During our usual phone chats during the week Damian informed me that the NT's biggest fire for Feburary was sitting just over 10km north of the station. On the drive home Friday night down the Buntine Highway I could see its glow illuminate the smoke. As I turned onto the beginning of the driveway I kept my eye on it so I could get an idea of the front on it. By the time my tyres rolled over the first grid onto Providence I had begun to think it was alot bigger then I had first imagined as straight ahead of me was a massive orange glow. All I could think of was "Oh no, Calvin's Paddock is on fire!". The last thing I wanted to do after working all day, running errands all afternoon and driving for three hours back to the station was fight fires all night. As I continued past Bob's Paddock turn-off it became apparent that the orange glow ahead was not a fire but in fact the moon. Set so low in the night sky it radiated the colour and intensity of the fire. It was absolutely mesmering. I was hooked on it... till something else caught my eye.
"JESUS!" I slammed on the brakes and "BANG!". I eventually came to a stop. I had hit a roo and he wasn't little either. The bullbar took the impact as he jumped straight in front of the car. I turned the toyota around to look to see if he was dead or alive and there he was in my headlights trying to get up. I'd paralysed him. I uttered another curse word as I turned back and kept heading for the station.
5 minutes later I pulled up at the house and marched inside to the bedroom and flicked the lights on.
"Damian!"
"What?" he whinged, trying to get used to the sudden, rude light.
"Is the gun loaded?"
"Yeah, what do you want the gun for?"
"A buck"
"A what?"
"A buck, a big f*** off roo!"
"Yeah, alright, be careful," he said as he rolled back over to sleep. Umm, whatever.
I went to the gunsafe to find only cobwebs. Well, that was money well spent. I figured since the gun wasn't in the safe it would be in the station toyota so off I went back down the driveway in a car a little more comfortable than my own. By the time I reached the kangaroo again he was already dead. No need for the gun after all. I dragged him off the road and apologised to him for hitting him. When I got back in the toyota Lacey was very enthusiastic about my testosterone scented, bloodied hands.
The next morning Damian inspected the damage and reported to me "You're not going to like what you see". The roo had smashed my dodgily installed bullbar into the bonnet in two places, he'd smashed off my main indicator on the drivers side and the indicator on my bullbar on the passenger side.
'Good timing you prick of a roo', I thought. Registration was due to come up on my car and in the NT with a car older than 5 years it involved a roadworthy inspection. This WAS the one year I thought that I didn't need any work done on it till now. I've got dents to smash back out and two indicators to replace. Thanks alot you kamakazeeing, death-wishing roo! It's times like these that I'm glad I drive a Landcruiser!
Sunday, 12 February 2012
Thursday, 9 February 2012
Smell That?
Smell that? That's the smell of the campfires lit by the Longrasser's on the banks of the town's river. Reminds me of dinner camp on mustering days. Horses hobbled and tied to trees. Maybe waiting for the first mob of coacher cattle to come in and the billy's on the boil or maybe it's just lunchtime and everyone is starving enough to hook into yet another corned beef sandwich.
See that? That's a piccaninny sunrise.Someone's ordered concrete early and alot of it across a good distance. Reminds me of a 4am wake up and breakfast of a nosebag for your horse before breakfast for yourself. By the time the sun is emerging you're out in the paddock, horses already saddled, waiting for the cattle, throwing your jacket in the toyota and braving the cold morning wind while fighting for a spot in the small amount of sun.
Smell that? Sitting behind a fully loaded road train of cattle at the lights, poking their heads out over the top deck while kicking out poo onto the road. Reminds me of weaners drafted off their mothers, living in a big yard, getting fat on hay, pellets and copra till they're tailed quiet and branded and ready to leave the yards for their new paddock at the end of a week. The smell of the yard while they're in it, sloppy poo from a sudden change in diet.
See that? Red dirt road that the council hasn't got around to bitumising yet. Reminds me of my driveway home...
See that? That's a piccaninny sunrise.Someone's ordered concrete early and alot of it across a good distance. Reminds me of a 4am wake up and breakfast of a nosebag for your horse before breakfast for yourself. By the time the sun is emerging you're out in the paddock, horses already saddled, waiting for the cattle, throwing your jacket in the toyota and braving the cold morning wind while fighting for a spot in the small amount of sun.
Smell that? Sitting behind a fully loaded road train of cattle at the lights, poking their heads out over the top deck while kicking out poo onto the road. Reminds me of weaners drafted off their mothers, living in a big yard, getting fat on hay, pellets and copra till they're tailed quiet and branded and ready to leave the yards for their new paddock at the end of a week. The smell of the yard while they're in it, sloppy poo from a sudden change in diet.
See that? Red dirt road that the council hasn't got around to bitumising yet. Reminds me of my driveway home...
Monday, 6 February 2012
Motiva... Nah, Can't be Bothered
Motivation fades in me quickly. On the Wednesday I was really keen to get to Providence and run the station horses in and trim their feet. By Saturday morning when it came to the crunch all my eagerness had faded away to "Oh, I'll just check on them and see which ones actually need doing". Turns out two should be done within the next couple of weeks while the other two will get by for at least another month. On the list for next weekend...
