(tales from the birdgirl)
I’ve been slack with my bike-riding over the last few months,
for a number of reasons that I won’t go into here.
But in late October I finally took another ride through the vineyards.
And it was worth every puff and pant up and down those hills.
Yes, I’m hooked once more!
Native plants and vegetation are my passion.
(We all know that.)
So you won’t be surprised when I say I haven’t always been the hugest fan of roses.
They’re not native to Australia.
Sometimes they seem overblown to me, and showy — blowsy, even.
But once a year, the rose bushes outside a library I visit frequently put on quite a show.
Somehow, these roses please even my curmudgeonly spirit.
They are, simply, quite lovely.
They bring joy, not just into my day …
but into my very soul.
I think I’m slowly joining the rose-lover’s world …
In late October, I went for another bushwalk.
In blossom were fan flowers:
muntries:
and those papery, daisy-like flowers, the common everlastings:
I encountered other inhabitants of the area, too —
many of them.
It was mid-morning — grazing time, I think, before the sun gets too hot.
I don’t like disturbing roos:
when threatened, they can be aggressive, especially if they are guarding joeys.
And besides, I’m aware that I’m on their territory, not vice versa.
So I stepped away and left them happily to it …
… Do you think it’s comfortable in that pouch?
It doesn’t look it to me!
On one of my favourite bike rides,
I pass an empty field outside a GP clinic.
Most of the year, it’s just a bare field with long, uncut grass.
But in spring, it changes.
Such deceptive beauty!
These flowers, heralding from South Africa,
are considered weeds here.
They’ve spread far and wide, pushing out our own native flowers.
It’s hard not to admire them, though —
their abandoned spread;
their cheerful, bright colours …
… and their faces uplifted to the sun.
I took a walk through the bush again in late September.
Skinks rustled through the undergrowth.
Whistlers burbled; shrike thrushes sang; blue fairy-wrens and fantails darted about.
And there were wild flowers everywhere, including common fringe-myrtles;
paper flowers;
smooth rice-flowers;
and grevilleas.
Every month brings a new season in the bush.
Every month brings a new, different kind of joy.
Last year, I didn’t have much luck with my irises.
They sent up shoots, but there were no flowers.
This year …
… Yes that’s right —
there was one lone iris in amongst all the green shoots.
One is better than none, right?
Soup from my father’s kitchen
During winter, my father cooks up a weekly batch of vegetable soup,
which he and my mother eat for lunch each day.
The soup flavours vary —
pumpkin one week, tomato the next, broccoli and green bean the next.
And he always sets aside some for me.
Winter’s well behind us now, of course.
(In the first week of October,
the temperatures soared over 30 degrees Celsius.)
But I’m still enjoying my father’s soup,
which is tasty, warming and good …
… and which he makes, always, with love.
It’s that time of year again … at last.
