Fred Baker

The bounty of bulbs

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bulbs-1Each year the front yard explodes with the bounty of winter-flowering bulbs: tuberoses, jonquils of at least five different types, including the highly-perfumed and multi-layered clusters of the Erlicheers, and the dainty arches of the snowdrops.

I know the latter are properly named ‘snowflakes’, but childhood memories and habits, as well as their drooping stems and rounded heads, insist they remain ‘drops’.
bulbs-2The bees didn’t care about terminology as they crawled inside each little green-dotted cup.
bulbs-3The springtime daffodils are just beginning to unfurl their papery sheaths, so for a few weeks I will have the bounty of both seasons from my bulbs.

They all grow anywhere, fight their way up through tough grass, need no care from me, continue to multiply, expanding into bigger and bigger clumps each season — and offer their collective beauty to delight my indoor days.

My winter roses

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camellia-1-280This being August, it’s still winter. Yet there’s plenty of flowers: the wattle is out, the jonquils are in full bloom and the first daffodil has opened to the spring-like warmth of the sun.

Unfortunately it’s woken up the snakes too, as I have seen my first black snake — sunning itself on very short grass in the orchard where I had gone to give the citrus an overdue dose of seaweed spray. They didn’t get it; I’ll try again in the morning when it’s too cool for sunbaking — I hope.

I’ve also seen the first Welcome Swallow dashing about in the sky over my clearing, although I don’t yet know where they’re going to nest this year.

But even before this warm spell of weather, one of my young camellias has been putting out glorious red buds amongst its dark green and glossy foliage – so unlike the bush behind it. Grown from cuttings taken from camellia trees that were higher than the old house that they surrounded, this red one has done best of all here, even in this unimproved soil where most plants turn yellow.

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It’s especially valued by me because it’s an old variety, and because as the buds unfurl they look like roses before they fully open to show their central stamen cluster. And to have roses is rare here because the possums eat them, buds and leaves and thorns and all.

I’m almost afraid to say that they don’t eat camellias — in case I jinx such a glorious gift and they start munching on my beautiful winter roses.

If only they had a scent I’d pull out all the poor twisted twigs that the possums made of my rose bushes, and give up hope of a bloom in summer.

A walk on the wild side

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Having shown you the civilised side of The Old Brush reserve, we now walk just beyond the mown edges and into the forest, where owner Robert maintains and marks kilometres of narrow paths.

wildside-1They tempt you to walk into the wild side, but with safety, and to experience the greatly varied vegetation of the surrounding bush.

wildside-3Robert has chosen the paths to take you through hillside forests and gully jungles, past luminous blue gums and thriving cabbage tree palms, the oldest, wartiest paperbark tree I have ever seen…

wildside-2…and battle-scarred eucalypts so tall I can hardly see their tops.

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They show the mighty but they also pass near such richness of detail that I keep stopping to marvel — like this tree trunk parcel, its bark so trussed in its vine that it can’t escape.

Or the coachwood (I think) whose roots resemble the claws of a strange bird, feathered at the ankle with moss and protectively clutching its green egg.
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 When the narrow tracks reach the valley again, give way to the broader mown and mossy expanses, and the statuary begins to reappear, I know I am leaving the wild behind.

It’s been an easy walk, even for my knees, and my rustic cabin by the billabong is just across the creek.

A glass of red awaits me, to aid my reflections on what a wonderful juxtaposition of worlds this place offers.

Culture and kangaroos

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Recently I stayed in a rustic cabin by a billabong where Nefertiti rose serene from the water and Dusky Moorhens kept a respectful distance, trailing ripples as they trawled for food, and creating delightful reflections.

At The Old Brush reserve near Cessnock, NSW, acres of mown native grass surround eight billabongs and countless picnic spots and fireplaces with wood stacked ready. In secret and mossy spots in the forest or in sundrenched clearings, you come across statues or civilised garden seats.

culture-2Kangaroos laze in security by Grecian columns; semi-naked ladies swoon by equally ‘palely loitering’ Blue Gums; a multitude of birds other than waterbirds are attracted to the water – such as a flock of White-headed Pigeons.

Metres away from the bottom accommodation cabin, I saw a Bower Bird’s display bower, with its collection of blue objects, including plastic pegs!

The reserve is owned by Robert and Gail Bignell, and they share its beauty with the public.  Robert is a professional photographer and has his Rainforest Studio there.

Visitors are welcome to picnic, camp, or rent a cabin, and Robert keeps kilometres of paths mown or clear for easy bushwalking through the stunning bushland beyond the valley floor ‘garden’ of his 40 hectares — with access to the adjoining Conservation Area. City and overseas visitors love it!

