D is for Death Valley - images of America

What image does the word desert conjure up in your mind?

An endless flat expanse of sand and scraggly plants?

 yellow rolling dunes?

a boring grey landscape devoid of life?

barren, rocky planes? or something else entirely?

I had no idea what to expect when we decided to visit Death Valley. I knew it was hot and dry, but what I hadn't expected was the huge range of rich colours, the wide variety of landscapes, the stark beauty and deep, deep silence of canyons, the wavelike ripples atop large hills as if the land had been scrunched up like a piece of stiff paper and discarded to catch the sun and create glorious shadows!

In short, it was magnificent. The kind of place you say, "Yes, I could go back there". But next time, I'd camp and gaze at the stars and wake to the rising sun hitting the peaks and making its way over the majestic landscape, changing it minute by vibrant minute.

I'd allow time to don a backpack and carry enough water for a decent walk. And coming from a land where skin cancer kills, I'll be aware that I'll stick out like a sore thumb, with my wide brimmed hat, long pants and sleeves, because I only have a one in three chance of not being diagnosed with skin cancer in the next few years, and covering up is cheap insurance!

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C is for coffee - images of America

A slightly tongue in cheek reflection on coffee, vegemite and two countries.

Americans and Aussies might speak a similar language, but when it comes to these two basics of life, we seem to be poles apart.

Aussies are often partial to Vegemite, the thick brown goo I've heard referred to as "disgusting" by Americans. It's wonderful stuff! A magical reviver when life is stressful, a useful condiment for scrambled eggs, (recipe here), a handy addition to stews and a flavourful enhancer in assorted exotic dishes. A mere scraping, nay a waft of the knife across a piece of buttered toast simply doesn't do the trick. Thick and tasty is the way to go! If you don't believe me, try it sometime. Wonderful stuff!

The same applies to coffee. Insipid, virtually tasteless brownish dishwater is a pale imitation of the real thing. Whether made in a motel room in desperation, or purchased by the gallon from a prominent chain and presented with a flourish in a paper cups as if it was manna from heaven, this dilute, namby-pamby liquid barely raises the heartbeat. To call it coffee is an insult to the beans, so carefully grown and transported, then roasted by the container-load in what seems to be a forgotten warehouse in the backblocks of the never never. Then (sacrilege) ground into a dusty powder and marketed as if it was the real thing.

Goodness gracious me, what are they thinking to then add insult to injury and present multi packaged sachets of a substance that looks, for all intents and purposes, like powdered melamine. Was this a joke?

No, no, no, no and NO! Coffee, real coffee, is made with tender loving care. Each cup nurtured attentively, encouraged to give the best from the freshly ground beans - ground for each customer as they wait. Individual attention is the key. Fresh water must come only from the purest of sources. 

Some like it unadulterated and intense - just one shot with no additions for those weaned on it from childhood. 

Others prefer a milky brew, a cappuccino - fresh milk, not that long life or low fat stuff - whipped into a frenzy by hissing steam until it swirls and foams into a dense, almost solid mass. The froth to be enjoyed by the spoonful ideally topped with a delicate sprinkling of freshly grated dark chocolate flakes. Swoon!

The joy of walking past one, two, three or more closely spaced coffee shops, slowing, pausing, inhaling delicately. Are the beans fresh? are they well roasted? what brand are they using? (The generic no-name brands aren't even registered by the nose), then checking -  are they using full cream milk? Or horror of horrors, some (gasp) shameful substitute? 

Oh, the pleasure of watching a professional barrista at work! They take their job seriously, after all this is business, and keeping your finicky customers happy is as important as the banter and quality of the crockery and cutlery. No paper cups and plastic spoons to be seen. That would be the kiss of death in this coffee shop 'dog eat dog' world.

Can you see that croissant back there? Delightfully flaky pastry! Individually, the flakes would waft into the ether if you had the temerity to blow on the wonderful structure. Yet, in its entirety, dense, heavy and coated with a generous layer of icing sugar, lovingly dusted just prior to being served. Full of almonds and almond meal - half is a succulent feast!

