Tag Archives: Phoenix

Learning to live with Change

by . Posted on
02 May

It’s been a long, long time since I have written here.  I couldn’t bear to replace Phee’s gorgeous pic.  It meant admitting that he was gone.  It meant moving on.  And how do you do that?  How do you accept that your best friend is no more?  How do you face the world when someone you love so deeply and wholeheartedly isn’t there any more?

Phee had been my partner in all things for 12 years.  He went almost everywhere with me.  He slept on my bed, curled at my back or feet.  He snuggled under the duvet every morning when I drank my tea.  He ruined countless sheets and duvet covers with muddy paw prints.  He welcomed me at the gate every night when I came home from work or town.  He loved me.  Unconditionally.  No matter what.

And when he died it seemed like a part of me died too.  Because only he had shared all those years before Ged with me.  Moving to Australia, Tamworth, Kangaroo Valley.  He was not just a part of my life, but a part of me.  The better part.  With animals we can truly be ourselves – raw, unfiltered and vulnerable.  He saw my insecurities, grief and loneliness and comforted me.  He shared my soul story and healing.  He was a pivot around who my life turned.  He tethered me to the planet when the darkness threatened to consume me.

He, Baby, Tom, Tinkerbell and I were family.  Now only Tinkerbell is left (and she is cranky, not cuddly!) and I am alone.

Not really.  But the fabric of my family as was has been ripped apart and there is a deep loneliness in that.  Daisy gone too.  When I go for walks now I don’t have the joy of looking for her and seeing her head raise at my call.  I miss laying myself against her flank and smoothing and stroking the short silky nape of her skin.  She brought me so much comfort,  joy and peace.  I miss her so much.

No one who has gone can ever be replaced.  We are all unique.  But over time I have begun to understand that we can love another, love again.  Time is truly the great healer.  That and the tears that have to be shed so the heart can open once more.

Grief is such a long and lonely journey.  It seems incredible that the world can keep turning, that the sun gets up in the morning and goes to bed at night when the one we love is gone.  And yet, the world is still a beautiful place – birds sing, flowers bloom, life goes on.

And one day, we will be gone too.  I think a lot about that now.  Where to be buried or burnt.  How I want my body touched and prepared and by who.  And now, after 50 years of intermittently not wanting to be here, now I don’t want to die (there’s irony for you!)  I don’t want to say goodbye to the people and land I love, as well as this amazing planet.

But I’m applying to have a burial ground where Baby died and was burnt, where Phee used to sit and wait as I sobbed for her.  Where Daisy often hung out with Baby.  I will go there when my body is spent.

In the meantime, I have things to do, books to write, a legacy to leave.  Something that lasts so my life’s experiences have some meaning.

And others to love.  It has taken me a long time to truly open my heart to Goldie and Mudji.  To realise that loving them is not a betrayal of Phoenix.  On the contrary, it is a celebration that his legacy goes on.  And that all that he taught me about love has been embodied.  That will make him happy.

Paw prints on my Heart

by . Posted on
18 Jun

For five weeks I have been in denial, braving the world and keeping going by just putting one foot in front of the other.  We all have.  All avoiding the elephant in the room, too locked in our own pain to speak to the others, too scared of speaking of Phoenix in case we upset the others.  But Ben’s behaviour has deteriorated rapidly at school and we have been forced to each talk about our own guilt – Ben blames himself because he didn’t call out (but there was no time), Ged blames himself because he was driving, and I blame myself because I didn’t give Phee enough time, love, attention, play, appreciation and I had kept shouting at him to ‘stop licking’.  Poor little Ben was the only one of us who actually saw the whole thing.  I can’t begin to imagine how that memory must be seared into his mind and soul, and how scarred he is from that experience.

We have all been in shock.  That day I had been cleaning the house, and made a new step stool for him to enable him to get on the bed which had become hard for him.  I showed it to him, explaining jump here and then here, he looked at me with such love in his eyes because I was bent down and talking to him, wagging his tail and his whole body with joy.  Later, I planted a kiss on him as I passed him watching out over his world from the comfort of the cane sofa on the verandah.  Later still, I came home from my walk in the dark and as always he launched himself off his bed and then the verandah to give me, or anyone, his joyful wagging welcome.  And then, when he wanted to come into the house, I wouldn’t let him.  If I had, I wouldn’t be penning this now.

