The rain is coming down in one constant sheet right now. It sounds solid on the aluminum roofs of our trailers. I can vaguely make out the girls chatter in the next room, the kitchen, but everything else is smothered by the gray buzz of rain. It hasn’t rained in over 30 days and I think, gauging by this huge wash of water, it might be no less than a miracle for the plants and the animals of central Western Australia.
I am not a farmer; I have never been hugely dependent on the rain. It’s nice in the midst of a hot day to cool the skin and the air, but I don’t know what it’s like to have your land and your animals—your future—riding on the next storm. After planting native Aussie trees the last week, and talking with farmers and land owners, I unknowingly received a dose of worry, real worry, about the nature of water. And so, when the rain finally did come, first as a teasing sprinkle and then, suddenly, as a white flood from the skies, this time it all came to me different.
The afternoon picked up in wind as the air temperature dropped swiftly. The strikingly intense southern sun disappeared behind a wall of ominous clouds. That first drop hit like an ice cold pin prick. And then I noticed the smell. The smell of something so wonderful, after you have prayed, and waited, and prayed some more for its arrival. Waiting minutes, hours, days for it. Waiting while you calculate losses and lives for it. The rain smelled like upturned, healthy soil and mud and green and all of that, but it also smelled like something rich, and rare; something that comes to you a few times in your life and smacks you with nostalgia and beauty, like a favored childhood memory; something vivid and tangible and necessary; something that cannot be described adequately, ever.
The rain made today even more brilliant. Earlier, we had witnessed the birth of a baby goat. When we arrived 5 days ago, two little ones had just been born and we have been waiting for this other mom to give birth. We named the new baby Charlie Gumnuts and now run and check on him every chance we can. We also visited an out of the way farmhouse on the way back to our accommodation. As we walked up and patted the requisite dog we were surprised to see a horse standing on the front porch of the house, staring in the windows. When he saw us he came down off the porch, as if to greet us. Never seen that before! Only in Oz. Out back they had 5 or 6 black-tailed wallabies in a pen. They were babies whose mums had been hit by cars and the owner of the house was caring for them until they were old enough to go free. (We didn’t tell the girls the wallabies weren’t kangaroos and none of them much cared as they got down on all fours and socialized with these amazing marsupials).
Tomorrow is the last work day of the week (unless we get rained out).
I have no internet or phone at the farm and am missing many of you (but not all! Hahah just kidding) terribly and sometimes really have to ask myself what the hell I am doing so far away. But these days are all like small gifts and they pass so quickly and in the end I try, and often fail, to fully articulate all that I have experienced in the breadth of 24 hours. The words never come quite how I would like them to and never do the experience justice anyhow, but I feel different—I feel myself growing, and gaining, and changing, for the better. After this last spell down under I’m thinking I might actually be ready to start looking at a final round of graduate school. Scary, but how fun to have everyone call me Dr. Katers, or “the Doctor”…haha. Anyway you look at it, each moment adds up to one big lesson. Do we find all of the answers in those few and final minutes? Are we enlightened then with how simple life really can be? Will we be able to predict the rain any better then? Will the earth be bone dry?
Back to the wondrous hum of rain falling all around, drowning out even the voices now, and the animals (they tell us goannas may be the ones sliding their bodies along above us), and the obnoxious call of the black crow. Besides, the girls are making ‘breakfast for dinner’ tonight and I hear my pancakes calling from the kitchen!
Peace to all,
laura
Friday, July 21, 2006
The Murdering Doll
It’s so dry right now that Bill tells me the land is farting. At first I thought he said, “fighting”, but after I had him repeat it I realized that yes, the land is farting. “Farting out dust.”
At this point, nearly a week in, I’ve heard from more than one West Australian that this might be the hottest and driest July, ever. July is smack dab in the middle of winter down under and usually the wettest month. No rain so far and its already half over. Little water means even less rainwater that the folks out this way use for showering, gardening, and pretty much everything aside from drinking. Less water means less feed and less feed means animals will have to be put down (shot) when the current feed runs out (sometime in October).
