The Mountain – Page 2 – The woman on the mountain

Mountain symbols

September 7, 2014 by Fred Baker

On my last day here on this mountain, nature is turning it all on for me. A little glimpse of the things that symbolise what I love most here.

Wallabies and their joeys were all around, the camellias and bulbs were still in flower, and the bush beyond was glistening with sunshine and dew.

The spring-fed primary perched swamp was full of water, even after the long dry spell, and the mighty ancient Angophora arched out over it as protectively as ever.

Last week there was a light dusting of snow on the higher mountains opposite… very light, but still…

Next week I will be in my new mountainside home, with different wildlife and mountain views — and a creek! — to share with you all. I look forward to sharing my discoveries of its nature.

Seeing beauty

August 7, 2014August 4, 2014 by Fred Baker

As I pack and move out 36 years’ worth of my magpie collection, the cabin is far emptier than ever since it was built. I am appreciating the texture of the more revealed expanse of mud walls, freshly emphasised with the repainting (with natural paints of course).

I am admiring each treasure before I pack it away, and loving the flowers that winter here gives me for brightening indoors.

Sometimes I’m almost too late to catch a fleeting beauty on offer…

…like the last low rays of the sunset through my front door leadlight…

…or the coloured glass window in front of my desk.

July icing

July 5, 2014 by Fred Baker

On the first day of July I woke to our coldest morning yet this year — 4ºC — and light patches of frost.

Frost always surprises me as to where it is found and where not, but its decorative and novelty values are always appreciated here.

My favourite rock with its gloriously complex lichen adornments seemed more in place with the fine whiteness on the grass. In fact, the lichens seem brighter with the chill.

Certain substances attract frost more than others; I know compost and mulch does, and here the fallen leaves blown into a drain are limned distinctly and individually white.

Most of my yard doesn’t get frost but lichens appear in odd places all over it. This rock in the midst of the grass up the hill always catches my eye because of its spectacled pair.

Man-made beauty

June 7, 2014 by Fred Baker

On the way up to my Mountain, I drive around a man-made lake. It’s actually Glennies Creek Dam, but the recreational part is called Lake St Clair.

The highest knob towards the left is Mount Royal, sort of where I am heading for home.

If you ignore the bits where the dead trees still stand reproachfully, slowly drowned, it can make a very beautiful scene. It has many moods and many weathers, from mist to cloud to white-capped waves to brilliant mirror finish.

The mountain range catches clouds and makes it own weather. I can fantasise that I am in Scotland and this is a loch, not a man-made lake.

Morning gold

May 24, 2014 by Fred Baker

It is chilly of a morning, tempting to stay cosy under the comforting weight of the blankets — and yes, I still use woollen blankets, not doonas.

Well, those blankets just haven’t worn out, some even after 45 years, as my wedding present Onkaparinga apple green one is. My frugality dictates that until they do, I’m not replacing them.

As regular readers know, I love sunrises. I have mattress height windows facing north-east, so a gently glowing one like this was more than enough to get me to throw back the covers and rush for coat and camera to share it with you.

Even when there are few clouds to cause a real riot, I appreciate the subtleties and the purity of the colours.

The sun itself is rising further to the east, so to the right of the photo, behind my forest.

Down here at my cabin it is barely out of darkness.

But I’m out of bed, and I will stay up. Put the kettle on, turn on Radio National — let the day begin!

Season of contrasts

May 18, 2014 by Fred Baker

Autumn, my favourite season, when crisp sunny days contrast with fire-warmed nights. Taking a photo of the glory vine’s red leaves, it struck me that my roof embodies the contrasts inherent in my life here.

Here I sit in the midst of constantly surprising, stunning natural beauty, and yet just look at my roof, bristling with the technological and mechanical facilitators of my civilised life.

Left to right: mobile phone aerial, NBN broadband satellite dish, hot water tank, roof vent, slow combustion wood heater chimney, slow combustion wood stove chimney (half-hidden), and digital TV dish.

Then there’s the contrast of the temperature being cool enough to fire up the leaves of the Chinese Tallow tree, but also to stoke the solar panels with energy.

And not least, that while it’s cool enough for me to be constantly running a totally banked-down wood fire to keep the cabin cosy, the red-bellied black snakes are still actively getting about their business of food-finding — not in my woodpile, please!

Early bird treat

April 25, 2014 by Fred Baker

It’s been a while since I’ve seen a really vivid sunrise here — and that’s not because I’ve been lazing in bed! As winter draws on, I might well do that, but the days are just perfect at present.

So this torrid beauty was an especially welcome gift — just to remind me.

The colours alter so swiftly, you could be excused for missing out on a scene change. From bold to gold, bright to light.

Morning glories

April 11, 2014 by Fred Baker

Being up and about early has so often gifted me unexpected and ephemeral sights here that I feel I’ve missed something – or might have – when I sleep in.

At about 900 metres elevation, we do catch clouds often. They may be slow to lift, waiting for the new sun to warm them and lighten the load. But when they do, the two elements can create wonders.

At moments like these, I can see how folk might have thought they were having visions of enlightenment as the figure reaches out its arms to them.

