The plight of a baby possum.

Photo from Google Images.

Yesterday I was determined to water both front and back garden. The last time we had any rain of significance would be many months ago and  from memory well before Helvi became sick, perhaps even before she broke her arms on the 29th of June. I look back now but did not realise that at that time a wonderful live would, like a flickering slow light be extinguished in just a few months later, when as far as we believed death would not be met till a few more years later. We cling to life even though we know we stand up, sit down and lie prostate on the board dying our whole lives long.

The hose was full on and I let it flow close to the ground not wishing to risk burning the leaves when the temperature would rise close to 40C later on, scorching the greens and colouring them a brown, a desolate plight of many gardens in our area right now. You can hear the sound of thirsty trees and desolate shrubs shrinking, as the days go on in relentless drought and scorching heat.

After finishing the watering with our Jack Russell ‘Milo’ making a wise choice to remain inside I noticed a small animal on the mat near the front door. It was soaking wet. At first I thought it was rat but soon changed my mind when I noticed its long tail with a white end. It’s face was also not of a rat. It looked at me all frightened, almost pleading to not ignore it and leave it dying. It was a small baby ringtail possum. Someone told me or I might even have read it, that with marsupials it sometimes happens that the mothers in order to save their own lives will jettison her off-spring and leave them to their own devices and that might then well end up in their deaths. Perhaps with the fires, smoke and general climatic confusion nature is sensing the seriousness of the situation better than we do, or at least better than our stupid politicians.

I closed the door and with Milo inside, I knew it wasn’t him that had somehow been responsible for this little bundle on the mat outside. Milo would not be that callous even though he would not be shy of chasing mature possums running around screaming and grunting all night in their mating frenzy in the tops of our large Manchurian pear trees. This was a baby possum. It was in need of something so I went back outside and it had crawled a short distance of the mat but was now being observed by our neighbour’s cat. Was it the cat that somehow had damaged it preventing it from escaping. I could not judge or even know at what stage a possum can start to walk, climb trees. I did not know its age and could not even guess it. I kept looking at its beady frightened eyes and chased the cat away, scooped it up and put it into an Aldi shopping bag.

I knew that all veterinary places are obliged to take on wild life, so drove with baby in the Aldi bag to one not far from here.  They were pleased to deal with it. The vet checked the baby over and said he did not see any blood or wounds. Why was it not walking? Had it fallen out of the tree, chucked out by its mum? The vet put the little one in its own little cage with soft woolly things to snug into. It must be missing his or her mother! And I hoped that the Aldi bag had not traumatized it even further. It carried al kind of  detergents, fly sprays, minced meats, kangaroo pet meat…!

I phoned the vet later on and he told me the little baby possum was handed over to WIRES which is an organisation that are experts in looking after injured wild life done by volunteers who are doing a wonderful job. I wish the little baby ring tail possum all the best and may it climb trees for many years to come!

https://www.wires.org.au/

A matter of contrast.

An Irish family who have lived and worked in Australia for over ten years now faces deportation because their 4 year old son has a disability which the government deems to be too much of a ‘burden.’ Unbelievable, and how does Australia keep getting away with these deplorable cruel acts? https://www.sbs.com.au/news/this-irish-family-is-facing-deportation-because-of-their-son-s-cystic-fibrosis

If it wasn’t for our retreat into our garden with daily sun and nightly stars we would have left this barren and morally depleted country years ago. To be honest it’s not the country’s fault really, and perhaps the idealisation of perceived better places elsewhere on this earth might be totally wrong. I happen to read up on Iceland and was astonished to read they have a law that prohibits women earning less than men. They also do not have an army and at one stage had a government with women only. They also jailed corrupt banking moguls. Those sort of facts about a country gladden the heart, don’t they?

In fact, we did leave many years ago and lived with our three children back in Holland for just over three years. That first summer was glorious with everlasting evenings. The sun did not go down till 10pm and woke us up at 5am. We bought bicycles for all of us and rode around without a worry with weeping willows bowing to the wind and in our faces. We made the move back to Australia because my family were living there and I was missing my brothers and sister. We also had Whitlam,  Bob Hawke and Paul Keating as Prime ministers who moved Australia into the twentieth century.

