Tea bag avalanche

Beautifully tied with old buttons

And still they come! Tea bag strings, in a range of hues and coloured tags that are a reflection of the diversity of my friends and family and the Stirling Street Arts Centre ladies happy to support a bit of creative madness. From Liptons to Twinings, green tea to Earl Grey. Some have quizzes on their tags, some have funny quotes. tea bag tags and strings from Bunbury, Donnybrook, Warnboro, Margaret River and even some carefully collected in Eastern Europe (who strangely all seemed to be named after men!

First balls of thread

Lace

To make thread, you first have to remove all the tags. Enter  my mother. Now blind and quite restricted by arthritis,  misses her knitting and sewing and is always interested in what I am doing. I had taken my tea bag string scarf for her to 'see' and she wondered if there was someway she could help. I had a shopping bag full of tags in the car. It didn't take long for a crowd to gather to see what we were up too and as mum pulled the tags off I knotted the strings as the ladies swapped craft stories. Ever since, detagging has become a part of mums world and she gets regular deliveries from me!

Scarf

It takes 2 golf ball sized balls of thread to make a small scarf and one to make enough crocheted lace to decorate the neckline of a dress. I have no idea how many. The colours have the same subtlety of variation of the tea itself, from dark browns to cream and a few pink ones from herbal teas and the knots add texture. Use needles and hook that create a loose result - it becomes too hard to work around the knots if you work on small needles. 3-4mm work for me.The scarves are soft to touch, warm to wear... worth the effort.

String of flowers

Elder Immune Wisdom

It was bright sunshine a couple of days ago, now  it's hailing outside. It must be August. It is a surprise every year, the days begin to lengthen, everyone begins to look forward to spring, then winter really hits. The temperature has been hovering around 10 degrees  but the weather app tells us it "feels like" 5 (unless it is hailing and then it plummets close to zero. No complaints from me, I am grateful for the rain and wish I could send some of it eastwards to the drought affected farmers.

I adore days like today, a good reason to stay inside and catch up on production, study, craft projects and begin to sort and throw in preparation for true spring cleaning once the sun is back. It seems that this between seasons weather is
when our immune systems become more vulnerable and need some extra support. This summer gifted me an amazing crop of elder berries which is rare in these usually warmer climes. Stripped and dried, they had been waiting for winter. Two weeks ago, on a day rather like today, I turned them into an immune boosting syrup.I have been taking a spoonful each morning as a preventative measure and so far have avoided catching any of the colds and flu around me. The addition of some warming spices makes it easy to take and adding the cooled extraction to the honey helps conserve the properties of our unique raw bush honey.

Elder Immune Booster

2 cups rainwater
2/3 cup dried elder berries
2 tablespoons of fresh ginger, thinly sliced
4 whole cloves
4 cardamom pods, crushed
2 sticks of cinnamon bark
zest of one lemon, peeled

Place all ingredients except honey in a saucepan.
Bring to the boil.

Reduce heat and simmer on a heat proof pad until reduced to about one cup.

Allow to cool.
Press through a sieve, then strain through a muslin cloth.
Stir in equal amount of honey until dissolved.
Bottle and label with date.
Store in the refrigerator.

Dose: 1 teaspoon on an empty stomach first thing in the morning as a preventative.
1/2 - 1 tablespoon every two three hours  when symptoms occur.

Big Dig for Change

My mind and my garden have been chaotic with more than just the usual summer challenges of watering, possums, rats and other wee beasties. Repairs to the septic system have been in process....the excavating to take place between a wall and a raised garden bed with a total width of 2 metres to maneuver.

Gardens were dug out, climbing roses pruned to within an inch of their lives to allow the side boundary fence to be taken down for access through the thankfully empty neighbouring block, fences, gates, paving, pots and plants needed dealing with. Everyone close was warned and asked to shut their doors and windows  and not hang out washing for the day.

