Wonders Unseen in Plain Sight

A few months ago, Spring seemed to have arrived early, but when the calendar rolled on into October, Winter reclaimed our Mountains.  The rains we had wished for so fervently began to seem endless - the parched grass and gardens suddenly flourished in a tide of verdancy and blossom, and lower parts of our yard began to squelch underfoot - the frogs loved it, though, as did our Magpie landlords, when the earthworms were forced up to the surface to swim for high ground.

Now, as the final month of Spring approaches, and the soft green leaves burst from the twigs of Plane and Oak and Alder, Summer has charged onto the scene, and the many scaly and feathered denizens of our little vale are getting their sunbaking done early, before the sun begins to bite too hard.

Earlier, as I walked to the village shops, I found one of our resident Magpies "spread-eagled" on a patch of dry mulch at the foot of the hedge.  For one horrified moment I looked at a pile of ruffled, outstretched, black and white feathers that looked like it had been put to its rest with a cricket bat, but as soon as I spoke, his head rose.  He looked over one fluffed up shoulder as if to say "do you mind?" and settled back to his repose in the sunshine.  He was in the shade when I returned, quietly practicing a tune for future display.

I was reminded of a thought that comes to me around this time every year.  What a wonder it is to be able to walk down a tree-shaded avenue when the sun is casting so much heat in my direction; if it weren't for those delicate green membranes that stretch out from twig and branch to capture that sunlight, life would be far less pleasant.

The sunlight that would make the pavement too hot to walk upon, or sear the grass and herbs that lurk in the coolness beneath the spreading tree-branches, is caught and broken up by that fragile leaf. 

Some is thrown back into the air to give us the lush greens that delight our eyes, and some is locked up in chemical bonds that join simple molecules of water and carbon dioxide into basic sugars, a result of the photosynthetic micro-factories that make up so much of each leaf.

How much of that heat does a leaf gather from the sunlight and conceal in the valence bonds of the sugar it creates? 

Put a match to a dried leaf, or to a pile of leaves, come Autumn, and warm your hands by the flame for a while - quite a bit, isn't it? The leaves feed the twigs and branches, and build a world so different from the one that would exist without them.  Truly wonderful stuff, all that heat captured and stored safely for future use as food for caterpillars, or sheep, or cattle - or as mulch to nourish and nurture other plants.

When the Landlords Come Calling

Along with Drop Bears, deadly spiders, poisonous snakes, and sharks that queue up for their turn to eat surfers, one of the most internationally known and feared denizens of the plethora of lethal Aussie wildlife is the magpie.  Aussies as well as tourists are brought up on a diet of stories that paint magpies, like snakes, as aggressive beasts that are waiting for any opportunity to attack.

Take my own example, in the picture below, of what can happen if the hapless Aussie homeowner makes the mistake of leaving the screen door open for even a few seconds......

Well, in truth, it is an instance of just how intelligent these birds are.  Though they try very hard to seem fearsome when defending their nestlings for a few months each year (and yes, injuries have happened, eyes damaged, blood drawn) for the most part they are, if spoken to the right way, friendly, happy birds who get along well with humans - albeit on their own terms.  They had seen me outside, had spoken to me, and I had spoken back.  When I came inside to find some food for them, they followed.  When I pointed out the door and told them to go outside, they did.  Do they speak English?  I doubt it - but they seem to read intent from tone of voice, body language, and gesture, just as cats and dogs seem to do.

As for ferocity - I have seen them chased off the veranda rail by a brown cuckoo dove who felt he had more right to be there, and have watched them playing tag with toddler grandchildren.  The magpies in the picture are part of a family that we refer to as our landlords.  Our house is one of several within their territory.

They regularly fly down to our front door and sing to us until offered a little bit of minced meat - our rent, so to speak.  From their vantage point at the kitchen window they can see where the mince is kept - in the refrigerator - and as soon as we go to the frig to get it out, they become excited, and shift their position to the front door.  If we are too slow to respond, they will fly to other windows, looking in, and sometimes gently tapping on the glass.

Magpies can remember individual human faces for years, and will learn new songs from humans who still retain the skill of whistling.  I have found them, during the warmer parts of the day, sitting in a shady spot, practicing not only their regular, beautiful carolling, but also the songs of other birds from around the neighbourhood.

As well as the magpies, there are doves, rosellas, wattle birds, kookaburras, butcher birds, currawongs, king parrots, honey-eaters, ducks, and a swirl of other little birds, that all come, at some time or another, to sit on our veranda rail, or fossick through our gardens in pursuit of sustenance and shelter.

They are not pets - we don't own them.  If anything, they own us - a part of us, at least, that would be less without their company.  They seem to grow used to our presence, and to be able to identify our normal patterns of behaviour.  The magpies, for example, long ago learned to follow me into the garden if I am carrying a fork or hoe.  They will stand only inches away from my boots, waiting to pounce on any worm or grub that my digging turns up.

The king parrots are another remarkable bird, and I suspect they have a memory and intelligence every bit as good as that of the magpies.  They, too, address their communications directly to whichever of us is present - looking us in the eye and using particular whistles and calls.

It is a source of great pleasure and joy to have the company of these creatures.  They come and go according to their own schedules and priorities, but they seem to know us as having our own place withing their territories.  We seem to have been classified as fellow inhabitants of the natural space they dwell in, instead of being regarded as predators.

The Wonderful Serendipity of the Library Shelf

For one reason or another, I was browsing at one of our local libraries (I might have been working, or just filling in a few minutes) and, not for the first time, became the beneficiary of that wonderful serendipity that swirls about the shelves. After a couple of weeks of being busy with all sorts of work and family issues, a quick browse of the non-fiction shelves put me in temporary possession of a brace of books that carried within their covers both hope and inspiration.

One, small enough to fit in my coat pocket, was What W.H.Auden Can Do For You, by Alexander McCall Smith.  At 137 pages it seems a quick and easy read, but is worth taking time over - a chapter or two each day, followed by some thoughtfullness and gratitude, and perhaps a diversion into the whole poems from which the various excerpts contained in these chapters have been taken.

Gratitude is a theme addressed by so many poets, preachers, and philosphers, from Horace through Marcus Aurelius, and on to Auden himself;  gratitude that often arrives all unexpected, lighting up an  otherwise dark time.

In the final chapter of McCall Smith's book there is a quote from Horace that reminded me just how fortunate I am, and which took me at once out into the garden and wood which I so love, and within which I so often find peace and inspiration........

This is what I had prayed for: a small piece of land
With a garden, a fresh flowing spring of water at hand,
Near the house....
It's perfect.  I ask for nothing else, except to implore,
O Son of Maia, that you make these blessings my own,
For the rest of my life....

Auden wrote something similar only a couple of millenia later, in his "Thanksgiving for a Habitat"....

....I, a transplant.... at last am dominant
Over three acres and a blooming
Conurbation of country lives.......
.....................
What I dared not hope or fight for
is in my fifties, mine, a toft-and-croft
where I needn't, ever, be at home to
those I am not at home with...... 

 Each of us needs a spot we can claim as our own safe place, a place where we need not keep the company would not wish to keep.  We own it, or borrow it; we may be a caretaker, or squatter, or regular visitor - but we need that place we can feel grateful for, in which we can feel gratitude.

We won't be immune from unexpected visitors, but they are more likely, there, to be visitors whose company and conversation we can enjoy.....

Did I say that serendipity had granted me two fascinating tomes from the same shelves?  What of the other, you ask?  How much do you know about Paul Otlet?  No, me neither.  How can it be that none of my teachers or instructors or colleagues ever mentioned this man?  To be continued........