After the White-faced Heron staking a claim on my pond, the word seems to have got out to other water birds that the pond is here and the surrounding lawn is soggy enough to easily poke a long waterbird beak into.
A small troupe of iridescent Straw-necked Ibis were here the other day, strutting and poking happily, until the Magpies sent all but one packing.
Then it too took off, recognising, as do most birds, that maggies rule.
I am keen to see what other waterbirds visit, now the word is out.
My Glory Vine is wearing its Autumn garb; when the leaves turn red, right? They look red, as I come out to the verandah, with the morning light behind it.
But then I step outside and look back at it and the shade of the main leaves externally is so different that I have no name for it: but no ‘red’ I can think of will fit. I mentally go through my old paintbox tubes with all the evocative names of colours. As for the small ones, well, ‘salmon’ perhaps?
And yet, a few metres further along, they choose more burnished shades, with only red herringbone veins.
On the eastern side they are opting to hold on to green, to refuse to give in to one red shade, choose reds only in blotches, or restricted to edges.
Twining through the Glory Vine on this side is the Mandevilla Laxa, (right) whose slender pendulous leaves are showing gold and red shades for the first time, with clearly defined stages and veins. How odd that they are donning Autumn garb more here nearer the coast than they did not at 3,000 feet?
I miss the Wisteria’s golden contribution from those days so I am welcoming this… and all the subtle shades to infinity that Autumn can offer, even here in subtropical Australia.
Most times I am awake and risen early. Some days it’s more worth it than others. Like today, as the sun rose in just the right spot over the escarpment to be split into morning glory rays of benediction by a perfectly placed tall tree.
Within minutes the sideways rays grew longer, the view brighter. The day was here.
All too soon it settled into the more usual lovely misty layers gently steaming skywards, with only a faint ‘hand of god’ ray visible.
Worth getting up before sunrise to catch that moment? Oh yes.
The delicately feathered lilac curls of the native Melaleuca thymifolia are a relief as well as a delight to see, as these swamp-loving small shrubs have only been in for about six months.
They will only grow to about 2 metres and will hide my shed from view for verandah sitters.
Willows love water and my little willow is now taller than me. I did plant it to help soak up a wet spot, and so it does. It will be a magnificent summer shade tree in years to come.
I had bought the cheapest ($30) little fountain I could find online, as a tester. I am amazed at how much it enhances my little pond, adding sparkles and ripples and splashes, varying its spray height with the strength of the sun. I have come to regard it as a little creature, part of the pond life, and I enjoy watching its varied moods. It even works in a sun shower.
The mosses are thick and glowing like furry jewels, with tiny golden fungi flowers bringing bursts of sunshine on a grey day.
While appreciating the bonuses it brings, I am as sick of the rain as this Willy Wagtail, who may not be able to see the watery wins as I do.
But of course with the sort of showers and sun roundabouts we’ve been getting, we are at least blessed with a rainbow now and then.
The time has come for me to leave another beautiful mountain area. After only two and a half years here, I am not embedded in the country as I was at my Mountain, which owned me for 36 years. I still grieve for the loss of the Mountain.
I had thought four acres would be a downsizing from 135 acres, but I had overlooked the difference between semi-alpine bushland and subtropical ex-dairy land. I became primarily a landscape gardener instead of a writer.
Writing is my priority in the next stage of my life, especially the fourth book that has been proving so difficult, but that must be written.
The peace and natural beauty of here has gently weaned me away from living amongst wallabies instead of people and I have made good friends (humans) within this unusually vibrant and sympatico community. I won’t move too far from them, but I feel I may now be able to cope with having houses next door.
So if you know of anyone looking for a green haven, please pass this on!
Information here.
September was wet enough, but appropriately gentle.
October is delivering its rain in tropical tantrums, with sunshowers and rainbows and start-stop deluges.
This double rainbow appeared on the very first day of the month, to announce how things were going to be.
A week later and we were treated to another fulsome beauty. Sadly, no pot of gold has ever been found by me, however hard I’ve looked.
The plants love the frequent drinks — not that they need extra encouragement to grow here. Weeds like dock are over my head already.
This wallaby approves of the state of my ‘lawn’ at least.
The swallow family don’t seem to mind being alternatively drenched and baked. Like me, they have to make the best of what the gods deliver…
Spring is here, with welcome rain freshening the creek, which had slowed and dropped alarmingly.
Having only one tank here, when I used to have four, is nerve-wracking.
Nights are still cool enough for a fire, and mornings are bright and crisp.
Not so crisp as to make me want to stay in bed, however. I am happy that the light is waking me up earlier, so sunrises are back on my radar.
Dews are heavy of a morning, bringing endless varieties of bejewelled webbing designs.
The grand she-oaks are especially favoured, with one branch bearing an unusual flag-shaped web.
The small Acacia Baileyana wattle that I planted only months ago had not been forgotten.
It hasn’t flowered yet, but who needs flowers when you have strings of pearls?
Back in my old Mountain home, the verandah grew a living green blind each summer, blazed red and pink in autumn, and leaflessly let in the sunshine all winter.
Naturally, I took cuttings of this Ornamental Grape to bring with me.
They survived the trip and the transplant and here they are flagging their first autumn on their new verandah home.
The other decoration on this verandah are the intricate spiderwebs between the uprights, only visible when delineated by a fine morning mist.
The spiders do other useful work, such as binding the leaves of the little Nagami Cumquat into a neat parcel.
With great difficulty I also brought with me my Dad’s Place. It was built by me and my sisters to house his ashes.
Not having been designed to be mobile, it weighed a ton.
But here it is, resettled, its lavender and wormwood plant settings fast making it look less newly transplanted. My grandkids have decorated the steps and verandah for him.
Fittingly, behind it is a terracotta chimneypot from my childhood farm, Dad’s orchard venture. I never saw it on a chimney, but I always loved it and I have carted it about for over 50 years. It lived in the rockery at the Mountain for the last 35.
Here the southern face of its ferro-cement roof has grown a velvety green moss. I consider this makes up for the ridgeline crack it suffered in the move.