My anxiety levels rocketed as the garden was dismantled with me wearing the hats of planner, site manager, gardener, accounts person and the tea lady. Plants ten years old and more were sacrificed, others pruned to within an inch of their lives. Fences and gates lovingly painted only months ago were taken down, some damaged beyond repair.

The night before the excavator was due, I stood in the garden at dusk, looking at what we had done and instead of sadness at the destruction of years of hard work, I felt a feeling of space, boundaries coming down. An opening up of new possibilities  - room for the new and a frisson of excitement for the possibilities of change.

It's a week on,there is paving to be relaid, gates and fences to be rebuilt. A massive pile of prunings, old irrigation and the carpet that was laid to kill the kikuyu grass 17 years ago are piled on the road verge. An unexpected couple of cubic metres of clay dug from the hole will be a bonus in the sandy garden soils and there is the buzz of planning new garden beds. There is relief that the destruction phase is over and rebuilding can take its time. The stress of the costs involved, dealing with various tradesmen, excavating power and phone lines, keeping  the mess and confusion to manageable levels have faded. The fears and the uncertainty of dealing with what was, for me, a huge project have blossomed into a new confidence in my abilities. By asking questions, treating others with respect and trusting their judgement, taking care to keep the workers safe and fed, everything progressed smoothly and with good humour. Well done all of us!

Wood to water: the seasons turn

Our response to light is primal. Its change with the seasons brings a feeling of gentle disquiet, as we ease into its dictates.  Spring and autumn are energising, transitional times of change that call for a reevaluation. Yesterday, I cleaned the ash from the fireplace and removed the wood buckets. Watering replaces woodchopping, the outdoor furniture retreats into the shady spots and cooking is planned for early in the morning or after dark.

Daikon radish pods

In the garden, the days take on their own pattern. The early morning is the time to pick leafy greens and soft fruits then, as the dew evaporates, calendula and lavender flowers. Early evening, I am  harvesting the winter seed: poppies, coriander, rocket, daikon and watercress and  in a week or two will be picking pick sun warmed tomatoes and capsicums at their end of day best. There are water bowls, bird baths, pot plants and the pond that need topping up with water and rainwater tanks to monitor. The reassuring grinding as the mechanisms in watering stations turn on and off tell me my plants will survive if I am not here for a few days.

Calendulas

I monitor the flow of the river over the weir with great interest, willing it to continue as long as possible. Gently tapping the side of the tanks I check their levels to evaluate how long they will last.

The wrens and the silver eyes thank me for the a bath under the sprinkler every couple of days.The black skinks have appeared with the bobtails and I hear snakes are about too. The bush rats are into my seed buckets and I have bought them inside to clean and pack away for autumn planting. The warm nights allow us to reacquaint with the ring tailed possums and mosquitos while enjoying the music of the frogs and the moon carolling magpies. The day time chorus is of crows and kookaburras, cicadas and sandgropers.

It is a shift in awareness from wet to dry, cold to hot - a changing of clothes, diet and activities. The world expands, comes out to play to plan holidays and enjoy the beach and the forest. I am grateful for this reminder of change and renewal in nature. The seasons here may not be as dramatic as in other climates but it is there. Wherever you live and whether you will be eating pudding by the fire or lobster at the beach, I wish you all a gentle joy in the turning of the year.

Go well, now and always,

Nirala

Bush, Bog Rolls and Bikers

The new track

No apologies for today's title. 

Just after Christmas, work began on widening the southern half of the Margaret River walk trail, closing the loop along the river. It being summer holidays here meant an increase of traffic on the northern side.The new path, when it opened was shocking...a wide expanse of bare orange dust, in parts through newly cleared forest.  Two weeks later we had an unexpected downpour and our new path turned to mud.

There were grumblings amongst the regular forest users. They are an eclectic bunch, most of us know each other and our dogs, by sight, if not by name. Since The Hairy Marron, the new bike shop, opened at the bridge, the amount of mountain bike traffic on the paths has increased and walkers need to be alert.They don't have time to chat, pat the dogs or to admire the new sculptures by our rock man, who quietly creates sculptures from stones along the path that vanish within a few days. Nor the woman you will find perched on a log or a seat chanting in the early morning.

