Stitching Punda

Last night it rained, in fact it bucketed down. Strong winds, lightning, thunder, the whole works. This morning the roads are strewn with long strips of karri bark, leaves, branches and lumpy streaks of ginger gravel left by the gushing runoff. In fact we had over forty millimetres of rain.

It seems kind of appropriate that last night I finished working on a garment that was inspired by the floods up north.  I made a printing block using some flood detritus while we were camped at Punda Pool near Newman last year. 

I used this to overprint some cloth, then added a small sprouting banksia print and some simple stitching. The coup de grace was a tiny heart of french knots which is my connection to the heart I built in the pool while we were there. It is the red of the dirt and the rising and setting sun.

I smile just thinking about that place.

Making the most of the mist

Last week we had misty humid weather, slightly warmish, with barely a glimpse of the sun. Cloud swirled in the valley, slipping between fog and mist and hazy air throughout the days. 

Chameleon weather.

 'Rain' simply condensed out of the moist air leaving a wet covering on everything.  

Glistening drops decorated leaves and branches, tiny autumn baubles.

 The birds have been happy.

 Their dawn chorus has been riotous; the wattle birds chortled in alto while twenty eight parrots pinged an out of sync descant in the still air.

I caught this twenty eight parrot having an air bath. 

Preening and ruffling its feathers in the heavy misty air.

Walking in Harewood

When we first walked this trail eight years ago it was a one hundred year forest. 

This hillside was part of a much larger logging holding that was taken up by the Millar brothers in 1895. The Millars opened their first mill in Denmark in 1893 and by 1905 all three of their mills were closed. By then the loggers had clear-felled all the ancient karri trees, and left a bare and ravaged landscape.

Timber cutters working on karri tree (Denmark Historical Society)

The demand for timber had been so high that the millers worked night shifts as well. Can you imagine working on a cold wet winters night with sharp steel blades, noisy machinery and massive timbers - by the light of kerosene lamps? 

Old timber mill  (Denmark Historical Society)

It is quite different now. The steepest parts were abandoned and the bush re-covered the hillsides. Over time the gentler muddy red curves were coaxed into grassy green mounds by new settlers. Pretty but challenging. Today the patchwork of forest, pasture and vines is as varied as the people that now live there.

Last weekend we walked in this forest as summer gave way to autumn. As we arrived a deep indigo cloud dumped its load and a couple with a young child sheltered in their car. 

The rain had coloured up the mosses and lichens and frogs sang in their freshly moistened skins.

A fantail peeped close by as it flicked and fanned its tail

Old bark turned back

Shadows played

Strands of discarded summer trailed high overhead.

Cream karri trunks ready for the new season

The allocasuarina's deep corky bark flaunted the past, hid the present

  

Red winged wrens danced a duet  through the undergrowth

Tannin dark water rippled over black slippery rocks

In a pile of fallen bark at the base of a one hundred and eight year old tree, the child told us he was making a special spot for the forest fairies.

Did you have secret fairy spaces in your childhood? I did. I remember a special place at the top of our bush block in Parkerville. It was nestled in an ancient burnt out tree stump. The floor was mossy green sheltered by the jagged charcoal edges of the stump. In the hollowed middle green snail orchids grew as high as a fairy's waist. Outside in spring bright yellow cowslip orchids bloomed. In grade one we had a spot in the bush above the school. This place was encircled by grass trees and it too had orchids; from memory they were tiny pink fairy orchids.

I nearly missed the beauty of the reflections in the creek. It was only when I sat down on the rocks in the creek - slowed down to watch the wrens - that I saw them. Special places - it doesn't take much really - slowing down, seeing, imagining.

Table skinks and tomato frogs

King skinks are newcomers to our garden. They first showed themselves as a rustle and disappearing tail in my vege garden. And a tail that was distinctly not snake, which was a pleasant change. Next I came across a big one sheltering in my garden shed. Just today I came across this.

A king skink sunbaking on our garden table. The top slab is made from a huge lump of marri and it sports a large crack along the length of it. A perfect hiding space if you are a large skink. This king skink would be close to forty to forty five centimetres long.

Egernia kingii hiding in the table

These Egernia's are usually found not too far from the coast and love to shelter beneath rocks, in crevices like our table and burrows. They are omnivorous so I'm hoping they may have developed a taste for snails and slaters along with the usual insects and other small animals. I expect they will be munching on the plentiful tomatoes too.

On the subject of tomatoes - we have a plentiful supply of young frogs hanging out in the tomato bushes. I guess they like the humidity there. If they are not careful they may well become king skink dinner. Frog with a side serve of tomato. Delicious??

The frogs are Litoria moorei, or Western green tree frog. They have a distinctive call rather like a motorbike changing gears. Their other common name is the motor bike frog. When there is a moist change on the way they usually start calling about a day in advance. When rain is forecast and the frogs don't call we know the rain is probably going to bypass us.

Littoria moorei  

Time flies

I've been missing in action for quite a while. Life is like that sometimes. This month I hope to get back on track.

I have been preserving fruit. Damson plums - they make the most delicious plum jam - but they are fiddly, being small and cling stone. I bottled some too and they look great. The twenty eight parrots feast on the fruit high on the tree, while the chooks get the windfalls.

Joey Williams

I have been rehearsing two nights a week for Joey Williams' Songlines project. It is a cross cultural performance expressing the story of his family songline, performed in part to honour the memory of his father who died last year. His family totems are all the forms of fire - smoke, embers, fire sticks, sparking fire and flaming fire.

It was also an excuse to dye up some fabrics for our costumes - earthy and reminiscent of skins. Out came the dyepot and in went silks and cottons and karri bark, eucalypt leaves and rusty iron.

I have done some sewing as well, using fabric I had dyed and printed.

I have been helping to build the red tent, with many other woman, for Sarah Martin's Red Tent Project. It is a big geodesic dome built from bamboo struts and leather hubs, all bolted together and covered with a zipped together red vinyl covering. It is envisaged as a safe and nurturing space for woman.

I have been to writing workshops with Linda Bradbury as part of the Red Tent Project series of workshops. I managed to get to one of the Write in the Great Southern author talks.

Image by Bharat Sikka

We have been to Perth to catch up with family and attend the opening of the Pilbara Stories exhibition at Form Gallery way back in early February. The exhibition runs till 20th April. To get the best value from this exhibition the stories that were collected at the same time need to be read in conjunction with the images. The photographers are Martin Parr, Ketaki Sheth, Bharat Sikka, Annet van der Voort and John Elliott.

Image by John Elliott

And there have birds congregating on the inlet and pretty sunsets in amongst it all.

At the fisherman's jetty at Crusoe Beach

Pelicans and cormorants