Monday is wash day

My Mum did the family wash on a Monday, and I followed in her footsteps.  Beds are stripped, sheets changed, and all manner of unlikely objects scooped up and deposited in the wash ... such as socks, socks and more socks.

In this part of Australia it is usual to hang out the washing in the morning and bring it in later in the day; dry and ready for ironing.

Not today.  The weather forecast was for showers late in the afternoon.  With that in mind I stripped the bed before having breakfast, set the machine on Go, and left it to do its duty.  Less than half an hour later, and before the load was washed, a 'mizzle' drifted across the land; not enough to be wetting, but wet enough to dampen.  A decision was made by Significant Other ... we would take the washed clothes into the laundromat to be dried. 

That is done; I have a bundle of folded clothes ready for ironing ... however, Tuesday is ironing day!!

As I sat in the laundromat talking to another lady drying her washing, the conversation turned round to habit.  She too washed on a Monday.  And my mind slipped back to wash day for my Mum.  The copper was filled, a fire lit underneath, and the water boiled.  I am not sure of the exact process as I was banned from the wash house.  But there was always a smell of steamy soapy water.  She used a washboard [the same appliance that was later utilised by skiffle groups!], tubs of rinsing water, and a blue bag, that doubled as an aid to ease the pain of a beesting. 

How times have changed!  Now we have water running into the washing machine which in turn slips into whatever mode we have set on the dials, lights flash, water spins out, the machine refills, rinses, spins etc, and at the end the machine [well mine anyway] plays a little tune and the lights fade into oblivion.

I wonder when the day will come that an 'automatic' iron is invented?

Who are we?

I suppose that with the 'discovery' of the Higgs Boson particle there was some reason for a wandering mind.  I have little knowledge of this mysterious particle and listen, half in awe, and half in wonderment [how did they do this?] as we are assured 'we' can use this knowledge to advantage!!  Reminds me of the old saying, trust me, usually uttered by a politican offering platitudes.

My mind is sometimes perverse and travels it's own little route.  This time instead of casting forward into the far distant future, the past crept up on me ... no doubt helped by seeing, in a magazine, photos of long ago.

Most of us have a collection of photos.  I know I do, and many have been in the family for a few generations.  Some I have absolutely no idea who the models are.  I am loathe to turf them out as they might be important, a link to a past of which I am as yet unaware. 

But there is one photo that I do know about.  The elderly gentleman, with a long white beard, and piercing blue eyes, is my paternal g.g.grandfather, and thereby hangs a tale.

We were led to believe that this gentleman, who was one of the early whalers and sealers [an occupation considered a great No No today, but way back then whale oil kept the lights of the world glowing] on the South Island's southern coast of  New Zealand, came from a military family in Australia.  We even learned about him at school!!!  Now that was one moment I could proudly put up my hand and inform the class that he was my ancestor!

But the military family was but a cover ... his parents were convicts sent to Australia for petty theft.  Australia was a new colony of the British Empire and citizens were required to build infrastructure.  He had older siblings, but by the time he was born the 'powers that be' had allowed his parents to marry.  Being a convict had certain disadvantages, of which marriage was one.  The convict had to have served their time first!  Even history books on New Zealand schools were wrong.  

One day, a few years ago, another descendant of this gentleman was bitten by the ancestry bug.  The bite itched and itched, until she decided to look for a cure.  Documents were examined and facts were discovered.  He was not a 'son of the military', but a son of convicts.

Way back then shame blanketed such parentage, but today those of us who have such ancestry, can proudly claim our heritage.  Still, it is such a shame [in my today thinking] that the mammoth task performed by those convicts in building roads and bridges, towns and cities in a far off land so different from their home, and sure in the knowledge that they would have one change in a million of seeing their family again, has not gained acceptance until today. 

At last ... rain

For the several months of summer, and autumn, we dream of rain.  Sadly it seldom falls during those months, unless a storm passes through breaking branches from trees, or worse, uprooting trees, and tossing any item not tied down across the landscape.

The rain has taken longer to arrive in the west this year, although it appears to have taken up permanent residence 'over east'. 

The flower plants that had come to a complete standstill spurted ahead after an overhead shower ... not so gentle rain falling from the heavens.  The first couple of days saw them drink and grow, now flowers have appeared and the show of colour was worth waiting for.  I tried, unsuccessfully to grow salvia in New Zealand; it was too cold.  The bright cheery colour adds a certain something to a winters day.

