Under a hotter Sun; A little "poddy rustling";

A little “poddy rustling”

We had a new neighbour on the southern boundary.

He kept a different breed of cattle than ours. We loved the Herefords; red brown with white faces very pretty animals. Our neighbours cattle were a mixed breed of Brahman cattle with long faces, a hump and quite aggressive.

It happened that one of his heifers went through the fence into our property. Peter saw her when he was checking if all the animals were OK. He did not like riding a horse so made his rounds usually on the small motorbike belonging to the girls. He tried to maneuver her towards the fence where he had opened a space to let her through. Yet the furious heifer turned around and charged him full speed on his bike.

She did some damage to the bike, fortunately not to Peter. She did not want to leave so Peter left her in our property and closed the fence.

Later when he saw the neighbour he asked him if he missed a little brown heifer. The neighbour said yes and asked where she was. Peter said that he tried to drive her back to his property but that in the process she did some damage to his motorbike. Then the neighbour changed his tune and didn’t want to acknowledge the heifer.

So the little heifer, she was a pretty girl, stayed with us.

A year later this neighbour said to Peter, I think I saw one of my heifers at your place. Didn’t you say that you saw one of my little heifers on your place? Peter said, oh no, that was a year ago and your heifer went back to your place, so I don’t know what you are talking about. And that was the end of it. Peter was not giving him back this little beauty which he had fed for the last year. The neighbour had never paid for the damaged motorbike. So we were more or less quits.

Cattle rustling was going on all the time on more remote properties.

Under a hotter Sun; Pick up the mail;

Pick up the mail
The mail was not conveniently delivered to our house. We had to organize a post-box in a post office or a letterbox at the entrance of the Tucabia road near the highway. A few letterboxes in all shapes and sizes, disused milk cans were very popular and made nifty letterboxes, were already placed there from people who lived along the road.
For a while we rented a post box at the post office in a tiny village on Goodwood Island. It was a pleasant drive only about 15 minutes from our place. Along the Pacific Highway over the bridge and then along a small lane flanked on both sites by rustling sugarcane. The houses nestled in gardens along the river.
At harvest time the cane fields on fire were a spectacular sight at night. The next morning small particles of soot took advantage of the lightest breeze to land with accuracy on the whitest linen hung out to dry, settled on window sills, outdoor furniture, on my nose and chin appeared tiny smudges like sooty freckles.
The Post office was a lovely, white painted weatherboard house surrounded by a beautiful garden. Over the post office reigned Miss N. She was like an apparition, standing behind the counter. Her long hair swathing her back. Her coiffure was elaborately done with ribbons or combs. Her face was smothered in make up and face powder. How she managed the make up through the hot weather I never found out. Her eyes were clear blue ringed in black kohl. The lips a cherry red cupids bow. She dressed in bright colours decorated with flounces and organdy flowers. Lots of jewellery joyously jangled and accompanied her activities.
Math was not her strong point; she always had quite a bit of trouble. When I bought three stamps she painfully started to add them together in a odd way. First the three ten cents, than add the rest and finally add it all together. When she got it she looked at me with a sigh of contentment.

Overseas letters were put on a scale to find out each one’s exact weight. At this procedure I was allowed to help. With squinting eyes we both peered at the tiny numbers on the scale. When the weight was established we pored over a booklet to find out the exact worth of stamps that was needed. This was an awful long process. At the end she happily bundled the letters together and said, now my dear it won’t take long and the letters are off where ever they go.

Later we organised a letterbox at the Maclean post office. The post office, a substantial building like the banks, lawyer's offices etc, generally are!

I have noticed in the country towns the banks usually occupy the most beautiful buildings in the towns. The buildings always kept in pristine condition.

From my place to Maclean it was about 30 km. A pretty drive on the highway, along the river and cane fields.

It was days before Christmas I was picking up the mail. Sitting in my car, I could not wait until I was at home to read the Christmas letters from Switzerland. My sister wrote how cold it was. My car was parked under a huge shady tree and still I could feel rivulets of sweat dripping under my dress. It was an odd feeling, this letter with the imprint of ice and snow and here I, sweating under my light, green halter dress.

I have never felt the heat so intensively any more.

Under a hotter sun; The Emus;

Between autumn and winter the Emus came down from the hills to graze in our paddocks. I did not know how they managed to get into the property. All the boundaries and paddocks were fenced. Did they get in through an open gate, through a fence or over the fence?
They walked and grazed up and down a big paddock.
At this time of year I went over the paddocks with my wheelbarrow to collect manure for my garden. It was very pleasant work, this might sound odd, but it was nice to look around in a leisurely sort of way and collect the biggest of the pads that already had a consistency of peat.

At this time I had not seen the Emus yet and did not know they were already in the paddock. I was on my way home pushing a full barrow, when they spotted me. I had a little rest, pleasantly looking around when I saw the Emus looking at me. Seven Emus stood in one row, like ordered there and not picked up!

I pushed my wheelbarrow a bit faster, looking back to see what they were up to. The Emus had advanced towards me and started to run. I left the wheelbarrow and ran and ran, the Emus behind me coming nearer and nearer. I thought that they might find interest in the wheelbarrow, but they ignored it I was much more interesting I had two legs running. Fortunately I was not far from the gate that I reached just in time to close it. These huge birds with their long powerful legs could have outrun me any time they probably just tried to have a bit of fun with me.