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Juxtaposition of the civilised and the wild creates an unusual extended garden where people can access natural bushland of varying types in safe and signposted walks.

I was there to soak up some more of its peaceful pleasures than I’d had the chance to do before — because I’m going to nominate this wonderful place for an environmental and community award.

Visit The Old Brush website.

Wattle takeover

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Winter gold flourishes in the Wollombi Valley as I drive through on a dull day. Wattle, acacia, mimosa — our national flowering tree has many names and many species.

Not all have blooms as richly yellow as these soft powderpuff clusters, but most are hardy and quick-growing, if short-lived.

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Where land has been disturbed they colonise thickly. I pass what seems to be a plantation of wattles on a flat creekside paddock, fenced and tidily contained in rows.

Then I see it is actually a takeover of what was once some city hobby farmer’s dream vineyard. It is small, not commercial — would have produced just a few dozen bottles to share with friends, to show off his own label.

The grapevines are still there, but the wattles have shot way past them and have claimed it for their own, re-labelled it Wattle Flat.

I am a little sad, wondering what happened to the dream.

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Mid-western culture, Mudgee style

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Recently I spoke at Mudgee Library for the first time. Somehow I missed it for my first book, but It will definitely be on my list for any future ones. This Mid-western Council library is situated in a charming old shopfront building in the heart of Mudgee, which is itself full of lovely heritage buildings.

It is well supported by the Friends of the Library who organised the supper after my talk, patronised by the local booklovers who came to hear me, and most admirably run by Eilagh Rurenga (below).

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Eilagh gave me a most thoughtful and original introduction, and had thought of everything for the evening — including alerting me to possible loud thuds from books landing in the after-hours chute box behind my lectern.

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I took the opportunity to warn Mudgee folk of the spreading coal frenzy just to the north of them, not wanting this picturesque district to go the way of the Hunter — but I fear they can’t imagine the devastating effects of so many current mine approvals, let alone proposals and sneaky land buyups in advance of more. 

Mudgee has everything going for it, but they will lose it unless the community sees that the threat from unbridled coalmining is not just an issue for greenies: it’s a matter of local survival. Coal is not the smart way to create jobs — just the dirty way.

Photographer Brett Maguire took the pictures on the night; these are just a few. I was impressed with how few double chins he caught — thanks, Brett. He’s obviously a man who knows what women of a certain age want.

mudgee-3Brett and his wife Aimee are newcomers to Mudgee, seeking a quieter lifestyle, which  Mudgee still offers, along with a wealth of cultural, commercial and culinary facilities, not to mention being surrounded by wineries.

Julie from local bookshop Books in Mudgee provided books for sale and, as always, I had some great chats with people like Norman Leonard (left) while I signed their copies.

Brett Maguire, BRAW Photography: 0422 278 234.

Wet Warrumbungles

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bungles-1aMy first day camping in the Warrumbungle National Park ended with showers and a stunning misty sunset, complete with rainbow.

I hadn’t lowered and zipped shut  the front ‘verandah’ flap of my tent, so a little water had entered.

My cousins erected a separate ‘fly’ tarpaulin over their whole tent in case of further rain.

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It grew cold and damp; a young male Eastern Grey kangaroo insisted on sharing our fire’s warmth. No feeding of animals is allowed here, but they are unafraid of humans.

Next morning was persistently wet; water had seeped into my tent at the bottom edges, My bedding was dry, but It felt like an island, so I pegged out the ‘blinds’ to stretch the tent sides more.

This worked. However, I intend to buy a tarpaulin to make my own fly over the top for next time.

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We donned wet weather gear and went for a gentle valley walk, where this shaggy group of ancient grass trees caught my eye.

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As we packed up wet gear under dripping trees, a group of emus wandered into camp — different shaggy creatures, but equally weird.

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The rain had caused these fungi to erupt though the leaf litter like small daisies. They are ‘Earth stars’ I think (Geastrum triplex) and I’d only ever seen them in books before.

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As I drove out, the mist was rising and the wet lichened rockfaces mimicked snow. I’ll come back in fine weather for more walks in the Warrumbungles — but with a tent fly ready in case!

The Woman in the Warrumbungles

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warrumbungles-1I was able to sneak a few days after recent book talk commitments out west to meet two cousins who were going camping in the Warrumbungle National Park near Coonabarabran, New South Wales,

It was the perfect time to try out my new tent, a Hamersley Tourer, which is intended to go with me on various future forays into other ‘wild edge’ places than my own Mountain.