Is it possible for our cultures to meet and agree over these essentials of life, or are we doomed to be forever speaking a different language? The old song goes something like "you say tomayto, I say tomahto" but the object being discussed is the same. But the product named coffee and purchased in the US as such, is, sadly, worlds apart, and an Aussie craving a cappuccino is bound to be disappointed and left longing for the real thing and not a sad, pale, insipid imitation...

.........

BTW, for any Aussies visiting the west coast of the US and wanting to find accessible, drinkable coffee, Peet's isn't bad. They have outlets at Raley's supermarkets and the quality of the coffee, especially cappuccino, is closer to what we're used to than the more prominent chain. Don't get caught by assuming Maccas McCafe's are the same as here, they're not! Ours have adapted to local tastes and offer a wider variety of coffee and foods and generally have pretty good barristas. (I never thought I'd say something so supportive of Maccas - but give credit where it's due, they're good!)

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Images of Reno - "The Biggest Little City in the World"

Reno:


A city known for drive-through weddings. Do people still feel a sham wedding is preferable to living together? No one around, so Monday mustn't be popular!





The lovely Truckee River gurgling along, rushing over rocks, crossed by pretty bridges. The perfect spot for sidewalk cafes, coffee vans, buskers and general community happenings, but totally devoid of pedestrians at 10 on a Monday morning. Could it be a public holiday and everyone is sleeping in?

Locals directed us to the BEST breakfast spot at Peg's Glorified Ham n Eggs. The service was fast, the food arrived quickly and was well presented, fresh and tasted great!!
- now for an Aussie barrista to set up business and provide the coffee to match!

Nobody this way either!

A climbing wall towers over what looks
like it should be a busy street, but it's devoid of traffic and pedestrians at 10am.

Where is everyone? Have some pesky aliens spirited everyone away?






Six bright, welcoming chairs are patiently waiting for customers. No one here either - perhaps evening is the busy time?












Interesting sculptures await tourists with cameras. We feel rather conspicuous and vaguely out of place sauntering around with no one else about.






And lastly, a hole in the wall shop with assorted poker machines crammed in the front sells great hamburgers and mounds of chips. Far too many for one person! This was a meal suitable for two, or perhaps three! Was it obvious that I completely misunderstood the name of the outlet? I thought I was being taken to "Offal, offal" or perhaps "Aweful offal" but nooooo, that darned accent got me yet again! It was called "Aweful aweful" and it didn't live up to its name :-)

I'd visited Reno to extend my professional skills in ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy). There's more about the course over at traverselife






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A is for Aliens - images of America

Where would be we without a good alien story!? The USA does these extremely well, including laying out the welcome mat in the form of a beer advertisement at a casino just outside Death Valley - where else would an inquisitive alien land? I think they leave the overhead light on in case they arrive after dark!

Of course, we're not talking about the sort of aliens who are people very much like ourselves. People who are treated as criminals in Australia because they come from a different, often war torn country, and are shoved unceremoniously into a remote detention centre for years without hope of being released. No welcoming beer for them.

No, these are the sort of aliens who are truly fearsome, and who can execute acts that we can only dream about. Like maintaining the same pose in the corner of a store for eternity... gathering dust and not sneezing! That'd give the game away immediately!

What struck me most during my visit to Alien Fresh in Baker wasn't the fabulous alien posters, wonderful as they are! Or even the fascinating newspaper articles - of course the story must be true if it's been published in the paper ... mustn't it?

or the heavily defended "Peace Patrol" car, complete with moving aliens whose toxic green heads seemed to follow you around as you walked past (although maybe I was becoming a tad paranoid?)

but the implication that aliens were being processed to become jerky. Surely not! that's not particularly welcoming imho.

In the picture below you'll notice the cheerfully waving aliens atop the store. They seem welcoming. Don't be taken in! In hindsight I suspect they're luring tourists inside and processing them into jerky ... I'm confident that more people went into the store than exited. If anyone is missing a relative or two, you could start your search here.

Jerky is a taste I haven't managed to acquire, although I plucked up the courage to nibble warily on a piece which resulted in a screwed up face and muffled, choking response somewhat along the lines of "you've got to be joking, this isn't food, it's used shoe leather and it pongs". Perhaps if it was made out of aliens it would taste better, though I doubt it ;-)


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Book review: The Scent of Belonging by Rosie Abbott

This is an edited version of my Goodreads review for this novel.