It was late autumn and I was on my knees dividing perennial plants. I liked this work very much. The late autumn sun warmed gently my back and I was softly humming to myself.
This garden bed was on the side of the entrance gate to the ornamental garden. The gate was open. I was deeply concentrating on my task when I suddenly heard a kind of a throaty noise behind me. I was listening with only half an ear and did not take any notice.
Until the noise behind my back got louder and I heard sort of a shuffling. I looked up and fell on my backside straight in front of three big grown up Emus. At first I did not dare to move I was just looking up at them with pleading eyes, don’t trample me.

They did not move, looked at me with unblinking eyes, talked to each other in guttural sounds.

I thought I had to get up other wise I could be trapped for ages. I slowly tried to stand up from my unfortunate position. The Emus came closer. They wanted a better look at this specimen wriggling before them.

Shakily I found my legs and waved my trowel at them and said:”shoo.” The emus did not take notice of my antics. My small, Australian Terrier Ali alias Ali Ben Ali Ben Yussef but just called Ali, must have heard something. He came running, barking, he was so excited he nearly lost his bark, his hair bristling on his neck. The Emus did not know what came upon them they charged out of the gate and ran taking advantage of their long legs, down the paddock. Ali, still furiously barking followed behind them on his short,stubby legs. He ran soon out of steam and I called him back, patted him and said:” my dear Ali you saved my life,” which was probably a bit far fetched but he understood what I meant.
Towards the end of winter the Emus disappeared back into the bush and the hills.
　

Purdy;

Ready for school;

“Purdy”
Marie-Louise saved a homing pigeon at school. It was still a baby, naked without down or feathers. They were going to close all the holes where the pigeons were nesting. All the holes were empty except one had still one nestling. The workers wanted to close it up with that baby in it. Marie-Louise asked the workers to hand her down the pigeon.

She brought the pigeon home and reared it and soon it grew into a beautiful glamorous Pigeon the scrawny bits of it gone and forgotten. That little pigeon was an extraordinary bird. It came flying from anywhere when she was called. Her name was Purdy. She accompanied Marie-Louise riding around the property flying close to her.
When the children were at school she followed me around and waited on the windowsill.
She followed the car when I was driving the girls to their bus stop. She was flying nearby at window height and I was worried a car could hit her. At the bus stop I would bundle her into the car where she perched on the backseat. Sometimes she would follow for a little while and then return home.

With time she would come further and further and I had to lock her up when I drove to Maclean or Grafton, as I was really afraid she could have an accident, as she used to fly right on the side of my car.

Then something terribly sad happened to little Purdy at home where she should have been save. Peter drove down from our gate to our house. When Purdy heard us arriving with the car she flew towards it and one had to be very careful because she would settle right in front of it.. This time she flew towards the car and settled just on the side of it and Peter did not see this. We cried out to him stop, stop, but he did not hear us, it was to late.
We were so very sad when we buried our Purdy.
　

Under a hotter Sun; The Hunter;

The hunter ;
The Kangaroos came down from the opposite hill to our property to graze.

I was always enchanted when I could observe whole families together. The mothers, their pouch stretched to its limits. The odd leg and foot, a diminutive head sticking out of the pouch. The half grown ones, hopping around still young enough to play and try a bit of boxing.

The joeys scramble out of their protective home to hop around on long skinny legs, nibble here and there a blade of grass.

They don’t run away as long as I stand still and keep quiet, just watching. The Kangaroos stand on their hind legs twitching the ears from side to side to listen, looking at me with lazy interest. They scratch their tummies and nibble neatly on grasses and scrub. If I don’t come to close they ignore me. On our property we saw mainly the grey Kangaroo but also many smaller ones the Wallabies.
One day, I knew, Peter was up to something. He had his gun slung around his shoulder. I asked him where he was going with his gun. He said that he was going to scare the Kangaroos away.
There is something about men when their primeval hunters instinct strikes. They don’t listen to arguing, why, and what for, leave them alone! He left and I was listening, but did not hear a shot. After a while Peter returned. I asked him what happened, I did not hear a shot. He said, he could not shoot them.

The Kangaroos were facing him, theire arms practically akimbo staring him straight into his face. The Macropods stood their ground their eternal right to graze where ever.
Peter never took his gun to the Kangaroos anymore.

Under a hotter Sun; Tucabia;

How do you pronounce “Tucabia”?The dirt road passing our property is called the Tucabia road. Further on is the tiny, sleepy township of Tucabia.

We had heard from neighbours that somewhere out there were Swiss people living.

We went to the Tucabia post office to inquire where these people might live. Like mentioned before we were not really sure if they were Swiss or Swedish. When we arrived at the post office we could not believe our eyes.We had never seen a post office like that.

The weatherboard house was dilapidated to the stage of collapse. To get into the post office we had to walk over an array of household items laying around, old rusty iron sheets, washing which probably had fallen from the line aeon's ago, old bikes without wheels, rusty bits that by the look of it must have been ones a car or two.
The floor in the post office was badly sagging and by the look of it someone had the misfortune to have fallen with a foot through a rotten piece of flooring, as still the heel of a black shoe was sticking out of the hole.

