Tag Archives: flood

Drought, Fire & Flooding Rains . . .

by . Posted on
17 Feb

I guess I couldn’t really understand what it was to be a farmer in this country without experiencing Drought. I console myself with that idea. The climate denialists will quote Dorothea McKellar’s beautiful ode to Australia as rationale for their beliefs, and it is true that Mother Nature operates in cycles, but we are in extremis now.

https://www.dorotheamackellar.com.au/archive/mycountry.htm

When we first came here, the farmers around us who had lived and farmed this land all their long lives told us that the Ellenborough River had never stopped flowing. It stopped in September 2019. We felt confident in our oasis with its creeks, springs and river. But we watched our stagnant pools dropping by inches a day in the vicious heat of spring and summer. We feared for ourselves, our stock, our platypus population – the river and rainfall are what sustains us all.

We scrambled frantically on the phones to find feed and then for funds to pay for it. We had to put our hand up for charity when we just couldn’t take any more. We watched beloved cows drop to their knees and despite our best efforts never get up again. We spent days digging a downer out of a bog, feeding and watering her and hand feeding her calf. We got intimate with maggots in an array of injuries. We learned just how useful hip lifters are. We hauled on heavy cows to turn and lift them. We tried and we tried and we tried . . . and we failed. We lost too many to count. We lost friends, four leggeds that we raised by hand and loved beyond measure: Isis, Damson, Millie, Milka, Henrietta, Big Red, JB and more. And then there were all the cows and steers we had to sell for a pittance because we feared they too would lie down and die.

And then there was Goldie. Our golden girl. Our beautiful bitch. Ben’s dog. There is something so incredibly beautiful about a boy and his dog. Listening to his peals of laughter as she scrambled all over him as she has done since a pup. He loved her so much. We all did. And her puppies were a miracle (unplanned though her pregnancy was, I am so grateful for it now). I stayed up all night and at one point woke Ben to come and see a baby being born. It was a sacred time. And despite her exhaustion and overwhelm (8 babies!!) Goldie was an amazing Mum. She hid under the house for a while that first day (& who can blame her?) and then she would disappear for a little while very day for a rest. Slowly traversing further afield as the weeks passed – down to the river for a swim and explore. Never too far, always back in an hour for the next feed. Until the day she disappeared with Mudji and didn’t come home. As night fell we were frantic and started feeding the babies (luckily I had bought some powdered puppy milk as a supplement for Goldie at the pet shop’s advice). Mudji turned up at the neighbour’s the next day as usual but no Goldie. It was Ben’s birthday weekend and we were out looking high & low, calling for her. No sign. No trace. No sound. Nothing. No body to bury. No real closure. No time to grieve.

We raised her pups, Ben instantly claiming the little lemon beauty as Goldie’s replacement and I held the little black boy close to my heart and refused to let him go despite Ged’s disapproval. And then we had to let them go too. God, that was hard. Every goodbye felt like another part of Goldie leaving us. And they were all so beautiful, just like her. But the fact that they are so loved by the families they have gone to, and that her light lives on in this world, is a source of great joy.

I don’t like who we became last year. Brutal, brittle, broken people. We talked very seriously about walking off the farm. We just couldn’t take it any more. We were in shock, I see now that it was like a war zone mentality – we became immured to death somehow, closed off from it, sealed from its shockingness in order to protect our own hearts.

And then came the fires. Moving slowly, but inexorably our way from Mt Seaview and Yarras. That added another level of stress. I went away to a long planned yoga retreat, hoping for healing. Instead I got a text from Ged with a dramatic photo of the fire now in the neighbour’s place and barrelling down on us. So I learned to live in the moment – going deep into meditation and breathing and then coming out to get on the phone and issue rapid fire instructions what to pack, what to leave, where essentials were, how to protect our assets. I stayed and focussed while fear built in me and then drove home via Bunnings on the Monday, filling a trolley with hoses and sprinklers. Ben was evacuated and we had two days to prepare ourselves and our property for the onslaught.

George, our 85 year old neighbour came by. He was scared. He doesn’t scare easy. He was worried about crown fires and fireballs and the lack of water, how dry it was, how little hope we could escape annihilation. But we did. Although the fires continued around us for months. ‘Watch & Act’ sounds so benign. But it is a state of hypervigilance, of nerves in tatters, of fear that I never want to experience again. And the helicopters overhead hour after hour, day after day, the thick smoke we breathed for months, and the sweet stench of death from my rotting friends gave me a feeling of Vietnam or some other vile warzone.