It passed the first test in that I erected it on my own. That, and being able to stand upright in it, were two of my main criteria.

My cousins didn’t arrive until dark, by which time I had a fire going. Their tent was a much bigger dome tent with several layers: definitely not a one-person job to put up!
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Next morning was fine and we walked one of the many trails in the park, heading up to a ridge and around the base of a higher spire that mad rockclimbers undertake.

The Warrumbungles are dotted with strangely shaped, spectacular volcanic remnant plugs and crater walls.
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The symmetrical native cypress pines, looking like garden escapees, share the rocky ridges with blackened ironbarks, ethereal White Gums and decorative large Kurrajongs.

This was the first time I have seen Kurrajongs in their natural shape, unlopped over their lives as fodder for stock, their shining, almost heart-shaped leaves dangling from widely spread branches.

Such hardy trees seem to be able to take root in any crack and tiny ledge on the rugged cliffs.
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Caves abound, both large and small, and all clearly put to good use as shelter by the local critters.

Lichens and mosses paint the rocks with ice blues and sage greens, between dark weepings and a range of surface weatherings.

Rate Mountain Tails

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g-onlineThe online environmental magazine G-Online is worth a visit — it’s full of information about sustainable living, including gardening, cooking, health, travel and family matters, with useful hints and ‘Ask G’ links for your questions. G-Online’s Kate Arneman has posted a review of Mountain Tails — read it here — and you can also give the book a rating.

Macropod harmony

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It’s been cold and windy, and in my clearing we’re all glad of my protective tree belt below.  I can see the treeline on the western front turned thin and see-through as the trees are battered about; I can hear the fury on the ridgetop above me. But I am only mildly affected here.

My neighbours like the calm sunny spots too. Glancing through my kitchen window, I spotted four of my hoppy friends taking their ease just outside the house fence. Not unusual.

But it was rather unusual that the two on the left were Eastern Grey Kangaroos and the two on the right were Eastern Red-necked Wallabies. Not that there’s ever any animosity between the various macropod species here, but they don’t often share such a small space, or not in such a relaxed way. To pass in grazing, yes.

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The male kangaroo stood to see what I was doing at the window; none of the others bothered to interrupt their scratching or sleeping or general contemplation of life.

 What I loved best was that shortly after I’d taken this photo and he’d gone back to grazing at least, his sleepy female partner was so sure of my good intentions that she turned her back on me to settle into a more comfortable pose — and went to sleep.

Winter sunrise

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In winter my morning policy is not to arise until the sun is in my house, but I was forced to do otherwise when this was the first sight of the day.

Knowing how quickly such skies change and fade, I leapt up, threw on a thick dressing gown, stepped into my oversize fake ugg-boot slippers and raced outside with the camera.
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This sunrise was as boldly beautiful as I’ve seen in ages. Zooming the camera closer, the texture and colour of its serried centre reminded me of a slab of our Australian Red Cedar timber at its glorious best.
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Within seconds sungold was introduced to the palette and the vibrant orange and vermilion tones were softening a little into prettiness.

Seconds later and the glory was all lost, washed flat by grey daylight. 

From the back porch…

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owner-builder As many of you know, I regularly contribute articles and photos to The Owner Builder magazine. They also stock my books in their online bookshop.

Their last page is for readers to send in their musings, from the back porch, so to speak. In fact it was one such gratis contribution, over 10 years ago, that led the then Editor, sadly now the late Russell Andrews, to commission me to write professionally for the magazine.

In their current issue (153) editor Lynda Wilson has used the Back Porch page for an extract she chose from my new book, Mountain Tails, and for her kind review:—

I am very familiar with Sharyn’s style of writing, having edited her articles for The Owner Builder over the past five years and listened to her short pieces on ABC Radio National’s Bush Telegraph.

I was less familiar with her home life — that was until I read her first book, The Woman on the Mountain. Sharyn’s wonderfully descriptive language brings the whole mountain to life, along with the joys and sorrows of her mostly solitary life.

In her latest book, Mountain Tails, Sharyn shares the lives, loves and losses of her animal neighbours with us.

With rich descriptions and personal humour, from ‘A quoll in the kitchen’ through ‘Jacky dragon’ and on to ‘Petrified birds,’ you will feel yourself standing right alongside Sharyn, sharing her wonder and amazement of the natural world around her.

The Owner Builder has a special offer: you can buy both The Woman on the Mountain and Mountain Tails for $50 plus postage. The offer runs until September 30.

Visit The Owner Builder’s website.