It doesn’t seem possible that my friend, who has been my faithful shadow, my stalwart companion for over 12 years, is gone.  How can it be that someone so full of life and love can have left.  Where is he?  The farm is so still without his busy body as he ran to welcome us all at the gate, took himself off to swim in the river, ran up to the Tree House if there were raised voices or a row, licked the noses of each and every one of the animals he loved and looked after.  He was the shepherd for us all.  He was our anchor and our light.  I don’t know who I am without him.

Of course I took him for granted.  I knew intellectually that we would not have him for much longer.  He has had a lump on his head for a long time (that the vet said was fine) but we had found a much bigger mass along one side and I was procrastinating going to the vet about that – well, waiting for the cooler weather when he could have a day with me in the car and office.  He would have been 13 next week.  He was very deaf and his arthritis was getting worse.  It is over a year since he stopped walking with me every day and a long time since I let him come with me for a walk.  He begged to come only a few days before he died, and I denied him.  I so wish now that I had let him come for that last walk over the farm he loved so much.

He loved it here.  He loved the river, he loved his freedom to roam, he loved his favourite spots on the verandah.  He loved us all.  But most of all he loved me.  He made room in his huge heart for Ged and Ben when they came along, and I’m afraid to say that he was sidelined in so many ways once I was busy with Ben.  But we always had our runs and then walks when we could share time and space together.  He hated that he couldn’t come anymore (because of his arthritis) and it took me a long time to get used to walking on my own.

Now I have to get used to being on my own, without my little black shadow following me wherever I went.  So do Ben and Ged.  We all loved him so much.  He was the fourth member of our family.  He was the brother Ben didn’t have.  And now he is gone.  I still can’t believe it.  I can’t wrap my head around it.  My heart can’t accept it and keeps screaming ‘No!’

The house is very clean. No more muddy paw prints, no more farm dirt on the bed, no more muddy paw prints on the bath mat.  No more Phee foraging in the pig bin, or eating chook and duck food with them, or licking timber in the Giraffe shed (I will never know why!) or mousing in the feed shed.  Just paw prints across all of our hearts.

An indescribable loss of my friend, comforter, angel, shadow and anchor.  Beautiful boy, best dog in the world. Phoenix McGoenix, Phee McGee we love you so much.  Wherever you are, be happy, watch over us, help us through this time of pain xx

When fear is a missing friend . . .

by . Posted on
27 Dec

Ged left the farm at about 3pm to meet Ben on 10th December and I for Ben’s final preschool presentation.  All was well.  Phoenix had been in the office with him and following him around all day – situation absolutely normal.  After the event, we went into town for supper and then I stayed to do the shopping.  Ben and Ged were home by about 7 – no Phee.  So after getting Ben to sleep Ged went out calling and searching, but didn’t tell me he was gone.  I didn’t get home til 9, exhausted, and was then told that Phoenix wasn’t home.  I was pretty hysterical.  Didn’t sleep a wink.  Terrified that I was never going to see his sweet face, brown eyes and waggling tail again.  He’s getting old, my friend.  All of a sudden.  Lame and slower.  Time has suddenly stolen his essential puppy-ness.

They say that about spaniels.  They say that they are eternally young until just before the end.  I don’t want to lose Phoenix.  I don’t want him to ever leave me.  Especially not so soon after Baby – I can’t bear the thought of another two years of grief.  I have been worrying about him going and realising that our time together is limited.  But not so soon, please.

At first light we were up and searching.  Nothing.  We hit the phones and rang all the neighbours.  When he was much younger he would occasionally go walkabout – but not for more than 5 years.  I went driving – it was a foul day, chucking it down.  I saw George and told him and he gave me phone numbers of other occasional neighbours to call. Eventually we all had to get on with our day.  I had to clean The Tree House for the visitors arriving later.  Ged took Ben to preschool & went off to work.  Phoenix didn’t have a collar or a tag on.  His collar had just broken & a new one on the shopping list.