We went away but Ged had to come back to fight fire, to fix broken water pipes, to take delivery of more unaffordable hay. We couldn’t relax. We were constantly on edge, cranky, snappy.

The first rain came on Christmas Day – the ultimate Christmas gift. In January a slow moving wall of clear rainwater saw the river flowing again. Now we have cleansing floods, trees tossed and bobbing on fast moving muddy flood water as the riverscape is purified once more.

And now the healing can begin. I have begun what I call ‘crying yoga’ the nights on my mat sobbing for my lost friends. And walking the landscape, remembering their faces, their soft pelts, their wet noses.
We are scarred by 2019. We will never forget. I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know this – the global human population has exploded over the past 150 years as has our consumption, manufacturing, coal burning and carbon creation as we evolve from horse and cart to steam power, electricity, petrol & diesel driven cars, planes and more. We cannot possibly believe that our deforestation and coal burning has not irrevocably altered the planet and its atmosphere. We have to stop. We have to change. We have to backpedal. We all have to do our bit.

Platypus Tales

by . Posted on
11 May

When I was at school in the UK we learned about the Australian platypus. I thought it was big, like a beaver. It was mythical – like a pterodactyl or unicorn. Most people will never see one in their lifetimes – in the wild or in captivity. And contrary to my expectation and early education, they are small, only about a foot long, in the old measurement.

I was so excited when my Kangaroo Valley neighbour, Neil, said he had spotted one on his early morning run. I couldn’t wait to get down to the spot at 7 the next morning to spy the monotreme for myself. I stood on the timber walking bridge in the early morning chill and mist and waited. Just when I was sure that he wouldn’t show, up popped a small, sleek creature who paddled around for a moment before duck diving back down to the depths.

Mesmerised, I returned again and again to witness what seemed like a miracle. Little did I know that only a few years later I would have the privilege to live on a large farm, bounded by pristine river, populated with hundreds of these amazing little creatures. They are creatures of habit and I can often set my clock by them. Mummy keeps saying I should get a dishwasher but then when would I get to gaze, from my kitchen window, at the peaceful flow and playful platypus in the pool below the house?

They have a reputation for being shy and I never understood why as they don’t mind us, the current custodians of this beautiful oasis, until we started having visitors and trying to point out a platypus to them. Suddenly our platypus friends are in hiding!

I have swum with them a couple of times in the summer. There are three main pools I swim in and I have come face to face with a platypus in each. They look at me calmly and curiously with their small eyes in the white skin surround and then disappear beneath the surface to steer clear of the giant in their water world.

In the first big flood Ged and I experienced on ANZAC day 2008, we walked around the riverscape, marvelling at the force and flow. When we went down to where our concrete bridge normally is, there was a huge expanse of brown muddy water and we stood in our wellies in the first 6 inches or so. I looked down and saw a platypus inches away from my feet for one brief instant, I bent down to pick it up, but it was already gone. I hope he or she survived.

In the last flood we took Benno down to the end of the flat where normally there is a big dipper into the river that we drive down. The flood water was up to the height of the flat and there was a platypus ducking and diving in the murky depths. They are easiest to see when the river is thick and red-brown with mud, as the contrast shows them up more clearly. In the clear crystal pools they can be hard to see for the untrained eye when the rings in the water show only where they were, not where they will pop up next!

Benno has (or had, until the last two floods ripped away some of the riverbank) his special ‘Platypus Walk’ which he would take newcomers to the property on, to show them the places where the platypus eat freshwater mussels on the bank, overlooking their feeding grounds.

We delight in being able to watch them every day. Sometimes we have seen as many as 5 at once in the main pool beneath the house, and once we witnessed (and videoed) what we could only assume to be a courtship and subsequent mating which looked like platypus synchronised swimming and involved lots of fun, frolicking and splashing – what a treat!

My most amazing moment to date came when we were recently down in Kangaroo Valley for the annual show (in which I came last in the over 45 iron woman event!) Late one afternoon, when it finally stopped raining, I went for a run down to Flat Rock. This consists of a beautiful natural bedrock pool which the Aborigines used for birthing and women’s business, and then a causeway of stones worn smooth by the water over millennia. It was twilight as I rounded the final corner and stepped onto the concrete causeway forming part of the road. In the dusk I saw a flash of movement to my left where Gibson Creek murmurs down to meet the Kangaroo. And there in the half light was a platypus aqua planing across the rock in a centimetre of water. He steered himself down through one of the pipes under the road and plopped out into the little pool below where he swam to the debris and roots which hid his home from view. He was only a toddler and clearly having fun – he looked pretty pleased with himself. Platypus have given me many moments of pure, unadulterated, natural magic.