The word cacophony I know in a intellectual manner; since the rains have arrived I know that word in its entirety.  Frogs!  All day and all night there is a chorus of frog noises.  I have no idea how many species of frogs there are in the vicinity, but from the sounds echoing around the neighbourhood I would guess at least four.  Some are high pitched, some almost musical, some raucous, and mixed together they sound like a brass band warming up their instruments and all reading from a different page of music.

We have an electric pump to pump water from the bore up to the house tank.  Each wash day I wander down the avenue, switch on the pump, and once the washing is completed [if the timing is correct] the house tank will over-flow and I will hurry back down to switch the pump off.

It was on such an occasion that the noise of frogs alerted me to their immediacy.  Two, I swear were talking to each other ... were they arranging a rendevous?  As I approached my footsteps must have alerted them for there was a sudden silence.  I stood quietly.  The conversation began.

These frogs must live in the dry soil during summer and after the first rains become active.  No matter how close I looked I could not see them ... a disappointment!  

In small depressions water lies and it is these spots that the frogs take up residence.  

Thankfully the snakes are asleep ... 'tis too cold for them!  Perhaps the frog population may increase while they have the opportunity? 

Only the ants make attempts to keep the damp out building high walls around their 'castles'.  Their labours are a certain sign of impending rain.

If you look closely you will spy an ant heading 'downstairs'.

Historical moments

The Queen, who is also Queen of New Zeland and Australia as we are part of the Commonwealth, celebrated 60 years on the throne.  How special is that! 

While there are spasmodic rumblings about a republic, momentous occasions such as the Diamond Jubilee do in most cases push those rumblings into the background.  Where else could one find such pomp and ceremony?  A boat ride on the Thames in the pouring rain and still Subjects turn out to witness the moment.  People from New Zealand and Australia would have been in that throng.

Yet there was another momentous occasion that occured yesterday.  The Transit of Venus!  Living in today we are lucky to observe this transit, though sadly the overcast skies in this part of Australia made that impossible, as the next one is not scheduled until 11th Decemver 2117, which even for the most optimistic of us, is a tad after our lifetime.

While many would think there is absolutely no connection between the Queen and the Transit, let me assure you there is an important link, a link that had it not happened would have left those of us now residing in the 'colonies' not speaking English.  Indeed, we probably would not be living here at all.

In 1769 the great English explorer, James Cook, set sale from Plymouth to observe the Transit of Venus in the South Seas, whereupon reaching Tahiti on 13th April 1759, making observations of, the once in over 100 years, Transit of Venus on 3rd June.  He sailed west charting first of all much of New Zealand, and then a large part  of the east of the vast continent of Australia, raising the English flag and claiming both countries as British territories.

As a remarkable coincidence, on this particular Transit of Venus, the Queen of England and the Commonwealth celebrated 60 years on the throne ... two moments in history intertwined with the past.

Native Wolves and Market Day

The month of May disappeared in a flurry of ?  I have no idea, though we did have visitors for a few days and the need to have a 'general tidy up' before their arrival accounted for a couple of days.  Why I persist in having a general tidy up for visitors escapes my Significant Other ... but then again women and men think differently! 

This morning, the first Saturday of the month, was once again Market Day for our nearest town.  We arrived almost too early as several of the stalls were still in the process of being set up.  Down the far end of the Town Park our favourite stall was ready for business.  There the most delicious, and reasonably priced, home baking and jams are sold.  While there is no standing order, we always buy an apple pie, with little pastry leaves for decoration, and a carrot cake iced and decorated with generous walnut halves.  Significant Other prefers what I dub 'Men's Stalls', you know the ones that sell metal things ... gardening tools, tools for fixing cars and other, to me, uninteresting pieces of metal.

While I browsed the DVD's for sale the dog tied to the table-leg barked as he dared another small dog, in a handmade coat, to enter his territory.  Laughingly the dog, named Mr Alfred, mistress said he was jealous of the handmade coat.  Mr Alfred is a rather rotund King Charles Cavalier Spaniel, and did not object at all to a pat from me. 

A trip to the chemist left me sitting in the vehicle waiting.  The local owner of several Native Wolves, also known as Dingoes, pulled in alongside and he entered the Chemist.  Within two minutes one of the Native Wolves set up a strange eerie howling, such as one would expect to hear in the wilds of Canada or Alaska!  The other soon joined in!  It felt like being on a movie set making it not difficult to imagine a brown bear crashing through the Bougainvillea growing on the verandah posts of the shopping complex.

