Happy Ending

At last there is happy news about the Tawny Frog-mouth family.

The new nest built in a more sheltered situation never-the-less had to face the storm force winds that shook the branch bringing leaves to the ground.  The Golden Orb spider web constructed near the nest needed constant mending, and is now falling into disrepair ... where is the spider?  Did it become a tasty morsel for Junior Tawny Frog-mouth?

We travelled to the southern city early in the month, around the time of a full moon.  After observing the nesting and hatching habits of these not really pretty birds, but still birds of immense character, a conclusion was drawn that the days surrounding full moon were important.  The egg is laid around full moon, and it hatches around the following full moon.

Upon our return from down south I immediately checked out the nest.  Eggsitter sat; the other parent perched on a nearby tree.  This was as it always had been.  No sign of a baby.  Perhaps my conclusions were incorrect!  I looked down, and there, under the nest, lay a small white fluffy bundle ... already ants had found the baby tawny frog-mouth.  Yet Eggsitter still sat.  I wondered if there had been two eggs in this new nest.

Daily checks showed nothing.  Then at the end of last week I spied another baby, one whose white feathers were replaced by the tawny feathers of a fledgling.  Success!!!  A baby hatched and growing, in spite of the inclement conditions.

This morning I was amused to watch the curious antics of this baby ... all babies need a name ... Bambino seemed suitable.  Bambino was curious stretching it's body so far forward that for a moment I feared it would fall to the ground.  Eggsitter appeared disinterested ... no doubt 'putting up' with the camera clicking as it has over the past several years whenever a baby, or two, appear.

One day soon this little bird will find the use of its wings and hopefully will move closer to the trees around the house sheltered from strong winds.

Tawny Frog Mouth

I have written previously of the Tawny Frogmouth family that inhabit the trees in our vicinty. 

This year a nest was perched high on the overhanging gum tree directly above where the vehicles are parked; close to the house.  I watched with interest as this was going to be the year of close obsevation.

The tawny frogmouth began egg sitting around August full moon.  For some time I suspected these birds organise the important function in their lives around the moon, as I had noticed hatchlings appeared close to full moon, and wondered if perhaps the incubation time was indeed one month.

About a week before September full moon a storm swept through; the branches swayed rain falling in torrents onto the hapless parent and the insubstantial nest.  Tawny frogmouths are not builders of extensive homes!  A suitable branch, often near a fork in the tree, with a wisp of grass  forming a basis on which to lay the egg.  We watched anxiously but the parent sat tight.

A few days later the parent bird became agitated.  It [I do not know whether the male or the female sits on the egg during the day, but suspect that the night shift is shared] stood up and seemed to walk on the egg.  I thought it was moving the egg and wondered if the baby needed help in entering this world.  This unusual behaviour continued through the next day.  However by then the bird had taken to 'catching flies' that were hovering.  These flies were obviously a cause of great annoyance indicated by regular snapping of the beak.

One afternoon I happened to notice small pieces of egg shell on the ground.  Aha, I thought, the chick has hatched.  No sign of it in the nest, no sign of it sheltering under the parent.  What was going on?  A day later the bird did not sit on the nest.  Instead it was in another tree, a regular haunt of this pair, sitting with its mate.

I wonder what happened to the first chick?  Did those cold stormy days make it impossible for the parent to keep the egg warm and viable?  Did it hatch out and promptly die?  We will never know as the branch is far too high, and I imagine the flies would have destroyed any evidence within a short time.

For a couple of weeks the pair rested in the 'other haunt' during the day, no doubt doing their exercise and food gathering in the hours of darkness, as tawny frogmouths are nocturnal.

This week only one bird settles in the 'other haunt' during the day.  I have wandered under several gum trees, gazing upwards in the hope of finding another nest.  As yet ... to no avail.  If my observations are correct, and if the weather and conditions are suitable, I hope a chick will begin a new life sometime around next full moon.

One hour later:

More wheelbarrowing leaves!  This time a discovery!!!  As I tipped the barrowload of leaves onto the heap my eyes wandered, ever watchful, ever hopeful, on the nearby gum trees.  With a wonderful result.  There, on a branch waving in the breeze, I happened to notice a dark blob that didn't look like it belonged.  I walked quietly over, and there not many feet above the ground, but more than reaching distance, was my 'Eggsitter' tawny frogmouth.  It heard my approached; it glanced downwards.

