Letters

We often hear it said 'He is a person of letters' meaning he is of an intellectual persuasion. 

 

But ... there are those other people of letters who literally write letters regularly, to family, to friends, to acquaintances, letters of complaint, thank you letters, and letters of apology.  To me folk who put pen to paper, or in the modern idiom, fingers on keyboard and print out [which is eminently more readable in many cases] are the true people of letters.

 

Sadly people of letters are becoming a rarer breed.  Although the Internet offers several ways of communication much is fly-by-night; fluffy and following the thoughts of the millions of that moment.  Some, thankfully, is interesting and well worth sitting down to read and appreciate.

 

As a child I liked to write letters; more importantly I loved to receive letters, and it soon became evident that to receive a letter one had to first write one, or at least reply.  Aunts and Uncles became my main targets as they were as thrilled to receive my scribbles as I was to receive their replies.    Thus a lifetime of letter writing was nurtured.

 

When my parents departed this world I took it upon myself to become the 'family correspondent'; after all my only brother had left pen and paper behind upon completing his school days, though [said in a whisper] when he was courting he did write letters.  Those letters were composed at the kitchen table with a lot of input from myself and our parents.  To this day I am sure the recipient was not aware of how public his letters were. 

 

Elderly relatives died and my list of correspondents faltered.

 

Then I discovered pen-pals!  People from across the ocean wishing to correspond with folk of like minds.  By this stage a portable typewriter became my main tool of keeping in touch, and on a Saturday afternoon with the children either in bed, or at the swimming pool, and husband occupied in his shed, or in the garden, the kitchen table took on the appearance of an office.  The number of pen-pals altered as other activities captured their attention more than writing. 

 

Many of those letters had small booklets enclosed and these little treasures held the names and addresses of other pen-pals wanting to increase their circle of friends.  Fun!  Did I want a pal in this particular country or would I prefer one there?  All the time the cost of stamps was kept forefront; after all the grocery money had to be adjusted to fit in overseas postage.

 

Letters passed to and fro; photos of children; snippets of a life lived in another country added to the tapestry of my life.

 

Time marches on; the Internet arrived, and slowly, one by one many of those letter writers fell by the wayside and emails were exchanged.  Emails that were jokes, or fripperies; not letters that could be read and re-read.

 

But, some of us keep up the old tradition of letter writing [or letter typing and printing out, complete with photos] and today I have just written two such letters.  Page upon page of what I hope the recipient at the other end will find interesting. 

 

I do wonder how, in say 100 years, people will communicate?  Will mail be delivered into mailboxes?  Will pen and paper, or typewriter and printer be  normal, or will everyone send a text ... minus the vowels?

Old is new is old

Most mornings I read the free on-line headlines in the newspaper that was once my daily newspaper, The Otago Daily Times, as I like to keep up with what is happening 'at home'.

 

This morning's smaller headline spread a smile on my face.  From the article I gleaned that knitting is making a comeback in Otago where I hasten to add, wool is the most suitable fibre for winter wear.  In my 'mother' days I knitted; kept five children in knitted jerseys, and when the need arose knitted for myself and my husband.  Knitting was what I did at night with one eye on the television; knitting occupied any spare moment during the day, and a wool shop was a goldmine. 

 

Upon my departure to Australia and needing to keep the number of 'things' I brought with me, taking into account where I might live and how much space I may have, and just how much of my decades of accumulation were important enough to transport. High on the list, in fact very high on my list, were knitting needles. 

 

 Over the years my collection of knitting needles had grown ... bamboo ones [wasn't too keen on them as the action of knitting split the bamboo leaving me feeling as though I had swallowed a fly]; plastic needles that bent like palm trees in a storm, steel needles that pierced the eardrums as they click-clacked against each other.  My Mother did not like knitting, though she did through necessity; her reason being the click clack, click clack.  My favourite needles were, and still are, plastic coated steel lined.  Soft gentle click clacking, and they come in pretty colours.

 

I have a collection of knitting wool that needs getting into ... unfortunately the temperature in Australia is much warmer than South Otago and the need for woollen garments less.  I do still knit, mainly for new arrivals though a cardigan half completed in a bag will be finished and worn ... next year perhaps?

 

 The newspaper article reminded me of the hours I had spent knitting as I pondered upon the thought that knitting is almost a pastime of the past.  Perhaps knitting will show a resurgence, and once again women will pick up the needles, knit something they can wear, and feel rather pleased with the result.

 

Oh ... it isn't just women who knit.  My bachelor uncle who was a keen cricketer and bowler [indoor and out] knitted jumpers for the cooler days when he played sport.  It was he who showed me a great way to cast on, a method I use to this day.

Deep down I hope knitting, and other skills from last century, will once again be taken up, and fashion is once again dictated by those who put time and effort and their own particular stamp on a design.

Beautiful Iris

Much of my life I lived in complete ignorance of Garage Sales; that changed when I moved into my present home.  Significant Other is an avid Garage Sale viewer and slowly this harmless addiction has crept into my psyche.  One need not always purchase!  One should always look ... and common sense should always prevail.

 

Saturday mornings see us driving into town armed with The Rag, our local once-a-week newspaper, advertising when and where that day's garage sale can be found.

 

Many of the folk who regularly seek out garage sales are the same week to week; a kind of camaraderie exists, though there are a few who have their eye only on bargains.

 

Yesterday was a diamond day; well an Iris day.  The goods were spaciously laid out and there in the middle of a table sat a gorgeous Iris article.  From the distance I assumed [wrongly! one should never assume as a tutor once told me, to assume makes an ass out of u and me] this delectable looking article was pottery.  The price would probably be more than what I had in my purse.  But ... luck was on my side!  This tin, with a lid, was in perfect condition and became mine for the princely sum of 50c.  Now that is a great bargain.  You may wonder how I will use it ... I am not sure, but never worry; I will find a use, and a space for it.

