Sweet nothing

I have written before of 'The Avenue', which is a track down to the water pump; its name coming from the glorious white-barked gum trees that line this gravel walkway. It was in one of these gum trees that I spied a morepork [owl] though must confess his residency was short lived. Perhaps this little bird, for it was a juvenile, decided that it didn't appreciate a daytime sleep being interrupted by humans walking to and fro past its hidey-hole. How can a bird sleep under such difficult circumstances!

The meter-box that hid, for a short time, the black snake that still causes me to shake at the thought, is towards the end of 'The Avenue'. In spite of the snake, and I am convincing myself that snakes do not go to the same place twice [a comforting thought!], I trail regularly down The Avenue to switch on the water pump. Most days this is indeed a pleasant pastime that cuts wash-day blues into a smaller part.

Now that the days are hot, and the gum trees are in full blossom, that walk deceives the mind into thinking it must be near an airfield where small planes buzz, buzz, all day. However there are no aeroplanes in sight. The noise is simply bees gathering honey. Small honey bees flit from perfumed flower to perfumed flower; that perfume remarkably heady in the morning air. When one wanders along a city street many perfumes waft by ... most are artificial, and many are unpleasant causing one to wrinkle the nose and wonder why, oh why, a human body can dab such odours in places designed to send perfumes far and wide.

The other morning the buzz of the bees busily gathering honey sent me back to the house for the camera. Would I be able to capture the hive at work? The result is below ... the bees seem to not be bothered by human presence, and I wonder if they realise that this particular human is partial to a slab of fresh bread spread with honey?

It was black!

As is the case with many homes in 'the bush', our water supply emanates from a bore. Thankfully the water is not brown, nor does it stain any place it lands. The water from our bore is pure and clear. Not that I drink it except in coffee or tea ... I buy bottled water from the supermarket. This is because of the propaganda one reads about germs in water.

Anyway, back to the story in hand.

Our water is pumped by electric pump from the bore to a holding tank near the house. Each time I wash the clothes, as part of a routine, I wander down 'the avenue' and switch on the pump, which isn't as efficient as it could be. Any where from an hour to and hour and a half later the tank overflows and I hurry down to switch the pump off. Easy! 'The Avenue' [so named by no other than myself] is a formed track lined with an avenue of gums that have a fascinating bark. At one stage of their growth the bark is almost white, then in a certain time of the year the bark tends to peel off, much like a cast orange skin that just misses the trash bin. Bark lies in interesting shapes along the track.

Another phenonomen that is beginning to occur at this time of year is the ritual stripping of end leaves, and small twigs, of the gum trees by galahs and twenty eights. The Avenue then displays a carpet of crunchy green ... until the sun's heat dries it when it turns into a rather pretty shade of pinky beige. One can imagine a cool living room decorated in the colours of the leaves still on the tree [a cool almost lime green], with accents of the pinky beige.

Recently the house tank overflowed. I had a larger wash than usual so hurried down to switch the pump off. Upon opening the door of the meter box, to my utmost horror, something black sprung up from the base of the box. I slammed the lid down and almost ran back to Dave insisting he come and see.

Once upon a time a family of geckos lived in the meter box ... sometimes one would fall out when I opened the door as it had been too close to the edge. What I recoiled from was not a gecko!

Dave armed himself with a tool designed to hold snakes at bay. I armed myself with a spade. Tools of the trade if we were in the business of disposing of snakes! By this time I was persuaded that what I had seen must have been a snake ... if it wasn't simply the piece of stick that rested on the bottom of the box, just in case Mrs Redback decided to make a birthing spot for her babies.

Refusing to open the door ... I am not silly ... I insisted Dave undertake that honour. Gingerly he opened the door. There was nothing there!

For a moment he looked doubtfully at me. Did he think I had imagined the black thing?! I persuaded him that I had indeed seen something, and that something was black and sprung up.

There was a small arpeture at the bottom of the box; we surmised that Mr Snake, which I was informed most likely was a harmless python [still a snake!!!], had most likely slid earthwards through this small opening. Needless to say it was with some trepidation that I switched the pump on and off for the next few times. Now I realise that a snake would probably not go back to the same place twice if its source of food was no longer available.

Yesterday one of the geckos, or one of its relatives, had returned. I will now continue to be careful when opening the door to the meter box.

