also brings back memories of spinning in circles from the arms of the hoist. In our case there would be four of us swinging, one on each arm. Until we were sprung. I'm sure you've all heard the 'get off that ! you'll break it!' Needless to say the hills hoist never broke, even if it did go a bit wonky.

I can also remember later on hanging headless chooks off the line by their feet. This drained the blood before plucking and cleaning them in preparation for eating. Back in those days I think chooks were a bit of a luxury, certainly not as frequently eaten as they are today. Lamb chops and sausages were probably our daily fare.

100 words for "lawn"

Well I have nearly finished my last essay for this semester.
After this it is just one exam in a couple of weeks time.
Here is a little something I came across in my research on Sapir.

Coverly 2009, Speed Bump.  link to website.

Breakaway on Hunt Oil Rd

This is a spot we camped at a couple of years ago in the middle of winter. Despite the name the road, harking back to heady oil exploration days in the 60's, it is just a rough track heading north from the Great Central Highway near Warburton. This area had been dry for some years and the vegetation was very parched, threadbare, sage greys and golds, and the ground a bare rusty red. The spinifex was tired and grey.

The pebble mounds were found in the shadows of this breakaway

Pebble mounds at base of breakaway

This little pebble mound was at the base of the breakaway on the southern side where it is cooler. It is the mound of the Pebble Mound Mouse, supposedly only found in the Pilbara these days, being extinct from its former more extensive range in the Gascoyne and Murchison. I presume the mounds we found are no longer inhabited but would love to go back to check. The ground was so bare I could hardly imagine a mouse finding anything to eat.

This is taken from on top of the breakaway

Up on top of the breakaway there were even some flowers to be found. I just loved these tiny white flowers nestled in the hairy protective bush. So well adapted to the harsh climate. Despite the aridity we heard the melodious call of the butcher bird and saw black faced cuckoo shrikes and the willy wagtail. As evening fell we heard the soft chirrups of little birds settling in for the night. 

Edge of breakaway in the evening light

We were woken in the middle of the night by a fantastic storm, thunder, lightning and ... rain. We were camped below the breakaway in an open area that was already soft and spongy from recent rain.We knew it would become slithery and slimy with just a touch more rain. The track in was already deeply furrowed by vehicles negotiating thick red mud after previous storms. We made a cuppa while we decided whether to stay or go. The storms just kept rolling in, so we upped sticks in the storm and moved to higher safer ground further down the road. The storms continued all night and we awoke the next morning to a grey and cloudy sky. In the morning light the wet but parched foliage was a glowing gold.

Throughout this trip we had been dodging 'road closed' signs, either arriving just as the road was being reopened, or getting through just before heavy rains closed the road. In this region the roads are dirt, and after heavy rains they are slippery, muddy, and often covered in water. 

Happiness is like a battle

On Saturday I attended a writing workshop in Denmark presented by Rachel Robertson. The workshop was aimed at writing 'the self' or some of the techniques one can use in writing reflective stories, truth or lies. Rachel has just recently published her own memoir,  Reaching one Thousand: A Story of Love, Motherhood and Autism published by Black Inc. She is from Perth and lectures at Curtin Uni.

As one of about twenty participants, all women, I was immediately struck by the question - why no men?  After all men do write. Admittedly in the previous two weeks I attended a workshop at Albany Library presented by John Cecil on recording people's stories and apart from John there were only two men out of a dozen participants.

That aside - the venue was great if a little crowded but it was convivial. Rachel was great, giving us a perfect blend of theory and practice, both serious and humourous. We covered technique, scene, summary and reflection, and creative ideas for finding our voice and form and shape in our story. We had just enough creative writing to get a feel for the techniques, writing both thoughtful and fun pieces. I'll spare you the details of my personal story but give a hint of the fun bits.

Called Chinese restaurant menu exercise - this was part of the result.

'Happiness is a battle. Raging backwards and forwards. Bloody. Watch out for spears in your back. Or drones coming out of nowhere, ready to blow your happiness to bits. Low flying happiness. Lying in the blood of battle, can you look back and know you've been happy?'