Rock man at work

At the weir, the new path has made the entrance to the southern portion more obvious and is has become a magnet for illegal campers who strew the car park with litter and the forest alongside with used toilet paper and worse.These visitors who speed through miss a lot, the strange sound of the 'nail gun' tree which leads you to think there is a building site in the forest and its mate on the south side who screeches like a possum. They don't see the bright yellow leeches who cross the path after rain and miss the wonderful giant caterpillar that turns into one of the largest moths in the forest and the shy birds that come near if you are silent. I wonder if in spring they see the orchids and the marron who crawl lazily under the bridge?

We live in paradise here, it can make you selfish. Change is often difficult. The forest has changed and more people can now appreciate it, which hopefully will mean care for it too. 

New karris to meet

The summer rain and following high winds have softened the path with fallen leaves The extreme heat has caused the karri trees to begin shedding their bark and helped it settle into the landscape. The Rotary Club has installed some benches  and the workmen have left the odd large rock along side the trail that can be used to rest a while too. We are beginning to appreciate the fact we can now walk three abreast and no longer have to watch for snakes in the damp spots close to the water (although the snakes have been seen checking out the new path too.) We have met some new trees and cheer on the Zamia palms pushing through the compacted dirt. At the end of the path, 'Hairy' welcomes us with a smile and we can appreciate their excellent coffee and the boys in bike shorts setting off on their bikes while we moan about the tourists!

Fat as my thumb and long as my finger!

Clean Green Screens

Last weekend,  as part of the celebration of Plastic Free July in Margaret River, I ran a Clean Green workshop. What a fantastic morning we had making various brews. Ten lovely women, all committed to finding safer, greener and sustainable alternatives. Morning tea in the winter sunshine was an opportunity to share ideas, solutions and alternative options for everything from plastic wrap to firelighters and everything in between. Looking around the happy places, I couldn't help but think 'I love my "office".' It got me thinking about other cleaning dilemmas.

Lovely lemon power

I have recently (bravely) become a lap top girl with a touch screen. It sits on my kitchen bench and it can get really grubby, just like the screen on the mobile. A bit of searching and I came up with an alternative to those little (plastic) bottles of clear liquid they will happily sell you at the electrical stores that will cost you cents to make.

You will need:

A clean micro fibre cloth (other cloths and paper can trap particles that may scratch your screen.)

White vinegar (not any other sort)

Distilled water (tap water contains chemicals that may harm your screen)

A clean, recycled spray bottle

Mix a brew of half /half vinegar and water and pour into the spray bottle.

Turn off and unplug your computer/phone/tablet.

Squirt a little of the mixture onto your cloth. It should be damp, not soaking.

Gently, with minimal pressure rub the damp cloth in small circles over the screen. 

If you press too hard, you may damage your screen.

If the screen is very sticky, repeat using another part of the cloth.

When the screen is smear free, use the mixture to clean the case too. 

Beautiful!

I will be repeating the Clean Green  workshop on September 4th.

Tulips and tigers

About 90km as the crow flies east and inland from here, Nannup has a frosty winter suited to plants from the northern hemisphere and each year holds the Nannup Flower and Garden Festival. The old timber town is also the home of the 'Nannup Tiger' the elusive beast featured in Tim Winton’s scariest novel, In the Winter Dark. The animal, believed by some to be a thylacine, is sometimes glimpsed or heard at night on the lonely forest roads. 

It was a delightful day with displays of tulips and daffodils, ‘tigers’, local handicrafts, photographs and vintage cars, a market and open gardens. The whole community had contributed in some way, from the kindergarten’s emu to the ladies from the CWA with their morning teas. One proud young man was showing his mothers’ friend his rather wonderful photograph that he had on display and children were mesmerised by a fairy grotto that had been created by other children amongst the displays in the Town Hall. There were many people with walkers and wheelchairs, they were able to easily enjoy the many bulbs within their reach in planter boxes along the roadside.