Back to Back Floods

by . Posted on
20 Apr

It seems like a long time ago now as I have been battling the Aliens in my belly, but at the end of February and beginning of March we had unprecedented rainfall and two floods back to back over two consecutive weekends. I didn’t think Ged would get home on the first Friday night (22nd February) because the rivers and creeks were rising so fast, but he got in by the skin of his teeth. Both cars had to be abandoned on the other side of the river and we all had to haul ourselves across the raging torrent on the flying fox, hand over slow hand.

The rain was pounding on the tin roof so loudly we could barely hear ourselves speak, let alone think, and hourly checks of the river showed it rising at an alarming rate. By bedtime the roar of the river was competing with the rain of the roof and while I passed out into dreamless slumber, Ged was kept up all night after the howling wind started to compete in the battle of the elements. Every time he heard a crash he went out and investigated and checked that we were still safe. He brought the farm car into the house paddock and parked it next to the verandah, ready for evacuation to higher ground, because never before has the river risen so rapidly or violently. I slept through . . .

Being floodbound is always exciting – witnessing the power and force of Mother Nature, knowing that we are completely cut off from the world. We had no internet which was really frustrating so we had no idea what was happening in the wider community – we were well and truly marooned. We went for a walk and drive around the property on Saturday morning and saw higher water levels than ever before. Angle Creek had backed up right over the bridge and there was no sign of Paddy or her lovely little Melissa calf. We presumed they had gone up into the bush to get away from the deluge.

The water was significantly higher than ANZAC day 2008 and the force of the flow was incredible. At the end of the house river flat we stood and watched a platypus feeding at our feet – under normal circumstances that is a steep bank down into a shallow river crossing. No sign of Paddy and Melissa but all the other animals were present and correct. It was a housebound weekend and amazing that Ged and Ben got out over all the creeks on Monday morning for preschool and work. The highway had been closed at Long Flat all weekend and when we saw the height and extent of the flooding we were all amazed. Once the internet came back on we realised just how widespread the damage and deluge had been.

I was weak and sick so pulling Ben and I across the river and back in our saggy flying fox was really hard work. I grew muscles in both body and mind! The river was slower than normal to recede, but beginning to go down when the rain in earnest began again. It was like Groundhog Day. Again Ged got home with minutes to spare, but at least this time we didn’t have the roaring winds and crashing trees. We stood at the window and saw a huge gum uproot from the bank and fall down into the river. Closer inspection of the banks during the week saw enormous she oaks had been ripped, roots and all, out of the river bank, gouging great chunks from our land. Now it was all happening again, it seemed incredible that so much water could fall out of the sky and we found streams and creeks rushing out of the bush where we’ve never seen water before. Still no sign of Paddy and the calf.

The second flood was stronger, faster and more powerful and took 10 days to go down so we could finally drive into and out of the property again. So for three weeks Ben and I were hand over hand across 100 metres of muddy brown torrent. Hot, sticky work!

Our river landscape has completely changed. We have welcomed a beautiful sandy beach at our swimming hole below the house, Ged has farewelled a huge rock he used to stand on which has moved 20 metres further downstream, and we have lost more bank. Thankfully all the young she oaks we felled on the other river bank which were waiting to be burnt have all been swept out to sea. Have checked with our neighbour, Pat, and they went straight past her. We went to the beach the other day and I think I saw bits of them in the driftwood pile on the tideline. All the rocks and pebbles at our bridge were completely rearranged and we had to wait for the tractor to come back from its long holiday at the menders (almost a year and $5,500!) before Ged could blade them all back again. It has been a bumpy ride in more ways than one!

But our greatest loss is the beautiful Paddy and little newcomer to Avalon, Melissa. We have looked high and low, up into the bush on rocky crags and escarpments and down along Angle Creek but there has been no sign, or smell. We have watched the wedge tail eagles circling and trudged up to where they land but nothing there either. They are gone and we can only presume that they slipped into Angle Creek and have been swept away to sea. It is hard to believe that we will never see them again and that they are lost to us completely.