Passport photo

The face showed no emotion as it stared at me. Twin faces exactly alike, apart from a blue-black mark across the nose and upper cheek on the left, showed not as much as a blink of an eye or a twitch of a smile as they observed. I had seen that face recently and fleetingly wondered what such an expressionless demeanor hid. There was a resemblance in the long narrow features to my late aunt, a favourite aunt who found time in her long life to play an important part in the childhood of her nieces and nephews, even if they lived at the other end of the nation. Her long hair was plaited and wound around the crown. The face that gazed from the oblong strip did not show plaits, but the hair was drawn back and secured out of sight, showing ears with earrings, small pearls that gave the appearance of belonging to a woman of conservative taste. A white and black blouse peeked, decorously, above the slightly plunging neckline of a melon knitted jacket.

I wondered if others realised that the face in the photograph had a personality, was animated with a well-honed sense of humour, and found the procedure of applying for and obtaining a passport, that would be her identification for the next five years, tiresome. I knew. Those twin faces printed on shiny photograph paper had been taken at the post office a few days earlier. Showing of teeth, as in a smile, was out. Wearing glasses was frowned upon, and as I clutched my spectacles, with narrow frames, in my lap, hidden from the camera, I was conscious of little … my eyes are not what they used to be when I was younger.

As I studied the photo I found it difficult to believe the old face was mine. A few weeks ago that same face had caught my eye through the side rear view window of a car I was passenger in. For a moment I frowned trying to recollect where I had seen that woman before. She looked cold and sad and lonely. Surely it wasn’t me? The face in the photos didn’t look cold, nor sad, nor lonely, just expressionless. However it was necessary for me to renew my passport. I had no immediate plans to travel, but being a resident in a country not of my birth necessitated the holding of a recognizable, by the authorities, form of identification. Five years this unflattering photo will serve as my official identification. Whenever I travel abroad, whenever I need to prove my identity, this photo will be peered at by whoever is asking.

Personally I would prefer to have a photo, for official purposes that showed me smiling. I like smiling. It is a friendly emotion and one that opens an individual to participating in all types of conversations, especially on public transport, which I use when a journey of several hours is undertaken. Here in Western Australia long journeys are the norm and when I feel the need to visit family and friends in my homeland my passport will come into its own.

I arrived in Australia several winters ago. Winter in Australia is like a cool summer in New Zealand, and that first winter was as unlike any winter I had ever experienced in New Zealand. There were no icicles with their cold crystals clinging to the insides of the bedroom window and no need to have numerous layers of bedding weighing down on my sleeping body as I attempted to keep warm, there was no coal range providing a welcome warmth to the kitchen, there were no clothes draped on a wooden clothes horse, nor frozen ground that made digging carrots or parsnips a finger numbing exercise, and no sheets as stiff as boards crackling as a bone chilling breeze whipped them against the adjoining towels or carefully hidden underwear that competed for space with socks and face cloths on an inner line.

Summer crept upon us relentlessly, its heat and flies and dust a new experience. Thankfully I had a room to call my own, a room that sported an air con system. I had been pre-warned not to indulge in the cool benefits of air con until the temperature reached at least 35 degrees. I persevered. As the morning warmed and the sun rose in the clear blue sky I doggedly stayed out of its direct rays, drew drapes and gradually adjusted to Australian summers.

Peek - a - boo

Upon our return from several days 'doon sooth', or in English, the southern city, we were almost pleasantly surprised that the surviving four of the original capsicum plants, while drooping due to the heat in our absence, were at least still green. Several heavy applications of water have brought them back to the lush, healthy, state of two weeks ago.

It was obvious strong winds had blown during that ten days; the sand was smooth, the fallen gum leaves plentiful, and small twigs lay on the ground.

For the first two days the absence of signs of the presence of the tawny frog mouths disappointed me. This morning, as I made what is a morning pilgrimage peering into low hanging branches of the heavily-barked gum trees, the usual favoured habitat of the tawny frog mouth family, there perched on a couple of branches sat the three birds. I had imagined 'baby' would have been given final flying lessons and sent off into the wide blue yonder. It is still home with the parents ... perhaps a modern tawny frog mouth who, like the human young of today, prefer to stay home with the parents ... though I suspect it's survival skills need some further updating. I must confess; I am thrilled. The family of tawny frog mouths provide wonderful moments as they appear to be not in the least concerned with my attention. Not that I ever touch them, nor do I attempt to get closer than ground distance from them. That respect is acknowledged by their apparent liking of living near to us.

As I inspected the capsicum plants I noticed a small excavation nearby. I had taken note of similar excavations around but did not know exactly what they were.

The following morning an answer was provided! As the sun rose in the morning sky a small lizard poked it's head from the excavation. Moments later this little creature lay half-sprawled, like a beach baby on a Hawaiian printed towel at the beach on a hot Sunday. This was a camera moment!

Almost daily encounters with the wild life of this area not only keep me entertained, but enthralled.

