Platypus Tales

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.

Hoofprints on my Heart

The Most beautiful Girl in the World

Baby had been so peaceful and happy for the few weeks before Christmas – she has been eating – well, like a horse! Loving her lucerne and always so pleased to see me. Ears forward, eyes bright, nodding her head. We have had some truly beautiful moments and I have cried a river of tears at the prospect of a life without her after 12 magical years in which she turned my life, and its direction, on its head. One night, she lay, with her head in my lap, and we talked, I sobbed, she shed tears and we shared our love. One night I sat back to her belly and reminisced and shared our thoughts and feelings. She was, without doubt, the most beautiful girl in the world.

But 10 days ago her Horse Herbalist herbs ran out and she went downhill. She had a Bowen treatment on Thursday with the instruction ‘kill or cure’ (because I could feel the sand of time running rapidly out for us both). And then she really started to be in pain. Instead of looking happy her eyes were stressed and fearful and sending out a silent plea. On Saturday night (22nd) when I fed and washed her down, it was clear that she was in pain and so the decision was made for the following day. Life never proceeds as planned, though.

I took Ged’s swag over there, planning to spend a last night under the stars with her, talking, crying, sharing, reminiscing. But when I got there she was lying down, her breathing was so laboured and she was gritting her teeth and holding her breath at the pain. It was clear that cancer was ravaging her. Only anyone who has ever seen that in another will know what that was like. I texted Ged to bring the gun, please.

He took a while, sorting a sleeping Ben out, and then came. By that time, she was up, and eating. But I think she used food as a distraction from the pain, there was a desperation to her hoovering. I never wanted him to shoot her while she was standing. I didn’t want her to crumple. So he went back to bed and I waited and watched and talked. There were so many things I wanted to tell her, I wanted to talk though my memories of her life. I wanted to thank her for being so amazing. I wanted to beg her forgiveness for the times I had shouted and lashed out, for the times I hadn’t understood her, had forced her or made her frightened. I wanted to say how amazing it was that I had always been able to ride her in just a rope halter, how beautifully she did her Parelli circling and sidestepping, and share with her the memories of how the two of us had learned to do all that at Kangaroo Valley, spending hours and hours together. She had said to me recently that her favourite time in her life was when we were living at Kangaroo Valley. I thought that was because she, like I, loved living next to the Grippers so much. She did, but it was because she got to see me and be with me so much, all the time, we were always in each other’s vision and never far from the other’s thoughts. That was why KV was so amazing. She loved me so much, it took her death for me to realise the enormity and selflessness of her love. Typical of me and my family, I was always focussing on the things that were ‘wrong’ with her and our relationship. I failed to fully realise the depth and breadth and wonder of it. The marvel of a love and friendship, a true partnership, the miracle of a relationship with a horse.

But I couldn’t tell her any of those things, because all I could feel was her pain and I just wanted that to go away. I didn’t want her to hurt, I wanted her to be happy. My dead Grandmother had directed me, during the week, to read once more the book she gave me when I was a small child ‘Ludo and the Star Horse’ and once I read it, I knew I had to let Baby go. Granny Morton died a very slow and painful death in agony and she wanted me to put Baby out of her pain. So once she lay down again, I called Ged, and he came like a shadow in the night. The shadow of death.

I kissed her and walked away. It wasn’t peaceful, she was not peaceful, and I walked to the car and screamed out my pain. I heard the gun cocked and then the shot and my friend, my best friend, my first Baby, was gone. I waited until Ged said I could come, howling like a wild dog, into the blackness. When I went back to her she was at peace. She was so peaceful. And she was gone. She wasn’t in that body that I have loved so much, any more. I stayed for an hour just stroking her, as if trying to imprint her in my hand for ever more. As if I needed to. I told her all the things I wanted to say then, trusting she was there with me in spirit. And I realised, too late, just how much she had loved me. She had loved me enough to mask her pain for me so I could complete my own process and let her go with love. She had waited patiently for me to be able to let her go, to make the call, to allow Ged to do what he had long felt he needed to. He didn’t want to do it. He was crying too. But we both had to do the right thing.

I am ashamed to say that I have allowed her to suffer. That she has had some bad days in the past few months. But she has also had some great days, and has looked really well and healthy and happy. I can see now that I should have been braver and more prepared to ‘bite the bullet’ or let her. But I forgive myself for following my heart to try and heal her, for sharing the time that we both needed to get to know one another again after months of not seeing each other while she was in The Point Paddock. Like all of us, I have made mistakes, but I know that she forgives me and that she, more than anyone, understood my heart and my unwillingness to let this great love of my life, go.

All through my childhood I wanted a pony with every fibre of my being. Horses were my peace. My restless spirit was calmed and my heart healed in their great, gentle presence. I was in awe of them, loved them with a terrible neediness, and was sometimes frightened of them too. But my heart reached out to them and was soothed by them. I was 34 when I first saw Baby. I had to look after her for a few weeks at Glasson’s with a couple of youngsters. She was beautiful, round and solid with dainty little ballerina feet. And there was something of her in me – looking, longing, for someone to love her. We were the same, and so we found each other. And so began a great love story which has changed so many facets of my life and brought me here, to Avalon, and Ged and Ben. She is the Star Horse I wanted all my life.

