Read, Write, Ramble

I was struck, as I was showing a dear neighbour the progress in the back garden over the weekend, how a garden reflects the various stages of our lives, particularly if you are lucky enough to spend many years in one place. Our garden in Campbells Creek was established over 30 years ago when we moved into our new home. It seemed a vast space, this half acre block, and having been mined mercilessly in the 1850’s as part of the Mount Alexander Goldfield, it was covered in clay and quartz. This was a place where it seemed only Coffee Bush, more correctly called Drooping Cassinia, and prickly Gorse would   grow. Coffee Bush is what is known as a pioneer plant, one of the first to colonise disturbed land. We certainly felt like pioneers, as we set about cleaning up the block and levelling, first, an area for lawn out the front of the house. As we raked and levelled, we brought more rocks to the surface, so there was much time spent picking up rocks, that first year. Rohan who turned 4

Wallsy and I became grandparents for the first time this week.   What a wondrous thing it is to welcome your children’s children into the world. When the text message bearing the news pinged onto our phones, and we opened it to see a photo of this new little human miracle right there on our screens, we didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. We did both, while attempting to compose a suitable message of congratulations and welcome, through our tears of joy. Yesterday, we met baby Jack and had our first cuddles of this precious, tiny person, who so far seems oblivious to all the attention he is attracting. He has besotted parents, 3 sets of doting grandparents, and aunties and uncles to love him, not to mention the many friends of his parents who will also become his friends and mentors, but he seems keen to sleep through all the fuss. Of course, with his arrival came the question of what each of us would like to be known as. There are so many options: nan, nanna, pop, pa, grandad,

Wallsy and I had a moment of inspiration as we drove home from the airport last night  - we decided we should form our own travel agency to be called ‘Not According to Plan Travel’. It seems appropriate, as it has definitely been the theme of most of our recent travel experiences, dating as far back as the halcyon days of 2019 when we had to abandon the UK early and make a dash home, answering the call of ill mothers. Weather, as those of you who are regular readers will know, was the factor that caused our recent European Christmas Market Tour to deviate from the planned itinerary, meaning we a) had to find an alternative to train travel in order to meet our first cruise, and b) found ourselves in Amsterdam instead of Strassbourg on the second cruise. This weekend, a simple family birthday celebration in Hobart, was no exception to this pattern of unexpected obstacles being placed in our way. This time however, it wasn’t the weather that intervened, flights were not delayed or can

  This is Oscar the Brave,  ... fearless guardian dog who protects his flock of three chickens diligently, as anyone who has walked, biked, driven, or scootered past our back gate will attest. The neighbours will also verify his conscientious approach to his work, which is often most evident in the middle of the night (usually as soon as Wallsy and I have gone to bed), as he wards off foxes, rats, and any other passing wildlife, real or imagined, with his determined barking. So, with this background knowledge, you would be justified in asking what Oscar is doing inside the house mid-afternoon, the chickens left to fend for themselves outdoors? The answer is, Oscar the Brave is afraid of thunderstorms. At the first rumble, all bets are off, the chickens are abandoned, and Oscar puts his rather strong snout to good use, battering on the back door, to be let inside with the humans. Now, if you were to ask him, he would probably feign a need to protect his people by sitting on our feet a