 Views have always been high on my list when choosing living spaces over the course my life. Fancy kitchens and baths are nice but give me a pretty view and I will gladly overlook a dated faucet or wall to wall carpet. Those things can be changed once I move in. But the scene out my kitchen window as I stand to wash the dishes or peel my carrots is more difficult to alter after the fact.
It doesn’t have to be a grand sweeping panorama of rivers or mountains but it does have to have some connection to nature. I would positively wither in an inner city apartment with nothing to look at but the brick wall across the alley or a washing line with some tattered underwear flapping in the smoggy breeze. It is the first thing I notice upon entering any space and I immediately gravitate toward the windows and doors to see what I will be subjected to on the daily. I suffer from a bit of claustrophobia and perhaps this has something to do with my obsession to see an escape route from the walls that surround me - who knows? What I do know is that it has a significant impact on my mood. How many times have I checked into a hotel room, marched toward the window, thrown the drapes open and felt either relief or dismay over what I could see? If it is pleasing, I want to stay longer and if it is pitiful, I can’t wait to check out. I am one of those people who will pay extra for the water view when I am feeling cashed up and fret about what I will have to face when I don’t. I always feel elated when these rolls of the dice work in my favour. My current view is what one might call a small “city” garden outlook. Compared to our views in our home at Kyeema North, one might say there is really no view at all. It has been many years since I have spent any extended period of time in a densely populated neighbourhood where the houses all have tiny back yards that are fenced and only allow glimpses of the surrounding rooftops from the ground level. Many of the homes in this older part of town have built additions onto their homes, leaving almost no green space whatsoever for a garden. When standing on the second floor here to look out over the block, we see evidence of this everywhere. Some have cleverly left a small courtyard in the middle of their compound-like alterations but some have no yard at all. Having gotten used to the space I live in currently, it has taken me by surprise how much I miss it, even in winter. However, I do appreciate that I am avoiding the cold weather in Canada and I suppose there is some advantage to not having to shovel and plow snow on our long driveway. As much as I wish I could see the nearby lake from this house, at least I know I can walk a short two blocks and walk around the beautiful trail that loops 6km around the entire thing. It is the centrepiece of this town. As I sit and write about my current living space here in Ballarat, I am happy to say that I am looking out a wall of windows onto a tall, fully blossoming patch of crimson and candy pink Hollyhocks. Are they not one of the most brilliant happy flowers in a summer garden? A breeze is blowing this morning and they are swaying about, threatening to bend beyond their capacity. I just watched as a Pallid Cuckoo landed on a stem, clearly thinking it was stronger than it was, and dipped and bounced up and down like a too heavy diver on a springboard. Out another window to my right, I can see a plot of 5 slender lemon yellow Calla Lilies stretching their elegant champagne flute-like cups toward the sky as they have spent the last week emerging from clumps of spotted leaf bouquets as though they have left their mother’s wombs and bolted for the heavens. A tree in the corner of this garden stands fat, bulbous and upright. A young Baobob (aka Boab) tree that was leafless when we arrived and has since sprouted a head full of slender pale green leaves proving it is indeed alive and well - just a deciduous tree that must be a late bloomer, not unlike our Rose of Sharon in Canada. The first time I had a Rose of Sharon in one of my gardens in Ontario, I wondered if it was ever going to come back to life after winter and it was June before it finally showed me some leaf growth. The Baobab must be similar. In front of the Baobab is a small garden pond that the owners had installed and one of our jobs is to feed the fish in addition to the dog. Most of the time the small goldfish remain hidden beneath the lily pads and other plant life in the two-tiered water feature, but when we sprinkle the nourishing fish flakes twice per week on the surface of the water, they waste no time at all coming to gobble them up like hungry sharks. I enjoy this twice weekly event. The plump little swimmers seem to be of varying sizes and some are two-toned tangerine and creamy white. Their eagerness to gorge themselves on these seemingly sparse meals reminds me of feeding a baby when they are particularly hungry, their little mouths opening rapidly between bites of their favourite pureed pears. And like a satisfied infant after a good feed and ready to nap, they disappear back to the bottom of the pond to savour their supper in the cooler water. The homeowners said we were welcome to do what we liked with the garden, so of course, I couldn’t help but yank a few weeds, repot a few things and plant some tomatoes, basil and peas (there was an empty trellis) that will likely not start to produce much before we leave but will give me something to nurture while I’m here and a bit of bounty for the couple that live here when they return from their vacation. I also filled a couple of empty plant pots with some colourful annuals that should also be peaking at about the same time. As the garden is fairly newly planted, there are some young citrus trees, a lemon, a lime and one mystery tree. Lucky for us, because one night, I needed some fresh lime juice for my recipe and was able to step out the back door and pick one of the two limes that were ripe. That was a first. Tree to table in under a minute! Over our back fence, I can see a mature lemon tree in the neighbour’s garden and there are lots of lemons ready to be picked. I am gathering up my nerve to ask for a couple, as the constant tease of them being just out of reach is driving me mad. I keep waiting to see the owner in the yard one day, but so far, no such meeting has occurred. This “bonus” gardening season is a plus for sure. I have access to fresh rosemary, cilantro, parsley, basil, oregano and mint. The mint was growing in a pot and I made the mistake of moving it early on. It had begun to root through to the ground from the drainage hole in the bottom of the pot and it has punished me for doing so ever since. It has struggled to flourish disconnected from the ground and is looking a bit sad but I will continue to water and feed and talk to it and nurse it back to health. I was surprised it reacted so badly to the move but I suppose we all take time to adjust to a new home, don’t we? Despite the lack of an expansive view, I have managed to find little pockets of beauty here in this city plot of land, and had an opportunity to add a wee bit more. Good enough to keep my green thumb from fading too much before spring in Canada.