After we reassembled our shocked faces we called out for the lady of the house, as nobody was around. After a while a friendly, comfortable looking lady presented herself as the postmistress. We asked her about the Swiss people we were told lived somewhere in this area.

She looked us up and down and said there was a new family living along the Tucabia road. They are really weird people. It is said they have only one entrance door in their house because they are afraid of snakes. And then she let out a roar of laughter she had not heard of something so hilarious for a while and with a little sniff practically as an excuse, foreigners.

After we got the hint what and about whom she was talking, we said that we were actually the people she was telling us about. She swallowed once, but caught her equilibrium very quickly. Accentuating her answer with a vague hand gesture said there are some Swedish people living out there somewhere. She did not know exactly where so we left it at that. We will never know if we missed something, we never met the Swedish-Swiss people.

Tucabia is a sleepy village isolated like everything around it. It is very flat and sandy, has already a tiny whiff of the sea. The houses are far and wide nestling on acreage. Only a few tall, stately gumtrees dot the landscape.
Some of the tall Eucalyptus have big, black ants nests attached which are cleverly used by Kookaburras as nesting places. Around Tucabia is bush…bush ..bush…it is a village in the bush. (bush is the word used to describe woodland.
The road a straight, narrow ribbon leads the way up and down along bushland towards the coast and the small holiday village of Wooli.
On our way we encountered a forest completely ring barked. The skeletal trees a cemetery of ghostly, ancient giants, limbs broken, numb and powerless under a deep blue, innocent sky. Yet the trees even in their battlefield status have not lost all their purpose. Lots of birds and small animals still find shelter and nesting places in the hollows of the trees.

Coarse ferns, scrub and tough blady grass still provide shelter and hiding places for lizards and other animals. Small saplings raise intimidatingly their vulnerability towards the light. The bush looks rough and unkempt, primeval and still there is serenity to it that a groomed and landscaped ground can never achieve.

A wooden chapel stands lonesome on the side of the road oblivious to its neglect.
Cherishes now the only occupants, the spirit of its long dead worshippers.

The landscape is bare where in earlier times the trees have been ring barked to make room for more farmland.

Now only rusty, holed iron sheets bear witness to a lively homestead that occupied the site and oddly, completely intact stone steps lead up to nowhere.

A small tumbledown shed ,its roof caved in, are the sad looking leftovers.

Tough, hardwood fences, silvery from sun, wind and rain hang on for a while longer and still display the craftsmanship and hard work of people long gone. They give suddenly way to a tangle of never mended wire fences.
Ground hugging Banksias with their golden candles held up high grow in dense profusion along the road. The road is a narrow ribbon of bitumen with on both sides half a car space of dirt road. You have to drive half on the bitumen and half on the dirt track; if you don’t follow this rule you’re pushed out completely into the dirt and further down into a ditch, as the oncoming cars pass with astonishing speed in the middle of the road which they abandon quickly to hug the other half of the dirt road leaving only a cloud of dust.

The road wends its way up and down, along grazing land, the odd homestead, bush and more bush then suddenly you arrive on top and from there you have a breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean, like a glorious gift presented to you. The horizon merges sky and sea tantalized by transparent sunlight. Born of the sun and lives by the light fits perfectly here, so Alphonse Daudet said this about the Provence. Golden, sandy beaches hug green blue water, sparkling, inviting and besieging, we have arrived in paradise.

Photo TS

Under a hotter Sun; Purple Thistles;

The paddock

We walked down to the river flats. All five of us shouldered hoes and bush knives.  We had the task to eradicate thistles, rushes and more weeds that had the tendency to choke the grass. Thistles grew in abundance. They were never in jeopardy by wild swinging hoes and bush knives by a bunch of determined Swiss declaring war to innocent weeds. Reg said, where thistles grow the soil is very fertile. What I thought was that Reg just wanted to console us, when he saw the task we had ahead of us.
While we hacked and slashed at the big whoppers,
my eyes strayed to the riverbank. The water dark and serene. Tiny flower petals fell gracefully and settled on the water highlighted by the odd sun ray penetrating the thick vegetation.

The heat, the buzz of insects, the monotonous task soon led me into a dazed dreaming.
The sunlight sharp like molten silver pierced my eyelids; there suddenly, I glimpsed graceful people whom had lived in this area a long time before us. The tall, proud men ahead, strode with long measured paces. Women and children with delicate limbs, followed, happily chatting and laughing .

They stopped in their track when they saw me. Their hands with long slim fingers flew up and waved. A very old woman gazed at me; fathomless, black eyes met mine.

