The steps to my verandah gate also lead to a dry patch on the top step. This has been claimed by a wallaby who sits there and surveys the soggy world. Only when I appear does she skid off, leaving tail and claw marks and several fat leeches.

Yesterday, as I approached the gate, I saw another of my wild co-tenants climbing up the open steps. An echidna was easily bridging each gap, stopping on every step to scratch. 

It was dislodging actual lumps of mud as it did so. Clearly a very muddy major excavation had taken place, as mud was sprinkled all over its back, dotting its spines; the bigger lumps must be in between them.

I wondered if an echidna can shake itself when dry, or is that special long claw the only way of cleaning?

The echidna reached the dry step, walked along it, and began descending at once. Whether it was just inquisitive, or whether it was disappointed in whatever it had hoped to find?

It stopped for a last scratch on the bottom step, then hopped off and waddled through a dish full of stones and water… why?  As so often, I wished I could ask, and they could answer.

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With the recent news of an aunt’s sudden death, just five months after her husband’s, endings are on my mind. I now only have one aunt, and no uncles, left.

I was reminded of a short piece I wrote a few years ago, when a favourite uncle was terminally ill in hospital. I thought I’d share it with you.

A book in time

‘See that bloke in the end bed?’ says my uncle. ‘You ought to meet him, he’s written a book. And I think he’s related to the bloke who used to own your old house. Same odd name, anyway.’

‘That bloke’ is a perky fellow in his 70s, sitting on his bed in his dressing gown. In his mind he’s already left the sick and dying behind in this hospital; he hopes to be going home this afternoon. He’s escaped It this time.

I introduce myself. It turns out he is the uncle of the man I knew, but he’s nothing like his nephew, who was a coarse and ignorant fellow with hardly any teeth and a bitter outlook on life.

This Mr. N. is intelligent, amiable, neat. I ask about the book. He’s a bit embarrassed, but proud too. The printed copy only arrived in his hands today. ‘My grand-daughters have been at me for years to get it all down,’ he says. ‘The war, my squadron, lots of narrow escapes, you know. They always wanted to hear more stories… not that I ever told them the nasty stuff… but they liked the adventures, said listening to me it was as good as a book!’

I flick through it. The girls have had it printed for him, organised photos, layout, typed in the stories: they’ve done a good job. It looks inviting, interesting, humorous… like the writer, I think. I congratulate him on it, and the effort involved. ‘Lots of people apart from your family will enjoy this,’ I say. ‘It’s really important to get stories like yours down on paper. This is real history!’

He is pleased. My uncle has told him I am a writer… ‘But I haven’t got a book with my name on it,’ I smile. The doctor arrives just then for his discharge examination, and nurses begin to swish the curtains around the bed.
[click to continue…]

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This strange object now standing next to my cabin may resemble a robot ‘dog’, four-legged, keen and obedient, but in fact it’s a dream-come-true, a means of travelling affordably and comfortably while still keeping my essential 4WD ute.

And, since I can’t back a trailer, my ute and I can carry this on our back!

This wonderfully clever, compact and cute slide-on transforms in minutes into a gay gypsy van, complete with solar panels and gothic rear windows! The wallabies find the shade handy — and so does the ute cabin.

Designed and beautifully made in Woolgoolga, just north of Coffs Harbour, by Active Campers, it’s meant for 4WDs, and is one of the few available for double cabs. There’s relatively few of these about, so I was very lucky to find a secondhand one, in driving reach — and almost in price reach.

The owners were lovely folk and did all the electrical fitting etc, for me. As they said, the only problem I’ll have is inquisitive  fellow campers!

However, I hope to be mostly in national parks, writing about other wild edges than my own Mountain.

With all the windows unzipped, it’s delightfully open, and sitting up there feels more like being in a screened tent than a caravan. It does however have ‘van’ conveniences, such as a small fridge (solar!), a double gas burner, cupboards, table etc. The main bed is under the sloping roof.

It’s minimal but not cramped — clearly well-designed. I christened it the first night here with a sleepover. Can’t wait until writing commitments allow me time to play with it properly!

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Victoria’s Latrobe Valley is coal power central, and very ‘dirty’ brown coal power at that, with its four power stations, all privately-owned, producing 33% more CO2 than ‘dirty’ black coal. See my posts Coal-powered clouds and Man-made murk from my 2010 visit there.