 

Melons

When living in New Zealand melons were considered exotic [by our family at least ... they were expensive and therefore never appeared on our menu].  You can imagine my utter surprise when whilst exploring an old mining site at Lake Austin, [Western Goldfields, Western Australia] I noticed melons growing, their spreading tendrils offering ripe fruit for the wild life. 

As I exclaimed and oohed and aahed, taking photos to record this wondrous discovery, my companion proffered the news that these melons were nothing more than weeds.  Stunned as I was, that did persuade me to seek other opinions ... all answers were the same; these melons were Paddy melons and not even suitable for jam.

 

I will never forget my excitement at my first sighting though!

 

Back at the hotel, where I worked, we were short of fruit for 'the boys' lunches.  The Boss suggested melons.  Where did one purchase melons when one lived in a small Outback town with one general store?

 

The Boss replied, "From the garden!"

 

Did we have a garden?  Where was it?  I had lived there for several months and to the best of my knowledge there was no garden.  The Boss went outside and brought in a huge water-melon!!  I will not divulge its growing position, suffice to say it was well fertilised. 

There were several melons growing in the garden and were a welcome addition to the hotel's menu which suffered slightly by the unavailability of fresh fruit and vegetables as our supplies arrived once a week.

 

Later, as I moved south, melons once again sprung on my horizon.  Not luscious juicy water melons, but small prolific paddy melons!  Over the past several years I have pulled out, chopped off, removed all paddy melons I could find on this block.  My diligence has paid off as the melon population has dried up.

 

However the neighbour is not as diligent and his paddock houses a veritable crop of melons ... all very ripe and full of seeds just waiting to be dispersed to continue the cycle. 

 Because of the close proximity of the two properties it appears that some hand weeding may still be necessary when the rains come and the seeds are scattered hither by wild-life.

March, and its still hot

Summer is still with us!  I was speaking to a neighbour at the weekend and she mentioned that we had not had rain since mid October.  The four or five drops we have had recently were not counted; indeed I am not sure if there were four or five drops, as they evaporated the moment they hit the ground, which is tinder dry with a covering of what resembles straw.

 

The gum trees are bending under the lack of moisture with many branches dragging on the ground.  For one the ground was too far down.  A stressed branch bent and cracked; two days later it succumbed to the heat and collapsed on the ground, not far from where our vehicle is often parked.  The branch was towed to the woodpile in readiness for cooler weather and the saw.

 

 

While taking the photos I could not help but hear the galah population as they call to each other in the trees.  At this time of year a favourite occupation of galahs is to strip leaves from the white-barked gum trees.  This is not an act of vandalism as in spring new growth springs from the almost naked branch.  Indeed, I would go as far to say that the galah population acts to protect the trees and ensures they spring into new growth when rain and temperature combine to provide suitable conditions.

Close to my clothes line the tawny frog mouth's take refuge from the heat, perching in the lower branches of an old tree until the heat drives them to seek a cooler spot.  Can you see the tawny frog mouth keeping cool near the base of the tree?  His camouflage is excellent.

 

In the meantime life continues ... politicians make political statements; bad parenting is exhorted on talk-back, cricket takes on a life of its own, and ordinary folks like us aim to keep as cool as possible.

 

Those residing on other parts of this planet pray for less rain, less snow, less wind ... summer is on their minds.

Black lizard

Living in the country brings many creatures close to our doorstep; creatures that those dwelling in cities may never sight.

 

Last year Other Half called me outdoors.  I hurried but too late; the lizard he had spied on the lower branch of a gum tree had hidden, where we were not sure, but certainly away from human eyes.  We have lizards around; in late spring and early summer blue tongue lizards treat our space as their space, and before Christmas a junior blue tongue appeared regularly in the kitchen for a treat ... he [I am calling this lizard a he as it showed no fear] loved canned peaches, would eat pears, but disliked pineapple leaving it on the piece of cardboard that served as a plate, until ants found it.  After the first time when a column of ants descended, marching like troops into battle, in search of the sweet smelling fruit I made certain the cardboard plate was removed.  Who wants ants in the kitchen?

 

Moments ago, as I headed out the door I was startled by a sudden black movement.  I looked!!  There, scuttling as fast as he could go towards the power pole, and safety, was a very long tailed black lizard.  And yes there was a photo opportunity.

 

 

You can see the end of its tail at the bottom of the photo. 

A New Year

Today is Australia Day, which means January is all but over.  While it arrived calmly in lovely weather, the last couple of weeks have shown us that the sun's rays are indeed warming.  We bask roast in temperatures in the 40's when any type of outside work is a no-no.  We have had one day when the temperature indoors reached 46°, several when it hovered around 45°, and many more when just above 40° was normal.  Needless to say sleep is fitful, what seems gallons of water are consumed just to see it ooze from the pores and settle as a dampness on all parts of the body.  Clothes are dripping wet, two showers a day essential ... and to say that I am looking forward to March would be an understatement!

 

But this Australia Day is a milestone day in the life of my daughter, who earlier in the day pledged allegiance to Australia ... she is now an Australian citizen.  To mark the occasion I made a wall-hanging, 'A home among the gum trees', which she should receive once normal postal deliveries resume after the long weekend break.

 

I did take some photos the evening of the day when the temperatures reached the mid-forties ... for a few short moments the sky was glowing; not from the bush fires that prevailed further south, but from the dust particles in the atmosphere. 

Today I am staying indoors partly because I have sewing to do, and partly because the endless heat soon depletes my reserves and I seriously have no desire to dehydrate myself with careless behaviour!