The earth stood still, when she reached out and handed me a small woven dilly bag. I hesitated to take it. I had nothing to give her in return. She quietly pressed the gift into my hands a tiny smile on her lips.
My fingers curled around the small bag, felt the exquisite work of the woven fibres.
The chatter and laughter resumed, faded, far away the last tinkle of a child’s laughter died.
My hands hung empty, the fingers still curled around nothing. I felt bereft. The hoe left laying on top of wilting, silvery purple flowers.
The world returned to its endless chores. The buzz and hum of insects, the twitter of a bird, the flap of a wing, and the silent pursuit of underground creatures.
The heat continued its onslaught; sun rays radiated glittering stars into the sky.
Sweat trickled from my hot brow, pale rivulets on my dusty face.
I dried my moist face with my sunhat, blinked into the shimmering heat. I adjusted my sunglasses that had carelessly fallen to the ground and looked around to my family; they were busy at their task.
I gazed up to this immensely blue sky; swatted lethargically at flies and my spirits vanished when I looked at this sea of purple. The hoes went whack, whack and the purple heads fell to their grave. Their dry, prickly heads hold also trillions of seeds for next years crop. I shuddered when I thought of it.
The girls had enough and vanished, drawn to the cool, dark river that beckoned and promised relief from the heat and monotonous work. I listened to their noisy splashes.
Peter and I plod on, whack, whack slash one more purple thistle gone.
Our reward for this hard work came when letters from the abattoir said that our cattle were completely free of any residue of poison. Unfortunately we did not receive more money for our organically grown cattle. People were not yet talking about organically grown food.

(We were always a nose length ahead with newfangled ideas; which came much later worldwide into fruition with "slow food and organic food.)

Under a hotter Sun; The pigs;

To augment our income, until the steers were ready to sell, we decided to buy three sows and one boar. We went to a pig breeder in the area. We selected three nice looking sows and one boar. When we selected the boar P. counted the boar's teats. The pig breeder and his wife thought that was very funny and asked Peter why he counted the boars teats. Peter explained that this was very important because his female offspring would have then too as many teats as possible to suckle many piglets. They said they had never heard of that.

Soon it was known in the area that P. was a good manager and the Swedes were well known for their pig breeding. The people did not take much notice of the difference between Swiss and Swede. To them it was all the same somewhere in the north of Europe. To us it did not matter if we came from Switzerland or Sweden.
Some times at gatherings people asked me to say something in Swedish. There was
no point in making clear that I can not speak Swedish, I tried to tell I speak Swiss German. I just said a sentence or whatever I was asked in Swiss German dialect because I could not speak Swedish.
The three sows and the boar were delivered. Peter had their luxury accommodation ready. They were Babette number one and two and three. One Babette was later named “cripple toe” because she had an accident with her foot and damaged a toe. The boar was called Willie. The boar and the three Babetten were happy pigs.

They had also a big paddock to them selves where they frolicked, buried their snouts deep into the earth to get to roots and probably grubs and earthworms. After a rain they loved to eat the sprouting mushrooms. They had a mud bath to get rid of insects and also to keep the skin protected from sunburn, as they had such a fair skin.
When their time came to give birth they gathered grass and leaves and soft twigs to make nests for the piglets. When they gave birth at night we went down to their paddock to watch them. In the morning the newborn piglets were usually happily suckling.

Peter found one newborn piglet completely flat, with no sign of life lying near its mother. She had probably lain on it, as the sows are sometimes very clumsy when it comes to look after their offspring. He took the piglet away to bury it later, it was cold and looked dead.

The sun must have warmed its little body because when Peter returned later on to bury it, the piglet had disappeared .He found it near its mother. It still looked a bit flat but was vigorously suckling with the others. We always knew it as it grew up with a little bent to its body.

The little pigs could roam the whole property; for the time being they lived a charmed and happy piggies life. When it was feeding time Peter called them with a gong and they came running from all directions. They came up to the garden and loved it when we scratched their fat little tummies. These were the good times for the pigs.

Not all is beautiful when the little pigs grow up to be porkers. I never got used to this and always fled cowardly the scene when the steers or the pigs were shifted to the abattoirs. I know Peter hated it too.

Under a hotter Sun; Susie;

"Susie"
One day I found a female Wallaby lying on the side of the road. I got out of the car to check her. She had been hit by a car and was dead. She had a tiny Joe, confused, crawling all over her trying to get into her pouch. I always had an old blanket in the car for such an occurrence.
I bundled the Joe into the blanket and took it home. It was a female, she was tiny but she already had a nice fur. We called her Susie. I made a pouch for her from an old jumper and bolstered it out with a woollen blanket so she would be comfortable and warm.

I went to the Wildlife Services in Grafton. They gave me a permit to raise Susie. A bottle with a special dummy and instructions how, when and what to feed her. All went very well.

She liked her food. I took her in her pouch everywhere with me, even in the car to go shopping. I knotted the pouch to a coat hanger so I could hang her up on any hook or handle nearby. In the house I usually hung her on a doorknob.

She liked her pouch yet at night she would snuggle up with one of the girls. She would curl herself at their feet under the doona . Mainly she ended up in Lilli’s bed because Lilli had a special gentle nature with animals.

At first we fed Susie with the bottle. We mixed milk with finely ground chicken pellets and a few drops of lemon juice. She did very well and grew quickly to a naughty toddler. In the living room I had one wall covered with bookshelves. She did not read the books she liked to nibble the spines!

She was not at all an absolute herbivore. While she grazed I observed her digging for beetles and worms, which she ate with gusto.

She loved small pieces of steak or frankfurters sausage when we had a barbecue.