I have never experienced an event like that here. It is rather sad that this timber town has gone the way of the winery and the cashed up tourist. The Margaret River brand aims for the posh and trendy top dollar tourists. The locals are surfers, aging hippies, craftspeople and dairy farmers along with a transient community of casual workers and many young families. This leaves the community splintered into groups with differing agendas. The fantastic community spirit that had created the event that transformed the sleepy little town now abuzz with families enjoying the winter sunshine might exist here; I’ve yet to see it - Maybe we’ve got a ‘bit big for our boots.’

Bridges and bastards in the bush

While there was a break in the weather I took time out to check out our new bridge. Many years ago there was a lovely circular walk up one side of the river, across a log bridge up the northern bank of the river, across the weir and back along the southern path.  A few years ago the old log bridge was deemed unsafe and pushed into the water, making the circular walk impossible. It hasn’t been replaced, but we now have a new bridge across the top weir where we used to have to cross a narrow concrete wall in summer and carry our bikes across the gaps at either end, including the day I was famously lost. This was nothing compared to the two lives that were tragically lost here one winter by people trying to cross when the river was running strongly. One was a man who was trying to save his dog who had been washed off the wall.

As the burbs are filling up on the southern side of the river, the new bridge has been made wide enough to accommodate push bikes and people, and the timbers are laid cross wise so our wheels won’t get stuck like they tend to on the lower weir. It is a fabulous addition that gives us easy access to the many kilometres of good trails we have here. I still miss the old log bridge but a lovely new lookout has appeared there, you just can’t get there as part of a circuit anymore.

Our walk was spoiled only by discovering some illegal clearing in front of a house set back from the river that the owners had obviously done to give themselves clear views and access to the water. We It turns out that the person involved is a local, not a holiday home owner, which makes it seem worse as I would have expected a bit more respect as we  pride ourselves as  being a conservation conscious community.

new vandalism

old log bridge

With the floods occurring all over the world from deforestation, a few metres of vandalism on a small river in a small town may not seem a big deal. The need for a river crossing arose because people enjoy the amazing diverse flora and fauna this area has to offer, many of which are only found in this far south west corner of western Australia. Lampreys, hairy marron and giant karri trees are only a few of these unique treasures. Many people give their time freely to keep this reserve free of weed species and rubbish and the trails are maintained well enough to provide wheelchair access along much of their length. To wantonly destroy the fragile water edges that many of the water dwelling species rely on for the sake of one selfish bastard is not only deplorable, it is a slap in the face for everyone who cares for the place we so much enjoy.

That’s my rant for the week, remember to look after where you live.

Mooving on....

Since March, the shire has been invaded by cows – hefty, life size cows crafted from fibreglass and decorated by various artists.

I was a Cow Parade sceptic. Why take on a project that was originally created so that cows could appear on the streets of major cities? After all, we have plenty of the real things here and the idea of attracting even more tourists during the busy times of Easter and vintage seemed a bit silly.  The ‘local ‘artists included famous names from hundreds of kilometres away while artists who lived here were overlooked. The cows, modelled on a Swiss variety, were made in China , so not much local input there either. It all seemed a bit silly, not to mention expensive. There was subversive talk of quarantining them for foot and mouth and of arranging a similar event with an Australian native animal and much admiration was shown for the man in Brazil who brought in some fibreglass  bulls to service their cows one night. 

The cows will disappear at the end of this month, to be auctioned for charity. I will miss sniggering about the reports of cows getting people arrested for vandalism or climbing the water tower, of cows being ridden, stolen or going for a swim out to the pontoon; the delight and amazement on the faces of the children who find the cow outside the chemist shop:  the tourists asking ‘What is it with this cow thing?’; the comments by the retired farmer, worried that the cow might not get back up on her feet; the old ladies chatting to the cows while the Japanese tourists queue for a photo opportunity; by my being surprised to see yet another one lurking in an unlikely spot.