See, whether you want to believe in global warming or not, its hot. It’s hot here; it’s hot back home, in Colorado. And the weather and the water and the animals and plants and even all of us all are going to suffer a bit more this year than the last because of it.
Well, with that depressingly surreal thought, I stoically welcome you to the bug show! We have huntsman (it WAS a huntsman the first night! Jesus, do you think the same bastard follows me around this damn continent? Only a different version, and bigger, scarier, hairier, than I’m used to?). We also now have Red Backs! In the showers no less! And not just anyone’s shower, but mine. The Red Back spider closely resembles the black widow and is one of the most poisonous spiders in all of Oz, and the world. Was real nice to finally meet one in the buff! And, just now, a scorpion (two inches long?) was found precariously hanging from the outside of the bathroom door. At this point we all scream at the new bugs, tell anyone not present, and then grab our cameras! We’ve been warned that the snakes might come out soon enough. The ‘wet’ usually keeps them down but since it’s been so hot and so dry…
Wait, the girls are screaming bloody hell….
(At this point my heart doesn’t even skip a beat, far from it. I hear a scream and I make my way slowly knowing full well some epic kind of new ‘horror’ awaits…they tell me it sounds like something ‘bigger than a rat, like a small dog’ is running across the ceiling above them. In their room is the ‘screamer’, this girl even went out of her way to tuck and fold her entire bed and move it one foot from the wall so no creepy crawlies could get in…at this point I can tell what the ‘bug/strange noise screams’ sound like and realize there is no need to panic, at least not straightaway…)
West Australia so far, is perfect. What I’ve got right now is six girls from England, a girl from Banff and two Yanks. Our discussions have been amazing and non-stop, with tangents being blown through like the wind. The Sunday of our arrival we hit an olive grove, admired wildflowers (including the gorgeous Kangaroo Paw), sampled olives, oils, breads and spreads to our hearts content. Then we arrived at the Berrier Estates for a healthy sampling of eighteen wines. Our gracious hostess asked if we’d like reds or whites and a few of the girls cried valiantly, “We’ll try the lot!” At the vineyards, they give you a bucket and tell you to spit out what you don’t like but I never thought many people did that. So I was surprised to see one of the Americans, of all nationalities, doing this! I sampled all of mine fully, with the wines all tasting familiarly blurred towards the end. Merlot was the easy favorite (I think). The land is rich with vineyards but I do wonder where they get all that water and if a farmer and a vineyard have fair and equal water rights. What do you reckon the government would support first? Crops or wine? Which would bring in more tourists? More money….
The people and the landscape are gorgeous, full and generous. Every day has been very surreal as we travel to and from our work sites. We are full out in the ‘bush’ here. An hour from Perth and at least 15 minutes by car from any town. Already, after only a few days, I can pick up the different personalities of the alpacas, the goats, and even the little lambs. I feel at times that I would have done well to grow up on a farm, or to have simply had more interactions with a diversity of animals at a young age. Non-human creatures are so therapeutic. Kay had major surgery 5 years ago and Bill bought her the first alpacas then. They reckon that is what turned her around. Such beautiful animals. You can never get too close to the alpacas for a good squeeze, which is really too bad because they have the most beautiful and cuddly fur, but you can get close enough. I saw little Colorado “play humping" another little alpaca the other day and that kind of turned me off of him – he’s only two weeks old! What the hell do they teach their young?
Me and a few of the girls finally visited the Doll Museum, which consists of a display inside this old, but quite nice, tea room, and extends into a trailer--a portable unit that can be moved about. I think the more expensive and sentimentally precious dolls are kept in the trailer, as it’s locked (to keep us out? To keep the dolls IN? hmmm). There are clown dolls and all sorts of freakish and even some surprisingly nice looking ones. But in that trailer we found the ‘murdering doll’—she was made of wood (very old) and had these mischievous little painted eyes that just look evil. I’m not sure of the fascination with dolls or why Kay brought them but I'll probably ask her one of these days…unless that doll gets to me first.