Her weakness were almonds. As soon as I was around she nuzzled into my hands and pockets to look for the nuts.
She grew well and soon was a teenager. She grew tame in a way but not absolutely, there was a certain wildness in her. She started to leave us for days. I was worried and went all over the place looking and calling her. Suddenly she came hopping, nuzzling my pockets for almonds. If I did not have any she was angry and boxed me with her paws.
And than there was sadly a time when she did not respond anymore to my calling.
I like to think she rejoined her relatives and lived happily ever after.

Photo TS.

Copyright TS.

Under a hotter Sun; The Road;

Ali and Tommy good mates.

The Road
The road leading to our property is called a “dirt road”. It winds its way from the
Highway through the bush. Its surface is rutted at certain stretches corrugated. The car bumps and clatters noisily like every nut and bolt were loose threatening to fall out. After a few trips the driver is ready to take on any stock car race. The drivers who use this road are not considerate drivers. In the dry season they drive at the height of their speed. In their wake clouds of dust settling on both sides of the road on shrubs and trees, leaving these breathless, poor ghosts waiting for the next rain to be washed clean.
When we were working near the road we usually laid a small tree over the road. This action brought a lot of swearing from the driver, as he had to slow down, stop and remove the tree. This was the intention of our action so the fine red dust would not suffocate us. Before we took this drastic action we were the ones coughing and sneezing, emerging from a red cloud, fighting for a breath of clean air.

We also had another option, that was by the first sound of a motor to leave our tools and run away from the dust, sit down and wait until the dust had settled, but that was very impractical, because once we laid down our tools, sat down and got used to the rest, it was very hard to get motivated to go back to this sort of work. Regarding our work ethics Peter opted for the first.
In the wet season this road runs with water, has deep ditches on the sides, holes in the middle treacherously filled with water.
I landed ones in a ditch while I was righting the milk bucket which had fallen on its side, While doing this I went a little to the left and slithered into the deep ditch, the car was lying on its side. I had to go and get Peter with his tractor to pull the car out.
When the road is slippery wet, the drivers slow down. This was a respite for all,
especially for the animals, who have the habit to live on both sides of the road.
On my trips to the bus stop to bring the girls to their school bus I saw sometimes a wallaby hit by a car. The mate would linger around for a few days, sit nearby and then disappear into the bush. I made the habit of it to always check if it was a female and perhaps a Joe in her pouch. Mainly male wallabies, mostly curious youngsters were hit. The females were much more cautious.

Under a hotter Sun; Melina, a dairy cow;

Every morning after I brought the girls to the school bus I went to the dairy farm to get a bucket of milk. One day I got a bucket of milk that was different than the usual milk. It was thick and very yellow and left long strands when I was pouring it into a jug.

Peter, when he was a lad had spent a lot of time at a dairy farm, so he knew instantly what was wrong with this milk. He said it was colostrum milk the calve feeds on when it is just born. This milk was not appetising and I did not use it. After that experience I said we should buy a dairy cow.
How nice it will be to milk our own cow and have fresh, frothy milk everyday. We asked our dairy farmer, Jean's, my gardener friend's husband, if he could sell us one of his dairy cows. He agreed and showed us a gorgeous looking dairy cow with lovely, brown eyes for seventy Dollars. She looked at us and said moo,

I thought what a good sign she agrees with us. The next day she was delivered. Jacky christened her Melina. She liked this name a lot and was keen to use one of the names since she had read an adventure story about Melina and Haska.
Melina was as stubborn as she was beautiful. She hated to be caught and we had to bribe her with the now famous blue bucket filled with corn. She also hated to be milked. She had not a clue what her duty was and did not like to be milked. She gave us only one meagre drop of milk. She did not like us one little bit. She kicked and pushed Peter until he said enough is enough my princess you are going to be tamed. Peter made a small wooden plank that was attached to a rope. It was not easy to fit it around the very reluctant neck of Melina. Now she can not run away we thought and with a lot of tender loving care she might consider us as her friends do her dairy cow job and let us milk her.
When Peter wanted to milk her, she was wild, threw around her weight and hit him with her "necklace" the wooden plank in his shins. With angry looks at him, she braced herself, started to scratch with her hooves and threw soil into the air. Peter had enough of her tantrums. He left her to calm down and the next day he took off her yoke and released her in the paddock with the Herefords.

She ran off looked back and poked her tongue out. With this ended our dream of frothing, fresh milk.
In winter she gave birth to a beautiful Frisian bull calf that she thoroughly spoiled with lots and lots of milk.
Unfortunately Melina had not a happy ending. When we had a drought,Melina was not in her best condition and fell between a drain. Peter wanted to lift her out but she had hurt herself and was not able to stand up anymore.
Peter had to put her out of her misery.

Under a hotter Sun; Insects and Snakes always attract attention;

Fiddle Beetle Eupoecila australasiea

While pottering around in the garden I observe all sorts of interesting beetles. The
Bombardier beetle is one of the funny ones. It produces an audible chemical explosion from his rear accompanied by a puff of smoke and acrid smell when he is disturbed or touched.
One of my Hibiscus shrubs sports jewel like bugs hanging to branches and leaves. This is the Harlequin bug it flaunts its iridescent colours of bright blue, green and red arranged in sophisticated patterns. It is very beautiful considered a pest as it sucks the sap from the Hibiscus plant, so be it.