Baby chose her spot to die, it was under a native tree,(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brachychiton_discolor) with star shaped pink flowers falling from on high at intervals. So she lay down on a bed of petals and was showered with petals where she lay. In the morning I went and placed flowers on her, folded up her old yellow stable rug that she had loved so much and placed it beside her with yet more flowers on it. I cut off parts of her mane and tail so I would always have something of that beautiful body and so I could have some keepsake jewellery made from it. And finally drove away. Ged went over and felled a huge old, dead, tree close by, and built the most beautiful pyre for her – truly a zen work of art. And when Ben was asleep I went over and took down the electric fence, and added all the broken branches and sticks and twigs that had been annoying us over the last few months and more flowers and then I lit a little fire at the base of the pyre, and Ged lit the rest. She burned bright and beautiful, with showers of champagne sparks high up into the air. Everything about her was so beautiful, and she loved, she loved us all, with all her huge heart.

To have loved a horse, to have earned the love of a horse – there is no greater honour in life. To walk with a horse and to know one walks with you in spirit, that is one of life’s richest blessings.

She is running once more in the fields of the blessed, dancing in the Elysian fields, happy, at peace and sparkling with light. We will never forget her. She will always be here at Avalon and at my side. It has been a privilege and a gift to have known, owned, and loved her.

Missing Mischa

We are very sad here at Avalon today.

We have been away.  We left on Thursday just after lunch having filled up all Mischa’s bowls with mountains of her favourite dried food and left a light on for the stay-at-home child and then Ged, Phee and myself drove away, leaving her leaping around the garden and stalking the ducks.  I dropped Ged in Sydney at the motel near the airport at around 7ish and got down to the Grippers in Kangaroo Valley about 9.30.  Ged flew to Perth on Friday morning for his Reiki course with my old teacher, and employer, Barbara McGregor (sounds like she hasn’t changed in the intervening years!) while I caught up with some much loved and much missed Valley friends over coffee, tea and a lovely dinner at Cafe Bella as well as having lots of snuggles in bed with the gripper children in the mornings.  Angus made me tea and then we all snuggled up to feel the baby move and listen to him swimming in his watery environment.  Good times.
I left the Valley at 10.30 yesterday morning and drove straight up to the airport to pick up my husband with the newly acquired Reiki hands (Benjamin is very happy!) and then I had a meeting at Girraween with CRT to get this year’s orders for Think Fly and Feed Bowls (luvverly jubbly!) and we went to check out pre-fab Cedar sheds and guest accommodation before heading home via Steve and Cherie’s so they could also check out the bump and make plans for a visit after it has landed.  Then it was the long road home in the dark.
We got home about 11.30 and were surprised to see no Miaowing Mischa leaping off the verandah and celebrating our return.  But then she loves curling up on top of the mattress or sofa in the shed surveying the mice population so we figured she was there.  We called and called but no sign and her bowls looked untouched, the house tidy and no little muddy paw prints leaving a trail to where she was hiding or where she had been.  I climbed in the bath to elevate my swollen legs and then Ged came in in tears.  ‘She’s dead’.  He found the little angel long gone in a crawling position near the shed she loved to lord it in so much.  She must have left us that first night but we have no clues as to what or why.  She was in fine feline fettle when we left, full of bounce and curiousity.  The only  odd thing was that Pheonix had been trying to shag her for three days so I wonder if there was something going on with her that we didn’t know about.  But she was eating and drinking and acting totally normally.  And for her to have gone so quickly surely it can only have been a snake bite or poison?  It’s just a complete mystery.
She was only with us for such a short time.  She was so lovely and full of character and mischief and Phee loved her as did all the animals and she was such an integral part of our life here.  Raiding the pantry to get her claws into her bag of adored cat biscuits (even though her bowl was full!), stretched out, belly up, on the sofa next to the fire; making herself at home on each and every chair and sofa and claiming them all as her own; climbing up on the rim of the bath to play with the bubbles and then drink the water; treating Phee like her Mummy, suckling and kneading his chest for her morning cuddles; climbing under the covers between Ged and I to stay warm on the coldest of nights; clawing my furniture til we all yelled out ‘MISCHA!’; curling up on the baby belly for a cuddle; supervising activities in the shed from the top of a stored on its end mattress; playing with the feathers around Tinkerbell’s feet; chasing macadamia nuts around the wooden floor; sitting watching ‘The West Wing’ with us with as much avid attention as we give it; generally getting the best of Phee in their mock fights;  and always, always, curling up on her beloved Daddy who rescued her from a life of poverty and neglect in Comboyne and brought her home to where she revelled in the warmth and comfort and always knew that she had died and gone to heaven when she came here.  Well, now she has.  And I only hope she is as loved and looked after there as she was here.  We miss her very much.  She was here for so little time, but she brought us so much joy and laughter.  And she was definitely ‘Daddy’s little Princess’ so say a prayer for him because he is so sad.  Rest In Peace, little Mischa, we loved you so very much.