Almost goodbye to Tawny frog-mouth baby

The tawny frog-mouth chick is growing daily. While it still needs to learn to sleep during the day, and to practice its 'pretending to be a log' routine a little more, this babe is close to the time when it will fly away to make a life of its own, leaving the parent birds to hatch a second family.

The frog-mouths are acutely attuned to the weather. To my knowledge they have at least three varying situations where they roost during the day. One can tell which way the wind will blow just by ascertaining where they spend the day.

Their most popular residence is the old gum tree over the way ... the gum tree that looks as if its days are numbered as several branches are bare. Never mind ... the frog-mouths like the forked branches, settling down for the day on two near the trunk. Sometimes, when the wind comes from the opposite direction they choose the rear bedroom ... the branch from the other side of the trunk.

Yesterday they perched outside the kitchen door on the branches they occupied during two or three months of winter. The wind was strong yesterday, but their perch was relatively sheltered.

Today they moved to their shady motel behind the laundry. There the shade of the house, plus a greater abundance of larger trees helps keep the temperature down, though at the moment [temperature at 40 degrees] their wings are puffed out in an attempt to keep cool.

Tomorrow? I don't know.

I am aware, however, that the days this chick stays home with its parents are numbered. Soon it will be taken away, and the age-old caper of reproduction will recommence.

Tawny Frog-Mouths and Blue Tongues

Almost daily the blue tongue lizards roam our, and their, area. The larger two frequently wander indoors, their tongues flicking in and out in search for a tasty morsel. The two smaller lizards are not as opportune, though occasionally wander through the kitchen. They all appear to realise that we are friends, not foe. Dave no longer picks them up as they really didn't appreciate the handling, even though it was meant kindly. Instead we set out small pieces of food [they love Granny Smith apples chopped into small pieces], and scraps of meat off-cuts. Bread isn't all that popular, though they do condescend to eat that once the meat or fruit has disappeared.

The larger two lizards show little fear and the other day as I sat at the computer one almost walked over the top of my feet. I noticed it first! I moved!

Ever since I have lived in the mid-west we have watched the tawny frog-mouths raise their families. Last year it did seem as though one of the adults had died; only one adult sat on two eggs, both of which hatched out, but the babies died within two days.

Anxiously I watched the lone adult. Would he/she find another mate? Weeks later it did. For weeks over the winter the couple perched in a tree just outside our back door. One day they disappeared; they didn't come back.

I wasn't worried about their none-appearance as I assumed; rightly as it has turned out; they were adding to the tawny frog-mouth population. Just on daylight one day last week we heard the tell-tale noise of the owls calling. Bed time!

I searched the trees. Two adults, and one young frog-mouth sat in a gum tree.

If we take particular notice of the perching habits of tawny frog-mouths during the day, we can tell if the wind will be strong [the youngster is then placed securely between the parents], or from which direction the wind will come.

Soon this youngster will be taken away to find it's own place in the world, and another brood will hatch. Maybe there will be two chicks again this time?

Another Visitation

Surprises!! Two days ago Dave was sitting out on the verandah enjoying the warm weather and I was reading the newspaper at the table. Suddenly Dave called out, "Come and look at this!"

I looked up from the paper, adjusted my spectacles, and noticed a blue tongue roaming the kitchen.

"I can't just now," I called. "You come here and see who has come to visit!"

Dave replied, "Grandaddy is here."

"He can't be! He is inside with me!"

Both of us moved towards the door. Sure enough there was one large blue-tongue lizard on the concrete near Dave. And ... there was another, slightly smaller, but not one of the juvenilles, on the carpet near me. A hurried consulation followed. We came to the conclusion that we not only have Grandaddy, but Grandmammy as well. Later we decided that perhaps they might be Daddy and Mammy ... that way the family of blue-tongue lizards will continue to increase.

Since then both lizards have wandered around indoors, eaten apple cores left out for them, and one yesterday stood under the tap looking up as though waiting for the drips to fall, its feet in the plate of water, and every moment or two sipped from the edge of the plate.

This afternoon one came inside and proceeded to act like a mini-vacuum cleaner, roaming around picking up crumbs dropped to the floor in preparation of lunch. It appeared completely unafraid ... until ... I moved across the room. It took of at great speed, racing for cover under my computer desk. Later in the afternoon as I was sitting sewing I noticed it peek out, but noticing me, it retreated. I have a feeling this blue-tongue is sleeping in the corner near to the desk as I type. As it is now dark, no doubt it will sleep inside for the night, and once tomorrow warms up, hopefully will find its way outside.

The smaller blue-tongues roam outdoors, but as yet haven't ventured inside the kitchen.