I was scrubbing & polishing when Ged rang and said that our lovely neighbour Pat had just rung him to say Phee had been spotted – over 5 klms away and heading for the highway.  I got in the car and drove through the river and cross country over her land.  She met me at the house gate and told me that the fencers had come in and seen him on Wallis Road, heading out to the highway – looking exhausted, apparently.  A big storm was hot on my heels and Phee hates thunder and lightning now he is old.  Apparently all dogs do.

So I drove as if the hounds of hell themselves were yapping at my tailgate.  Trying to get to him before the storm made visibility impossible.  Thunder was rumbling and booming.  Lightning streaking the sky. My poor boy was out there somewhere, terrified.  Pat said that her neighbour, Barb, had heard a dog barking outside her house all night – it must have been Phee.  She had rung Pat to ask if it was one of hers.  If only we had rung her the night before.

Oh well . . . hindsight is a wonderful thing.  And wouldn’t find my friend.  I drove all the way out to the highway.  There was a tree down across the road – I just drove over it such was my haste to find him before he got run over on the busy Oxley Highway.  He wasn’t there.

I turned round and retraced my route.  Stopping at the few isolated farms to ask if they had seen a small black spaniel with a white front.  No sign.  I drove slowly on the return trip, scanning the surrounding countryside.  The rain was lashing the windscreen.  I met the fencers as they drove back home ‘any sign?’ I asked them.  ‘Nothing’ they said.  They had chopped up and moved the fallen tree.  I was despairing.  And then there he was on the road in front of me.  Wild eyed, soaked, bedraggled.  Thank God.

I grabbed the rug from out of the boot and wrapped him up in it, sitting him on the passenger seat and hugging him over and over again.  He was wet to the bone, violently shivering, and he barely recognised me, such was his terror.  My poor, beautiful boy.

We got back to Pat’s and told her the glad tidings.  And then I took him home before yet another storm hit.  Dosed him up with Emergency Essence and Arnica for his poor tired muscles and bones.  He must have run over 20 kilometres.  But why?

When he was safely home and in recovery there was the time and space to ask that question.  Ged spoke to Pat and asked whether there had been a big storm after he left that day.  Sure enough, she said there had been.  He must have been scared and just started running.  Why he ran that way and not home we will never know.  He must have become disoriented and just kept running.  Maybe he thought Barb’s house was our house and that’s why he barked all night.  Why didn’t he stop at Pat’s house?  She would have recognised him . . .

What a wake up call.  That every moment is precious with my dearest friend.  That we can’t take our time together for granted.  That one day, inevitably, everyone we love has to leave us.  That I have to make time, carve time, to spend just being with the ones I love.  There’s no point taking them for granted and then mourning them when they are gone.  Take the time to love them when they are here on planet earth.  Take time to PLAY, to connect, to have fun, to stop treating them all like annoyances.  So what if Phee traipses mud all over the floor – he’s here with his loving energy, his unconditional love for me whatever I do or say.  The last words I spoke to him before he ran away the following day were to yell at him for making a mess.  That’ll learn me – or will it?

 

A Cleansing Fire

by . Posted on
Ged watching his fire
30 Sep

Pyromaniac that I am, I love the burning off season. Lines of fire, snaking across country and into the bush, lighting up the late winter nights with their warming glow. I love to light them, putting a lit match to the bladey grass and hearing it snap, crackle and roar. As a general rule, we don’t burn Avalon, because we believe in repeatedly slashing the grass and mulching the land to retain moisture and build up the soil levels to create healthier soil and pasture. 5 years ago when we came here, the land was all bladey grass, bracken fern and fireweed, now we have beautiful native grasses, kikuyu, clover and oatey grass, and the bladey grass is almost gone. Burning bladey grass might give you green pick for the cattle, but all you get is more bladey grass, so it never made much sense to us. However, as a way of seeing what is there in areas that have not been slashed, it is invaluable, and as a way of quickly clearing the land without slashing, it can be useful. But not our preferred way of doing things.