Of course this was the camera opportunity I wanted, and how relieved I was that once again I could observe what I hope will be a successful hatching.

The tawny frogmouth sitting on an egg; maybe two!??

And not 10metres to the left, in the tree where they both resided just a week ago, was 'The mate', beak in the air in an effort to persuade me it was not there. 

Man's Best Friend

A popular song in Australia some time ago was 'Every Man Needs a Shed', though frankly I would have thought a better song may have been 'Every Woman Needs a Space to Call her Own', but for the moment inspiration hasn't inspired!

There is another saying, that a dog is man's best friend, ~  woman should be included in that title as well!

The other week we headed south to the Big Smoke to house/dog sit for my son and his partner as they holidayed in the sunny and much warmer Northern Territory.  House sitting at this home presents us with the opportunity to watch TV.  OK, my football team lost by 1 point!  I was not amused, but as a right-thinking woman I [hope] they will fare better in the future, though with injuries, that future may be next year ... or the year after.  After over a week watching the television I am happy we do not have that distraction; it is difficult to sew whilst watching, and impossible to read.

Dog sitting is a pleasure!  This little part poodle/part something else that I forget, but a terrier of some breed, takes little looking after.  Dave takes her for a walk each morning; around the block including some streets of another block.  She loves it coming home with a glint in the eye and heads straight for her water bowl.  The next wee while is spent recuperating on the cushion, plumped by her feet into just the right shape; it is there she recovers lost energy.

I have a part to play in this 'dog looking after caper' ... I keep her fed and watered, though because of a slight problem with her rear-end meat was off the diet, which meant no tidbits at the table.  I am sure a tiny crust of toast would have done no harm, and that little action kept us in her good books. 

Even after her 'parents' arrived home Cassie still found a place to sleep near wherever we sat ... I have an idea she likes to keep in our good books as well ... no doubt there will be more 'dog/house sitting' episodes in the future.

Kookaburra in the old gum tree

Is there any image more Australian than the sight of a kookaburra in the old gum tree? 

Most days the maniacal laughter of resident kookaburras echoes across the landscape making me wonder how the early settlers thought when they first heard the unusual, and loud, call of the kookaburra.  Surely their first thoughts would have been that they were indeed going crazy or that some unknown person were in the bush intent on scaring the living daylights out of them.

Living in the country affords us the opportunity to observe the antics of many varieties of bird life.  Admittedly the kookaburra is mainly an early morning bird [who needs an alarm clock?] or a dusk bird, but occasionally its laughter flits across the air waves reminding us of its presence, and announcing to all that 'this is my territory'. 

Late yesterday afternoon a kookaburra laughed just outside the house;  I looked.  Not just one, but two of these birds of the kingfisher family, hurried to grab the camera and was lucky enough to capture two on film.

What is it?

This morning I had a find!  Wandering back from switching the water pump on my eyes were drawn to what, initally, looked like a plant, but not a plant I had ever seen.  I walked closer.  No, it was not a plant.  I called My Other Half and he said it was a creature [he picked it up!  I like to look, not touch!]  Back to the house for the camera ... and a few photos of what could be a winged praying mantis, but I am not sure. 

This creature was quite large and I know I would have screamed had it flew into me in the dark of night!  Most likely I would have yelped had it flew towards me in the light of day as well. 

Whatever it is the wings are spectacular, delicate gossamer and such a pretty shade of pink. 

Can you identify this 'creature'?

Thanks to Robyn for a reply:  In reply to her reply I add two more photos [the deceased mantis lies in a shoe box in the refrigerator].

I tried to capture a close-up of the head ... and while I could clearly see a row of teeth !!!! when looking at it, photographing that was not so easy.

Red Tailed Black Cockatoo

Winter has arrived.  After almost a week of welcome light rain that has turned the countryside from wizened dry vegetation into a carpet of wonderful green, the creatures in the mid-west show their appreciation.

Yesterday was a bird day.  Cockatoos whirled, landed on the tops of dead gum trees that are a favourite site, because the lack of leaves allow the bird to take off unencumbered with the clear risk of crashing their long wings into branches.  I watched as they called to each other, one pair circling and screeching ... was that a courtship? 