But, let me just look at the positive. A few days ago I happen to take the above photo. As I walked out of the door I noticed this isolated daisy having risen from the garden during the night. I took out my iPhone and took this picture. Isn’t it lovely? A shy golden nugget daisy nestling against the coarse bark of the Manchurian pear tree. They seem symbiotic. The softness and colour of the flower gives sustenance and beauty to the coarse barked tree which in return gives shelter and support to the daisy.  The flower is raising its head in gratitude to the tree and the trunk seems to answer with ‘no worries’, mate.

If you look carefully at the picture you might see a cane basket at the back of the flower. It was used as a laundry basket for decades but was past it’s use and started to break. Helvi put it in the garden and filled it with leaves and some soil. No doubt the basket will be reclaimed by the garden in time and more daisies will come up. It is a give and take, isn’t?

 

Gravity defied.

Manchurian Pear

The above tree is not going to be with us much longer. At least not in its present shape. It was getting too large. During storms we watched the trunk twisting and turning alarmingly. With our previous farming life, and breeding alpacas, we were told to keep animals away from those type of trees. They, out of the blue, will drop large branches. Not deliberately, but as part of their nature. They split easily. But… they are also very beautiful trees giving us freely an amazing display of burnished gold during autumn. Unfortunately when they drop (unexpectedly) heavy branches, they fall down to earth and not up to heavenly skies. That is determined by the law of gravity.

I was told that this law doesn’t apply everywhere in our universe. There are many places in the more celestial areas where this law of gravity doesn’t exists. I have always been baffled that things fall down. As a child I remember seeing twirling seed pots taking a long time to reach the ground after leaving the safety of the parental tree.. Those seed pots attempted clearly to defy the law of gravity, and were very brave to do so.

In our condominium it was decided to cut some trees near the street that were pushing over a boundary fence. We were happy to go without a fence. It is a bit unfortunate, but fences seem very popular in Australia. Perhaps real estate when owned, has to be protected by a fence. Do people steal bits of real estate? Will we arrive home after watching a movie in the cinema, and find our kitchen has been stolen, or the front door?

As you can see, our kitchen is still in place, at least at twenty minutes to eight in the morning. Anyway, we agreed to let those fence pushing trees to be cut down, and also asked to include for the arborist the lopping of our Manchurian pear to about the size it was when we moved in our own (fenced off) town-house. I watched the cutting of the trees with great interest. There is something about a man swinging high up, chainsaw dangling from his belt, cutting a large tree. Of course, here too the law of gravity reigns supreme and no branch moved skywards.

All trees were fed into a monstrous machine that chipped it into mulch. The mulch was subsequently blown into a large truck. The truck then deposited it on the side of one townhouse for the use of the residents needs to mulch their gardens. The last item to be lopped to size was our own Manchurian tree.  It too was fed into this machine.

It looks very sad now. Those trees are very fast growing. We are sure that next spring it will double in size again. That’s life. A renewal of everything. It will be great to watch it rear up and grow. Below, the ‘after’ picture of the tree.

 

 

 

 

 

More Words.

Our Garden

It is now quite clear. The garden is reclaiming our house. It started innocently enough with the Virginia creeper crawling up the garage wall without really saying anything. We left it alone knowing the leaves would come down no matter what. It’s burnished gold was pleasing to look at and helped us cope with the chillness of autumn winds. This chillness has now almost become winter but the winds have calmed. In a rebuke to winter I noticed the daffodils are starting to burst through the mulch. The mulch came compliments of a large branch of the Manchurian Pear.

The tree got caught in a tempestuous Willy Willy and it managed to tear off a huge branch. A very large machine was called in which taught the tree a bitter lesson. The branch was fed into this machine which chipped it into a large truckload of mulch. The machine was merciless and you should have heard the screaming protesting wail from the tree branch. All to no avail. I asked the truck to dump the chipped Manchurian tree branch on our parking lot, which it did. This mulch is now feeding the daffodils and jonquils which proves that goodness is often (but not always) eked out of the bad, no matter what.