(The other night the girls were all chatting in our very tiny kitchen--really only a bit bigger than a large table—and on my way back from the bathroom I stood outside the kitchen door and knocked real softly, about 8 inches up from the ground, then giggled high pitched, like I guessed a doll would, then ran in place like the sound of little shoes running. Everyone laughed inside but I think I actually scared myself imagining that happening, for real.)
What about puppets? Anyone ever see that movie, “The Puppeteer”? I found a Puppet Theater in Fremantle, a town about an hour south of Perth. I may check it this weekend but at this point I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for my psyche.
Cheerio to all! I think I might visit England in the winter as I now have at least 6 students I can mooch off of once I get there! How fun does a London Pub Crawl sound?
laura
At this point, nearly a week in, I’ve heard from more than one West Australian that this might be the hottest and driest July, ever. July is smack dab in the middle of winter down under and usually the wettest month. No rain so far and its already half over. Little water means even less rainwater that the folks out this way use for showering, gardening, and pretty much everything aside from drinking. Less water means less feed and less feed means animals will have to be put down (shot) when the current feed runs out (sometime in October).
See, whether you want to believe in global warming or not, its hot. It’s hot here; it’s hot back home, in Colorado. And the weather and the water and the animals and plants and even all of us all are going to suffer a bit more this year than the last because of it.
Well, with that depressingly surreal thought, I stoically welcome you to the bug show! We have huntsman (it WAS a huntsman the first night! Jesus, do you think the same bastard follows me around this damn continent? Only a different version, and bigger, scarier, hairier, than I’m used to?). We also now have Red Backs! In the showers no less! And not just anyone’s shower, but mine. The Red Back spider closely resembles the black widow and is one of the most poisonous spiders in all of Oz, and the world. Was real nice to finally meet one in the buff! And, just now, a scorpion (two inches long?) was found precariously hanging from the outside of the bathroom door. At this point we all scream at the new bugs, tell anyone not present, and then grab our cameras! We’ve been warned that the snakes might come out soon enough. The ‘wet’ usually keeps them down but since it’s been so hot and so dry…
Wait, the girls are screaming bloody hell….
(At this point my heart doesn’t even skip a beat, far from it. I hear a scream and I make my way slowly knowing full well some epic kind of new ‘horror’ awaits…they tell me it sounds like something ‘bigger than a rat, like a small dog’ is running across the ceiling above them. In their room is the ‘screamer’, this girl even went out of her way to tuck and fold her entire bed and move it one foot from the wall so no creepy crawlies could get in…at this point I can tell what the ‘bug/strange noise screams’ sound like and realize there is no need to panic, at least not straightaway…)
West Australia so far, is perfect. What I’ve got right now is six girls from England, a girl from Banff and two Yanks. Our discussions have been amazing and non-stop, with tangents being blown through like the wind. The Sunday of our arrival we hit an olive grove, admired wildflowers (including the gorgeous Kangaroo Paw), sampled olives, oils, breads and spreads to our hearts content. Then we arrived at the Berrier Estates for a healthy sampling of eighteen wines. Our gracious hostess asked if we’d like reds or whites and a few of the girls cried valiantly, “We’ll try the lot!” At the vineyards, they give you a bucket and tell you to spit out what you don’t like but I never thought many people did that. So I was surprised to see one of the Americans, of all nationalities, doing this! I sampled all of mine fully, with the wines all tasting familiarly blurred towards the end. Merlot was the easy favorite (I think). The land is rich with vineyards but I do wonder where they get all that water and if a farmer and a vineyard have fair and equal water rights. What do you reckon the government would support first? Crops or wine? Which would bring in more tourists? More money….