Anyway, the Friday before Ostara, the spring equinox and the real Easter in the southern hemisphere, it was a dull day, with moisture in the air, no beating sun and the hint of rain to come, so Ben and I thought we would just quickly light some fires to burn down into the weeds along a section of the river bank and into the neighbour’s paddock, which she has always invited us to burn. We lit a few fires along the fence line which blazed up briefly and then fizzled so we figured they would be out momentarily and went home for lunch. About 4 hours later we drove over to feed the horses and I saw the wall of smoke . . . ‘I think we have a problem’ I said to Ben. He wasn’t concerned. He’s heard Mummy say that before when she’s inadvertently burnt a paddock!

We drove over the ridge and saw a line of flames licking voraciously at everything in its path. 500 metres from the site of our start up fires and travelling in the opposite direction to our intention! We weren’t going to even try to beat this one back, it was going to have to keep gorging until it was replete. All we could do, was damage limitation. We drove down to the horses and set them free. Then we splashed water all around the water tank above base camp and removed all the water pipes, stand pipe and hoses. Then back burnt around the tank just to make sure. Next we drove through Henry Hollow and up into the Dam Paddock and there we stopped in shock and horror. We were faced with a blackened wasteland and facing us were the bee hives standing sentry like and stark white against the ash. ‘The bees! Daddy is going to go mental’ One hive was already swarming. One was still smouldering. All our lovely workers, all the new frames and comb all ready to be filled with lovely, life giving honey. All my fault . . .

We rang Ged and told him the bad news. But it was to get worse. By the time he came home two hives were burnt to cinders and we will have to start again with nucleus hives. He found a hive of European bees in a fallen tree and bear like tried to extract the comb and honey and then persuade some to take up residence in some of our boxes but they didn’t want to relocate despite their hot home, so that didn’t work out the way we planned it either. The fire continued on its merry way all night and for two days thereafter, clearing, cleaning, exposing.

At least we are rid of the high load of dead grass before the predicted drought gains intensity – although the ground is already so dry, the river lower than it was at the end of the last drought, we are desperately begging for rain. And the fire has cleaned up and rid us of old stumps and piles we inherited from the previous owners. And the exciting news is that what we really wanted to burn, the oasis with the spring in the middle, is now accessible and we can see the tree graveyard in there. This is obviously where they used to go to extract millable timber, cut fence posts and strainers etc. I spent two days in there, black from head to foot, lugging logs and branches and chainsawing wood to make it manouvrable, feeding the existing fires to clear areas of all the fallen timber. There’s another 6 months work in there but it will be beautiful when it is done. A lush green forest, a shady oasis in the middle of the pasture where the stock can retreat to on hot days and Ben and I can wander in awe.

We have to take the long view in farming. And I am learning that stressing achieves nothing. There was no point in trying to fight that fire, she obviously wanted to be burnt. And now she is.

Working in the blackened aftermath over the weekend, I meditated on the cleansing fire, the phoenix arising, and the rebirth and renewal offered both by the fire and the first days of spring. How it was possible to rebuild and restart in the ashes – relationships, friendships, dreams, plans, futures. Here is the cycle of life in all its stark reality – death, decay, rebirth. Every aspect of our lives affected by these never ending circles and rhythms if we could only realise it, and stop demanding the excitement and blossoming of eternal spring. We have to learn to live with the circles and cycles, see them, accept them and even embrace them as essential for our evolving, revolving life on earth.