The oldest station, Hazelwood, alone produces 16 million tonnes of greenhouse gas emissions  — 15% of Victoria’s total. It was supposed to close in 2009; environment groups want it shut down now. Given that the best technology can do for the others is try to match black coal’s CO2  emissions, the Latrobe does not fit a low carbon future.

But the Latrobe workforce is dependent on coal and coal power jobs. Future-smart unions and workers in the Valley know this situation can’t continue, and are trying to establish transition industries that not only have a future, but positively help reduce our greenhouse gas emissions.

It starts with the Earthworker Cooperative — ‘Australian manufacturing: working our way out of climate emergency’ which will now be a permanent link on this site.

Organiser Dave Kerin’s been working towards a positive alternative with his Earthworker strategy, rather than the pointless opposition of jobs vs. environmental needs, for about 10 years, in one way or another. He had looked at the skills base in the Latrobe and sourced a product to which they could be applied, and which had a sustainable future growth market — a locally designed solar hot water system, ‘hotter, cheaper, all stainless steel, gas boosted’.  It will be called Eureka’s Future.

A key part of the plan is that the systems would be part of enterprise agreements, with the energy certificate rebates as incentives for employers — larger scale collective buying, larger scale manufacturing. Five percent of profits would go to social justice programs.

And yet they aren’t getting the government funding they need to start up – and they’ve tried – although the Federal government has committed $100 million and the Victorian government $50 million to HRL’s coal to syngas project.

They do have the firm support of two local manufacturers, Everlast (stainless steel hot water tanks) and Douglas Solar.

100,000 future-smart Australians needed

But they need money. So Earthworker has launched their ’100,000 Australians Campaign’ to find 100,000 people to become members of the Earthworker Cooperative for $20 each, and to use the funds to establish the factory.

Their aim:  ’To facilitate the establishment of manufacturing workers cooperatives through our country, especially in the coal regions of Australia, through membership of the Earthworker Cooperative.’

We all know that the planet is in trouble from global warming, and we all know that Australian manufacturing is in trouble. Jobs and profits stay here, and have a future, with projects like this. If our government won’t support workers offering them a non-confrontational and clever solution, we the people, must.

We urgently need such transition industries as Eureka’s Future to help coal-dependent regions like the Latrobe and the Hunter and Lithgow be part of the solution  — not just bear the brunt of it.

This is a movement we all need to foster and grow; visit the Earthworker website and read more. 

I’m from the Hunter and I’m joining. Can you find $20 to join us?

Campaign launch photo from the Earthworker website

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It’s that time of the year when the magpie young are relentlessly pursuing their parents, whining nonstop. They may be as big as the parents, but you can pick the young by their mottled brown and grey colouring; the adults’ crisply dashing colours are not actually just black and white if you look closely.

Other giveaways are the oft-open beak and the gimme-gimme whinge that comes out of it.

My more northerly friend Christa has lots of magpies in her riverside garden, but she also has a creature or two I don’t.

She sent this photo with the tale ‘The water dragon in my garden is chasing magpies who dare to take a bath in one of the large palmbowls. Loud magpie protests don’t stop him (her?) from charging again — until maggie takes to the air. ‘

‘But what,’ I replied, ‘is a water dragon?’

And this is her reply, the tale of her first encounter with a water dragon:

‘I had never seen it before. There it was at the corner of my garden where there were quite a lot of ripe coco palm fruits on the ground. The purple swamp hens like them. So do the dragons. Two hens were busily pecking fruit. This large and colourful one (I have been told the colouring has to do with the mating season — not sure if it’s true) charged at the two hens.

‘They fled down the river bank. I had just come out with the camera in hand to take photos of the hens. The dragon saw me and came at me at full speed. I have no idea whether he thought he could chase me away too or saw me as a source of food. Anyway, I got a bit frightened when it jumped up on the verandah, but managed to take this photo.’

And if dragons and magpies can’t live happily together in reality, Christa, being a bit of a whizz with Photoshop as well as a camera, has created a fantasy union — the Dragonpie!

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When I wake up to a white world it’s not usually because it has snowed — although that has happened — but because a cloud has decided to descend and join me, poor earthbound being that I am.

At such times the only bright colour is in close things, seen sans veil of finest white muslin.

My thinner north-east verandah sunshade is the Mandevilla Laxa vine, currently unfurling its pure white bells and perfuming my the air around my cabin.