Thankfully though, I gained motivation to get other jobs done. A visit to Capone who was chilling in the opened yards with Hoppy under the shady trees brought my attention to all the gamba grass that had sprung up from unclean hay. This particular grass is the one in which Professor David Bowman has suggested an introduction of elephants and rhinoceros to the Top End to control it as they are accustomed to African Savannah grasses such as gamba. Quite frankly I love elephants and I would think it pretty cool to see them thumping around the NT but not so much thumping down fences and such and becoming unmanageable. Back in the day when Africa was becoming "colonised", the elephants would trample buildings if they were in their migration path. Imagine them trampling kilometers of fencelines that backed onto no-go zones like a national park or untrustworthy neighbours? A whimsical idea but not a practical one. But at least, on Providence, I decided to do something within reasonable means about the gambe we had. After finishing mowing the lawn (my usual weekend task it seems to have become) I headed off back down to the yards with a garbage bag and pair of scissors. Capone, his usual friendly self, came up to me as what I initially thought was to say hello but instead he decided to make it known to the garbage bag swinging off my arm that it was not welcome on his turf and proceeded to try and headbutt the bag but unintentionally me as well. I've never felt the need to run away from Capone before as I had hand raised him and he knew who is mummy was and that I gave him pats and scratches and cuddles but on this day I did my best duck-back-suck-back to get away from him before he unknowingly did do me some damage. Seems it was safest to ditch the bag at which point he gave up trying to kill it and sat down under the tree to chew his cud. I then went about peacefully cutting off the seed heads of all the gamba, making trips with handfuls of it back to the garbage bag. But my rounds of the yard revealed another pain-in-the-butt weed. Sida. And this stuff is not easy to kill! So in addition to cutting off the seed heads of the gamba I went around chopping off the sida at the base... till I became a little overwhelmed. Different inexpensive, organic measures need to be taken so I decided that before my next trip home out to Providence I will go to DPI (the Department of Primary Industries) and see if they still dole out Calligrapha Beetles which eat the leaves of the sida. Sida needs its leaves to go through photosynthesis to be able to grow. The Beetle eats the leaves and the plant cannot grow and therefore prevents flowering, seeding and spreading. A nice, cheap and organic way to control sida considering that herbicides only seem to hamper growth but not stop it and $1000's can be spent trying to control it to no avail.
That's not to say that I don't want to spray the weeds that I do know will die from a bit of herbicide. After finishing off the gamba I dosed up the spray unit and Damian reconnected the lines on the pump and I set off to the Cooler Paddock ready to get trigger happy with the spray gun... till I discovered the pump wasn't working. Motivation... FADE! Even though Damian tried to figure out why the pump wasn't working I had already reached the point where I just didn't care anymore. Another task for next weekend...
But to prevent anymore spread of gamba I took the garbage bag of seed heads back to town with me along with kahki burr that was growing by the back verandah (without the burrs thank goodness) and put them in the wheelie bin where they will be smothered by 5,000 other peoples rubbish in a dump that already has these weeds and then some.
What really worries me though is if we keep getting unclean hay then the weeds are going to keep popping up to the point where every morning during the Wet in following years will be spent spraying just to keep it under control. We're also getting the dozer in sometime this year so I'm really hoping that it gets cleaned before it arrives or the motivation for a hissy fit will be high!
Thankfully though, I gained motivation to get other jobs done. A visit to Capone who was chilling in the opened yards with Hoppy under the shady trees brought my attention to all the gamba grass that had sprung up from unclean hay. This particular grass is the one in which Professor David Bowman has suggested an introduction of elephants and rhinoceros to the Top End to control it as they are accustomed to African Savannah grasses such as gamba. Quite frankly I love elephants and I would think it pretty cool to see them thumping around the NT but not so much thumping down fences and such and becoming unmanageable. Back in the day when Africa was becoming "colonised", the elephants would trample buildings if they were in their migration path. Imagine them trampling kilometers of fencelines that backed onto no-go zones like a national park or untrustworthy neighbours? A whimsical idea but not a practical one. But at least, on Providence, I decided to do something within reasonable means about the gambe we had. After finishing mowing the lawn (my usual weekend task it seems to have become) I headed off back down to the yards with a garbage bag and pair of scissors. Capone, his usual friendly self, came up to me as what I initially thought was to say hello but instead he decided to make it known to the garbage bag swinging off my arm that it was not welcome on his turf and proceeded to try and headbutt the bag but unintentionally me as well. I've never felt the need to run away from Capone before as I had hand raised him and he knew who is mummy was and that I gave him pats and scratches and cuddles but on this day I did my best duck-back-suck-back to get away from him before he unknowingly did do me some damage. Seems it was safest to ditch the bag at which point he gave up trying to kill it and sat down under the tree to chew his cud. I then went about peacefully cutting off the seed heads of all the gamba, making trips with handfuls of it back to the garbage bag. But my rounds of the yard revealed another pain-in-the-butt weed. Sida. And this stuff is not easy to kill! So in addition to cutting off the seed heads of the gamba I went around chopping off the sida at the base... till I became a little overwhelmed. Different inexpensive, organic measures need to be taken so I decided that before my next trip home out to Providence I will go to DPI (the Department of Primary Industries) and see if they still dole out Calligrapha Beetles which eat the leaves of the sida. Sida needs its leaves to go through photosynthesis to be able to grow. The Beetle eats the leaves and the plant cannot grow and therefore prevents flowering, seeding and spreading. A nice, cheap and organic way to control sida considering that herbicides only seem to hamper growth but not stop it and $1000's can be spent trying to control it to no avail.
That's not to say that I don't want to spray the weeds that I do know will die from a bit of herbicide. After finishing off the gamba I dosed up the spray unit and Damian reconnected the lines on the pump and I set off to the Cooler Paddock ready to get trigger happy with the spray gun... till I discovered the pump wasn't working. Motivation... FADE! Even though Damian tried to figure out why the pump wasn't working I had already reached the point where I just didn't care anymore. Another task for next weekend...
But to prevent anymore spread of gamba I took the garbage bag of seed heads back to town with me along with kahki burr that was growing by the back verandah (without the burrs thank goodness) and put them in the wheelie bin where they will be smothered by 5,000 other peoples rubbish in a dump that already has these weeds and then some.
What really worries me though is if we keep getting unclean hay then the weeds are going to keep popping up to the point where every morning during the Wet in following years will be spent spraying just to keep it under control. We're also getting the dozer in sometime this year so I'm really hoping that it gets cleaned before it arrives or the motivation for a hissy fit will be high!
Sunday, 29 January 2012
Are You Girl Enough?