The Fiddle beetle is a thoroughly benign and lovely bug. It has a strong green violin pattern on its wing covers. It feeds on nectar in the flowers of the Eucalyptus tree. Their larvae live in decaying wood and compost and oddly crawl on their backs.

It is Christmas in Australia when the beautiful, beige golden Anoplognathus porosus, the Christmas beetle emerges from its dark tomb where it lives as a white curl-grub until it flies off as a pretty Christmas ornament into houses attracted by the lights.

The Bombardierbeetle


Sometimes I spot Giant Stick insects. It is always just by chance when I see them they are so well camouflaged, blending in just as any other stick.

I was fascinated when I saw my first Goliath Stick insect. They are more than 2o cm long. Grass green with a flash of red on their wings. They are very impressive Insects. They feed on top of tall Eucalyptus trees so they are never seen only when they have been blown down during storms.
The heat should prompt us to take it easy. Retire through the hottest hours of the day and have a siesta like in hot Latin countries. Oh no not in this country it was settled by Englishmen. They have a song, “Mad dogs and Englishmen are out in the midday sun.” I might add to this, the Swiss are the same. Peter is out on his tractor, pushing ,pulling ,slashing.

In the heat of the day snakes abound on the property. The Red-bellied Black Snake especially. They are sunning their fat, shiny black bodies. Every time I encounter one, nearly treading on it, a little shock wave electrifies my body.
Lots of tall stories are told about snakes. One man was bragging how he would take a snake by its tail and swing it around his head.

We were cleaning up old wood and debris from a previous flood, which were deposited over the property. Peter started to remove a woodpile when he saw the tip of the tail of a Black one.

He could not resist that challenge remembering the guy’s story. He grabbed the tail end and pulled. Peter got the shock of his life when

the snake’s head emerged a few centimetres from his hand to check who was pulling her tail. This day there was no swinging of a snake and I think, from then on, he left them well alone; the snake had earned his respect.
We all come upon snakes from time to time. Generally they are shy creatures slithering away not looking for confrontations. Mostly we do not know when they are around the house, unless our Australian Terrier Ali frantically sniffs around and chases them off.

Along a sunny spot on the river Peter concreted a place complete with a small springboard for the girls were they can spend the hot summer days.

The whole riverbank was a tangle of scrub and trees. A paradise abundant with wildlife. Tiny birds like butterflies flitting around. Goannas and Lizards revelling, sunning their bodies.
Lilli sunning on a towel after a refreshing swim, did not know what prompted her suddenly to look up. There was a fat, long Black Snake right coming towards her practically wanting to slither over her. Frightened Lilli jumped up, the snake jumped at the same time exposing her bright red belly. Both scared of each other fled in a flash.
Pythons, simply called carpet snakes were permanent bed and breakfast guests. They lived in the rafters of our various sheds. We liked their silent company. Noiseless they slide their smooth, patterned bodies along to hold on to anything even the tractors steering wheel. It was possible to touch them when they were in the mood, if they were aggressive you left them best alone.

We were really afraid of the Clarence River Snake, the Eastern Brown Snake and the Coastal Taipan. They are very poisonous and dangerous snakes. So, they are very shy, they are also nervous and aggressive if cornered or harassed also unintentional.

I really like the green Tree Snakes. They are not venomous. I found them curled around the garden gate showing off their green and yellow colours. They are beautiful creatures slim and sleek with tiny heads. Sometimes they have small bumps and nicks in their skin probably from an accident and getting away with it. They also lived in the climbing plants, which were trained on wires along the veranda.

Somehow one got under the roof of our sun room probably to hunt for frogs. One morning there was this particular nasty smell and Peter exclaimed, “oh no!’ He had to open the roof and with a broomstick he fished out what were the remains of a green snake, Yuk!
In the middle of our property stands an ancient, gigantic Morton Bay Fig tree. Its grey roots exposed to form rooms of which animals take advantage to shelter from storms.
All sorts of animals and birds like the tiny fruit that grow on the tree in abundance.
The Lorikeets feast on the fermented figs and get drunk, laying on their backs their feet up in the air. When I first saw this spectacle I thought they were sick until I realised what had happened. Also the horses were fond of the fermented figs. When they were freely grazing, we always found them munching under this Fig tree ..after having eaten a quantity they behaved rather strangely.

Peter was having a rest, sitting down and leaning against its ancient roots when suddenly a very large Tree snake was sliding straight in his direction. He saw her when she was only about half a meter from him. All what the snake wanted was to go up her tree were she lived. Peter took one jump and was away. One really gets quite acrobatic in haste to escape.
When overseas Tourists came visiting, Peter would in detail tell them where it was possible in the wild to observe snakes. One option was to look for a bridge, which are always in plentiful supply. At noon on a hot summers day snakes like to congregate under bridges to soak up the warmth.

So if you see people in shorts with pale thighs and knees, with anticipated terror on their faces, bending over bridges, those are the tourists looking for fat, red-bellied Black ones!
I know of two people who have been bitten by snakes, well one person I know the other is sort of that somebody else knew this person and told me about it. We had a friend, a grazier, who would on his way around his property collect poisonous snakes to bring to a place to milk their venom to produce antidote. Once he found one and as it was to late to bring it to this place he shoved it in his toolbox.
The next morning he had forgotten about the snake. He took his jeep drove out to his property and had a breakdown without thinking he put his hand into his toolbox and got neatly bitten on his wrist. He was a tough man and he did not go to hospital to get antidote.

