Tag: family

living like gods

On By faeriembassy3 Comments

angophora cathedralthis story comes from the archives of  ” the journey of jellybean road ” 2013.

 

A neighbour rang up yesterday asking for me. She’s not here,Greg says.

I just wondered if she would like some tomatoes. Greg replies with a chuckle, Sandra always wants tomatoes. Then tell her I am going away for four days but if she can come after 5 tonight she can get some.

I arrive home exhausted, the little king had been wild and rambunctious running rings around me and his mum and his aunty all thru town. I am thinking a cuppa ,a sit down with feet up and watch the thornbill flit about the house. Often we get house birds – a wren a grey thrush ,some of them find a way in thru the glasshouse or an open door and skippity skippity around the kitchen benches.

I whine a little when I get the message but John offers to come with me. It is dusk and we have to hunt thru thick kikuyu grass for the golden tomatoes then we pick the orange ones the red ones and finally the green tigers.

From there we move onto zucchinis leeks and cucumbers as long as my arm. From Christas garden to the west is the deep blue of Wandella Mountain at 1000m standing alone adrift from the main range and stretching to the north the valley continues rising and falling until it collapses into the folding tapestry of mountains and rivers.

Next door our forest is gleaming brightly and clearly visible is a tendril of smoke curling into the sky as someone kick starts Stanley for dinner .

‘I am off to Broken Hill tomorrow’ says Christa ‘I am going to pick up a couple of a camels.’

I had been paying little heed to the conversation between her and John at the other end of the garden but camels twigged my ears.

What did you say I yell out moving closer to this story.

‘Look’ she says pulling her mobile out of her jeans pocket ‘ I’ve got a couple of pics of them.’

I don’t have my specs on but even I can tell they have a hump.

I look again at Christa, a solid woman in her usual  outfit of blue t-shirt jeans and blundstones . You never really know what people have in them do you?

‘There are 800,000 wild camels in Australia ‘ she tells us. I didn’t know that but I have probably never thought about it either .We all laugh , camels in Wandella, how  absurd how crazy . it is wonderful and our laughter stretches up and lifts into the sky. Already Christa has cows pigs sheep goats miniature ponies a llama 7 dogs plus hens ducks and geese.

I am exhausted thinking about it all as I gaze around the yards the  sheds the fences the  work and try to stop  another dog  jumping  on top of me.

She points to the new camel shed and the high fencing. ‘They have been taught to tie’ she says ‘and the children give them saltbush every day’.

But what will they eat here? I ask

Anything… everything…

Why? Why camels Christa,  John wants to know.

‘I like them ‘she says with a shrug and a grin.

Fair enough I can appreciate that.  I do too. I like it all , the buckets full of produce at my feet,the idea that our wonderful crazy organic animal lover neighbour is off to Broken Hill to bring three basically wild camels back to live in Wandella .

we  head home in the gloaming my heart full of wonder at this life these stories these offerings of grandeur, of the night approaching and the first stars and  the last calls from birds . On the track into our forest we meet wombat wide awake and plodding about .

The kitchen is warm with pots and pans bubbling on the top of Stanley.

Jess says ‘we will be making relish tomorrow Kingston’ as he tears in tipping the bucket of veges onto the floor.

Later that evening Jess yells for us to come out onto the verandah. Bring a torch. Kingston is doing his before bed piddle.

Look , she says and there making its way up onto the verandah is a young diamond python. It is about two to three fingers width but has a huge lump halfway along its body. I think Kingston might have weed on it says Jess.

That is probably a rat in it, says John hopefully.

perhaps this is it , perhaps this is living like the gods. After all where else would they hang out but here with air crisp and fragrant, with soil generous and bountiful, with water fresh and sweet with wildlife gently going about their business.

A forest

a reservoir of life exploring its self…

a family loving creating…

a community growing learning…

where else would we find the gods living?

the house of secrets

On By faeriembassyLeave a comment

 

 

                               As a child I lived in a house of secrets. day by day they were stitched into the frocks my mother made for me knitted into my cardys and beaten into the bowl of flour eggs sugar and butter that made up our afternoon teas.

I fancied that they waited on the edge of the room when I entered and lay sullenly under my bed at night while I slept.

sometimes I determined to sneak up on them and stealthily crept along the hallway to the living room when Mum and Dad were chatting.

I tried to breathe silent as a mouse in the doorway listening hard and on rare occasions was rewarded with a snippet of a story.

I would take this into my hoard and puzzle endlessly over these tidbits. on the odd times I bravely sort information I was batted away affectionately enough to be sure but in such a way that I learnt  not ask that question again.

my only recourse was to imagine and this I did lying in bed at night pulling out the pieces and stitching them into a pattern.

I concluded that I was adopted – at the time there was obvious evidence to support this theory –I was the only one in the family with auburn coppery curls and freckles all over her face.

by sixteen I discovered that this was in fact not the case – the truth was slippery and full of holes .

over time my sisters and I sought out aunties uncles and aging friends – tight lipped and friendly we patched at the past as best we could .

mum left the planet and dad has nothing to say.

the full measure of the story remain as secrets resting in the coffin with her.

 

Earth

On By faeriembassy10 Comments

 

 

for years now I have ached to tell the story of my country

 my place in the landscape 

the forest in which I breathe.

 

named Avalon some 30 years ago after the myth of the isle that appears in and out side of reality.

also named andelain by my partner 

and called jellybean road by the children and friends.

 

I have wanted to sing the twisted curling limbs of the ancient angophoras with their nesting hollows and rough barked trunks scored by the claws of goanna and possum.

 

I have wanted to capture the dawn chorus in a bottle and spray its full melodic symphony into the halls of parliamentary power, into the barracks of uniforms and guns, into the open hearts and minds of our pre schoolers.

 

I have longed to distill the essence of wild violet and fungi, of milk thistle and wombat berry meandering sprawling their fecundity around the base of stringy bark, bloodwood, black wattle and she-oak.

 

 

 Earth has called me to respond, to listen and weave her story into the fabric of social reality

so that none may ever again forget her, so that no human may ever again be in any doubt

about ‘the one place’ that is our home.

 

I write the story of the mist spider spinning finely wrought mist so that my morning walk in the forest is layered with sparkling webs spinning rainbows in the rising sun.

as I stop and sit with the morning I am entranced with the dance of the mist maidens over the still sleeping hills.

 

I write the joy of the frog chorus that greets the rain

and I like to tell the story of the baby wombat brought up into adult hood by my daughter

and then released to live its wild and busy life in our forest.

 

This my place is earth, this forest this home.

It is a cauldron of possibilities,

a hearth of family and love;

a dreaming of harmony

and a creative exploration of life within sacred lore.