My mother has always had an expectation of me that I have never been able to live up to... Being a girly girl. Sadly for her I was a tomboy. Always have been, always will be. Though I reflect now: Is it time I was a girly girl? I've had a few dreams in my sleep lately where I have been in surroundings of pink or in a group with other girls mucking around and giggling. I discovered a website called hellogiggles.com which I spent nearly all of Saturday evening being glued to. It was very girly with blogs of girls in the same generation as myself with everything from cute craft ideas to reflections of their own childhoods. I found myself watching PopAsia on SBS waiting for the female popstars coming on with their glitzy, girly video clips. "Top Girl" by G_NA being my favourite. What the hell is happening to me?
I have always felt slightly envious of girls that are comfortable wearing dresses everyday and matching outfits with cute shoes. Their nails and hair done impeccably. I get by with owning a handbag dog who has a bling collar. My childhood pink bedroom unchanged as an adult with posters of cute animals, stuffed toys, dolls and fairies scattered about the place.
I have a rule for myself that once year... at least... I must wear a dress. For 2012 I've already obeyed that rule and wore a white dress with a sparkly, silver trim and sparkly, silver peep-toe ballet flats, carrying a glass-beaded clutch to a dinner party. Unlike my mother would, no one made a fuss but did comment that they were surprised to see me in a dress all the same.
I think what may have sparked my anti-girliness was of course... my mother. I don't mean to sound like I am running her down but she really does misunderstand me at times. Whilst recovering from two operations at my Nanna's when I was 10, my mother visited an op-shop (opportunity shop or rag trade shop). When I went up to visit her and Nanna during the school holidays she excitedly told me that she had bought something for me. "When I saw it I straight away thought of you". She pulled it out of a bag and revealed it. A fluorescent pink, layered, white polka-dotted skirt. When she saw it she thought of something she'd like me to wear but not something that I actually would. The skirt horrified me and I told her so. She was devastated. She had raised me in dresses and pig tails. A little girl that older women would think was cute. By the time I was 5 years old I was in scruffy clothes and head to toe with dirt. And it's stayed that way to this day. I'm still scruffy. Holes in my workshirts and rips in my jeans. I come out of the cattle yards looking like I've rolled around in the dirt but there's a satisfaction to it. A hard days work could be seen and felt and there was nothing better than watching all the dust wash off in the shower at the end of the day. I don't get that sitting behind a desk answering phones.
Yet there's still that little need in me that needs to glam up and feel feminine. A ball was held on the weekend and I spent Friday and Saturday tossing up whether I wanted to go or not. If certain friends were going to go I had one condition for myself about going. I had to be the Belle of the Ball. I wanted a certain look, certain hair, certain dress. I didn't end up going. The cost of being glam and girly would hurt the bank account way too much. It was a whimsical notion left to sit with the others at the back of my brain... neglected.
I wear the odd pink workshirt to work and get regular comments from people who are shocked to see that it's a girl that has just jumped out of the concrete truck. People blown away that me, as a girl and a small one at that, does the job that I do. Shock sometimes is followed by "So you're truck is an auto then?" Certainly not. It's a synchro gearbox by the way. When coming to town I wasn't interested in a retail or admin job. My first cold calls were to a roadworks business and the local quarry. Despite my mild discontent with my job I couldn't imagine myself in any other here in town and to that extent I don't think I will ever be girl enough.
G.NA's "Top Girl" video
http://youtu.be/t5wO8ejwVRI
http://www.sbs.com.au/chinese/program/popasia/?siteLanguage=en_AU
http://hellogiggles.com/
I have always felt slightly envious of girls that are comfortable wearing dresses everyday and matching outfits with cute shoes. Their nails and hair done impeccably. I get by with owning a handbag dog who has a bling collar. My childhood pink bedroom unchanged as an adult with posters of cute animals, stuffed toys, dolls and fairies scattered about the place.
I have a rule for myself that once year... at least... I must wear a dress. For 2012 I've already obeyed that rule and wore a white dress with a sparkly, silver trim and sparkly, silver peep-toe ballet flats, carrying a glass-beaded clutch to a dinner party. Unlike my mother would, no one made a fuss but did comment that they were surprised to see me in a dress all the same.
I think what may have sparked my anti-girliness was of course... my mother. I don't mean to sound like I am running her down but she really does misunderstand me at times. Whilst recovering from two operations at my Nanna's when I was 10, my mother visited an op-shop (opportunity shop or rag trade shop). When I went up to visit her and Nanna during the school holidays she excitedly told me that she had bought something for me. "When I saw it I straight away thought of you". She pulled it out of a bag and revealed it. A fluorescent pink, layered, white polka-dotted skirt. When she saw it she thought of something she'd like me to wear but not something that I actually would. The skirt horrified me and I told her so. She was devastated. She had raised me in dresses and pig tails. A little girl that older women would think was cute. By the time I was 5 years old I was in scruffy clothes and head to toe with dirt. And it's stayed that way to this day. I'm still scruffy. Holes in my workshirts and rips in my jeans. I come out of the cattle yards looking like I've rolled around in the dirt but there's a satisfaction to it. A hard days work could be seen and felt and there was nothing better than watching all the dust wash off in the shower at the end of the day. I don't get that sitting behind a desk answering phones.
Yet there's still that little need in me that needs to glam up and feel feminine. A ball was held on the weekend and I spent Friday and Saturday tossing up whether I wanted to go or not. If certain friends were going to go I had one condition for myself about going. I had to be the Belle of the Ball. I wanted a certain look, certain hair, certain dress. I didn't end up going. The cost of being glam and girly would hurt the bank account way too much. It was a whimsical notion left to sit with the others at the back of my brain... neglected.
I wear the odd pink workshirt to work and get regular comments from people who are shocked to see that it's a girl that has just jumped out of the concrete truck. People blown away that me, as a girl and a small one at that, does the job that I do. Shock sometimes is followed by "So you're truck is an auto then?" Certainly not. It's a synchro gearbox by the way. When coming to town I wasn't interested in a retail or admin job. My first cold calls were to a roadworks business and the local quarry. Despite my mild discontent with my job I couldn't imagine myself in any other here in town and to that extent I don't think I will ever be girl enough.