This gently paced novel The Scent of Belonging by Rosie Abbott is set just prior to and during the Second World War in Gippsland, south eastern Victoria, Australia. 

We're drawn into the story of a recently qualified primary school teacher Ellen, and the challenges she faces moving to what was then a remote location. She struggles to fit in, not only to the family with whom she is boarding, but to the school and district. We learn about the farming community she has joined, teaching, the looming war, love and loss.

Rosie Abbott has captured the spirit of the era beautifully; the remote Victorian farming community, as well as the frustrations of women teachers after the war. When the men returned, the women were expected to go meekly back to the kitchens, as if nothing unusual had happened. This affected not only them, and many had difficulty adjusting, but their students and the region often suffered as well. Some of the men who'd returned from war were completely unsuitable for teaching, and far too many were dreadfully emotionally scarred and had trouble adjusting to civilian life. Ellen tackles these and other difficulties in her community with strength, courage and grace. 

The challenge for me in reviewing this novel is that I have known Rosie for many years, stayed with her and her husband, and walked the beautiful Gippsland hills smelling the wattle. I heard her voice throughout the pages, saw the farmhouses, felt I knew the characters. 

However, the novel also resonated with me deeply, not only because of our friendship, and having heard Rosie talk about her writing, but I've known women whose primary school teaching experiences during the war were similar to the character Ellen. I felt I understood their lives more than previously and wished I'd known them better and talked to them about how they'd adapted to a life without the teaching career they'd loved so dearly. 

Rosie worked for a number of years on The Scent of Belonging and has shared her well researched knowledge and love of the region and its inhabitants with sensitivity and warmth.

This book could be useful for English and History students as well as for those interested in gaining insight into an era long gone. There are good themes for book club discussions including belonging, knowing ourselves, displacement, love and loss, as well as the legacy of war. 

Congratulations on your debut novel Rosie! Well done :D

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On turning 60 - to celebrate or not?

I wasn't sure that I wanted to celebrate turning 60 with a birthday party. To be honest I thought I wanted to ignore the event entirely. I thought it didn't matter.

But I was wrong.

When I remembered my friends and family who hadn't marked the event, I realised it did matter to me. I'd felt a bit lost when people precious to me hadn't "done something" - something was missing, and I eventually acknowledged that I wanted to get together with others, raise a glass and acknowledge the important part they'd played in my life.

And if I thought that, then surely it was only fair to celebrate as I wished others had.

Okay ... but how?

Low key. Down to earth. What do I want to do with my life next? How would I like my wonderful friends and family to be involved?

I'd been dreaming of getting some advice about setting up a permaculture garden. We have a lacklustre garden, unproductive and a bit sad, so maybe ....?

Belatedly the invitations were sent out; the celebration set for afternoon tea, and gifts as such were discouraged - but a cutting, seeds or strike from my friends' own gardens would be wonderful! The logic - I enjoy giving gifts and would totally ignore a "no gifts" request, I assume others would too, so surely it's ok to acknowledge that and give a hint?

And it turned out to be the best, most fun birthday celebration I've ever had!

The little kid down the road was celebrating his birthday on the same day, and his parents had arranged for a jumping castle and a petting farm with baby animals to be set up in the front yard. Admittedly, this was a bit of a distraction for my guests, many of whom were somewhat envious. But who could argue that a scarecrow made especially for me trumps a jumping castle and cute animals any day! And the possibility of injured aged hips and ankles getting twisted with the unaccustomed leaping might have been a disaster waiting to happen.

Oh darn, time for a smidge more honesty - I wish I'd thought of a jumping castle! That would have been so much fun ;-)

But back to the adult party. Can you see in the photo? I received flowers, seeds, seedlings, snail bait, a self-sown bay tree, a subscription to The Diggers Club, books, vegetables and even chocolate (for after all the energetic gardening I'll be doing!)

And mounds of cards and an abundance of cherishing, loving hugs, comments and words and even a poem!

Edinburgh. Ben Warner. 