Actually I'm not a blood and guts person, but I couldn't resist the metaphors.

Early mornings

One of the disadvantages of puppies is broken sleep in the transitory stage as the mother Miske weans the puppies and they wake up hungry in the middle of the night. Sharp puppy teeth are a big deterrent to feeding on demand so Miske feeds them intermittently. So it is up to me to provide a 3am feed of yogurt and soaked nibbles. Once sufficiently fed, they readily fall back to sleep until dawn light wakes them. Dragging myself out of bed, bleary eyed, was repaid this morning with a colourful sunrise.

The puppies are just over four weeks old now. Their vocalisations are still squeaks mainly expressing various forms of distress being lost, alone, or wanting out from wherever they are. The squeak for food is much softer.  They still rely more on their sense of smell for finding food, sniffing rather than looking for their food bowl. As Miske has been weaning them she has changed their focal point to her head, discouraging them from feeding. She is in the process of transforming their idea of her from mother/food source to a dog just like them, but the boss dog. She loves to play with them, charging up and down the verandah with a torrent of puppies in tow. The puppies have been play fighting for some time; if they get too aggro Miske intervenes and bosses both of them. However their sense of sight and sound is used fully when I call them and they come racing toward me. They are rapidly extending their boundaries, exploring, playing, chewing, then sleeping soundly in a bundle of black and white fluffiness.

Today I inhabited the sky

Today I inhabited the sky

Dusk enveloped me

painted my eyes.

Palest blue grey stretched on an ethereal canvas

suspended cloud swelling to palest pink.

Ruffled galah grey feathering the edges.

Suffused golden light enriches pink to peach

Distant rumble, waves crack,

high notes of crickets’ hum.

Absorbed by sound the cool night air prickled my skin

Alive and fresh.

Today I inhabited the sky as the unseen waves thundered

and magpies caroled into the evening light.

Silver and cool

A wisp adrift

Absorbed.

Tenterden wetlands in the dry

Well they were dry really, but they would be wet in winter after some rains.

This biological survey weekend was organised by Greenskills in Denmark. It was part of the Gondwana Link Program. As part of this process we surveyed Melaleuca species growing on the range of wetland types found on the property. There was an interesting succession of wetland types ranging from those in pretty much original condition to ecosystems that were in a state of collapse to one that had adapted and recovered into a new ecosystem type. The changes in the wetland systems are due mainly to the large scale farmland clearing surrounding this property. The collapse of the Melaleuca species was accompanied by rising pH (alkalinity) and increasing salinity, a complexity I was unaware of having always thought it was just the salt.

Edge of healthy wetland system

This first image shows the outer edge of a healthy wetland. It is situated within a sandy bowl, with steep sides. Healthy banksia and jarrah woodlands surround it and even a healthy stand of Nuytsia floribunda. Mel. cuticularis (salt tolerant) and Mel. lateritia were the dominant species with a couple of  very large Mel. rhaphiophylla (likes fresh water) on the edges. In summer the Mel. lateritia is covered with bright orange-red flowers and is a haven for birds.

Healthy paperbarks in the middle of the wetland

The next two images show the difference between a healthy stand Mel. lateritia and a collapsed stand. Apparently the wetlands began to show first signs of change thirty years ago. The wetland on the left started to show signs of change in the last few years. Now it is all dead.  The character of the soil changes too with the loss of organic matter. It must be difficult to watch this happening knowing that this property has been largely uncleared and yet these changes are still occurring.

Collapsed stand - note the bare soil

Healthy stand of Melaleuca lateritia 

This image of a samphire covered depression was a Mel. Lateritia wetland that collapsed some years ago. It has now been colonised by the samphires which can handle the changed salinity and soil pH. It just goes to show the resilience of nature.