G.NA's "Top Girl" video
http://youtu.be/t5wO8ejwVRI
http://www.sbs.com.au/chinese/program/popasia/?siteLanguage=en_AU
http://hellogiggles.com/
Sunday, 1 January 2012
Home Sweet Home
This is the place I grew up. This is the place I will always call home. During school holidays I would play with the kids in my street in the scrub that surrounded my house. That scrub's all gone now. It's been replaced with houses.
On my first day back on KI after a year I shake my head at the "progress". All chasing the tourist dollar. They thought it was alright to tear down a century-old house to make way for hideous up-market apartments that look like a bunch of cardboard boxes all jammed together. They forget that amongst the nature is a rich history carved out by many characters and that if it wasn't for them KI wouldn't be what it is today.
A few local artists are doing their best to revive some of the old stories that have shaped the main street. KI's most renowned artist, Jenny Clapson, has painted a mural depicting the Cook family. It took her a years research to create the depiction of the antics, adventures and milestones of the Cooks (they were the first people on KI to own a television). It takes pride of place inside the Fine Art Gallery, of one of the new galleries which was once the family's residence.
Jenny Clapson's daughter was featured in this weeks local newspaper. She says "When you grow up in a place you tend to take it for granted". I couldn't have said it better myself. I've only just begun to appreciate what I was constantly surrounded with 12 years ago.
Dad and I drove out to Emu Ridge Eucalyptus. My only intention before arriving was to purchase a large bottle of Eucalyptus Oil for a friend. I ended up spending $75 on a whole bunch of other Eucalyptus orientated stuff as well. Then I had the thought "Oh, while we are out here can we go to the Honey Farm?" So off we went so I could mung out on honey ice cream at Cliffords Honey Farm. I bought some jars of the different kinds of honey* and some gifts for a friend who is about to have a baby.
But here's another bit of the "Chase of the Tourist" dollar. The Cliffords have been plying their trade to tourists and locals alike for as long as I can remember but someone else doesn't mind cutting their grass. They've created a new establishment on the edge of town selling similar honey products but without the charm. They aren't surrounded by nature and hives, just bitumen and the relocated rural agency. Yet with a main road exposure I wonder how many tourists actually bother to go out to the Cliffords anymore?
The next stop was Island Pure, the Sheep Milk Dairy. Dad had suggested we buy some Haloumi for Christmas Day and the lady gave us some samples to try so I also bought a block of Manchego too. Can't drive all that way just for one type of cheese!
But my touristy day didn't stop there. Dad also drove me out to Reeves Point** to see the new boat ramp (which users now have to pay for but I wonder how many actually do) and the new playground, toilets and revamped picnic area. On the way back up the hill towards town some locals were scavenging in the low tide for crabs and perriwinkles. Some men had obviously been diving for their catch whatever it may be, dripping with water in thier wetsuits while carrying tubs of seafood. Summers of my childhood were spent doing the same thing. We'd sit on the big rocks by the wharf picking off perriwinkles to eat. We'd go down to one of the beaches to look for crabs under the small rocks that had been smoothed out by years of waves crashing against them. The crabs we left alone. We just liked to find them and watch them scuttle for cover after we'd exposed them.
Dad drove past the town pool. It's a tidal man-made rock pool that had 5 year olds petrified of swimming in it. We would get told horror stories of Blue-Ringed Octupus' grabbing hold of our legs while we swam and grabbing hold of a rock and not letting go till we drowned and no one would find us at the bottom of the murky pool. Then the shark eggs would hatch and we'd get eaten by a Great White and get digested into shark poo. All these stories from the older kids would get told to us, of course, right before compulsary swimming lessons began at the start of the school year. I wonder if that has something to do with the fact that I never learnt to swim properly, too scared a Blue-Ring might get me?
Christmas was spent at my sisters. My eldest brother came with his girlfriend. I'd never met her before and I hadn't seen him in 3 years either. My brother-in-law's younger brother was there too. We spent Christmas Eve at my sisters place and finished it off at the pub. Last drinks were called when we arrived at the first pub. Couldn't even bribe the bar staff for a drink! Caught up with a couple of old school friends though. So then as one pub closed we headed to the other where I caught up with more friends till Wayne started whinging that he smelt like lavender and his shoulder hurt. Well that's what you get for jumping in a lavender bush and completely missing it. He blames me for daring him!
I got to spend the day with my sister on the Wednesday. She works for Natural Resource Management and it's her job to help along rare and endangered plant species. I invited myself along to work with her and we drove out to Macgillivray to pick seeds off the side of the road. Her love for native plants had her wrapping stocking socks all over one plant determined to get every seed that bush produced. And then picking random seeds quite simply because she liked them.
Once she showed herself some restraint from seed picking we went out to Cygnet River where she worked to store the new seeds and transplant 250 seedlings of two different species. It was kind of relaxing picking seeds and transplanting seedlings and I can see why my sister enjoys it so much.
Thursday night of my week home we once again invaded my sister's place. My brother didn't want to miss out on pizza night so it got moved from the regular Friday night to Thursday night. I was glad because otherwise I would have missed it too. And then 10 minutes before 6pm my step-sister rang up my sister to invite herself around for dinner.
My last day was the Friday. I was so not interested in leaving. Dad and I drove out to Vivonne Bay so I could go to just one more gallery and then we went around and checked out the bay itself. Dad showed me where we used to camp. It's been fenced off now so no one can camp there anymore. I enjoyed the sea spray at Point Ellen as the waves crashed against the big rocks. We had a quick walk down the beach*** where a dog and his human friend enjoyed the water. We had lunch from the general store and a sticky beak around the township where we got to see everyones shacks had been replaced with fancy pants holiday houses. A quick nip into Little Sahara where the tourists enjoyed sandboarding on their hired boards where back in the day we used whatever we coud find. An esky lid perhaps? I am not one for walking far especially in dry sand so I made sure we didn't stay too long. Then back into town we went so I could slowly and miserably pack my bags to go back to the mainland again.
I swear it was so much harder this time than most times I've left as an adult. There's something drawing me back. Is it the sea? Is it my Dad and sister and her family? Is it the environment? Or is it just because I call the place home?