One of my artistic relatives encouraged me to choose one of his paintings. Thankyou so much Ben. I was nearly in tears when you offered me something you'd created and even writing this now brings a lump to my throat. It was hard to choose from your folio, but I loved visiting Edinburgh and your painting of that city feels so at home here. I'll enjoy arranging for it to be framed!

I think what I'm trying to say in a somewhat clumsy manner is - many of us like to give, but we have trouble receiving. We shrug off compliments, we're flippant about our skills and talents. We pretend we're strong, even though we're crying inside. But sometimes it's important to slow down enough to let others show they care and bask in their love and revel in the luxury of their hugs.


And now, a question. How do you allow others to show they care?





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I won a prize to Cirque du Soleil - Ovo!!

A real prize! Not one of those unpleasant fake ones that make you think something exciting and fun has happened and it turns out it's a con or a scam of some sort.

It was entirely unexpected. You see, I rarely enter competitions so it's a bit hard to win anything at all. So when I received a call saying I'd won something I think the caller could hear my distrust and disbelief and quickly identified himself. Adam Grusaukas was the Marketing Manager from Minzenmay a reputable, local, family owned jewellery store, which I've been known to frequent from time to time.  "Just looking" of course ;-) They occasionally run competitions, business card draws and the like, which I enter, and promptly forget.

The prize included a double pass to the afternoon session of Cirque du Soleil's "Ovo" on Australia Day, AND popcorn AND 2 softdrinks AND chocolate :D

A feast for all the senses!

Wheeeeee! Something fun was just what I needed - this prize couldn't have come at a better time!

Precariously balancing a massive carton of popcorn, drinks and chockies, we found our seats which were in a prime spot.

While waiting for the show to start we watched black clad stage-hands scamper expertly up tall pylons disappearing into the darkness as the music entwined around a massive opaque egg centre stage. Chirrups, squeaks and clicks provided an auditory background for the performers as they moved through the aisles and interacted with the audience, dressed in fantastically detailed and often sumptuous costumes.


The egg became a molten orange-red; colours swirling and pulsating ... then vanished.

Lithe, sinuous characters dressed in iridescent gauze costumes, some figure hugging (oh to be as energetic and fit as these people!) others reminiscent of armadillos, moved with balletic poise and control, at times seeming to defy gravity and be held up only by the "ooooohs" and "aaaaahs" of a spellbound audience.

Words like sensuous and voluptuous are apt for the main female character. A ladybird perhaps, coy at times, vampish and feisty at others. Her costume enhanced and celebrated her apparent size - fit, feminine and joyous - what a gorgeous role model! You're not allowed to take photos during the show, but you can see some of the characters in this promotional few seconds of Ovo here. The fly is wonderful!

The performance showcased the skills you'd hope to see at a regular circus, but enhanced into a fully self-contained show with a story line running through linking the separate parts into a satisfying whole.

Detail of head dress

To refer to these performers as a circus troupe doesn't in my mind do justice to the incredible professionalism of everyone involved. From the engineering, enabling characters to appear in part or whole from within the stage or appear to slide across it as if on skis, to the precision and amazing body awareness of the performers to the designers and makers of the exquisite jewell like costumes, it is an extraordinary celebration of skills, honed to perfection.

Someone asked me which act I liked most. That's a challenge! Using one diabolo is ok, two is pretty good, by the third my eyes were crossed with the effort of working out how it was possible for it to appear so easy. That's the mark of an expert - to make a challenge appear effortless!

The group of red clad Chinese women: precision, co-ordination, and wonderful synchronisation with balancing, twirling, spinning and throwing "kiwifruit" barrels between and across the performers, but not content with that, they then juggled with each other.

The clash and clang of a sword fight; whimsical, witty, energetic and believable - without swords!

And the giant slinky! Oh my! That was absolutely amazing - Which way is up? Which way is down? Is that a head, or foot, or arm ... or just a slinky? Expanding and contracting, bits appearing and disappearing. I suspect I was shaking my head in disbelief and I know I experienced more cross-eyed concentration as I tried (and failed) to work out how it was done.

Then there were the slaters. Beautiful, controlled, precise. The incredible strength and concentration of the slack-wire artist and the high wire troupe - my stomach muscles still twinge in sympathy just thinking about them.