Midwife knows best

by . Posted on
06 Oct

Tired, sore, shocked and happy!
Now I know why no-one can explain childbirth to you – it is inexplicable.  There are no words to convey the act of labour, and I have a whole new respect for anyone who has ever endured it.  And if you’ve done it more than once, I take my hat off to you!  How could God be a man when only woman can conceive, nurture, grow and birth a baby?  Man has many roles – protector, provider, rock and comforter, but he is no creator of life, and let’s face it no man could possibly live through labour!!
Macca stayed on the farm with us for four days fulfilling a vital role of counselor, friend, Mother, nurturer, rest police and breastfeeding expert.  I am so grateful for that.  I didn’t realize until after she was gone how much you need a wise friend who knows the ropes and will help you adjust and learn your new role – without judgement, with compassion and with infinite patience.  Macca was that person and more and I feel so blessed that we have had her to share and learn from as we move through this major transition in life.   Three days after the birth we (Ged, Macca and I) planted the placenta under an ‘Emperor’ Mandarin tree at the heart of our new, circular, vegetable patch.  How fitting that Benjamin’s life support system should begin to feed Avalon’s.  May he always be grounded, loved, nurtured and held here in his place in the world, his home, his land, his link to Mother Nature and the Goddesses who bore and birthed him.  We three witches planting a placenta under a star-filled night in the centre of a circle – very pagan, very elemental, very right.  Of course when Macca left, the Baby Blues arrived and I had a few howling sessions – mostly I was so proud of myself for having successfully traversed this major milestone in my life – against all the opposition and naysayers, the dream stealers and the prophets of doom.  Also I was so grateful to Macca for having been such a wonderful facilitator, helping us to make our dreams come true.  She was invisible and yet ever present, allowing, facilitating, encouraging and witnessing, the lighthouse we steered by, our guide and comforter as we wrestled with something beyond our control.
And now we are getting to know the newest member of the Love family . . . much is familiar from his habits and patterns in utero, but so much is brand new territory.  Luckily Ged knows more about babies than I do from his years looking after his cousins and Steve and Cherie’s boys.  But we have Macca at the end of a phone, and visiting once a week for the next six weeks, and we have intuition, a deep well of love for this miracle baby of ours, and a beautiful home to share with him . . .
Needless to say, Phoenix has his nose well and truly out of joint and he is not ‘the most beautiful boy in the world’ any more which is pretty harsh.  But I hope he will love Ben as much as we do with time . . .

Waiting for Baby . . .

by . Posted on
22 Sep

I was so sure that by now we’d have a baby to share with you.  However, it was that little curly haired blonde girl who told me she was going to be a Virgo, 9 months ago.  So since she is a boy, instead of a girl (presumably that means dark haired too), it is inevitable that he will be a Libra instead!  Oh well, we need a bit of BALANCE in our lives . . .

So here I sit, gross with child, puffy feet, wrists and ankles . . . it’s not quite 2 in the morning and I have been up since the witching hour.  Tinkerbell has a chronic case of laminitis so I sat out with her for an hour, doing reiki on her gurgling tummy and tortuous toes and now I am catching up with you all . . .
Waiting for a baby to come is a very funny feeling.  You clear the decks, refuse to plan anything and then life comes calling and you have to get back into it, regardless.  I had sworn that I was going to be a little stay at home farm girl for the next few weeks.  The midwife has my 4WD in case of flood so I am grounded and dependent on my husband for his wheels.  Feeling that birthing was imminent he did a huge shop last Tuesday and came home to me smiling sheepishly saying that one of my clients needed me to second interview staff for him (all part of the ‘how we grow your business better’ service!!) so I was going to glam up, grab the car and get gone . . . .
It’s a good thing he has the patience of a saint . . . !  I got heaps of work done last week, actually, perched in my little nook above the washing machine, even though my clients have to put up with my Baby Brain, and a few suppliers have been on the receiving end of the ‘don’t mess with the pregnant lady’ temper.  My fuse was always shorter than most  . . . it’s non-existent now!
So we have been adding finishing touches – we have curtains in our bedroom now and hooks on the back of doors and all those little details which make life easier and a house a home.  One of the neighbours came over on Saturday night bearing a home-made baby quilt for Benjamin which was very kind . . . and Ged came back from the Post Office on Friday laden down like Santa Claus with parcels for this very spoilt Baby Love – amazing how kind and generous everyone has been – thank you!  After forcing the poms to go Baby Gap shopping for organic clothes for us, we have FINALLY found a nice, reasonable, online store where we love the products and they even have a ‘specials’ department for seconds and sale items – can’t recommend it highly enough: www.babyecostore.com.au
Meanwhile we are enjoying the community parenting displayed by the mixed horse/cow herd.  Arthur gets babysat by whoever is willing and can be a long way away from the rest of the herd with his chaperone.  Both Arthur and Phoenix are desperate to be friends (the latest is Arthur keeps wandering up to Phoenix) but one of the over-protective herd nannies puts its head down and charges to shoo Phee away.  The definite down side of having Arthur is that Phee has discovered a new doggie delicacy – calf poo.  I’m sure it’s very tasty but it doesn’t agree with his digestion – Ged and I are suffering from his constant and cruelly overpowering wind as a result . . . phew!
I guess I’d better go to bed and TRY and get some sleep  . . . maybe this time next week I’ll have someone to show off . . . meanwhile here’s the only baby we’ve got for now!