Since the wallabies eat the lower parts of most ground-based vines, they have to survive to taller-than-wallaby height before they can burst into full production and show me once more why I’d planted them.

This year, given how tasty the self-seeding but fragile old-variety sweet peas would be when they popped their heads out of the ground, I broke my rule of ‘survival of the fittest’ and planted some in the pots on the wallaby-proof (so far) verandah.

With that extra metre or so leg-up they have climbed up the Mandevilla and hit the roof, adding their unmistakable scent and their candy pink colours to my cloud-white day.

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On my brief 2010 foray into southern Tasmania I was looking for wild edges, and I found a place called Roaring Beach that tugged hard at my mountain heart.

It was much later that I discovered a wonderful website, perfectly named ‘Windgrove: Life on the Edge’ emanating from that same beautiful wild place — home of Peter Adams, sculptor, thinker, writer, nature lover — great photographer! All the photos in this post are by Peter.

I only did so via my webmaster/mates, Fred Baker and Allan Moult; Allan does Peter’s Windgrove site. There’s a permanent link to it on my ‘Supporters’ list.

Many of you have loved the photographs of the pouch-peeping wallaby and kangaroo joeys I’ve been lucky enough to get close to. 

As an introduction to the many delights you’ll find at Windgrove as Peter shares his sea-swept 100 acres, there can be little more special than this sighting of a wombat joey nestled in its mother’s pouch.

The pouch is cleverly backwards-opening so her joey isn’t half-smothered in dirt when she digs. Maybe that’s where Volvo got the idea for their baby seats?

I especially relate to Peter’s understanding of how to get to know a natural place and its treasures; I too have learnt to shut my mouth and open my eyes, be slow or still — and carry a camera.  There is so much to allow yourself to be shown.

As I said in the first chapter of my first book, The Woman on the Mountain, explaining why I live ‘way out there’:

‘My world is unfashionable, timeless and teeming and intensely fascinating. It commands my interest, my passion, and my pen.’

It seems that Peter’s art is similarly engaged with and inspired by his world. Similarly too, while he has planted thousands of trees on once-barren Windgrove, ‘in the process he, himself, has been transformed by the land.’


‘Still-a-life’ — Sculpture by Peter Adams

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Despite heavy prunings at ground level by the wallabies and hence a slow start until I netted the base, the Glory Vine has excelled itself this year, and run the whole length of my western mudbrick wall.

In doing so, it has shaded all the windows – which was the intention. I never feel any heat through the unshaded wall but the windows (and the unused door) are the obvious heat leak.

From inside it means a dim green — and cool — light during the day.

By late afternoon when the sun is low in the west, I can momentarily get strange beams of light via small gaps amongst the leaves. These pierce the interior of my little cabin like rays of enlightenment before leaving me, as ignorant as ever.

Like rainbows and sunsets and morning sun on dewy webs, I am ever grateful for such ephemeral gifts from the natural world. As 2012 begins, once more I say to myself  – and the wallabies –  how lucky we are to live in such surroundings.

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Margaret River respite

December 31, 2011

Over in the west, the bubbly is flowing as much as in Camberwell! I was there 18 months ago, when the fight was just starting. The persistent NOCoal!ition campaign against the coalmine proposal by Singleton-based LDO at Osmington in the Margaret River area has finally paid off — for the moment. CELEBRATION: Coal protesters Tahita [...]

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Hopes for a saner 2012

December 28, 2011
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Just before Christmas the battlers for the village of Camberwell were given the most wonderful cause to celebrate.   They learnt that the Chinese Yancoal’s proposed Ashton South-East open-cut coalmine had been rejected by the Planning Assessment Commission. (Picture by Simone de Peak, Newcastle Herald) It would have taken all Wendy Bowman’s  (left) farm and [...]

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Mountain wishes

December 24, 2011
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Before the holiday season starts, on behalf of all the Mountain critters and myself, this jonquil-happy kangaroo joey is here to wish you all a safe and peaceful break from routine. Hope you have some quiet time to unwind and smell the roses — if you are somewhere wallabyless — or just lie back and [...]

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Bejewelled bushes

December 21, 2011
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I can’t help rushing out with the camera on the rare mornings where light overnight rain or heavy dew coincides with a brighter morning. It can’t be too sunny, or the precious jewels thus revealed will have been dried up. Then all I’d see would be a spiderweb, miraculous in itself, but more common. On [...]

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