Paddy has been here with us since the beginning. She has stood patiently while we all learned to milk kneeling at her huge udder. She has been friend and comforter. We thought she would have to have a bullet when she seemed to dislocate her shoulder over a year ago, but after a month or so of limping she came good, if always a bit slower than the rest of the herd. We had determined that Melissa would be her last calf because of the distension of her udder. But now we have neither.

We can only hope they survived – we have written to the paper to broadcast her loss, but we all have the same feeling, that they didn’t survive. Angle Creek rose so fast and the banks are so steep that it is possible that Paddy went down to water and slipped in, or maybe the calf slipped in and she went after it. We will never know. We are richer for having known and loved her, we are the poorer for her passing.

It’s a reminder that we are at the mercy of the elements, that Mother Nature has more power than we can ever contest. We think we are so in control of our world, but when we look at the sheer naked force of a flood or gaze up at the crystal clear skies at night, we are reminded just how small and insignificant we are.

What makes an Aussie Farmer?

by . Posted on
09 Dec

When I first came here I thought it was the Akubra, the moleskins, the RM boots and the years on the land that made a farmer but now I know different.

It’s the long, hot hours on the tractor.  The stiff neck, hip and back from hours reversing up hills and clearing gullies.  It’s the permanent ‘farmer’s tan’ of face, neck and arms and the leathering of the skin in the hot aussie sun.  It’s the ability to pull a calf out of a straining cow, or pull a cria out of a birthing alpaca.  It’s knowing when to call the vet and when time and patience and a little TLC will heal.

It is knowing and loving and caring for animals.  Being brave enough to decide who goes for slaughter when.   Crying for them when they go, communicating with them beforehand and remembering them always as friends and fellow travellers and family.  It’s the understanding that we all have a purpose and a gift to give and that some of these animals make the ultimate sacrifice, give of themselves, with love and service, so we can eat.  There is no greater gift than that.

It is the watching of the seasons, the listening to the land as she speaks, working with her, nurturing her and feeling her nurture us as we live in her embrace.  It is learning to see and hear her messengers and understand their messages – the scurrying ants, cawing black cockatoos, lying down alpacas and cows saying storm coming and watching the sky turning indigo as it looms.

Seeing the babies being born and the ones that don’t survive – snatched before life has a chance to begin by goannas or snakes or circumstance.  Watching them grow and then mourning if they are taken too soon.  Nature is cruel, life is not guaranteed and ‘where there is live stock, there is dead stock’.

It is watching the eagles wheel and soar and teaching their babies to fly, talking to snakes and not being afraid of them, swimming with platypus, marvelling at the beauty and diversity of Mother Nature and having daily conversations with God and the Angels.  Finally feeling gratitude, humility and awe at this beautiful planet, this wonderful place and life, so precious, so tenuous, so brief.  After a lifetime of dabbling in death defying activities, all of a sudden I don’t want to die, don’t want to leave here, can’t bear the thought of not seeing the trees we are planting bear fruit.

Being a Farmer is all about taking care of the land that takes care of us – that feeds our bodies, nurtures our souls, and allows us and the planet to breathe.  It is hard, hard yakka.  Lifting, carrying, hauling, hurting.  Thankless, endless, relentless and often joyless.  But the rewards are spiritual as we come to see how small we are in the grand scheme of things, how brief our imprint, how enduring and changeable nature is and how we too must learn to bend in the winds of change or be blown over if we stand too proud and strong and rigid.

It is riding out the floods and the droughts and understanding that the feast and famine cycles are natural rhythms of nature.  It is knowing how to make do and paddock and bush fix things and scrape meals together from what is in the veggie patch and the pantry.  Living by the seasons, powered by the sun and becoming ever more sustainable.

It is cuts and scratches and bruises and worn clothes and wrinkles, but it is honest, and pure and worthwhile.  Down here on the farm we piss in the wind, we revel in our nudity, the animals don’t care how old or deshevelled we look, and the dirt is ingrained in hands and fingernails and no amount of scrubbing will get them clean.  And we don’t care.  Because bodies grow old and disintegrate and die and the wild dogs and goannas will feed off them.  Nothing is forever, this too shall pass and we are lucky to have witnessed creation at its most perfect and beautiful and to have immersed ourselves in the natural world.  What will happen after we are gone?  Nature will endure and all our work may well have been for nothing – who knows who will tend Avalon for future gnerations or if it will just be left to run wild and untamed as it was before we came.  And yet still we continue and persevere and keep going – for the love of it, for the deep peace and stillness she brings to our souls.