Halfway to the airport I realised I had forgotten my phone charger so after Dad dropped me off he raced back home to get it. But before he even could get back they announced the boarding of my flight. I missed out on saying goodbye to my Dad all because I had left my charger in the kitchen. I was nearly in tears.
My landing on the mainland had me crying too as a distraught message was left by my mother on my message bank. I rang her back and before she would tell me what was wrong she insisted I catch up with my brother while we were both in Adelaide. Then finally she told me. Our precious Tina Puppy had to be put down after it was discovered that she had advanced liver cancer. Mum had had to say goodbye to her four-legged daughter. What a way to end the year.
I got to spend that night and the next day with my mother-in-law (Mandy) and father-in-law and see Lacey's eldest daughter, Ethel, all grown up. I got to meet Mandy's horse, Jasper, and even to got have a walk around on him. He was so quiet and kind natured and willing to please. And he was very cuddly too, a big sook!
My brother and his girlfriend picked me up in the afternoon so I got to catch up with them and my nephew and we went round to my Uncle Garry's and Aunty Shirley's. I haven't had a proper catch up with them for nearly 6 years. Slack me! So it was very good to see them again. And I got to see my cousins Stacey and Josh at the same time.
But after a week of enjoying being back in SA it was time to go back to the NT and back to reality. I really felt like "missing" the plane. I really felt like going to my mum's to be there for her but that little bit of "sensible" in the back of my brain told me to get my butt on the plane and save up to come home another time. Bloody adult reasoning!
*[Ligurian Bees produce different flavours of honey depending on where they are getting their pollen from. David places hives around certain native trees which in turn affects the products taste eg: Hives around a Sugar Gum will create a very saccharine taste. There is also Stringy Bark flavour and Mallee Gum flavour available at Cliffords Honey Farm. The bee is originally Italian but now KI has the only pure strain of the Ligurian Bee in the world. They are also quite a docile bee and less inclined to sting.]
**[Reeves Point was the place of South Australia's official landing and first settlement in 1836. A Mulberry Tree was planted to commemorate the occassion which still grows to this day 175 years later. It still produces Mulberries too and they're picked each year to produce jam. Never been lucky enough to try the jam myself!]
***[Vivonne Bay was voted Australia's Best Beach by Sydney University's Professor Andrew Short in 2003 after evaluating 10,000 beaches nationwide.]
On my first day back on KI after a year I shake my head at the "progress". All chasing the tourist dollar. They thought it was alright to tear down a century-old house to make way for hideous up-market apartments that look like a bunch of cardboard boxes all jammed together. They forget that amongst the nature is a rich history carved out by many characters and that if it wasn't for them KI wouldn't be what it is today.
A few local artists are doing their best to revive some of the old stories that have shaped the main street. KI's most renowned artist, Jenny Clapson, has painted a mural depicting the Cook family. It took her a years research to create the depiction of the antics, adventures and milestones of the Cooks (they were the first people on KI to own a television). It takes pride of place inside the Fine Art Gallery, of one of the new galleries which was once the family's residence.
Jenny Clapson's daughter was featured in this weeks local newspaper. She says "When you grow up in a place you tend to take it for granted". I couldn't have said it better myself. I've only just begun to appreciate what I was constantly surrounded with 12 years ago.
Dad and I drove out to Emu Ridge Eucalyptus. My only intention before arriving was to purchase a large bottle of Eucalyptus Oil for a friend. I ended up spending $75 on a whole bunch of other Eucalyptus orientated stuff as well. Then I had the thought "Oh, while we are out here can we go to the Honey Farm?" So off we went so I could mung out on honey ice cream at Cliffords Honey Farm. I bought some jars of the different kinds of honey* and some gifts for a friend who is about to have a baby.
But here's another bit of the "Chase of the Tourist" dollar. The Cliffords have been plying their trade to tourists and locals alike for as long as I can remember but someone else doesn't mind cutting their grass. They've created a new establishment on the edge of town selling similar honey products but without the charm. They aren't surrounded by nature and hives, just bitumen and the relocated rural agency. Yet with a main road exposure I wonder how many tourists actually bother to go out to the Cliffords anymore?
The next stop was Island Pure, the Sheep Milk Dairy. Dad had suggested we buy some Haloumi for Christmas Day and the lady gave us some samples to try so I also bought a block of Manchego too. Can't drive all that way just for one type of cheese!
But my touristy day didn't stop there. Dad also drove me out to Reeves Point** to see the new boat ramp (which users now have to pay for but I wonder how many actually do) and the new playground, toilets and revamped picnic area. On the way back up the hill towards town some locals were scavenging in the low tide for crabs and perriwinkles. Some men had obviously been diving for their catch whatever it may be, dripping with water in thier wetsuits while carrying tubs of seafood. Summers of my childhood were spent doing the same thing. We'd sit on the big rocks by the wharf picking off perriwinkles to eat. We'd go down to one of the beaches to look for crabs under the small rocks that had been smoothed out by years of waves crashing against them. The crabs we left alone. We just liked to find them and watch them scuttle for cover after we'd exposed them.
Dad drove past the town pool. It's a tidal man-made rock pool that had 5 year olds petrified of swimming in it. We would get told horror stories of Blue-Ringed Octupus' grabbing hold of our legs while we swam and grabbing hold of a rock and not letting go till we drowned and no one would find us at the bottom of the murky pool. Then the shark eggs would hatch and we'd get eaten by a Great White and get digested into shark poo. All these stories from the older kids would get told to us, of course, right before compulsary swimming lessons began at the start of the school year. I wonder if that has something to do with the fact that I never learnt to swim properly, too scared a Blue-Ring might get me?
Christmas was spent at my sisters. My eldest brother came with his girlfriend. I'd never met her before and I hadn't seen him in 3 years either. My brother-in-law's younger brother was there too. We spent Christmas Eve at my sisters place and finished it off at the pub. Last drinks were called when we arrived at the first pub. Couldn't even bribe the bar staff for a drink! Caught up with a couple of old school friends though. So then as one pub closed we headed to the other where I caught up with more friends till Wayne started whinging that he smelt like lavender and his shoulder hurt. Well that's what you get for jumping in a lavender bush and completely missing it. He blames me for daring him!