Eventually common sense arrived and I decided to take some photos.  It is not easy to get a photo of the red tails.  I only have a small digital camera and stand paused to 'click' at the critical moment.  Sometimes this means 'click', 'click', 'click' one after the other.  Sneaking up quietly for a closer view has its downside ... one step too far and the flock takes off ~ photo opportunity lost!  However, perserverance prevailed!

Cockatoo V Galah

Early one morning last week, as the wind whirled and whistled through the gum trees, my attention was drawn to noisy birds. We have many gum trees, several wattle trees, and a few dead gums with their barren grey branches reaching nakedly towards the sky. Usually the dead branches at the very tops of the gum trees are empty, apart from early morning when the red-tailed black cockatoos perch to greet the day. Feathers occasionally drop from their red tails and a hunt in the long grass will offer up a treasure of a feather, distinctive and bright, lying amongst the dry undergrowth.

This particular morning the screeching did not come from the red-tailed black cockatoos; instead the pink and grey galahs had taken over ownership of the dead branches. Poor black cockatoos circled and whirled, eventually settling on different branches several metres away. The two following days saw the same pattern repeated, but this morning the red-tailed black cockatoos had once again resumed ownership of their tree.

The photo shows the galahs in the tree tops.

Taxi!

Some creatures on this earth are beautiful, some downright ugly, some delightful and some scary. Spiders fit into the last category, though I do know that spiders may only be scary to a few ... I am one of the few!

Until I came to Australia spiders were mainly only seen outdoors and none, apart from the Katipo which I have never seen, were harmless. The Katipo I suspect is a first cousin to the Red-back spider in Australia and perhaps the Black Widow is of the same genre. As you may guess I try not to study the habits, or the varieties of spiders! Too often spiders form part of my day in the mid-west of Australia; some I ignore, others I scream loud and long enough for My Man to come to the rescue.

My last encounter did however grab my attention. My Man was sitting outdoors under the verandah; I was indoors knitting. Sounds a boring type of late afternoon doesn't it?

My Man called out, "Your friend is out here."

"Pardon?" Well my hearing does leave a little to be desired especially if I am not really expecting conversation.

"Your friend!"

I decided to go out and take a look. There on a rubber mat, half hidden from my view by a chain, sat, or stood [how does one tell?] a rather large spider. I resisted the temptation to cry out. It was a huntsman and rather large ... [a ball point pen is to its left in the photo ... carefully placed there for a size comparison].

My Man commented on the unusual lumps on its body. Quite frankly I hadn't taken that close a look! A glance had told me it was a spider; there was no more I needed to know. He poked at it with a piece of wood and it jumped/dropped/fell to the concrete. It was then I noticed a large number of what at first I thought were ants rushing from the accident scene. I looked again. Ants do not moved like that! A closer look told me the little creatures were baby spiders. It was then I remembered that somewhere, sometime, I had read spiders carry their young on their back. I know that to be a truth! Junior spider uses a parent as a taxi.

Roo Highway

This planet, viewed from above, must appear as a series of highways. I wonder what extra-terrestrials, if they exist, must think when they see the criss-crossing of roads and tracks, some leading to the city, others out of the city, and many simply tracks to scattered homesteads. I know that map reading is not the easiest! It's OK if we are on country roads, but city streets ... no way! I leave navigating to the driver; it is easier on my nerves.

Today we drove to an air show choosing to take the byways instead of the highways where traffic is invariably always in a rush. Admittedly the byways are seldom tarsealed but one gets used to hanging on to the bar placed in front of passengers who have travelled on sealed roads.

Not far from our venue we stopped; it was coffee and biscuit time; not an essential stop I know, but after rising early and breakfasting as the sun rose, I deemed it desirable to indulge in a sugar hit.

To our left My Man pointed out the 'Roo Highway'. I did stare blankly for one moment until it dawned exactly what he had said. I looked out.

A distinct track led down the berm, a roll of fur on the bottom wire of the fence showed that a kangaroo had pushed its way under the fence line. Initially I assumed kangaroos jumped a fence! However the evidence pointed to the truth. Across the road three different tracks down the slope merged before the Roo Highway.