The Akubra never got worn so I sold it on ebay, I can’t afford moleskins or rm boots but I am a farmer in my wiry arms, in my wide shoulders, in my sun beaten and battered skin, in my tortured hip, in my holey clothes and deep down in my grateful soul . . .

The Roaring River and Whales

by . Posted on
09 Jun

We’ve been marooned again!

My neighbour, local weather guru, and early warning system, Pat Henry, rang at the weekend to warn of us of a major rain belt heading south from Tropical Queensland so we were on the alert (Pat is spot on with her predictions!).  So when I did my 3am wee on Monday night and it was raining I poked my better half awake to remind him that he had his car this side and not to blame me if he was flood bound in the morning.  He wasn’t, but by the end of that day after relentless rain all day, it was obvious that the river was on the up.  I left my car in Wauchope because it didn’t feel safe aquaplaning on my barely there tyres and got a lift home with George and we just made it in across the creeks.  Needless to say, Ged left his car out on Tuesday night and we woke to the roaring of the river on Wednesday morning – 12 feet below the last one but still a very sizeable flood.  So we played ‘marooned’ all day, cutting a swathe through our respective paperwork in the office and when it came time to feed Ged’s horses on ‘the other side’ the pregnant lady set off, with faithful hound at heel, to walk with two full feed buckets the 2.5kms to find the horses.   Went for a brisk trot around the track (pregnant lady on foot!) and then walked back with four empty feed buckets.  Long, long way!!
It was Ged’s birthday on Thursday so I gave him the day off work (!!) and booked us on a Whale Watching Tour  at 8am out of Port Macquarie, so we had an early start.  There was lots of hanging around scanning the sea for signs of life, and several sightings of pods blowing and breaching, but still not close enough for a real sense of the magnificence of the beasts, so I adopted my positive thinking and stood at the bow thinking ‘I see whales close to the boat’ for well over an hour.  Sure enough, just as we were about to turn for shore, we had a ‘close encounter’ with 3 humpback whales right under our noses at the bow and I had my first real whale sighting.  Wow!  Imagine if we had all been practising positive thinking . . . .
Ged has had amazing up close and personal whale experiences at Hervey Bay so he wasn’t as excited as me, but we had a lovely day with a warm-up breakfast in Port and then lots of clothes shopping to update his wardrobe (and a few things for me, too, since nothing seems to fit me anymore!)  On Friday I was able to pick up my car with its all new wheels (lovely!) and drive across the bridge again so we have spent the weekend in the garden planting bluebells and snowdrops, drastically pruning the roses over the septic, and relocating trees (again!)
We have had the list of suitable species from the Catchment Management Authority and have a visual plan of what to plant along the river banks to protect the banks and create a haven for birds and even koalas – it turns out that those bloody She Oaks (Casuarinas) are not even meant to be in this part of the Hastings valley Catchment Area – so we are completely justified in our plan to chop them down!  It’s very nice when our vision actually coincides with that of the Government and the Greenies (Melissa will be proud of us!)
Still waiting for Paddy to pop  . . . !