Missing Mischa

by . Posted on
11 Aug

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.

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.

Runaway Children

by . Posted on
19 Nov

What a week! Grab a coffee, tea or G&T and settle down for a laugh . . . .

George is back so the activity (and laughs!) are fast and furious . . . he slashed the ‘House Ground’ (river flat in front of the house) and spotted that our resident plover female was firmly ensconced on her nest, and conducted a battle of wills to see who would yield first. George lost! Mrs Plover stuck fast until George and the slasher were within millimetres. Brave girl! I don’t sail so close to the wind with George! Needless to say, he slashed around the nest and later took me over to see it and FOUR lovely brown and black eggs (I know, I must take a picture).

Then, as if that wasn’t enough excitement for one day, the Jehovah’s Witnesses turned up. It was a gloriously sunny day, and after all those weeks of grey and unrelenting drizzle, I was determined to make the most of it, so I had decided to clean the accumulated months of mud off my car which turned into a mammoth session with the power washer and hoover and so I was bent over, hoovering the boot, in my skimpy running shorts and tee shirt when approached from behind by two suited and booted men clutching a bible and copies of ‘Watchtower’. They admitted that my lovely sawmill man, Chris Latimore, had suggested they came a-calling so I couldn’t be rude, I had to be charming and so we read bits of the bible together as we discussed their antipathy to blood and chatted generally about the state of the world, the community and the beauty of the day. Who knew that I could be SO diplomatic!!!

George came back from lunch while they had me mataphorically pinned against the wall and I saw him sniggering as he fired up the tractor and continued his linear progress up and down the flat. Once they were gone I decided to belatedly go for my run, and donned my baseball cap and fly veil. George stopped me in my tracks ‘I didn’t know you kept bees’. ‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me, George.’ ‘Got any honey to sell then?’. ‘Not yet, George’ He’s so sharp he’ll cut himself one of these days . . .

Then he decided that he had had enough of the piles of timber and old bricks STILL desecrating the House ground and enlisted me to help him move them. And he rolled one of the stay posts (one foot diameter for the uninitiated, and seven foot of hardwood) onto my right foot so I was literally hopping mad! It was a very short run . . .

On Tuesday night we hared out of Comboyne down to Laurieton to go and see ‘Death at a Funeral’ which had come highly recommended by Ged’s parents. Of course, we were late, but the movie really was hilarious. The ultimate in British family dysfunctionality, exposing all those wonderful family undercurrents and all the skeletons tumbling out of the closets (or coffin!). Highly recommended. Laugh out loud funny. Of course, when we got back to the car I said ‘I don’t know why you’re laughing, Ged, that’s just like MY family, you know!’

Once we had decided to get married, I had a clear picture in my mind of how I wanted the invitation to look. I wanted a sign made and a picture taken at our river-crossing entrance. It has taken months to get Ged to make the sign (so far down the list of priorities) but finally it was done, and beautiful. And I told George to slash the area when it transpired he was finally coming back to work after the wet and working for Frances next door (all the neighbours are so impressed with the progress at Avalon, they are all convincing George to do the same for them. ‘As long as I am still your number one priority, George . . . ‘). So the grass was cut, the sign made and Ged and I had a dusk session there, measuring the height I wanted it at and the distance from the gate post, and pulling out some tobacco trees which would ruin the perfection of the shot . . . I was due to take the photos the following day after Ged had chopped the sign down to exactly the right height. He came home that afternoon and said ‘did you take the photo this morning?’ ‘No’, I replied ‘I haven’t had time.’ So he broke the bad news ‘George dropped a match along the fence line’. So my beautifully cultivated oasis is a desecrated, darkened wasteland, and I guess I have to find another location for the photo shoot . . . .