Reclaiming garden

We had a small shed build in the back yard some 4 years ago after we moved in. Inside this shed are Helvi’s gardening tools including also a bucket full of gardening gloves and several pairs of secateurs. There is a hand mower. The hand mower is lovely to use. It doesn’t have a motor. I could not cope with the noise. The silent rotating blades on this mower is a joy to watch and reminds me of mowers of my youth. There is also a fold-up canvas camping chair. When the sun is out I sometimes sit in that chair, try and soak up a lovely warmth. So does Helvi. We both soak up warmth.

Time passes now with an ever increasing noise of gardening machines and technology. I mean those whipper snippers are really the pits… The autumn has witnessed again the relentless use of those bazooka like leaf blowers. Often people seem to like using those machines. Is it Freudian? I mean they strap them on, march up and down the street, and point hem at the leaves in a revengeful manner. What have those leaves ever done to them? Is it an expression of suffering marital whiplash? Fair enough, but take it out underneath your despairing blankets but not against the innocent leaves or our ears.

We had pasta left over last night. I’ll try and drown it in a mixture of milk, eggs, pepper and salt with lots of formaggio and bake it. That’s it, just wack it into the oven on high heat. The cheese will get brown and crispy. Hoorah!

A bit of peace and quiet goes a long way.

Autumn and Pilates

Autumn is now in mid-flight. The Manchurian Pears put on their royal show with their auburn burnished leaves dropping like tarnished silver littering the streets and footpaths. Children are on Easter holiday full of chocolate and loud matinee movies. The mothers already counting the days before a return to school. Our own grandkids now grown into having better things to do than visit old fogeys, especially when urged to read a good book or even just lift eyes up and away from their hand held nervous electronica! I read a sign yesterday at a hotel in Mittagong placed outside on the footpath, ‘No Wi Fi here’ followed by a stern ‘talk to each other’! Most surprising and enlightened publican there. There is hope yet in this world so obsessing with all that instant gratification from swiping and downloading gibberish. They text; “I am in Auburn Rd, shopping”, “where are you”? Text back; “I am near my door, leaving for my Pilates”.Mr Joseph Pilates from Mönchengladbach has a lot to answer for. Millions of followers. It combines both mental and physical exercises. It made me wonder how the mental exercise had enlightened the texting practitioner? She answered; I have lost 6 kilos!

My grandkids would probably admonish me for my hypocritical stance and say; you are always on the computer too, what’s the difference? Rightly so! It must be sign of ageing or at best being, ‘an oft repeated saying slung at me; ‘you are just a curmudgeon.’ Of course I wear this badge with honour. Anyone who know a good curmudgeon knows they are enlightened truth tellers possessing great wit and sharpness of mind. It is a peculiar trait reserved for few men. Oft desired by many but seldom attained. Many believe they are old men, cranky and impatient, loaded up with chagrin till finally finding a fiery end in a glazed urn. With some luck they might get scattered around Parramatta Rd, or ,God forgive along the M5. Their grey ash flung out of the moving car’s window. ‘Good riddance you cranky-pot’ as a final goodbye and wind blown powdery epitaph.
This is what I gleaned from WiKi about curmudgeons and how to become one.

1. curmudgeons are not pleasers! You must not care about being popular or liked. If that matters to you, go to therapy!
2. Curmudgeons are not crabby – that is a myth. We tell the truth, and some people don’t like that. Tell Junior what you really think of his writing. Tell Aunt Ida that she’s got bad breath. Don’t be mean about it, but don’t try to make everything sound pretty!
3. Curmudgeons do not follow ‘trends’! You must learn to think for yourself! If a popular media figure says something is great, you don’t care for it. If most of the people around you like a TV show, gadget or movie, it makes you yawn. You may need to try forcing yourself not to like what’s popular until you learn to think independently.
4. Curmudgeons do not shop! Find something else to do with your time, like go for walks, garden, or take up a craft (it does not need to be a good or useful craft – it’s the process that counts).
5. Curmudgeons do not like new things. Poke around the attic, garage or basement until you find that old thing you used to use, rather than buy something new. Or borrow it!

In the meantime the autumnal season marches on and right now is so beautiful it makes everything worth hanging onto for a while longer. The rain over the last few weeks have been plentiful and this must have giving all trees a final spurt of growth with the foliage blowing out but now relinquishing all that in a glorious final crescendo of warm colours and golden glow. It is Vivaldi at his best and heavenly. You can tell that the trees are listening too.