I got to spend the day with my sister on the Wednesday. She works for Natural Resource Management and it's her job to help along rare and endangered plant species. I invited myself along to work with her and we drove out to Macgillivray to pick seeds off the side of the road. Her love for native plants had her wrapping stocking socks all over one plant determined to get every seed that bush produced. And then picking random seeds quite simply because she liked them.
Once she showed herself some restraint from seed picking we went out to Cygnet River where she worked to store the new seeds and transplant 250 seedlings of two different species. It was kind of relaxing picking seeds and transplanting seedlings and I can see why my sister enjoys it so much.
Thursday night of my week home we once again invaded my sister's place. My brother didn't want to miss out on pizza night so it got moved from the regular Friday night to Thursday night. I was glad because otherwise I would have missed it too. And then 10 minutes before 6pm my step-sister rang up my sister to invite herself around for dinner.
My last day was the Friday. I was so not interested in leaving. Dad and I drove out to Vivonne Bay so I could go to just one more gallery and then we went around and checked out the bay itself. Dad showed me where we used to camp. It's been fenced off now so no one can camp there anymore. I enjoyed the sea spray at Point Ellen as the waves crashed against the big rocks. We had a quick walk down the beach*** where a dog and his human friend enjoyed the water. We had lunch from the general store and a sticky beak around the township where we got to see everyones shacks had been replaced with fancy pants holiday houses. A quick nip into Little Sahara where the tourists enjoyed sandboarding on their hired boards where back in the day we used whatever we coud find. An esky lid perhaps? I am not one for walking far especially in dry sand so I made sure we didn't stay too long. Then back into town we went so I could slowly and miserably pack my bags to go back to the mainland again.
I swear it was so much harder this time than most times I've left as an adult. There's something drawing me back. Is it the sea? Is it my Dad and sister and her family? Is it the environment? Or is it just because I call the place home?
Halfway to the airport I realised I had forgotten my phone charger so after Dad dropped me off he raced back home to get it. But before he even could get back they announced the boarding of my flight. I missed out on saying goodbye to my Dad all because I had left my charger in the kitchen. I was nearly in tears.
My landing on the mainland had me crying too as a distraught message was left by my mother on my message bank. I rang her back and before she would tell me what was wrong she insisted I catch up with my brother while we were both in Adelaide. Then finally she told me. Our precious Tina Puppy had to be put down after it was discovered that she had advanced liver cancer. Mum had had to say goodbye to her four-legged daughter. What a way to end the year.
I got to spend that night and the next day with my mother-in-law (Mandy) and father-in-law and see Lacey's eldest daughter, Ethel, all grown up. I got to meet Mandy's horse, Jasper, and even to got have a walk around on him. He was so quiet and kind natured and willing to please. And he was very cuddly too, a big sook!
My brother and his girlfriend picked me up in the afternoon so I got to catch up with them and my nephew and we went round to my Uncle Garry's and Aunty Shirley's. I haven't had a proper catch up with them for nearly 6 years. Slack me! So it was very good to see them again. And I got to see my cousins Stacey and Josh at the same time.
But after a week of enjoying being back in SA it was time to go back to the NT and back to reality. I really felt like "missing" the plane. I really felt like going to my mum's to be there for her but that little bit of "sensible" in the back of my brain told me to get my butt on the plane and save up to come home another time. Bloody adult reasoning!
*[Ligurian Bees produce different flavours of honey depending on where they are getting their pollen from. David places hives around certain native trees which in turn affects the products taste eg: Hives around a Sugar Gum will create a very saccharine taste. There is also Stringy Bark flavour and Mallee Gum flavour available at Cliffords Honey Farm. The bee is originally Italian but now KI has the only pure strain of the Ligurian Bee in the world. They are also quite a docile bee and less inclined to sting.]
**[Reeves Point was the place of South Australia's official landing and first settlement in 1836. A Mulberry Tree was planted to commemorate the occassion which still grows to this day 175 years later. It still produces Mulberries too and they're picked each year to produce jam. Never been lucky enough to try the jam myself!]
***[Vivonne Bay was voted Australia's Best Beach by Sydney University's Professor Andrew Short in 2003 after evaluating 10,000 beaches nationwide.]
Tuesday, 20 December 2011
It's That Time of Year Again
Christmas approaches once more. All presents have been bought and wrapped. All but two. One is a combined effort between my mother and I and one I am painstakingly cross-stitching for my Nanna so it's guarunteed to be late. All christmas cards have been sent off but two. I've spent plenty of money posting presents off at the post office and spent long periods of time in the parcel queue like the rest of the towns population.
We're gearing up for the Christmas shut down at work by cleaning up everything and getting it all in order ready for the new year while still pouring plenty of concrete.
But as the holidays fall in the Wet Season it comes as no surprise the adventures I have had to endure just to get to and from home every weekend.
Weekend before last I didn't believe for one second the station had as little rain as Damian said there had been as I skidded to a halt at a 90 degree angle to the driveway in the mud. We spent all of Saturday putting out lick supplement for the cattle all over the property. A whole tonne on the station toyota and half a tonne on mine each time... till I got a puncture in the wall of my tyre. I ignored it till I got the lick bag off then drove back out onto the road to change the tyre. Couldn't crack the wheel nuts, it seemed like they'd rusted there. Went to go grab the jack, it wasn't there. That's when I remembered that months ago I had put my jack in Damian's ute after his went mysteriously missing and never took it back out again. So, there I was, in the heat of the day, with a flat tyre, no way of changing it, at the back of the station. It took Damian 40 minutes (I timed him because I had nothing better to do) to realise I hadn't come back and that perhaps I wasn't taking photos of random things like he thought I would be. I slept on the plastic off the top of the lick bag under the toyota in the shade. Pity the ground was so stinking hot. When Damian arrived the tyre was changed in less than five minutes and I took my poor Bruiser back to the house where I said he was staying till it was time to go back to town. I will not risk any more punctures! At least Sunday was somewhat of a day off.