A large number of you have asked about the ‘Giraffe Shed’ so here goes . . . the guy who owned the property before me was clearly an idiot. Not only did he build the cattle yards right next to the house; leave the land to go to rack and ruin; light a fire which burnt out half of the neighbouring national park; etc., but he built what we now call ‘The Giraffe Shed’. A roof on stilts – 6 metres off the ground – which means that even in the dead centre, you are still at the mercy of sun, wind and rain. And the roof is angled FORWARD so when it is raining you have to run through a wall of water to get to the car! Apparently he was going to build a boat in it . . . a tall ship? And sail it down the river like Noah when the flood came? Because how else would he have been able to get it out? Needless to say, making the shed shorter is yet one more thing to do on Ged’s list . . .

It was really hot at the weekend and so we didn’t seem to get so much done on Saturday. We filled up all the water bottles at Angle Creek and planted an Acer at ‘The Triangle’ and another Robinia along the ridge running down to the ‘House Ground’. I pulled down a fence and Ged cut down more She-Oaks along the river and piled them up ready for another big fire. And I had a big cook-in to re-stock the freezer which was cleaned out to feed Ged on his NT adventure. On Sunday morning I had booked George to go up to Ged’s and bring down his two horses so they turned up about 10 ish. His horse, Gypsy, is a GIANT. 17.5 or 18 hands of sparkly white. I swear you can see her from space! The other horse, Rocky, is a gorgeous buckskin gelding about 13 or 14 hands. I thought Tinkerbell would be thrilled to have such a good looking boy friend and Baby pleased to have someone other than Tinkerbell to talk to, but Tinkerbell put her ears back and charged and even Baby was bucking, rearing and running as if the world was ending (‘the sky is falling, the sky is falling . . . ‘)

So we left Ged’s horses in the yards and let mine have a good sniff and snort and then ignore them. So we put mine in the adjoining yards and they carried on like a couple of galahs (sorry, Aussie expression, no real English translation – closest is ‘idiots’) and then after they seemed to have settled down a bit, we tried putting them in together. Well, that looked like it was going to turn into a major kicking contest so I let go of the gate and let them free. My two streaked away as if the hounds of hell were after them and Gypsy and Rocky bolted after them. After one full circuit of this side (up the sheer banks of the gully, along the ridge, down the hill to the ribbon river flat) we followed them and when the ghostly Gypsy caught up, Tinkerbell again decided to take on the phantom who let fly with both barrels. No contact, but what a reach, what extension, what power! No wonder my two little girls took off again and this time ran right to the end of the river paddock. When I caught up with them they were wading, then swimming, downstream, unsure of anything except escape. I drove back for the camera as they looked so stunning swimming away. But when I returned with Ged they were long gone and I decided I’d better go and round them up and send them back before they swam down to the sea! I wasn’t suitable attired for river wading, shorts and girly slip-ons but I quietly tracked the horses through the she-oaks and snuck out in front of them to wave them back whence they had come. But they weren’t having any of it. They were going forward, not back, regardless of any obstacles in their way. So I grabbed Baby and decided to escort them over the river where Angle Creek joins it and up the steep ravine to the road and then back through the Angle Creek gate. We were almost at the other side when Baby planted her two tonne Tessie weight firmly on my left foot which was insecurely planted on a rock in the riverbed and there we stayed for what seemed like hours but probably wasn’t. I got her off and out and up the narrow, steep, pass and then had to let go such was the pain. She and Tinkerbell trotted up the cattle track to go and find their cow friends on the hitherto nexplored ‘other side’ of the property. And I hobbled to the bridge shouting at Ged to ‘get the car and meet me at the Angle Creek bridge’. My hero came roaring over the hill and took one look at me sitting huddled on the log bridge and scooped me up into his arms and into the car and home. He nursed me all day and waited on me hand and foot while I sat and lay with it elevated, iced and rested while it swelled ever bigger. He had to carry me to the loo and back and lift me into the bath and out and was so kind and sweet and concerned. Twice we got in the car to go to hospital to have it x-rayed and then twice I changed my mind, so he was absolutely the handsome romantic hero of my longings, carrying me hither and yon at my behest. By midnight I was hobbling and today I am almost walking so reiki and arnica have done their job well and hopefully tomorrow I can catch those recalcitrant children and teach them that sharing is just a part of life . . . thank God we don’t each have children and are starting a step-family – I couldn’t stand the strain!