Samphire covered depression

The final images are from some paperbark swamps (dry) that are in the process of collapsing. In the first image we are testing the pH of the soil which was slightly alkaline. This swamp was once covered in tall sedges which have now all but disappeared. The paperbark trees Mel. cuticularis are still surviving. The image of another swamp shows the paperbark trees all dead. Around the edges the trees are still surviving. The current owners told us of playing in these swamps as children amongst the sedges and the bird life.

Testing pH in the middle of the dry swamp

Dead paperbark trees in the middle of another dry swamp

It is not all doom and gloom. The timber plantations should help to arrest the decline in the ecosystems. Some areas have been set aside for sandalwood plantations which will add another dimension to the enterprise. Over the weekend we saw and heard a large number of birds including the southern yellow robin, scarlet robin, wrens, a number of parrot species and lots of tiny birds. I saw most of the birds in the interface between the plantations and the wandoo woodlands. The fact that the plantation eucalypts were flowering probably helped. One evening  I heard  flapping in my camper, expecting it was a big moth I was so surprised when I found it was a microbat. It's tiny body, maybe 3cm long was covered in soft and silky grey fur with delicate membranes stretched on its wings. On letting it go it swooped up and away into the night air. 

Campsite with Eucalyptus plantation in the background

Big Ben mused about his time spent on the property ‘I always felt at home here and love the peace from being in the bush. ... I think many people today may be suffering from nature deficit disorder … not enough contact with the natural world … too stressed. We all need a place where we can feel at home. ” I’d never heard of nature deficit disorder before but discovered it was first used by Richard Louv in his book Last Child in the Woods written in 2005. Briefly Louv believes that people’s relationship to nature has changed particularly over the last few decades from an interactive, playful, get your hands dirty relationship to one of knowledge about but little hands on experience of the natural world. In Louv’s words

'This book explores the increasing divide between the young and the natural world, and the environmental, social, psychological, and spiritual implications of that change. It also describes the accumulating research that reveals the necessity of contact with nature for healthy child - and adult- development.'

It is an interesting concept. I haven’t read the book so I can’t pass judgement on his proposition except to say that intuitively it feels right. As children, my siblings and I ran wild in the bush, something which doesn't often happen for young children these days. Kids play these days tends to be more supervised, less risky and a lot of their play interfaces with electronic media not wild or even tame bits of nature. Certainly in the cities there is a lot less bush left, having been bulldozed and reshaped for housing estates.   The rivers and swamps (that remain) have been beautified, grassed and mowed and ‘civilised’ in other ways. I know that young city kids are extraordinarily excited to be able to wander on paths in the bush and clamber over fallen logs and stumps around here. In the words of two young brothers “this is the best park ever”. 

Tenterden textures

I recently had the good fortune to camp for a few days on a small farm at Tenterden. Amongst other things the past generations of owners kept all their vehicles and bits of farm machinery. A veritable time machine for the cultivated history of the farm. This old car took my imagination. It seems to be moulded into the landscape.

I just love the lichen growing on the glass and paintwork.

There were tractors and trucks to delight the eye too. The Morris truck even has a fan mounted on the dash. Air conditioning in the early days.

There is a wandoo tree on the farm which had signs of the original inhabitants of the land. It is amazing because it has both the marks of a shield tree and the ring barking marks left by the first settlers.

The current owner very generously shared the history of the farm with us. His grandparents took up the property in the 1940's and his parents took it on the 1950's. The property was mostly uncleared and used for grazing sheep. The land that was cleared for cropping was all done by hand as were all the improvements on the property. The family lived a simple life and loved the wildlife there. He described the land as being as much a part of them as they were a part of the land. Apparently local Aboriginal people who had links to this part of country used to periodically visit and camp in the bush for ceremony and dong a roo to eat around the campfire.  When his parents finally had to leave the property due to ill health they both died within a few months.

Currently the farm is not being grazed and there has been good regeneration in some areas. Suitable paddocks have been retained for cropping. Tree plantations have been established both for economic and environmental reasons. The property is registered for land for wildlife and they are looking at whatever other options may be available for them to keep the farm in the family and retain the excellent natural bushland values which they love. As a visitor camping out under the wandoo I loved it too.