Had we been earlier we may have witnessed kangaroos crossing their highway as they headed to the thicker ground-cover down the hillside.

What was that?

The weather is cooler making life in the Mid-West enjoyable again. Once the almost unbearable humidty left our shores the habit of carrying a hand towel all day just to wipe excessive perspiration is no longer necessary.

The creatures of a stifling summer have departed. Little gnats that managed to find a small entrance indoors to congregate around the light bulbs have diminished. An outside light left on all night did help to redirect them outdoors! Moths crashing into the glass door have found other places, or perhaps our adult tawny frog-mouths have devoured them.

After a long hot dry summer when dust and wind were the order of the day, a couple of small showers [Yes ... RAIN, if one can call the almost 2mls of water in the rain gauge rain] brought to light other creatures. Australia is a land of creatures!

Yesterday as I dropped momentarily into the armchair I happened to glance downwards. There, near the edge of the mat a creature with what seemed a million legs, lay quietly. I didn't scream! [Now had it been a mouse I may have!] I looked closely. A centipede, or a millipede ... I am not sure which is which ... carefully camoflaged by the mat, lay on its back. Something had caused its demise; for which I was thankful. My task was simple ... tell Dave to put it outdoors. He obliged ... just imagine if one had to knit little socks for such a creature!

A Stick?

The understatement of this year would be a comment on the weather! At last we have had some decent rain, 50mls over two days, but even that is drying out with the winds that whip across.

At the moment of a storm bird life and animal life disappears from view, apart from Jack the 'Lassie dog' that lives across the way. He takes it upon his undoglike self to stand, high on the mound created from a septic tank sump, and bark at the rain while his long usually well groomed coat attains the status of 'drooping'.

One evening whilst taking rubbish to the bin, and after strong winds had whistled around the eaves all day, I noticed a strange looking piece of gum tree. Not often did a fresh green twig fall to the ground, unless of course the wind was relatively strong. Mmmm ... I stooped to pick up this branch to place it in the bin with the kitchen debris of the day. It was then that I noticed a horde of small ants grouping around this branch. I took a closer look. This branch was not a branch! It was a stick insect!

I will confess that picking up insects is not part of my job requirement on this planet. Calling My Man to the rescue, I managed to persuade him to place it on top of the gas water heater for a photo opportunity.

It is amazing how creatures on this planet disguise themselves to fit into their environment.

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.

Lizards love Strawberries

I am constantly amazed at the wild life that abounds around here. I have written before of 'Grandaddy'. He, or perhaps she, as we have no idea how to differentiate males from females in the lizard species, nor does it matter, has truly made our environment his, or hers.

The gas bottles at the side of the house appear to be a favourite place. They sit on concrete slabs, and concrete slabs warm up quickly. In spite of the fact that lizards are wild creatures that probably should not become reliant on the human species for their nutrition, Dave began leaving out scraps of food. Not much ... just a few tasty morsels from his plate, specially cut into small pieces for a blue-tongue lizard.

From the deep recesses of my mind I recalled being told, "Blue-tongues love strawberries." We did grocery shopping in the city earlier in the week. Strawberries were a reasonable price, and make a simple but delightful end of a meal ... I prefer them served with yoghurt and [sorry, but this is the evening meal, and not breakfast] muesli. You haven't tried that combination as a sweet? Scrumptious!!

One of the larger, juicier, strawberries had 'lizard food' written all over its dimpled redness. I nibbled a small part of the top off and tossed the rest of the strawberry out by the gas bottles. Within moments Grandaddy had discovered his treat. As I watched he stretched his mouth wide and tousled with the quite large piece of strawberry, managing to swallow it once he had squeezed and squashed it with his jaw. Grandaddy loves strawberries!

Today he wandered indoors. As I sat stitching my swap hexagon flower, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a movement. It was Grandaddy strutting across the floor completely at home. I was crunching a Pink Lady apple at the time. Being of a scientific mind [a synonym for nosey] I wondered what the reaction would be if suddenly a piece of apple landed near him. I bit a small piece off and tossed it to where Grandaddy was sniffing at the chair leg. It took less than ten seconds for him to pick the apple off the floor and swallow it. Now we have Grandaddy eating healthy!