They are to be auctioned for charity at the end of the month; I hope some of the charity stays here. I’ll miss all the people watching!

The locations of these pictures include the local hardware, a street verge, the roof of the tavern, the water tank and my favourite, Rump on a Stump ( a spoof on a golden diver at one of the posh wineries), in a local park.
Life can be silly sometimes, can't it?

Reading, writing, eating

It rained most of the weekend, with that dreary drizzle that doesn't seem much until you go out in it. How perfect it was for the 'Words Uncorked' Readers and Writer's Festival this weekend. Everyone was more than happy to be inside luxuriating in provocative debate, stimulating discussions, impassioned readings, wine and food and, being Margaret River, more wine and food.

Most creative endeavor is a lonely pursuit and living in the country adds to that isolation. We were lucky enough to sit with Tony and Maureen Wheeler, founders of Lonely Planet, authors Robert Drewe, Stephen Scourfield, rap artist Miles Merrill, editors, publishers and writers too numerous to name individually. Visitors came from the city and one couple on bikes were from Switzerland.

White haired retirees sat behind young women knitting, and a girl with dreadlocks rapped along side trendily dressed high school students and shy young men who rode bikes. Drawn together with the love of the written word, the mood was mellow, participants gently excited at the beginning of each session, passionate in their applause as it finished.          

What struck me most was the respect that expressed itself in  considered attentiveness: in the way people made room for each other to speak, move and participate as equals. The event was warm and welcoming to everyone. Heading out into the damp cool Sunday night felt a little like leaving family. I am lucky enough to live here, so I see these people often. The visitors I will carry with me as words I can revisit at anytime. The joy of connection is only a book away.

I was inspired to write a poem:

I hold my breath silent between words

Grey heads lean forward, hands clasped in supplication

A barrel altar of leaves trumpet fiery red

Drawing the eye, not the ear, aside 

Words, the last sigh of autumn

Drift on the carpet below

Go well,
nirala

Busy, living in paradise

The girls walk at the beach every Monday. Today there was grey sky, lightly drizzling. The 3.5 metre swell of the weekend has been replaced with a calm smooth ocean and piles of shiny brown seaweed. The bins were full and the beach was empty apart from a lone swimmer and a figure in black practising yoga on the sand.

We have just hosted a week long surfing carnival here. The main street, the road to the beach and the bakeries that open early have all been extremely busy. Wicked vans are camped in every secluded spot around town and the ones not so secluded act like they are invisible.

Saturday night saw a concert held on the town oval that lasted nearly eight hours. The stamina of these kids that subsist on a diet of pies, juice, early mornings, extreme sports and late nights, often accompanied by alcohol, is awesome. Sunday morning all to be seen of the hundreds of party goers were a few asleep under bushes around town and a few more buying juice at the supermarket.

This is a phenomenon that happens in Margaret River at least twice a year. The locals not smitten by waves batten down the hatches and stock up on bread and milk the Thursday before while businesses keep extra staff on call.

I used to resent the intrusion to 'my town' and while the noise and rubbish do annoy me, I have come to appreciate these events that many of the local teenagers look forward to. Being three or more hours from the city, they don't often have the opportunity to party in large groups, meet new people, hear new bands and blow off steam. There is definitely an air of excitement all week - a buzz in the air from all the gorgeous young people having fun.

Today, the pace was slower. The sound disturbance from the concert had been negligible, the marquees on the point are being dismantled and the shire had extra people out on the litter run. The occupants of the last van in the car park had woken by the time we had finished our coffee and were enjoying their breakfast with the best view in the world. The one we are lucky enough to enjoy all year. We can go back to being a sleepy country town now, until Easter, any way!

Meanwhile, the garden and I are enjoying the rain,

nirala