The Maroon Diaries

Upon considering my previous post, I felt that the special tree right in front of my home deserved a bit more of an introduction. I've lived so close to her for so long that she has really become a part of the household in her own right. She does protect me directly from the sun and the rain, and beyond that, I feel she has a spiritual guardianship role to this little spot. And yet I still don't know her name. I don't know the proper names of a lot of the plants up here, as they are different to the ones I know from the southern states. As for her personal name, as kind as she is to me, she hasn't chosen to share that with me yet. So she's just the Tree, with a capital letter to distinguish her from all the other trees. When I first arrived, you couldn't exactly tell there was a tree there, so much as infer its existence by the presence of branches poking out of the top of an enormous tangle of weeds. An afternoon's work and a five-foot pile of compost lat...

This is the view from the door of my new home, looking out. Yes, I know. How can I still call it my new home when I've been here more than a year and half now? But something strange is happening to my sense of time as I get older. It was when one year had passed that I got the feeling of really having arrived, of my body knowing that it doesn't live in the city any more. I feel like I'm just starting to get properly set up and organised now. It seems to me now that you have to spend a full year, a full cycle of the seasons, in a place to really know it. Maybe when I get to the second year, this won't be my 'new' home any more. The beautiful tree provides shade in the space immediately in front of the hut, a godsend on hot, sunny days. It's a real faerie tree with lots of deep, mysterious holes in its trunk wherein the otherwordly may dwell - not to mention an astonishing variety of plant and fungal life forms. And just beyond that, you'll see...

I went out early today to give the garden a good drink before it got hot. According to the weather website, it's 41.6 degrees Celsius right now. That's over a hundred degrees in the old money. Positively ghastly. (Question. Why doesn't my keyboard have a degrees symbol? It would be most useful.) This morning, I harvested my first ever zucchini that I've grown myself. I was soooo excited. It's a yellow zucchini, because differently coloured vegetables are more fun. I'm sure I feel as proud of it as if it were a baby. But it's not a baby. It's a zucchini. So I cut it up into tiny pieces and cooked it. I think we'll call today's creation Yellow Zucchini and Corn Fritters. Yum. And there's plenty more where that came from. Last full moon, the sky was clear and the light was bright. It was a perfect time for harvesting some magickal herbs. In particular, the sage and the lemon balm were getting a bit unruly and crowding ou...

Some time ago, probably close to a year ago now, I put some sprouting potatoes into my garden, just to see what would happen. The most likely outcome, I figured, would be that anything that grew would be eaten by our rabid backyard wildlife... and I was right, but not completely. First, the sprouts grew into handsome little potato plants. They were looking so healthy and robust - and then one day they weren't there anymore. Yes, munched right off. I strongly suspect the possum was responsible, but I don't actually have an eyewitness account of the incident so I will refrain from making a formal allegation. Time went on, the sun shone and the rains fell - and the potato plants sprouted back up again. They would get to a respectable size and then be mercilessly devoured down to the ground. After this went on for a while, the sprouts stopped coming back up, and I figured that was the end of that little experiment. I got quite a surprise, some months later, when the sprouts reapp...

Recently I posted this short post introducing my local resident possum when I actually thought to get my camera out while he was conveniently positioned in a good viewing area. In trying to answer Ruthie's question in the comments - are they friendly? - I got a bit carried away for the confines of a comments box and thought that a post on the subject was in order, particularly for the edification of international readers. And, if I'm doing another post, I'll want fresh photos for it. So last night I went outside and followed the sound of the possum. I couldn't actually see it, I just held the camera over my head, pointed in the direction of the noise and let the flash do the rest. Out of several random shots I captured these two images. I'm sorry, dear reader, but I do not have good news. The short answer to the question - are they friendly? - is no, they're not really. They are not shy, but brazen and shameless and completely confident in their ...

I'm talking about the possum. But if the possum could blog, he would probably be complaining about me being the unwelcome intruder. It depends on your point of view. This feller here is the current resident of the Possum Hilton, which is a really, really big tree just behind my house. It really is an unusually large and opulent tree for such a densely built-up residential area, standing around 20m high and quite broad too, and makes a damn fine piece of real estate for the modern urban possum. He has a real personality, this cheeky little bugger, he does. He makes it quite clear that the backyard belongs to him, not us, and is the reason why the biodiversity of my vege garden is limited to onions. He loves having his photo taken, and he's also quite good at impersonations. His favourite is the one where he sounds just like a crazed methamphetamine addict who is trying to break into the house by tearing the tin sheeting off the roof.

Today was a hospital day - half the day spent at the hospital while Mr CJ has a nerve-treating procedure, performed by a pain management specialist. Hmmm sounds like fun...not...much! But I have had enough of these hospital days to give me time to apply my philosophy of looking for the beauty in the everyday, of believing it is always there to be found, even surrounded by all the disasters and dramas that go on every day in a public hospital. So today I took my camera around the building and grounds for a little tourist-in-your-own-town action. One of my favourite things about this hospital is that is has its own book stall. What a brilliant idea! It's located as obviously as possible, just inside the main entrance, and there is always something different to see here. Some days the shelves are so chockers with books you can hardly get one out without knocking the whole stand over, then a few days later the shelves might be all but bare. All books are $1 and I think I've seen ...

One of the things I love about my overgrown jungle of a backyard is that so often there is something new to discover. Maybe the results of my own efforts in the garden, maybe a wild surprise, maybe the work of the assorted wildlife with whom we share our little patch called home. This morning I wrote in my journal, along with notes to self to buy vinegar and other such mundane musings, the following sentence - There are self-seeded poppy seedlings popping up. Wow. Isn't that just such a cute little sentence. I had to stop and marvel a little at the spontaneous alliteration. Try saying it five times, fast. So let's have a look at the events which led to its creation. I planted some California Poppy seeds, just a cheap packet from the $2 shops, in August last year. They performed most impressively, though I was a little disappointed that all the flowers it produced were yellow. The seed packet had promised me 'a variety of colours.' See now, if I'd only plante...