The people and the landscape are gorgeous, full and generous. Every day has been very surreal as we travel to and from our work sites. We are full out in the ‘bush’ here. An hour from Perth and at least 15 minutes by car from any town. Already, after only a few days, I can pick up the different personalities of the alpacas, the goats, and even the little lambs. I feel at times that I would have done well to grow up on a farm, or to have simply had more interactions with a diversity of animals at a young age. Non-human creatures are so therapeutic. Kay had major surgery 5 years ago and Bill bought her the first alpacas then. They reckon that is what turned her around. Such beautiful animals. You can never get too close to the alpacas for a good squeeze, which is really too bad because they have the most beautiful and cuddly fur, but you can get close enough. I saw little Colorado “play humping" another little alpaca the other day and that kind of turned me off of him – he’s only two weeks old! What the hell do they teach their young?
Me and a few of the girls finally visited the Doll Museum, which consists of a display inside this old, but quite nice, tea room, and extends into a trailer--a portable unit that can be moved about. I think the more expensive and sentimentally precious dolls are kept in the trailer, as it’s locked (to keep us out? To keep the dolls IN? hmmm). There are clown dolls and all sorts of freakish and even some surprisingly nice looking ones. But in that trailer we found the ‘murdering doll’—she was made of wood (very old) and had these mischievous little painted eyes that just look evil. I’m not sure of the fascination with dolls or why Kay brought them but I'll probably ask her one of these days…unless that doll gets to me first.
(The other night the girls were all chatting in our very tiny kitchen--really only a bit bigger than a large table—and on my way back from the bathroom I stood outside the kitchen door and knocked real softly, about 8 inches up from the ground, then giggled high pitched, like I guessed a doll would, then ran in place like the sound of little shoes running. Everyone laughed inside but I think I actually scared myself imagining that happening, for real.)
What about puppets? Anyone ever see that movie, “The Puppeteer”? I found a Puppet Theater in Fremantle, a town about an hour south of Perth. I may check it this weekend but at this point I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for my psyche.
Cheerio to all! I think I might visit England in the winter as I now have at least 6 students I can mooch off of once I get there! How fun does a London Pub Crawl sound?
laura
Project 2. West Australia: Welcome to the Doll House!
“This is your next town. Your last town.”
Bill, the owner of the Rocky Creek Tourist Park, was sitting up front, behind the wheel of the transport bus. I was sitting in back with my second group—six girls from the UK, and three North Americans. He hadn’t said much since the Perth Airport. We were headed north, along the winding Swan River, and the only other detail he had pointed out was the Bandyup Women’s Prison. “You girls will end up there, if you don’t behave.”
On the way to the park I witnessed the most extraordinary and picturesque sunset to date, bursting with pinks and purples and every shade in between. The huge silhouetted eucalyptus trees added a nice touch and just when I thought it wouldn’t get better, a few ridiculously perfect grazing kangaroos appeared in the foreground. Ah. Pinch me!
The tourist park is our accommodation for the next two weeks while we work with the Chittering Landcare group planting trees. I can’t tell you much as I've only been here a little under three hours but I can tell you that I’ve never been anywhere quite like Rocky Creek Tourist Park.
Kay, Bill’s wife, met us as we rumbled along the short dirt track and up to our cabin-style accommodations. I was delighted (well, at first) to have my own room yet again! Wow.
One of the main features of the park is a petting zoo. On our quick ten minute tour of the facilities we must have met 20 alpacas--one that was only two weeks old and THE CUTEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN and also aptly named “Colorado”--chooks (chickens), sheep, geese, donkeys, horses, dogs, and a herd of goats-- including two baby goats that weren’t more than 4 hours old. They don’t eat these animals (we asked), but they do keep them as pets. The only thing that “gits em” is, once again, that little bastard, the fox.
