Something new in the garden.

For a couple of days over the Easter weekend my back gardens were noisy and busy with grandchildren, climbing trees, hunting yabbies, chasing butterflies, and generally having all the fun that children have when given time and space, and freedom to use both as they wish.  At some point the noise changed - a rhythmic tapping joined the more chaotic background noise of children enjoying a large lawn on a sunny day.

Somehow the ten year old - the oldest child present on that weekend - had dragged a small pallet up into the willow tree by the poultry run, and had begun securing it in a space between four large branches. She had made a ramp out of spare planks to help her get the pallet into the fork, her grandmother had raided my workbench for a hammer and nails, and construction of a tree house had begun.

A few months earlier, it had been a tipi by the creek, using fallen branches and prunings gathered from various corners of the gardens.  I am always intrigued by the things the children will do, make, and build, when they are left to their own devices - even the most screen-fascinated cousin could not resist the siren call of other children enjoying the outdoors.  One child with a good idea will quickly attract a crowd of helpers and collaborators.

Before the tree house, there had been chalk art on the deck, and a group effort gathering firewood for Grandma's campfire - though there was an ulterior motive in that, as they know Grandma usually has a packet of marshmallows tucked away somewhere in the pantry.

When the children have gone back to their respective homes, the garden can seem quiet - but never for long.  Stand still and listen - myriad small, piping voices and fluttering wings tell of the arrival of an uncountable flock of Silvereyes (Zosterops Lateralis), pausing for refreshments in my garden as they migrate north for the winter.

They are uncountable simply because they are never still for more than a second or two as they flit and whirl from fisssured bark, to twig, to branch, searching under every leaf for the tiny morsels - aphids, scale insects, ants, tiny grubs, moths - that they need to fuel their journey.  How something so tiny can travel so far is truly a wonder - and in spring they will pass through on their way back to their nesting places.  For a while, the flock descended on my cabbages, and it was wonderful to behold the way each bird searched the top and bottom of every cabbage leaf, delicately cleaning it of all pests.  Then, with a sudden outcry, they fled into the trees along the creek, as a pair of screeching cockatoos raced overhead.

Soon, it will be red-browed finches flocking through the gardens, and when they are gone, the fairy wrens will have the place almost to themselves again, as the first frost and snow descends to change the season. Not long after that, the magpies and currawongs will be gathering grass and twigs for spring nesting.  Even now, before winter has arrived, the satin bower bird can be heard rehearsing his repertoire as he begins to stake out a territory against the return of warmer weather.