The Big Flood

by . Posted on
28 Apr
Just call me NOAH!!
Although I haven’t done a very good job of rescuing animals.  Trying to save three stranded cows and calves, they jumped into the river rather than be herded into our place. And I had a platypus literally at my feet this morning, obviously washed out of its burrow by the raging torrent.  By the time I realised what it was and registered that it didn’t look happy, the river had swept it away.  Maybe next time I’ll just stay in the house and pray!
So the rain has continued all week to my utter disgust and despair.  We had a thoroughly wet and miserable day in Port Macquarie on Wednesday where I had my inaugural Pilates class, acupuncture and we went for our 18 week scan.   Normally we have the mst delightful, lovely and helpful of radiologists but this one was a cow and trying to extract information from her, let alone reassurance, was like pulling the proverbial teeth!  So we don’t know what sex the baby is, and with her attitude, I’m more worried now than I was before, so let’s hope I can get out to the doctor on Wednesday for hand holding, brow soothing and ‘there, there, dear’s’
On Thursday we woke late and despondent at yet more of the wet stuff cascading from the sky.  As I had refused to take my car up the now suicidal Tom’s Creek Road one more time this week, Ged had to wait for me and do my morning chores (feeding his horses, chooks etc) and by the time we were ready to go we could see that we had better be quick because the river was rising, the sky was ominous and the forecast for flash flooding and more.  All the creeks on the way up were very high, but just passable, so we weren’t long checking and replying to our emails, doing what we had to online etc before we packed up the computers and headed home.  We came down the other way to avoid the creek crossings and only just made it into our place before the bridge got really scary.  Ged dumped me and the gear and hared out again, leaving his car on the high side by the flying fox. (see it in the picture?)
And through our newly created amazing view from the kitchen window we witnessed the river rise first by inches, then by feet, while we were watching it.  From 3pm to 6pm it had risen 4 feet.  When I woke to go to the loo at 2am I heard the roar and went out to look.  It had risen another 5 or 6 foot and by 6am a further 4 or 5 feet.  Amazing!  The whole of the lower river paddock (the campground) was under water which covered the top of the fence both at the gate end and where the toilet used to be (before the flood!)  At the end of our river paddock (polo ground!) where there is normally a ten-15 foot steep bank there was just water lapping at the cutting’s edge.  The bridge at Angle Creek was sitting in banked up river water and there was only 6 inches of log left showing before that would be under.  At the concrete bridge (where I saw the Platypus) we were looking at 50 or 60 metres of water across between the banks and it was a raging, raging torrent.
The flats on the other side were well clear of water (we went to check our potential new home site to see how high and dry we would be) and were pleased to see that it was a very good Noah spot indeed.
And from about noon the waters have been receding just as rapidly.  But at 5pm when the rain started in earnest again, they started a slow ascent.  Apparently they had 10 inches of rain on Comboyne last night, compared to our 3.  Let’s see what tonight and tomorrow brings . . .
And as quickly as they rose, they have been receding, but we are now at the slow point – it will probably take almost a week for the river to get back down below the bridge again.  I am still marooned! And George will need to rearrange the river stones on the far side of the bridge before I can drive out as the raging torrent has significantly rearranged them.  Meanwhile, the sun has been shining all weekend and we have hope in our hearts again, at last.  I have been sanding back all the benchtops and varnishing them properly – they only got a quick lick and a spit before the wedding.  Ged has discovered white ant in his side of the shed happily chewing their way through all the tasmanian oak flooring for the office.  Oh God!
So he has been busy burning them and it and finding ways of foiling their concentrated campaign attacks on our belongings.  I am going up to Lismore to see a client this weekend and will be grilling her about her long battle against their relentless armies so hopefully when I get back next week we will have a plan . . . .

A brave dog, a tough man and a fading wife

by . Posted on
22 Jan

Back to peace and quiet (I miss those kids!!) and as soon as the Grippers drove away on the next leg of their ‘Holiday Coast’ adventure, the sun disappeared, the heavens opened and the deluge resumed!

Thus we are back to parking on the ‘other side’ of the river and riding home in the Flying Fox.  Whoever is doing the winding gets a fine upper body workout, but pulling yourself across hand over hand is very wearying!  Phoenix leaps in and out with panache and daring and stays still for the crossing, and when he has to stay behind sits longingly on the platform watching until we get to our cars before he takes up his ‘watching’ position on the verandah or snuggles up on the wicker sofa for a snooze.
The only time he has braved the big waters was when the Grippers had first arrived and we all traversed the river on the fox to go for a drive up to Comboyne.  Poor Phee must have thought that there was no way his newly rediscovered friends were going anywhere without him so as the last of us stepped off the fox I heard distant yelping and had horrific visions of Phee hurtling down the rapids at the end of the House Pool so I clambered down the rocks, screaming for him.  Only to hear Angus say ‘he’s here, Sophie’ and there was a small, bedraggled, black dog with wildly waving tail jumping all over his Gripper friends having swum the raging river and clambered (somehow!) up the sheer rock face.  He’s living proof that ‘where there’s a will, there’s a way!’
George has been in tears and sick with worry because Marcia woke up one morning unable to move and he had to carry her into the bathroom etc.  She was in so much pain and he was in a complete panic.  Ged rang me and told me he’d met George on the road and heard the sorry tale so I rang and said I would go up and massage her (she has arthritis in one hip and needs a replacement but apparently they won’t do replacements on Alzheimers patients because the anaesthetic adversely affects their brain).  When I got there Marcia was in tears of pain and frustration and Mavia who lives further up the road from us and who has been looking after Marcia a day or two a week while George works had got her washed and dressed etc.  We got her on a spare bed for a massage and eased up the cramping in her thigh and calf until she was walking normally again, but the next morning the same thing happened and every time George tried to move or touch her she just screamed with pain so he called the ambulance.  Marcia was admitted to Wauchope hospital for tests and condition assessment (ie was she able to live at home) while we all counselled George that the best thing that could happen was that the authorities make the decision that he simply didn’t have the wherewithall or facilities to care for her deteriorating condition at home.  Poor George, he was lost without her.  While caring for her had been exhausting and often demeaning, she was the axis on which his world turned, and now he had no focus, no point, no pole star to guide his way.  We took him food and had him here and rang the neighbours to rally him, but it was so sad to see him, who is so strong and sure, falter on his path.
As we predicted, the powers that be decided that Marcia must be cared for in a home and she was admitted to one in Laurieton and we are trying to pick up the pieces as George grieves his wife, their married life and the end of their time together.  It is worse than death to see someone you love so much and for so long, fall apart and lose sight of themselves and all normalcy as they disappear into a fog of endless forgetfulness.  Say a little prayer for a tough man who is cracking and a beautiful woman who should be spared the humiliation of a childlike dependence in an adult body and a slow demise into dementia.  Please God, there is a better end for us all.