Kay is quick, and all business. A woman of about 55ish, give or take a few years--it’s hard to tell age sometimes with Aussies as the weather, and sun, treats some better than others. Her and Bill moved here 3.5 years ago (I hope to get the rest of the story later). Bill, who I was warned about by one of our host organizers, Polly (who subsequently met us at the airport dressed like a hard core rocker and promised to give me her old guitar as she just bought a new one!) told me Bill is a talker but we haven’t heard much from him, yet. Just the usual: keep our bedroom doors closed otherwise rats, snakes and goannas (large lizards) will just wander in. Oh, and biting ants. So far so good in Western Australia! But it doesn’t stop there.
Kay is pleasant enough but you can tell she is a working woman, used to working hard. I suppose on a farm with some 30 odd living things waiting for feed daily, you’d have to work hard. But the animals weren’t always here. “We brought them,” Kay told me as the sun dipped below the horizon for good. “Along with the dolls.”
Oh, yeah, that’s the other thing. The tourist park is a petting zoo, AND a Doll Museum. Hear that, Dad? A Doll Museum! Way the hell out in the middle of nowhere! Hahahaha
Muhahahahahha
Anyway else afraid of dolls?
We’ve had enough good jokes (though, yes, many in poor taste) passed around about the dolls already. Tomorrow, I am told, we get to see the museum. I am both excited and nervous for this first, of what I'm sure will be many, encounters.
Last news of the day. After a voracious attack by all on the food stocking the kitchen to the gills we adjourned to our rooms. The girls are in groups of three in three different rooms. Less than fifteen minutes after I closed my door on the outside world, I heard a bloodcurdling scream! Seconds later, a frenzied knock on my door. I opened it up and three girls stumbled in sputtering something about, “do something” and “oh my god!” and “spider!”
My moment of truth? Time to make up for that one huntsman the students did away with back at Yookamurra? I can do this, I told myself, no problem.
(Ten seconds later)
NO FUCKING WAY was I going near that thing! Not once I saw the actual size and “thickness” of it. It wasn’t a huntsman, I had already asked about those. But this monster was similar, only it didn’t move sideways like the huntsman, but was a big round hairy beast about the size of the palm of my hand.
You want to hear ten females scream bloody hell at 9pm in complete and utter quiet! I was waiting for Bill to come down with his shotgun and see what was up. Everyone looking to me and all I could do was grab my camera and wince! Finally, two brave UK girls stepped up and it was a scream/laugh fest for the next 30 minutes as the spider wreaked havoc all over the walls, fell behind the bed, crawled across the bed sheet, became momentarily “lost”, then found, then finally trapped under a very large Tupperware bowl—the entire time all of us jumping up and down screaming “Ewwwwwwww!!!!” I honest to god felt like I was at some nightmarish summer camp! Moments later the bowl was tossed into the night. Talk about a way to start the trip! Now we all sit in our rooms (I alone in mine, maybe a roommate or two wouldn’t be so bad?) cringing and gazing about the walls. I really don’t know if I could handle the spiders and such down here, and its not even summer. That kills me. I haven’t even been here in snake season.
This group so far is AWESOME though, very fun and they all genuinely seem like they might get along—always a worry with more than a few girls. Also my first all-girl group which I thought would be great, then realizing how nice it would have been to have a DUDE attack that spider. Even if a guy were afraid, with 9 scared girls, he would have stepped it up. And now the truth is out: I can assign chores and pump up the students for work and lead conservation-based discussions with the best of them, but spiders? Give this wuss a can of potent bug spray any day.
(Note: I found out a few days later that those big spiders, that I guess are EVERYWHERE in the houses down here, can jump! And many jump right at YOU!)
Stay tuned for the Doll House….
laura
Bill, the owner of the Rocky Creek Tourist Park, was sitting up front, behind the wheel of the transport bus. I was sitting in back with my second group—six girls from the UK, and three North Americans. He hadn’t said much since the Perth Airport. We were headed north, along the winding Swan River, and the only other detail he had pointed out was the Bandyup Women’s Prison. “You girls will end up there, if you don’t behave.”
