Winding down from Woodford

After almost two weeks away, I am greatly relieved to be back here on my mountain. Woodford was a visual and auditory overload, so back home I am appreciating small details once again, like the vines that wind their way up any handy prop.

It is the silence I most appreciate, just a wind whisper in trees, a little birdsong or frog croak.

Woodford was LOUD. In the Cloudland stallholders’ camp (I was there for Lock the Gate) on the ridge, the music from the venues below wasn’t clear, but the bass boom was, so loud it vibrated my skull! Earplugs didn’t help.

But Woodford was also wonderful: a rich, surreal world, where painted street artists like the Zombies or our Metgasgo Super Hero Girls Sheree Dearden and Liz Mahood, or the Stepford Wives stiltwalkers mingled with visitors. The variety of dress alone was worth watching as the parade passed our stall.

After talking to people for hours from the stall I was really too tired to dance or to go to any concerts, but the high point for me was giving a talk at late notice, filling in for Lock the Gate president Drew Hutton on Saturday. I spoke to about 300 people and received a standing ovation; only after that could I relax!


Back home, I appreciate again details like the opportunistic seeds that make use of any water and silt receptacle, like this Lomandra happily ensconced in the bowl of this once-coppiced tree.


My domestic vines are kept thoroughly in check to wallaby reach height, but they still manage to keep the critical verandah level shaded. And on that cool verandah I am eating and sitting and thanking my good fortune to have this to come home to.