He was very, very sick it took him three month to get better. He got bitten a second time from a Black snake when he was walking barefoot through high grass just opposite the river from our property. He was very sick again but did not have any antidote either. I don’t know why he did not let himself help with the antidote that he helped to collect. Mike later on had a very bad fall from his horse and lost his kidneys. He had a kidney transplant and lived for an other 10 Years. He died before he was 60 years old. Very sad, we all liked him much. Peter told him once, that the bites of the poisonous snakes could have influenced the failure of his kidneys. He agreed. It was not further investigated.
The other man was a doctor who collected and played with snakes. He was alone in
his surgery where he was found dead bitten in a cheek. The rumour was he could not put a tourniquet around his neck.

Our hens get sometimes bitten when they try to tackle small snakes. We found our cockerel that could barley walk and we thought he had been bitten. We found a nest full of small Blacksnakes under a bail of straw.

Under a hotter Sun; The making of the Garden;

The garden;

I have started to establish my Gardens. One for vegetables and one for ornamental plants.
P... has made a fence so the cattle can't come in and eat up the plants. The soil looks poor and is very hard to dig and it does not hold the water. The garden needs an awful lot of improvement with the soil. First I planted Australian native bushes with brilliant flowers. Melaleucas, called "Robin Redbreast". It has tiny bottlebrush flowers in a vivid orange. I planted lots of Callistemon, usually just called Bottlebrushes, in different reds, some are overlaid with gossamer gold. They come in lots of colours. Dark purple, pink, very long white brushes and even a very light yellow colours. The fantastic Banksia comes in different hues of yellow with slim and tall or fat and squat flower heads. Different leaves too, but always tough and hard to touch. I try to plant the ones from the region. I have tried some from West Australia but have never been completely successful at one stage or the other they have succumbed to the wrong conditions.

The garden takes on shape. We have planted Orange, Mandarin, Tangello and Lemon trees. They bear their fruits in winter when they are very welcome. The flowers are very sweetly scented and perfume the whole garden...it is the most agreeable scent a little bit like lilies of the valley..”Mister Dior” eat your heart out!
We have also planted Persimmon and Mango trees. A small orchard is emerging around the house.
I have dug a lot of pathways and Peter has filled them with pebbly concrete. I have marked out many beds. One after the other is going to be planted out. I get a lot of cuttings from everywhere especially from Jean Barnier, she loves gardening like I do.
Her mother loves gardening too and she has a beautiful garden. She also gave me lots of cuttings which I strike and most of them take quite easily. She gave me a rare and special cutting from a flower called commonly “Blue Ginger” its Latin name is Dichorisandra thyrisflora, quite a mouthful, no wonder we all use the “common names”! I have planted also some rosebushes. Summer is probably to hot for them to do really well. As long as I can cut some for the vases I am happy. I have planted many miniature roses they seem to do alright for the time being.
In front of our house we build a small pool to bolster the local frog community. When raining it is a truly beautiful feature its rim planted with bog loving plants, our croaking friends, who usually send their love calls in the middle of the night, cherish it. Dear people from Switzerland who spend some time with us were driven crazy by the noise; Karli went out armed with a broom and a flashlight to disperse the noisiest
lovers. He had not much luck in his endeavour as the frogs went into hiding as soon as the beam of light hit them. Resigned he went back in to his bed his ears plugged with cottonwool.
In midsummer it is a marathon to keep the pond filled with water. The water disappears through cracks in the clay soil as soon as it is filled. Until the next big thunderstorm I fill a dish with water so the frogs can have a little dip to cool their sensitive skin.
Big, brilliant green creatures with a dreamy expression take advantage of any cool and moist spot. They wander into bathrooms and occupy toilets, sit in pipes and gutters. From time to time they call each other with raucous croaking.
There are also very tiny frogs some only two to three centimetres. I find them huddled in lettuce leaves. Carefully I transport them back in to the garden.
I love to watch the dragonflies flitting above the pond. In the German language they have such a lovely name “Libelle” it sort of describes their ethereal beauty. Many take advantage of our small water feature. The plantings of Bamboo and Papyrus gives them shelter. They are the most elegant ballerinas clad in deep sky blue, emerald green, dark wine red and many other colours. Some have dark spots and patterns on their gossamer fine wings. They are verily the most gracious of insects.

Summer can unleash torrents of rain and fierce, horrendous storms. Lightening, eerie non-stop illuminates and fissures the sky. Thunder explodes, torn from the deepest abyss. It is a frightening experience. On a hot afternoon, a storm was brewing. Dark clouds chased each other expanded swiftly and piled up a grey-black menace to threaten people and animals alike. The cattle retreated into the bush to get some shelter there. Thunder and lightening cracked the heavy dark blue and black chaos without end and created supernatural pictures.
Lilli and I were alone at home looking out of the kitchen window towards the front paddock. Thunder and lightening attacked the heavens furiously, when suddenly a horrendous thunderclap made us jump and the next moment lightening struck a tree not twenty metres from us. It was a show we will never forget. Lightening zigzagging into the tree and setting the tree alight, green frogs were catapulted into the air and fell down dead. The tree was partly hollow and dried out. Frogs that made it their home didn’t expect such a terrible expulsion. Then the rain was released in a tremendous, solid sheet of water. It pounded and crushed earth and plants and I thought they would never recover from such an onslaught.