Tree change Anniversary

A whole year has now passed since I moved lock, stock, and two smoking barrels up here from KV.  What a lot has happened – to me, to the farm, to my life.  Who would have thought that this move that we all deemed the craziest and biggest risk of my daredevil life to date, would make so many dreams come true?

Here I am, one year on, belly distended with child, rings on my fingers, wed at last, in a sweet little cottage that is finally a home (just the finishing touches to go), an office on the way, surrounded by ducks, dog, chooks galore and STILL awaiting the birth of the first Avalon calf.  Truly all my forty odd years of restless searching have finally led me to Ged and this beautiful place that I can wholeheartedly call home . . .
The good news is that a literary agent I have worked with before in the UK is interested in seeing this ‘Mad Cow’ that you all keep saying is a book, written as such.  That actually doesn’t mean very much – it means that if I can knuckle down to writing the first three chapters, she would like to see them to see if they have potential in the publishing world . . . while the baby is sleeping  . . .??
We went out for dinner with friends in Port Macquarie on Friday night and had a dismally disappointing meal with appalling service.  We are slowly working our way through the eating establishments up here and it seems that the bad far outweigh the good.  We treated ourselves to the local Indian a week or so ago as we are both firm fans of the genre and it was awful!  Microwaved mess style food – ugh!!  And  I didn’t know that there was such a thing as a bad Indian restaurant – Port Macquarie really does take poor palatability to new depths!!  Nonetheless we will soldier on with our campaign to try them all so when you come to stay we know where we can safely send you and where not!  The things we do . . . .
The winter thus far has been so mild that all the plants are confused.  I have daffodils in flower, blossom on the trees, lavendar in bud – bizarre.

The ‘C’ word . . . Commitment!

I have had lots of queries from you all about Ged so I suppose I’d better come clean.  He’s 38, 5’10, blue eyes and a reasonable head of hair except the Prince Charles bald spot at the back (but he is definitely going to look like Phil before long).  He is incredibly kind and sweet and loving and for some strange reason thinks that the sun shines out of my a**se (which, considering he works in the solar industry, is a real worry!)  He loves Phee and Tom and the horses and copes well with all their unique foibles – Phee trying to shag him, Tom regurgitating fur balls with monotonous regularity at the moment, and Tinkerbell using every wile and cunning at her disposal to break into the feed (again!)  Good thing I have one perfect Baby . . .

He has forsaken his Aussie meat pie and three dead animals a day diet and completely embraced my limited one.  He says he doesn’t miss the meat, wants to learn to cook the stuff I cook and has lost weight and is looking better for the shift. At this point my Mother will be screaming ‘quick, don’t let him get away!’ and quite possibly getting straight off a plane from The Rockies and on a Roo bound for Down Under so she can chivy things along!!

He’s completely house trained – does the washing up, washing, pegging clothes on the line etc.  He’s also a builder which is a bloody good thing at the moment and a farm boy which means that none of the realities of life on the land worry him one iota.  In fact he has 400 acres just up the road.  We met when he quoted me for the upgrade of the solar system here and during the long process of the purchase we talked regularly on the phone.

He doesn’t seem fazed by any of my foibles (burping, farting, scratching and snoring!).  Someone revive my Mummy!

He wants the 4 C’s – commitment, chaplain, children and did I mention commitment?  Now that’s one C word that I have an exceptional amount of difficulty with so I have been running around in ever increasing circles looking for a way out because it all seems too much, too soon, too unexpected.  And, of course, having been single for so long, I am used to my own company, my own space, the solitary silence that I share with the animals and nature and the peace of the solo sleeper in the double bed . . .

Am I too old and entrenched in my ways to make room for someone who looks after me so thoroughly?  Or do I just need to keep running a little longer til I realise that there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, and that what’s good enough for the rest of the planet might just suit me too?

Luckily Ged (short for Gerard) is patience personifed because we all know I’m not!  In some ways we are very alike but I guess in the important things we are polar opposites.  He knows I’m a complete worry mutton, and he doesn’t (apparently I look very peaceful when I’m sleeping!)  He knows I always have a plan and normally just fits in with it .  He doesn’t drink very often (like me he had a battle with the bottle and can take it or leave it) he doesn’t smoke although he once did so snap there.  He’s also a Gemini which scares me witless and two generations back his family on both sides came from The Emerald Isle (Catholic) . . . .  smelling salts for my Daddy!

He insisted on taking me to meet his family this week which was pretty terrifying.  His father is a blue eyed farmer whose family came from Kangaroo Valley so he great tales to tell and we had mutual acquaintances to discuss.  His mother is a much harder nut to crack – wary, suspicious and assessing so I might have to get a spade and dig deep there if this goes the distance.  Mind you she reads Maeve Binchy and Dick Francis just like me so the heart beats true!  And she’s got the complete works of Banjo Patterson so I will need that spade after all . . .

Running, running scared . . . . . .