But while running out all the lick I decided that Christmas wasn't Christmas without a tree. So I cut down a Lancewood tree which Damian looks at and tries to inform me "That won't fit in the house". My usual response? I'll make it bloody fit. After nearly taking out the ceiling fan getting it into the living area (what is it with me and ceiling fans lately?) I filled a tin bucket with sand, stood the tree in it then decorated it with what minimal Christmas decorations I had. Didn't look too bad if I do say so myself even if it does look a little bare.
Last weekend was fine. I relaxed, we moved the bore trailer so we could pump the house tank and made another small attempt at finishing the garden shed. And it rained all weekend and it was beautiful! I went out into the cooler paddock and backlined Capone, my bull and while giving him scratches and cuddles Charger raised his head and noticed me in the paddock. So with his head high he cantered over like he was king of the station then paraded around with his neck arched, showing off with his usual proud-cut granduer. A little while later Diamond came over in a steady trot to say g'day. I had to disappoint them both, I hadn't brought any feed with me. So then when they discovered that they didn't want to know me.
The driveway after a weekend of rain was a hell raiser on the way back to town. Slipping in mud despite being in High 4 had me sliding backwards while facing the way I had just come. I got to the aboriginal lands to find the creek had come up and I was not game to cross it without first getting the opinion of Damian so I took some photos and headed the 20km back home... sliding into a small tree on the way there. He followed me back to the creek and waded in to then give me the all clear.
"Low Range..."
"Well, der, you know, coz I was gonna roar through it in High Two..."
"Not too many revs or something something blah blah..."
So off I went, low range, steady steady till I got to the other side. After shouting goodbyes at one another from opposite sides of the creek I kept going back to the highway and he turned around and went home.
I didn't get very far till I discovered that the next creek was up too. I roared backwards, honking the horn, wanting the all clear for this creek too. I got out and waved and jumped around and honked the horn and watched him in the distance deliberating whether to come back and help or keep going. Eventually he made up his mind and.... kept going. Wanker! If I perish out here it's all his fault!
In the end there was nothing to stress about because the second creek was the same in condition to the first. But after all that I finally got to the highway where I unlocked my hubs. It took me two hours from the time I initially set off for town to when I got to the bitumen. One hour and twenty minutes too long!
It won't be long before my regular trips back home will make the driveway impassable. As long as I can get in I don't care if I can't get back out. But it will do well in annoying the neighbours :o/ Meh, apparently she doesn't mind being flooded in...!
We're gearing up for the Christmas shut down at work by cleaning up everything and getting it all in order ready for the new year while still pouring plenty of concrete.
But as the holidays fall in the Wet Season it comes as no surprise the adventures I have had to endure just to get to and from home every weekend.
Weekend before last I didn't believe for one second the station had as little rain as Damian said there had been as I skidded to a halt at a 90 degree angle to the driveway in the mud. We spent all of Saturday putting out lick supplement for the cattle all over the property. A whole tonne on the station toyota and half a tonne on mine each time... till I got a puncture in the wall of my tyre. I ignored it till I got the lick bag off then drove back out onto the road to change the tyre. Couldn't crack the wheel nuts, it seemed like they'd rusted there. Went to go grab the jack, it wasn't there. That's when I remembered that months ago I had put my jack in Damian's ute after his went mysteriously missing and never took it back out again. So, there I was, in the heat of the day, with a flat tyre, no way of changing it, at the back of the station. It took Damian 40 minutes (I timed him because I had nothing better to do) to realise I hadn't come back and that perhaps I wasn't taking photos of random things like he thought I would be. I slept on the plastic off the top of the lick bag under the toyota in the shade. Pity the ground was so stinking hot. When Damian arrived the tyre was changed in less than five minutes and I took my poor Bruiser back to the house where I said he was staying till it was time to go back to town. I will not risk any more punctures! At least Sunday was somewhat of a day off.
But while running out all the lick I decided that Christmas wasn't Christmas without a tree. So I cut down a Lancewood tree which Damian looks at and tries to inform me "That won't fit in the house". My usual response? I'll make it bloody fit. After nearly taking out the ceiling fan getting it into the living area (what is it with me and ceiling fans lately?) I filled a tin bucket with sand, stood the tree in it then decorated it with what minimal Christmas decorations I had. Didn't look too bad if I do say so myself even if it does look a little bare.
Last weekend was fine. I relaxed, we moved the bore trailer so we could pump the house tank and made another small attempt at finishing the garden shed. And it rained all weekend and it was beautiful! I went out into the cooler paddock and backlined Capone, my bull and while giving him scratches and cuddles Charger raised his head and noticed me in the paddock. So with his head high he cantered over like he was king of the station then paraded around with his neck arched, showing off with his usual proud-cut granduer. A little while later Diamond came over in a steady trot to say g'day. I had to disappoint them both, I hadn't brought any feed with me. So then when they discovered that they didn't want to know me.
The driveway after a weekend of rain was a hell raiser on the way back to town. Slipping in mud despite being in High 4 had me sliding backwards while facing the way I had just come. I got to the aboriginal lands to find the creek had come up and I was not game to cross it without first getting the opinion of Damian so I took some photos and headed the 20km back home... sliding into a small tree on the way there. He followed me back to the creek and waded in to then give me the all clear.
"Low Range..."
"Well, der, you know, coz I was gonna roar through it in High Two..."
"Not too many revs or something something blah blah..."
So off I went, low range, steady steady till I got to the other side. After shouting goodbyes at one another from opposite sides of the creek I kept going back to the highway and he turned around and went home.
I didn't get very far till I discovered that the next creek was up too. I roared backwards, honking the horn, wanting the all clear for this creek too. I got out and waved and jumped around and honked the horn and watched him in the distance deliberating whether to come back and help or keep going. Eventually he made up his mind and.... kept going. Wanker! If I perish out here it's all his fault!