In midsummer the vegetable garden grandly named “Le Potager” planted in spring with a lot of enthusiasm looks limp and uninspiring. Most of it we ate, some we had to share with the creatures that harvest but don’t sow. The King Parrots, marvellous birds, wearing everyday their Sunday best in green and bright red, love tomatoes as much as we do.
The sun triumphant sends out its fieriness to wither the rest of plants. Lettuces quickly grow to towers producing trillions of seeds spreading them on fluffy wings all over the garden. In autumn they will emerge as tiny plants which I can then just transplant, how ingenious.
Then comes a time when it is just absolutely to hot to work in the garden. The
vegetables don't like it either. Most things have succumbed to the heat, lost their vigor like myself. Cucumbers and Melons have withered from mildew and if this heat goes on I will wither too. So, I am waiting for kinder days in autumn.

Under a hotter sun; A new year!

A new year !
The girls have started school. Jacky and Lilli in Tyndale and Marie-Louise at Maclean High school. Norma said I could came with her to the assembly where the Headmaster of the school held a speech. I only understood the odd word Australian English was so hard to understand. My ear had not yet adapted to the sounds and vowels to the Australian language.

I was wondering how Marie-Louise would get along. All day long I was thinking of my girls in those strange schools, surrounded by strange people and also a strange language to learn. My heart was heavy when I went to pick them up at half past three from the school bus which stops at Hazel's milk bar. All three seemed to be happy and have taken their first school day in their stride.
Marie-Louise was taken under the wings of a few senior students from Year 11 and 12. They looked out for her and asked all sorts of questions about Switzerland, which she answered as best as she could. Also the Librarian asked her if she wanted to become a library monitor. It pleased Marie-Louise, she loves books. Her day went all in all quite well. The English teacher is prepared to give Marie-Louise extra lessons to catch up with her class.
Jacky and Lilli have also made their experiences. The teacher was talking about ants but they didn't know what he was talking about. So he send a child out with them to show them the ants. I think they will learn the language quickly because nobody speaks their language. They have to take their lunch with them as they are not coming home over lunch it wouldn't be practical as Maclean is about 23 km from Hazel's place and then there are an other 6 km to our place.

The bus leaves at eight AM and returns at half past three PM. It is a long day. I wonder how the five and six year old children cope with such a long day. When the children are at school I am mostly alone at home. Peter is always somewhere working on the property, and it is BIG. In Australia a farmer plants crops and he owns a farm. A grazier has beef cattle or sheep and his farm is a grazing property, these are the subtleties in different countries.
We have Hereford Beef cattle, so we are "Graziers"! Letters which are sent from Stock and Station agents are very old fashioned addressed only to P. S...., Esquire....I don't exist! It is not done to slight me, it is just the way things are done in a world of men. P.. too has this attitude. He had a new sign made for our house it just said: P. S....This old fashioned attitude "it niggles a bit"!

More clean up.
Peter was going to do more cleanup work along the river bank. To plant some corn and pumpkins for the pigs he intended to buy. It was hazardous work with all the leftovers from a previous flood hiding under the cover of man high weeds.

He suggested I should walk in front of the tractor to find out if some big tree was in the way of the tractors wheels. I put on my boots and sunhat and was ready for this task. Diligently I was trudging in front of the tractor. At first quite happy to fulfil this task, as there were all sorts of things happening in those weeds. Bugs and butterflies flitting past me, a tiny mouse or something similar scuttling away from my boots.
It was a big, big, big field. It seemed to me the rows were getting longer and longer until to the end of this particular field. It was not really easy walking, I had to be careful not to fall in a hole made by the water and the field was very uneven! When a big stump or an other hindrance was in the way, we had to push it away, it was really hard work. I was getting hot and hotter and sweaty. It felt like my face was on fire. I was not used to work like this. I was promising myself that this was the first and the last time to be the scout. I rather learn how to drive the tractor. I was tired, hot and had just enough. My stamina was on zero.
My pioneer days along the river bank were not successful!

This was a bad day for me. This was not grazier work, this was full on plain hard farm work.
The first corn was going to be harvested. This field was already planted by the previous owner. Our neighbour had a harvester machine. It looked like it came from a time bygone. It looked like "Tinguely's machine"! I wondered if he (Tinguely) saw this one before he built his!
The harvester started its work. It lost as much corn back into the field as landed in the bags. Next Year the corn will grow by itself if the mice, rats and birds haven't eaten it already.
The pumpkin crop seemed to do alright. Big Pumpkins round and fat, nestling between the leaves. Soon ready to be harvested. Then came the rain and the flood and goodbye Pumpkins. If they didn't drown they were happily swimming in the swirling water towards the sea. The corn was drowned too. Some could be saved. We have only once planted pumpkins and corn on the riverbank. The Australian farmers, living there since generations are much more fatalistic. They say, sometimes you win and sometimes you loose.