Of course water is an essential for life. Grandaddy isn't keen on being picked up and offered a drink from the bird bath. Yesterday he found his own drinking fountain. Dave is growing tomatoes and has a drip feed watering system set up ... Grandaddy found the tap where the hose is attached drips when the cycle is on. He stood under the tap; water dripping onto his head, which was held up allowing the droplets to run down his face. He stuck his blue tongue out capturing the life-saving water.

I think it would be a truth to state ... Grandaddy is quite at home here!

I can add that there are two other blue-tongue lizards that frequent our yard as well; one is quite small, while the other is larger, but not as large as Grandaddy. It is the presence of these other blue-tongues that makes me wonder if perhaps Grandaddy is actually Grandmammy ... it doesn't matter ... what is important is the fact that we are privileged to share our space with these lizards.

A Clearing Sale

To me, October seems to be hot this year. Little rain has fallen in the mid-west, and while the crops are looking OK around the district, farmers further south and inland are finding it a difficult situation. It does appear they may be given an option ... choosing between hay or a grain crop.

Yesterday we travelled north east to Tardun where a clearing sale was held at what once was Christian Brothers Agriculture School, but has recently closed down. The clearing sale was mainly 'odds and sods' ... bolts, garden tools, tyres, and numerous sundry farming items that would fill a page.

Once Tardun was an offshoot of Catholic Orphanages, and an amazing account of one student's days there is recalled in "The Bush Orphanage" by John Hawkins. He was an English lad, 'seconded' to Western Australia, and after spending time in an orphanage [for younger children] in Perth was sent to Tardun to complete his education. His recollections make enthralling reading. Scary in that what happened to him as regards his being shipped to Australia simply should not happen to anyone, little alone a small boy. Thankfully his story did have a happier ending ... Tardun was a good place for him.

So when the subject of a clearing sale at Tardun was raised I was keen to go. Not to view rusty old farming equipment, but to get a feeling for the place.

We drove along narrow country roads, some sealed, some not, arriving a little over two hours after our departure. Few others were there ... as is usual we were early. The little bush flies were active! Open windows were, to them, an invitation to enter and nose around. It was too hot to close windows, and instead of concentrating on a cryptic crossword that I had brought to while away the time, I decided to view the items for sale. Dave had looked around, and although he is an avid clearing sale/garage sale person, nothing captured his attention.

We departed ... however the day was not wasted.

I found Tardun to be a place of immense peace [apart from those flies, which I don't think I will ever get used to]. The air was clean and fresh. The birds, corellas and galahs, and a few 28's flew around content in the knowledge that this was their place. [Incidently John Hawkins has a fascinating antedoct about the ancesters of these birds.] The buildings, some in need of a lick of paint, probably have changed little over the years. We didn't drive past the main buildings, considering we had no right to be nosey ... but they looked imposing from the near distance. I was rather amused to see a multi-purpose TV atenna boldly pointing its shiny exterior to the heavens. Tardun is many kilometers from the nearest town, but is part of the modern world.

Our trip to Tardun was made exceptional! Not far from the 'farm' turnoff we noticed a triangle of logs on the roadside. Pieces of bright pink ribbon fluttered in the strong breeze. It was obvious this was a marker of some type. We turned back and there, growing within the triangle, on the roadside was a wreath flower. I had seen one before in a hall in Mullewa in a wildflower display. Never did it cross my mind I would see a wreath flower in the wild!! The roadside for some distance was colourful with displays of blue and yellow flowers that pushed their brilliant blooms up out of the red dirt.

After leaving the as-yet-to-begin auction we cruised around a side road discovering the remains of the Tardun General Store. Perhaps it is being done up as there were signs of activity, or perhaps it is in the process of being completely demolished. Presumably this General Store was once the place where local farmers collected their supplies. Now, when travel is quicker, they must travel to a nearby town, or perhaps every so often to the city.

The day of the Tardun clearing sale was a gem of a day ... spoiled by the amount of traffic we encountered on the Midlands Road on the way home. A bushfire on the Brand Highway closed that highway, plus the new Indian Ocean Drive, putting all traffic onto a detour via the Midlands Road.