In the end there was nothing to stress about because the second creek was the same in condition to the first. But after all that I finally got to the highway where I unlocked my hubs. It took me two hours from the time I initially set off for town to when I got to the bitumen. One hour and twenty minutes too long!
It won't be long before my regular trips back home will make the driveway impassable. As long as I can get in I don't care if I can't get back out. But it will do well in annoying the neighbours :o/ Meh, apparently she doesn't mind being flooded in...!
Thursday, 8 December 2011
Oh, The Monotony!
Week in, week out. Concrete to pour and boredom to deal with. Sometimes the tedium got so bad that we were fighting over the most menial jobs at work just to keep occupied. The boss returned from a bush job and things got quieter. Then this week happened. One 3am start to travel over 300km to a station to pour a shed floor. Normal day Tuesday. 5:30am on Wednesday to pour kerbing 200km away. Knock off for me wasn't till 9pm after a veeery long day trying to keep the concrete wet enough to pour it. Today was a 5am start but better than yesterday. Concrete was wetter and the day wasn't as near as long but when I returned to the yard I was greeted with a little note saying "TRB wants concrete onsite at 5:30am, start 5am :o)" Smiley face my butt! Seriously, I need a break! I wanted to be able to start at a normal time tomorrow. No catch up on much needed sleep for me.
At least last weekend was spent actually doing something I enjoy. I finally got back in the cattle yards for the first time since September. I drove up to the Douglas Daly to arrive just in time for the Development Committee dinner where I caught up with friends and other people I hadn't seen for a while and also met some new people. Despite my exhaustion from the drive and working all day I didn't get to roll out my swag till about 1am to get some sleep for a 6am start in the yards. But that's fine... because I was BACK IN THE YARDS!
The second day was all over the place. First up it was dropping fences and setting up gates, then finally process some more cattle. After smoko I got sent out to set up gates and push up the tail with Doug in the chopper in a beat up Hilux reminiscent of my Bonalbo days (ironic that) as well as try and stand up a fence buried under half a foot of mud. My attempts to pull it up had Doug flying over wondering why I had no shirt on. Well, you know, lateral thinking, make the most of what you have around you. No chain? No rope? Use your shirt! ... It ripped. I am down one work shirt. It seems that this particular week was full of me doing dumb and senseless things. Not thinking before doing or in the following instance being to lazy to do something with interesting consequences.
As part of a Facebook group I belong to we had decided to do a Secret Santa where we didn't buy something for the recipient but make it instead. After changing my mind three times I finally decided on making a patchwork quilt. I sewed and sewed for weeks then finally I came close to finishing. So close that I was determined to complete it in one night. So there I was, climbing onto a dining chair looking up at the ceiling fan telling myself "Don't get hit by the fan" because I was too lazy to walk over to the dial only 3 metres away to turn it off. I'm standing there, on the dining table, shaking the quilt down over the wadding when WHACK! I get hit by the ceiling fan. I recoiled in pain on top of the quilt in disbelief that I got hit... believe it or not. When reality kicked in I realised I could be bleeding and to get off the bloody quilt. Bloody it was. So was the tea towel I used to stop my head from bleeding. I took a short break and sat on the couch where I just began laughing at myself. As my Dad said only I could turn quilting into a dangerous craft. After bandaging my head I got on with the job, washed out the blood as best as I could and finished for the night. The next morning after having a second crack at washing out the blood I dried the quilt, wrapped it wrapping paper and later in the day posted it off to its recipient, mild blood stain and all.
It's obvious that I seriously need a break. The brain isn't working properly, the body can barely carry itself. I pine for Providence and get devastated each time I pass the turn off to head home. Oh, the monotony!
At least last weekend was spent actually doing something I enjoy. I finally got back in the cattle yards for the first time since September. I drove up to the Douglas Daly to arrive just in time for the Development Committee dinner where I caught up with friends and other people I hadn't seen for a while and also met some new people. Despite my exhaustion from the drive and working all day I didn't get to roll out my swag till about 1am to get some sleep for a 6am start in the yards. But that's fine... because I was BACK IN THE YARDS!
The second day was all over the place. First up it was dropping fences and setting up gates, then finally process some more cattle. After smoko I got sent out to set up gates and push up the tail with Doug in the chopper in a beat up Hilux reminiscent of my Bonalbo days (ironic that) as well as try and stand up a fence buried under half a foot of mud. My attempts to pull it up had Doug flying over wondering why I had no shirt on. Well, you know, lateral thinking, make the most of what you have around you. No chain? No rope? Use your shirt! ... It ripped. I am down one work shirt. It seems that this particular week was full of me doing dumb and senseless things. Not thinking before doing or in the following instance being to lazy to do something with interesting consequences.
As part of a Facebook group I belong to we had decided to do a Secret Santa where we didn't buy something for the recipient but make it instead. After changing my mind three times I finally decided on making a patchwork quilt. I sewed and sewed for weeks then finally I came close to finishing. So close that I was determined to complete it in one night. So there I was, climbing onto a dining chair looking up at the ceiling fan telling myself "Don't get hit by the fan" because I was too lazy to walk over to the dial only 3 metres away to turn it off. I'm standing there, on the dining table, shaking the quilt down over the wadding when WHACK! I get hit by the ceiling fan. I recoiled in pain on top of the quilt in disbelief that I got hit... believe it or not. When reality kicked in I realised I could be bleeding and to get off the bloody quilt. Bloody it was. So was the tea towel I used to stop my head from bleeding. I took a short break and sat on the couch where I just began laughing at myself. As my Dad said only I could turn quilting into a dangerous craft. After bandaging my head I got on with the job, washed out the blood as best as I could and finished for the night. The next morning after having a second crack at washing out the blood I dried the quilt, wrapped it wrapping paper and later in the day posted it off to its recipient, mild blood stain and all.
It's obvious that I seriously need a break. The brain isn't working properly, the body can barely carry itself. I pine for Providence and get devastated each time I pass the turn off to head home. Oh, the monotony!
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