Ring on my finger at last!

by . Posted on
17 Dec
I have a ring!  It’s very hard to take a photo of but you get the general gist – platinum rails with pink diamonds in between (channel set for the initiated) so it is pretty and practical for my life on the farm.  It has taken a bit of getting used to as I have never had a ring on that finger before, plus it is a very big step so all my commitment phobia has been playing havoc with my brain.  That and my hormones which are on a roller coaster, and creating a hair raising ride for all aboard.  Poor Ged!  He really is a saint . . .
George has gone AWOL.  Partly the fact that the slasher is still broken and sitting on the flat (I think I didn’t tell you that the blade sheared apart one day and speared one of the tyres.  George said it was ‘over use’ and I said it was ‘antiquity’!) and all this rain has kept him from us for weeks.  He couldn’t get the tractor in, he couldn’t slash, he couldn’t fence, he couldn’t clear with the root raker . . .  So we have been George-less which is always quieter, duller and less to report . . . .
I finally saw the platypus the other day.  It was midday and the first sunny day after what seems like months of rain, the river was a mud slick and I was taking advantage of the sunshine getting the washing done.  I saw movement in the river out of the corner of my eye and went to investigate.  I couldn’t believe it was him at first.  It was so out of character to be fishing in the middle of the day but there he was – ducking and diving, rolling and revelling in the day.  Presumably he, like us, had been housebound during the downpours and was catching up on his chores!  He was bigger than the only other one I’ve ever seen – about 18 inches to 2 foot long.  Amazing to have a creature that we studied in school as a rare miracle of nature living just below the house . . .
Which reminds me, we found a yabbie (crayfish to the poms!) in Angle Creek the other day so that should keep the kids occupied in March  . . .
Ged has replaced the platform for the Flying Fox so it is much safer and he and George were chopping down trees on the other side so it is now easier to get on and off at the other side.  We still need to put a new ‘floor’ in the fox itself and build a platform on the other side and then really it will be perfect!  We had the most torrential downpour on Sunday afternoon.  Incredible lightening directly overhead and we had a race against nature to get both the cars out and on the other side of the river, by the flying fox, pump some water before another mud slick came down the river (SOMEONE keeps leaving the hose on and using all the water – I can’t imagine who could be SO stupid!!) and finish the mowing which I was in the midst of.  It was a terrifying and amazing experience to be in the eye of the storm, soothing the horses under the giraffe shed.  Ged had got soaked playing with the pump and when I handed him his raincoat he just stripped off and got naked under it (we do embrace our nudity on the farm!!)
We were cooking supper when the phone rang.  One of the Comboyne dairies had sparks and smoke coming out of their sockets, so the sparky had to go out into the wilds and winch himself across the river and go to the rescue.  At 11pm I got a phone call from a woeful fiance ‘I won’t be coming home tonight’ (quite early days for THAT sort of behaviour!!) but he couldn’t get across Tom’s Creek which apparently was a raging torrent, at least a couple of feet  over the bridge and with big logs bobbing in the white water so the poor love had to go back to his old home (which I have denuded of any semblance of comfort – I made him burn it all, remember?) and sleep on the floor.  So one of the jobs over the holidays is to kit out that abode so if we get stuck again, we have somewhere to get warm, dry and rested!
We may be landlocked but we are river and creek bound!