Intricate detailing on boots

The beauty of the giant brightly blooming flowers - reminiscent of the Western Australian fire wheel tree. Glorious! Mesmerising spidery legs, emerging, languid from the floor, all fur and glittery sparkles - what a mind that can conceive of this! At one stage a cream silken cocoon dropped from the ceiling and broke open to expose the chrysalis, twisting, falling and eventually emerging into a butterfly.

The finale was stunning, jaw dropping, and for me, the stuff of dreams. Trampolining at it's most elegant, gravity defying, glorious best. A multitude of trampolinists dropping from a high rock wall onto a trampoline placed along the length of the wall a bit like a river. As some were dropping others bounded upwards and appeared to walk UP the wall, not only vertically, but weaving across each other like a human tapestry being constructed before our eyes. Linking this complex movement was another figure, a woman, moving slowly and gracefully between, on,  underneath and around these precision performers, high, high on the wall. She was like a beautiful slow moving, and at times sensuous limpet. Absolutely mesmerising ... wow! Did they really move in slow motion at times, or is that the eyes playing tricks due to the intricate movements and upwards momentum?

Applause for the musicians, applause for the artists, costume designers, engineers, and especially for Minzenmay Mornington for the wonderful prize. Thankyou so much. We had a wonderful time!

And after that amazing feast for the senses and stomach, you'd think we'd have been satisfied - but no. To support the One Drop Foundation we purchased handbag sized reusable water bottles, a stylish and useful memento of a fantastic afternoon at Ovo by Cirque du Soleil.




(From Wikipedia) The One Drop Foundation is a non-governmental organization (NGO) based out of Montreal, Canada. an initiative of Cirque du soleil founder Guy Laliberte, the foundation's mission is to fight poverty worldwide by supporting access to water and raining individual and community awareness of the need to mobilize so that safe water is accessible to everyone.

Convinced that a comprehensive, planetary approach is required to pursue its mission. One Drop works on three levels:
     1. Making water accessible to those deprived of this resource;
     2. Raising awareness among individuals and communities of water-related issues, the need to  mobilize and the importance of adopting responsible water-management practices;
     3. Helping put water at the heart of public debate and international agendas.

More about One Drop http://www.onedrop.org/en/default.aspx
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Mornington Peninsula Toy Run

This is the twelfth year of the Mornington Peninsula Toy Run, and the first where I've happened to be in the vicinity with my phone/camera! 

Hundreds of bikes and riders dress up as Santas and elves and many also enter their bikes in a best decorated competition. This year there were lots of cheerful Santas, chirpy elves as well as tinsel sneaking coyly from under black leathers, fluttering like a Mata Hari scarf.

The goal is to help underprivileged families on the Peninsula to enjoy Christmas with food and gifts which have been donated. In 2011, 1500 hampers were made from donated goods, though it's sad to realise so many families are struggling financially.

The deep roar of the convoy, complete with motor cycle police and flanked by police cars with flashing lights, can be easily heard over the cheerful Saturday morning coffee crowds spilling onto the footpaths, already getting into the Summer holiday spirit. Around 800 riders and their bikes were expected this year, and judging from the snaking parade rumbling noisily down Main Street, I suspect that number was reached easily. 

Children squeal excitedly and tug at their parent's hands to hurry them away from a lazy cappuccino. Far more fun to rush the park and gaze in awe and some disbelief at the unusual sight. A fully decorated Christmas tree on the back of a gleaming trike isn't something to be easily ignored!

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Since when does 58% = 100%?

     Whoops! You're out of space. You are currently using 100% of your 1 GB quota for photos.

     Yet when I open the storage and plan area it shows:

1 GB of Picasa (58% used)

I have no photos stored in Picasa and I wish a well meaning person had never downloaded the program as I've rarely used it.

I've read that if I delete Picasa entirely, every photo I've ever posted in my blogs will also disappear - is this true? 

Any help appreciated.

AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHH :/

Kick, kick, kick

I've been peppered with spam lately and today was so bad that I decided to disable anonymous comments.

First however, I went into the comments area to remove the tedious, nasty things, got distracted, and came back to see a screen full of the drivel and clicked to remove the lot of them.