On the way to the park I witnessed the most extraordinary and picturesque sunset to date, bursting with pinks and purples and every shade in between. The huge silhouetted eucalyptus trees added a nice touch and just when I thought it wouldn’t get better, a few ridiculously perfect grazing kangaroos appeared in the foreground. Ah. Pinch me!
The tourist park is our accommodation for the next two weeks while we work with the Chittering Landcare group planting trees. I can’t tell you much as I've only been here a little under three hours but I can tell you that I’ve never been anywhere quite like Rocky Creek Tourist Park.
Kay, Bill’s wife, met us as we rumbled along the short dirt track and up to our cabin-style accommodations. I was delighted (well, at first) to have my own room yet again! Wow.
One of the main features of the park is a petting zoo. On our quick ten minute tour of the facilities we must have met 20 alpacas--one that was only two weeks old and THE CUTEST THING I HAVE EVER SEEN and also aptly named “Colorado”--chooks (chickens), sheep, geese, donkeys, horses, dogs, and a herd of goats-- including two baby goats that weren’t more than 4 hours old. They don’t eat these animals (we asked), but they do keep them as pets. The only thing that “gits em” is, once again, that little bastard, the fox.
Kay is quick, and all business. A woman of about 55ish, give or take a few years--it’s hard to tell age sometimes with Aussies as the weather, and sun, treats some better than others. Her and Bill moved here 3.5 years ago (I hope to get the rest of the story later). Bill, who I was warned about by one of our host organizers, Polly (who subsequently met us at the airport dressed like a hard core rocker and promised to give me her old guitar as she just bought a new one!) told me Bill is a talker but we haven’t heard much from him, yet. Just the usual: keep our bedroom doors closed otherwise rats, snakes and goannas (large lizards) will just wander in. Oh, and biting ants. So far so good in Western Australia! But it doesn’t stop there.
Kay is pleasant enough but you can tell she is a working woman, used to working hard. I suppose on a farm with some 30 odd living things waiting for feed daily, you’d have to work hard. But the animals weren’t always here. “We brought them,” Kay told me as the sun dipped below the horizon for good. “Along with the dolls.”
Oh, yeah, that’s the other thing. The tourist park is a petting zoo, AND a Doll Museum. Hear that, Dad? A Doll Museum! Way the hell out in the middle of nowhere! Hahahaha
Muhahahahahha
Anyway else afraid of dolls?
We’ve had enough good jokes (though, yes, many in poor taste) passed around about the dolls already. Tomorrow, I am told, we get to see the museum. I am both excited and nervous for this first, of what I'm sure will be many, encounters.
Last news of the day. After a voracious attack by all on the food stocking the kitchen to the gills we adjourned to our rooms. The girls are in groups of three in three different rooms. Less than fifteen minutes after I closed my door on the outside world, I heard a bloodcurdling scream! Seconds later, a frenzied knock on my door. I opened it up and three girls stumbled in sputtering something about, “do something” and “oh my god!” and “spider!”
My moment of truth? Time to make up for that one huntsman the students did away with back at Yookamurra? I can do this, I told myself, no problem.
(Ten seconds later)
NO FUCKING WAY was I going near that thing! Not once I saw the actual size and “thickness” of it. It wasn’t a huntsman, I had already asked about those. But this monster was similar, only it didn’t move sideways like the huntsman, but was a big round hairy beast about the size of the palm of my hand.
You want to hear ten females scream bloody hell at 9pm in complete and utter quiet! I was waiting for Bill to come down with his shotgun and see what was up. Everyone looking to me and all I could do was grab my camera and wince! Finally, two brave UK girls stepped up and it was a scream/laugh fest for the next 30 minutes as the spider wreaked havoc all over the walls, fell behind the bed, crawled across the bed sheet, became momentarily “lost”, then found, then finally trapped under a very large Tupperware bowl—the entire time all of us jumping up and down screaming “Ewwwwwwww!!!!” I honest to god felt like I was at some nightmarish summer camp! Moments later the bowl was tossed into the night. Talk about a way to start the trip! Now we all sit in our rooms (I alone in mine, maybe a roommate or two wouldn’t be so bad?) cringing and gazing about the walls. I really don’t know if I could handle the spiders and such down here, and its not even summer. That kills me. I haven’t even been here in snake season.
