Looking Up

Two weeks ago I was enjoying the verdancy produced by the late September rains, while worrying it would not be enough to break the drought.  196 mm of rain later (almost 8 inches) and two almost continuous weeks of low cloud, rain, and dampness creeping into everything, and the lake is overflowing, the creek is carrying tons of water over the Falls towards Lake Burragorang, and life is flourishing.  The true owners of our Spring garden are now over-running all corners of it.....

The constant downpours sent many of the marauding molluscs up the tree trunks, but the flood they were fleeing did not eventuate, and now they are coming back down to munch on the tastier parts of the vegetation.....

The rain of this month alone has deposited almost 600,000 litres of water - 600 tons - on our property, and more is seeping in from the places uphill.  The frogs are calling in great numbers, the birds are excited, and I am jumping at sudden skittering noises among the leaves, as I walk around the place. 

After encountering that Copperhead a few weeks ago, my snake-alertness levels have risen.  Also rising fast are the numbers of tiny Skinks that are seeking warmth and food in every corner of the garden.  So far, the rustling and skittering has all been from those tiny, scaly slivers of lizard, dashing for cover as I crash about.  Their parents and grandparents seem to know me well enough not to bother spoiling their sunbaking when I pass, but the tiny ones seem to fear everything that moves - and rightly so, as many of our birds would see them as a perfect snack for the squalling nestlings constantly calling for food, and the smaller snakes, too, would not pass up such opportunities.

When I walk to the village in the mornings, I often pass some time chatting with our local baker - if that is the right term, as he does a lot more than just bread and pastries.  He has been cooking german style food in the same place for decades, and is known well beyond this neighbourhood.  The other morning, as he was opening the big, canvas umbrellas that shelter the outdoor tables between his front door and the street, he told me that one of the things he loves about Australia is that, no matter what the season, he always has flowers in his garden.

He's right - we live in a wonderfully fortunate place.  His home town was somewhere well into the hills and forests of Bavaria, and he has often told tales of the great depths of snow that would pile up around and upon the buildings.  At times, it was possible to open a window on the upper floor of his mother's house and step straight out onto level snow.  That depth of cold is unthinkable to someone like me, who grew up on the Cumberland Plain, and was astounded if there was frost on the lawn.

Here in the Blue Mountains, which most Sydney-siders regard as the cold place up the other end of the M4 Motorway, we see seasonal waves of brilliant blossom roll through our gardens, providing highlights above and amid a constant flourishing of so many different plants, native and exotic.  In fact, the poorest time for blossoms is late Summer, when even the "cold" mountains can wilt under 35 to 45 degree (Celsius) heatwaves, and week-long blasts of hot wind from the interior of the continent.

Still, late Summer is a great time for the Roses, and, in my back garden, there will usually be a sea of yellow as the Pumpkins - intentional and self sown - make their annual dash for immortality, and keep the bees happy in the process.  It is a wonderful world we live in, may we all treat it kindly.