5 Comments
 When we lived on the edge of town in a neighbourhood called Granville adjacent to Maryborough, Queensland it was not uncommon to see kangaroos on the footpath in front of our house as we sipped our morning coffee. In fact, one breezy sunny morning as I was busy hanging laundry in our back yard on the Hill’s Hoist, I turned to dip into my basket of damp towels and underthings to come face to face with a large female who seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see her. All I could think to say was “G’Day!” She had clearly come up our drive before I had come out the back door and found herself trapped by our back fence behind the pool.
She likely did not expect to see a human on her way back out to the street and the bush beyond. I loved living so close to them. There were no houses across the road from us. The gum trees and scrub made for a wonderful hiding place for them on scorching hot days and our green, grassy turf in the wetter seasons made a perfect spot for them to graze early in the morning or late in the evenings. It was like living in a wildlife refuge without any of the maintenance. We were serenaded by laughing Kookaburras at the crack of dawn and the same group (or “riot” of them) would mark the end of each day with their cackling chorus. It wasn’t long before I came to realize that our close association with all things wild and wonderful in Australia was not a daily experience for the majority of the population that lived in the large coastal cities like Brisbane, Melbourne, Sydney, Adelaide, Darwin and Perth. A trip to Melbourne in 2015 was an eyeopener in this regard. I took a holiday with my son who was visiting at the time and we did a few typically touristy things. We booked a tour to Phillip Island to see the fairy penguins in their natural habitat. These adorable creatures return from the sea after dark each night to return to their hillside burrows and we had the great privilege to watch them from a distance on our outing. But that’s not what opened my eyes. As we journeyed on the bus with the tour group, the very informative bus driver pointed out various landmarks and was happy to answer questions. One passenger inquired if we would be seeing any kangaroos along the way, aside from the ones we were scheduled to see in a wildlife park along the way. We were going to be hand-feeding them and also getting to pose with sleepy Koalas. I personally am not a fan of animals in captivity so this was not going to be the highlight of this tour for me, but I reconciled that it might be a memorable activity for my son and it was included in the price of the “Fairy Penguin Adventure”. I listened carefully to this bus driver who had a bit of a “know it all” air about him. He laughed at the question and said, “Oh no, you won’t be seeing any roos in the wild. That is a bit of a myth.” It took all my reserve to not call him out on this. What the hell could he possibly mean by this? I nearly stood up from my seat and corrected him, but then I stopped myself. He had not personally ever seen any in the wild so he assumed it wasn’t possible. Perhaps the furthest he had ever travelled was between Melbourne and the road to Phillip Island. It was doubtful he had ever been to rural Queensland. I best not embarrass the poor uninformed man. It did sadden me a bit to think that this bus load of tourists from around the world now had their hopes dashed of seeing Skippy and his mates hopping about outside the confines of a zoo, when I knew the exact opposite to be true. This leads me to the whole point of this story. Since we have arrived in Victoria, I have yet to see a kangaroo (other than 2 dead ones along the roadside) in the wild. I thought perhaps we might see some on the train from Melbourne to Ballarat as we were leaving the big city heading through rural areas to a smaller place. But Ballarat is 4-5 times the size of our beloved Maryborough/Granville for starters. We would have to venture further I reckoned to reconnect with Kanga and Roo. After three weeks in our home away from home and several countryside road trips, we still haven’t found our elusive symbols of this great land down under. I do believe we are getting closer and closer (2 dead ones after all), but to date, nothing. It got me to thinking. Isn’t life curious? For the nearly eight years we lived amongst these fascinating creatures, I took them for granted. They were part of my daily experience. I took hundreds and hundreds of photos of them. I talked to them. I drove carefully after dark through my neighbourhood for fear of hitting one with my car. I avoided stepping in Roo Poo on my daily walks. I was thrilled to be able to show visitors our mobs of kangaroos-many with adorable joeys peeking out of their mother’s pouches. This is what Australia was like for me. But it is not what this country is like for most Australians. And now, we experience deer on our property in Canada in the same way. They are a part of our life just as the roos were in Queensland. It is not to be taken for granted. I realize this now. It is not common. The majority of the world’s population may never know what it is like to share space with wild animals. It is a perk of living in small towns and/or rural areas. A priceless perk. Last evening we enjoyed a Pond to Plate event at a farm about 30 minutes drive from where we are staying in Ballarat. I asked one of the farm hands if there were many kangaroos around the 1500 acre property and he said no. Another surprise. Then I mentioned I had yet to hear or see any Kookaburras since arriving in Victoria and did they have any around the farm? Again he shrugged his shoulders and said no, but we might see some roos when we drove through a place called Creswick on our way home later. I was suddenly excited by the prospect of finally seeing my old mates on the drive at dusk. Surely the timing would be perfect. As we approached Creswick, I wiggled a bit sideways in my car seat and rolled the window down. I was so determined after my three week roo drought to catch a glimpse that I didn’t let the strangling seat belt annoy me too much. I asked Mick to drive slower. With no one behind us, that was possible. I scanned the roadside as though spotting a Kangaroo would win me a sheep station. A few odd shaped stumps and the odd shadowy shrub jump started my cortisol levels from time to time, but alas, as we left Creswick and the 5KM warning signs for possible kangaroo crossings in our dust, I had to placate myself with one (in the words of Elmer Fudd) “wascily wabbit” siting, a few magpies, some screechy long-billed corellas and some common crows sitting on fence posts. Hmmff. And so, my search for Skippy’s in Victoria will go on. I remain hopeful. |
DEBunked.I see nature as a metaphor for life. Please join me on this journey down the garden path as I explore life through story - a shovel in one hand and a camera in the other. Archives
May 2023
|
RSS Feed