The owner of the Native Wolves returned, and, laughingly, I called out that he had been gone too long and the dogs were missing him.

That small comment began a fascinating conversation about Dingoes ... this chap is writing a book about his 30-years experience with these Native Wolves. 

As is the case Significant Other returned and the conversation switched to more mundane male topics.  Even the dogs became disinterested and began their howling again.  Seeing an opportunity to become better acquainted with these animals I asked permission to pat them.  Permission was given to pat one ... what an amazing experience!!  After initially sniffing me [I had forgotten that Mr Alfred and I had become friends earlier, and no doubt that smell was still on my hands], this friendly Native Wolf almost drooled as I patted his long nose and smooth head, sitting down to allow me to touch more of him.

Dingoes have no doggy smell, and while there are too many bad stories in circulation about their destructive behaviour to farm animals, in reality it is the half-breed [half dog/half dingo] that cause many of the problems.

My morning was more rewarding that I could have imagined!!  I look forward to the book that is being written being published and for sale.

Take a chance

At some stage in life we need to take a chance.  OK, I will admit I was a shy child, and not that outgoing until my mature years when I moved to another country ... perhaps it was then that the expectations others had of me dissipated?

Moving from New Zealand to Australia was probably an exercise in taking a chance.

This morning I took another chance!  The weather forecast was for showers and/or rain, though with meteorology speak one is left wondering the difference.  A habit I cannot throw away is the need to wash clothes on a Monday ... change the bed [though if I were a rich person I would employ a maid to change the bed each day, wash the sheets and hang them over lavender bushes to dry ... I am not rich, so once a week has to suffice], and wash any item of clothing or towels that dared look slightly needy.

I peered at the sky as daylight broke.  The signs were not good, but the dark clouds seemed high. 

Greatly daring [!!!] I took a chance.  Only last week a new purchase was undertaken ... a washing machine to replace the elderly model that needed a lot of hand assistance.  In all honesty I have only used it once, and really needed to test its efficiency with sheets.

Washing on the line we headed into town as there were parcels to post, mail to collect, and the newspaper and milk to purchase.

Oh dear!  On the outskirts of town huge plops of water splattered on the windscreen.  The umbrella was at home, and more importantly, the washing was still on the line.  Please do not let the rain parade on my washing!!  When coming out of the Post Office the heavens opened; rain poured down like a housewife straining the potatoes. 

In a small town everyone is friendly and the one topic of conversation appeared to be, "I have washing on the line!"

There is nothing that I could do.  We headed home.  The road was wet, trickles of water running like syrup over a piece of sponge showed just how much rain had come down.  Then, less than half a kilometer from home the road showed dry ... no rain had fallen. We were protected by the hills.

Maybe my chance shouldn't have been taken, but at least the washing is in ... tomorrow will be an ironing morning.  And yes, the washing machine coped well, as it should.

Then the rain came down

After months of searing heat followed by blustery wind Autumn has arrived.  The break [a period of rain] that farmers pray for to allow them to successfully sow their crops usually arrives sometime between end of April and mid-May.  We had 8mm of rain last weekend but still the dust rose. 

Yesterday the normally brighter than bright blue skies were a dull grey, and this morning thunder rumbled around the hills.  We headed into town early ... the 'first Saturday of the month' Market Day was being held, and who could miss purchasing a scrumptious carrot cake and apple pie from Marg's stall!?  I refilled my olive oil bottle from the growers of olives ... fresh and pure olive oil.

A heavy shower slowed our trip into town, though there appeared to be more rain at home than there.  The electricity was off!  Again!  For three hours ... I didn't care; washing was done, ironing was completed, the floors vacuumed last night ... a break in electricity supply didn't worry.

As the trees tossed in the 'fresh' wind, fresh being a 'scientific' word for not quite strong and used frequently by those who predict the weather, and huge droplets of water fell from the sky, and lightning rent the air I wondered about My Birds, the Tawny Frogmouth pair.  They were in the tree when I checked after breakfast.

Later I wandered over to check on My Birds ... one had moved to better shelter under a branch, and peered dow at me with curiousity, although they are well aware of who I am, and the other still where it was earlier. 

The grass is beginning to grow!  A patchy green carpet is pushing upwards from the earth.

Autumn has arrived!  The garden will not need watering today!