So far, so good. Except, I hadn't gone into the spam folder aaarrrgggghhh so I've just removed all the lovely comments which I really appreciate - they were all from kind, genuine people.

In the past I've scrolled down to check, but after looking through 1000s of the time-wasting, moronic and sometimes downright offensive things I tend not to bother nowadays. I'd never found a genuine comment which had snuck into the spam folder. So I just click and remove in bulk.

Real people make the effort to craft a thoughtful response and pfft, just like that - gone. Grrrrrr.

I don't suppose they're in a bin somewhere that I can retrieve them from?

Sigh. Sometimes crap happens.

Sorry :(

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on guest posting

I'd doing a happy dance as I've got a guest post appearing today over at The Blogging from A-Z April Challenge .

It's the first time I've presented a guest post. My initial reaction when the  invitation came from Arlee Bird was 'that's nice, but it's not for me', but as happened with The A-Z Challenge, the more I thought about it the more it seemed like a good idea!

Arlee Bird initiated the *A-Z Challenge back in 2010 when he thought it would be fun to invite bloggers to blog thematically, A through to Z for every day in April except Sundays. In 2010 around 100 bloggers joined in, by the following year there were well over 1000, and by 2012 it had become so big that a team of 9 is now dedicated to ensuring everything runs smoothly.

The A-Z Blogging Challenge now has its own blog and has grown from being an event held in April, to being a year long festival including video blogging, guest posts and hints and tips about blogging in general as well as how to enjoy a blog-fest. As the song by Paul Kelly says, From Little Things, Big Things Grow.

However, back to my guest post. My concerns were: What would people be interested in? How long should a guest post be? Which of my assorted interests should I focus on?

It took a while to sift through and discard ideas but I eventually settled on something of middling length, explaining a part of Australia, in words and photos, which isn't on the standard tourist route, with a bit of current history included. It got to the stage where I wanted to include more and more, particularly about Aboriginal Dreamtime stories related to the vast arid spaces and infrequent waterholes, but it simply wasn't possible. Although that's something else I could consider for next year's Challenge!

When I was writing as a guest, I realised that I find it easy to go into "shorthand mode" and forget that not everyone understands the significance of place names and locations. I think I might sometimes leave readers 'hanging' wondering what on earth I'm on about though I've tried to make an effort for than not to happen over at Blogging from A-Z.

Guest posting was a good experience and I'd encourage you to try if you have the opportunity. It nudged me out of my comfort zone and made me look at my blogging in a new way.

Waterholes in the distance!

*There's a bit more history about the A-Z blogging challenge here

For the Blogging from A-Z April Challenge in 2012, I blogged about climate and the environment
in An A-Z of Climate Matters.

For the Blogging from A-Z April Challenge in 2011, I blogged about Workplace Bullying in An A-Z of Workplace Bullying over at traverselife, and also had fun here with alliterative drabbles related to learning difficulties, and the environment.

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Dear weather and fishing gods #2

Dear weather and fishing gods,

Thankyou for listening to my request and arranging a perfect spring day for us to go fishing up near Marysville. And while it might seem absurd for someone who doesn't particularly like fish or fishing to choose to spend a day involved with said pass-time, it made sense at the time.

We wanted to do our bit for the region after the devastating Black Saturday bushfires nearly 4 years ago, so why not head up there and fish! The town is still doing it pretty tough, although the tourists have returned bringing lots of vibrant colour and joyous laughter! They were certainly making the most of the cafes, spilling out into the streets, chattering and enjoying the food and wine on a perfect spring afternoon.

However, I hadn't expected to be so deeply affected by the devastation. Blackened tree trunks, gaps where atmospheric old buildings used to be, bright sun where there used to be shade, forlorn  flowers in untended remains of gardens where not so long ago there was a home and family.


It's sobering to realise that lots of locals are still in dongas (a small relocatable hut often used near mines for temporary accommodation) nearly four years after the town was obliterated. Rebuilding is painfully slow for all sorts of frustrating and convoluted reasons. 

I can't even begin to imagine the terror of having a firestorm reduce your town and region to ash, and it's something I hope never to experience again, even from the sidelines. Can weather gods prevent horrendous weather events occurring? I suspect not.