Two scared horses come home at last

by . Posted on
26 Nov

Baby has been a quaking, shaking wreck for a week!  I brought her home on Tuesday morning once my foot had returned to approximately normal size and I had spent several hours trying to find them on ‘the other side’.  I brought them back to the house side and as soon as Ged’s horses saw my two they started cantering up towards them, so I thought I’d just let them run together and let my two go.  Big mistake!  They were last seen by George heading up the old ‘road’ up into the hilly ridge and then they were gone all day.  Ged came home to help me look for them and after much driving around, we found them looking sheepish and heading back down the self same road they had last been seen haring up with the hounds of hell apparently at their heels.  By  this time I had locked Ged’s horses in the yards after counselling from my Horse Herbalist.  And I brought my two home, washed them down, soothed them with words and ‘Settle Petal herbal remedy, fed them their favourite tasty morsels and then, once they seemed normal and calm, let them go again.  Big, big mistake!

Baby galloped up a vertical hill and just kept going.  I didn’t see where.  They were AWOL for two days and nights despite us both putting in countless miles on foot and in the car trying to track them down.  George tried ‘thinking like a horse’ and poking round in the dust looking for tracks – ‘don’t be surprised if I turn black’ he said but to no avail.  You can imagine how stressed I was!  Finally George dragged me out of bed at 7am after their second night out in the wilderness and insisted on going out looking for them with me in the car because he was determined we would find them out feeding in the cool of the day.  Sure enough, we crested a ridge and George said ‘turn around, that’s it, you can stop looking now’.  ‘Where?’ I said, peering left and right.  ‘Straight ahead’ and there they were.  Naughty children!  I got out and caught them and sent George home driving the Pajero (hilarious!)  and both Ged and George could finally relax again because I had a smile on my face.  Ged had taken his horses over to the other side so I shut my two in the yards to feed them, de-tick them and so they could see for themselves that the scary ghosts were all gone.  More ‘Settle Petal’, more sweet words of wisdom and love and more tasty titbits and I left them there for an hour or so to calm down and re-establish their territory.  Then I let them go.  BIG MISTAKE!  Off they galloped.  At least this time I knew where they were going so I tracked them and watched their meandering but determined trail up into the far corner of the property so they could hide behind the trees and keep a sharp eye on about 50 acres all at once.  Crazy horses!  They stayed away all day and night again so I got up with the birds again to catch them and bring them home again.  This time Ged came with me and we closed some gates behind us so they were confined to the long skinny river paddock (which they love) and then we had to go down to Newcastle for the day.
We had a four hour drive and just managed to fit in a wee and some sort of salad roll before my 12 noon meeting with the Bridal Consultant at David Jones.  Ged had to deliver his dirt bike and accessories to one brother (meanie Sophie made him sell it!)  and acres of camping gear to the other brother as well as a number of other chores to complete on the Central Coast so I was left to my own devices.  Not such a great plan as it turned out!  I didn’t realise that making a wedding list was not a simple matter of waltzing around the store with a mincing minion behind me, pointing out delectable items of homeware and saying ‘I’ll have one of those, two of those . . . ‘ etc.  No, no, no.  Five and a half hours trapped in an airless, fluorescent, two floor store, examining every item for sale, picking the ones I liked and then having to write down each one’s barcode, serial number, department number, price etc ., etc.,  I was on the phone saying ‘Honey, where are you?’ before the second hour was up . . . .!!
But once my pulse had returned to normal, my eyes had adjusted once again to daylight, and I had been picked up by the errant husband to be, I was able to report that I had chosen some really lovely things to make our house a home.  And as you all know how impossible I am to buy for, I am sure you will be glad I have taken the stress out of second guessing me in the matter of gift giving!  Ged was happy because I also spotted a beautiful handbag I fancied for Christmas so I’ve done his Christmas shopping too!
When we got off the highway and onto the dirt roads heading home we realised that while I had been in my artificial environment, and Ged clocking up the miles in the sun, it had obviously been pouring at home.  So we thought we’d better not use our normal through the river short cut, but go over the bridge.  I don’t think so!  We had only been gone for just over 12 hours and the river was up 4 foot!  So we flew home!  In the dark, no torch, and in our city finery on the flying fox over the raging river.  Phee was waiting on the verandah like the good boy that he is, somewhat surprised to see us suddenly appear in the yard with no prior warning!  (His nose is fully recovered, thank you, but he is currently waging war on all flying insects – he has got a bee in his bonnet about being stung again!)


George and I dropped a match in the big gully by the house . . . (is that the dragon Baby is so scared of??!!)