Even when the effect of a figure has dissipated, the long rays continue to find their way though the forest for many photogenic minutes more.

Small extras

March 17, 2014 by Fred Baker

Walking around the yard this sparkling autumn morning, I thought back over the many hopeful plantings over 35 years. I planted hundreds more than now exist, gone either from unsuitability or passionate macropod pruning, but I kept records.

I love how big many trees have grown but I also found myself noting the many small extra benefits that they offer.

This Lilli-Pilli (above) protects the bird bath so the small birds are game to land and stay to drink; they can scoot off into the dense leafiness and hide if need be.

This avocado was grown from a seed I saved. It has flowered — finally and fewly — and I watched the sole fruit jealously, daily. But of course it went; a bird or possum got it first. However, I love that tree, culinarily unproductive as it may be, because of its growth habit.

Its branches grow in a downwards arching manner — ‘pendulous’ or hanging — so standing inside its canopy is like being under a leafy umbrella.

And they can be nurseries, in which butterflies can lay eggs or birds build nests. The citrus trees especially seem favoured.

Of course they provide shade, perhaps none so conveniently as the two spreading Nashi trees outside my ‘bunkhouse’. A perfect spot for visitors to sit and listen to the silence.

And for myself, they continue to offer not only beauty in each season, but surprises. I adore my Liquid Amber, mightily grown back after the 2002 fires. I’ve featured its bright autumn glow in many posts.

Leaving the Mountain

February 21, 2014February 21, 2014 by Fred Baker

Failing knees (OK, old age) mean I can no longer manage here without help, so, regretfully, I am seeking a new carer for my Mountain and its creatures. Readers will know how much I love living here, but it’s time to make a move.

I need to relocate closer to family, to a more accessible small rural block. It’s best to do this while I still have some ability to re-establish as close to a self-sufficient lifestyle as I can manage.

My 65.55 hectare property in Upper Hunter Shire, NSW, has been a dedicated Wildlife Refuge since 1980, and is now also under a Voluntary Conservation Agreement (VCA) with National Parks. The wallabies, kangaroos, echidnas, kookaburras and eagles really own the place, but they allow many other mammals, birds, reptiles, frogs and me to live here. They need to be able to trust the new humans who take over from me.

This sanctuary for man and beast offers rare peace and privacy in a rich mountain forest world where the wildlife is unafraid and abundant, the sky is close, and the springs are permanently generous. I shall miss the privacy and the unlimited water; I can only hope for the peace, and at least visits from wildlife.

The wildlife have it sorted naturally, but I’ve set up here for self-sufficient living for humans too, with stand alone solar power and springfed water supply. Its temperate climate, good rainfall and good soil mean the potential is enormous.

For such human use, a 12.24 hectare area is excluded from the VCA, enclosing all the many improvements, like the dams, 92,000 litres tank storage, gravity-fed watering systems, my charming (yes, I do say so myself!) owner-built two-bedroom mudbrick cabin, large shed, carport, glasshouse, bunkhouse (sleeps 5-6), and a separate colorbond clad and insulated cabin.

There’s far too many advantages to list here, so if anyone is genuinely interested in becoming the new carer for my Mountain — as in considering buying it — please email me for full details, more photos, price and directions. No merely curious queries please!

Photos of me and the cabin interior by G Beeche

Shrinking pond world

February 3, 2014 by Fred Baker

As in much of Australia, it’s been dry and hot here.

My small dam is really a large pond. Unlike my main dam, it is not springfed, but filled by runoff plus what is collected from my shed roof and piped to it. Both rely on rain of course – and we’ve had almost none.

So the levels in the pond have dropped severely and half of the pink waterlily world at the western end is on dry mud, not floating at all. Their roots would be in deeper dampness, but for how long?

I am worried about the creatures who live in this water, the longnecked tortoises and the frogs especially. Except in the deeper centre, much of the pond resembles a brown and weedy stew more than cool water.

As yet, the waterlilies look healthy, as pure and pretty as ever. I see some small plops and bubbles around the dinner dish leaves, so something is lively enough under there.

I recall the charming little green frog prince I saw here years ago. I go closer, and am delighted to see another. Now all we both need is rain.

Moonrise surprise

January 16, 2014 by Fred Baker

It was still daylight, the last of the day’s excessive heat finally withdrawing as the sun sank over the western horizon.
I was lolling on the verandah couch, home brew in hand, grateful for the fitful cooler breezes reaching me.

When I stood up, I saw that, literally behind my back, the moon had risen in a fully blue sky. It looked to be a perfect sphere.

And close by, a tiny bright dot to which I involuntarily sang the childhood rhyme, ‘Star light, star bright’, and made my wish.

But closer up, it’s another small sphere, as equally visible as the moon. No star, but Venus, the brightest natural object in the night sky after the Moon.

I’m not the only one to mistakenly wish on this ‘star’ as Wikipedia says that:

Venus reaches its maximum brightness shortly before sunrise or shortly after sunset, for which reason it has been referred to by ancient cultures as the Morning Star or Evening Star.