I've described the weather conditions during the Black Saturday bushfires here

But back to the fishing!

I caught my first fish ever which took both me and the salmon by complete surprise. Foolish, foolish salmon. 

I know it's kind of cheating to throw a baited hook into a well stocked dam and call it fishing, but I felt a sense of achievement mixed with a good dose of stunned disbelief at my success. I'll refrain from referring to myself as a fisherperson, however, as that'd be stretching the truth a bit.

Slimy, icky salmon.

Here's the salmon that insisted on leaping energetically onto the hook I'd halfheartedly dropped into the dam at the Marysville fish farm. The first one got away - truly! It was big and heavy and flapping so vigorously that it snapped the line as I was reeling it in .... it was this big ..................................................... holds hands way apart in true fisherperson style ;-)

The proprietor gutted the fish, and after the long drive home, where they nestled snugly in the compact car frig, I put them in freezer bags and wrapped them in newspaper as per instructions, before making little nests in the freezer. No doubt they're now solid blocks of raw fish. We caught four between us, 3 trout and 1 salmon. This is going to present a bit of a challenge - what to do with them next?

The photo below is of one of the fishing ponds and the dead and blackened eucalypt trunks. Eucalpyts regrow from little nodules under the bark which are called epicormic shoots. You can see these epicormic shoots sprouting from around the trunks of some of the trees as well as revegetated areas at the fish farm.  

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Dear weather gods #1

Dear weather gods

Could we possibly have a nice warm day soon.

respectfully,

Sue

PS: In case all the energy you're expending on changing our climate has got you confused, I've included a few photos to jog your memory.  We'd like a bit less of this:

Mornington

Mornington Pier

and a bit more of this:

Frankston Pier

Mornington.

Kananook Creek. Frankston

Southbank Brisbane

Southbank - Brisbane

PPS: It'd be awesome if you could prove the hundreds and hundreds of highly qualified scientists wrong about climate change. Things are a bit tense and fraught at times down here. The fossil fuel industry seems to have got our politicians and decision makers by the balls, and it's not doing the rest of us any good. Could you perhaps have a bit of a chat with some of the other relevant gods about that?

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A whiff of death

This looked like a potentially perfect fishing spot -
alpine mountain backdrop, gentle breeze and mild spring weather,
a gurgling river, tumbling happily over a small pebble race.

But something's not quite right.
Muddy eddies of a receding flood have almost,
but not quite,
covered a body ... a dog or sheep perhaps.
Stagnating quietly, putridly, in this picturesque backwater.

Sunlight glistens gold on the rocky bed.
Trout twist and turn,
efficiently avoiding the supposedly tantalising bait.

Determined to make the most of the tranquil setting,
I focus on the graceful old trees lining the river.

Follow, with my eyes, the arching branches
and see high up, tangled with weed and flood debris,
(showing the frightening height and power of last year's flood),
flesh and protruding bones strung up.
Festooning the tree's limbs
like last year's Halloween decorations.

Forgotten, discarded, worthless junk - only lacking the tacky fake plastic colouring.
The foetid flesh has been rubbed clean of fur and drips grotesquely;
distinguishing features long gone.

The excited buzz of blowflies keen to feed on broken flesh
tangled in the fresh spring growth -
evidence that life goes on regardless.

My throat contracts and gag reflex threatens.

In the distance a crow caws lazily.

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A blokey weekend.

A swagger of utes thunder past, kicking up swirls of fine smelly dust.
Rear trays are shrouded in camouflage green canopies concealing -
who knows what?

Too muscular to be contained by any flimsy cabin,
bulging tattooed forearms rest on dusty door-frames,
languidly rise and wave a cheery hello, at odds with their physical menace.

Bringing up the rear of the rumbling group,
his ute surely unroadworthy with rusty holes and massive dints;
is a lone driver - unsmiling - 'don't mess with me, I mean business'.
The open tray contains a single, reinforced steel cage
barely contains two enormous wild-eyed, salivating, hunting dogs.

A moulding stiff legged deer at the side of the road
is evidence of an earlier successful expedition. 

Not all utes survive the hunting trip.