As if that weren’t enough drama for one week, Phoenix was sulking on Saturday night for no apparent reason but on Sunday his silence and deep depression became obvious. His nose was swollen to about eight times its normal size! Obviously he has been stung by a bee or a wasp or something and she is still a very sad and swollen little soldier. We have been in the wars this week! There’s nothing quiet about living in the country . . . !


THE RUNAWAY CHILDREN . . .

Ode to Tom Kitten

by . Posted on
17 Sep

While I was so sick and fighting fever demons in my bed that week of the raging temperature, someone else was sick and I had no idea. Tom has had a kidney infection before after a tick and it would appear that he was brewing another bout. By the time I was strong enough to stand and get around the house I noticed that he wasn’t himself and tick checked him and tried to ascertain what was wrong. No tick symptoms but he was definitely in pain so I resolved that when Ged got home (he had been up the coast doing a course for a long weekend) we would get him to a vet. I suppose I was so concerned with my own symptoms that I didn’t realise how ill Tom was or Tom, being Tom, just soldiered on, looking pretty normal, if a little subdued. When Ged came home we both examined him and resolved to take him to the vet the following day. I brought him in that night and put him in Phee’s basket by the fire to make sure he was warm (the nights are still cold) and he stretched out and looked quite all right. I woke up in the middle of the night to go to the loo and checked on him but he was long gone. My poor boy. He was the most amazing cat right from the word go when Phee adopted him at Tamworth. Phee was determined to have his little friend even though I was completely resistant. Tom won my heart though with his love for Phee and he let Phee drag him around by the head and play with him ad nauseam. They were true brothers. And for Tom, we were his family. Phee and I were his. Wherever we went he wanted to come too. He has come on countless runs with us – even as far as Flat Rock and back and it was always lovely to come home and know he was there. Wherever we had been, he was the heart and the hearthfire of our home. He used to lick those he loved (which could be a painful experience with that raspy tongue) and he was incredibly beautiful. True green eyes and the bushiest tail anyone has ever espied on a cat (maybe he was part possum). He was the hairiest cat I have ever seen. He had the softest, most beautiful nose and delicate little paws and he was a great ‘watcher’ from wherever he had picked for his day’s rest. He was an excellent mouser and it is true that he loved to kill birds but he knew he wasn’t allowed and used to try and restrain himself accordingly. Both times we moved he was just loose in the car with Phee and would get out and have a wee with Phee when we stopped and then pile back in the car for the rest of the way. He always came when he was called, wherever we were, because he knew he belonged with us. It took him a long time to settle in at Avalon. All those men and disruption and none of his furniture to claim and rest on. But he had finally settled in, had decided to love Ged and there seemed to be no good reason for him to leave us.

He has left a huge whole for such a little man. It’s horrible coming home to an empty house. Phee is lost without his best friend to rouse when he wants to play or chat, and when we come home there’s no-one to tell all about his adventures. He was such a joy – a low maintenance constant on my bed, in our lives, moulting all over the furniture. And he and Phee would curl up together wherever, they just loved each other so much. I can’t really believe he’s gone. It was so totally unexpected. He was only 3. Just a baby. I feel so guilty that I din’t get him to a vet earlier, but guilt is a useless emotion and will not bring him back. Ged dug a huge hole by the house and I put him in there with part of the wool rug he loved so much. I have planted a baby bottlebrush over him to attract the birds which he would like.

I am so tempted to try and replace him but I honestly think he is irreplaceable. The bond he had with Phee couldn’t be recreated. It was a truly unique relationship and no-one who ever saw them playing together will forget the miracle that they presented and the laughter they engendered with their bizarre antics. Plus a cat in the country like this is a bad idea for the birds. So we will have to save up for a girlfriend for Phee and we will have to learn to live without him. He was a loyal, loving and true friend and we are so sad that he is gone.

I wish him happy hunting grounds and friends as dear to him as we were. He was very special and totally unique. He won over even the most hardened cat haters. I hope he can forgive me for not taking care of him better and that he rests in peace and joy.


THE VERY BEAUTIFUL AND SPECIAL TOM CAT.  MAY HE REST  IN PEACE.