This group so far is AWESOME though, very fun and they all genuinely seem like they might get along—always a worry with more than a few girls. Also my first all-girl group which I thought would be great, then realizing how nice it would have been to have a DUDE attack that spider. Even if a guy were afraid, with 9 scared girls, he would have stepped it up. And now the truth is out: I can assign chores and pump up the students for work and lead conservation-based discussions with the best of them, but spiders? Give this wuss a can of potent bug spray any day.
(Note: I found out a few days later that those big spiders, that I guess are EVERYWHERE in the houses down here, can jump! And many jump right at YOU!)
Stay tuned for the Doll House….
laura
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Hunting for Wombats
I don’t know exactly when or where I first heard the word "wombat" but in the last two years, or, since I have been spending the better part of my summers in Australia, this word, and this creature, have weighed on my mind. The largest, and gruffest, of the lot resides right here, just outside the fence of Yookamurra. The Southern Hairy Nosed Wombat is out there right now! Lurking.
Ah, who cares, you might ask?
Wombats aren’t just awkwardly robust nocturnal mammals. No. They are built like the thickest part of an oak. Nearly 60 pounds. They have pig faces. They bolster their way about, shrugging their shoulders and grunting. They brake through fences. They are considered a “pest” in Oz because of their boisterous behaviour, can subsequently be shot, by anyone, and they are now endangered because of this. To see one, in the wild, is quite rare.
Phil, the caretaker and sanctuary manager, told me he used to climb down into wombat holes, "for fun". These are huge underground lairs and from the surface they are simply holes--about one square foot and the perfect size for a little boy to crawl into. Ah, but can you guess what the wombats primary defense mechanism is? When he senses someone, or something (dog or fox, or child) enter his hole, he backtracks, pushes past the intruder until he's back on the OUTSIDE OF THE LAIR, and then uses his body to push the intruder INTO his burrow, all the way to the end, until the intruder gets mashed up a good number of times, and then dies. Nice job escaping childhood death, Phil.
I am writing because, of all the beasties I have seen in Oz so far (koalas, platypus, roos, wallabies, bilbys, potaroos, burrowing betongs, huntsman, golden globes, brown snake, red bellied black spider....) I have yet to see a wombat. And tonight, in just a few short hours, in fact, we will go out hunting for them.
Later.
Dammit! Of course the wombat was so fast I only saw his fat and furry ass as it bound over the stick and dry bush infested earth, back into the dark pit of his burrow! We were out, past bedtime, in the vast and empty fields of S. Australia, exploring the rest of the 11,000 hectares that Yookamurra owns (we reside on 1100 of them). There was a barbed wire fence, a small collection of cars decorating the one small swatch of land that ‘couldn’t be sold’ from some stubborn old coot who had since disappeared, and the Southern Cross. All ten of us were snug on the back of the ute (utility vehicle, like a small flatbed truck) directing huge spot lights out into the darkness, while Phil sat up front, navigating his way around trees, huge wombat dugouts, fences, and the occasional dead fox (these we had to get out and take pictures of, most are poisoned with a compound called 1080. It’s derived from an Australian plant so native animals are immune to it, sorry little foxes…). The moon was FULL and fat and the night crisp. I thought—as we trundled along, gazing out across the flat plains, the never changing horizon—how horrifying it would be to break down, or worse yet, get dropped off, out there, alone or with others, it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t know in which direction to begin stumbling.
This continent is so vast, so monstrous the closer one gets to the outback (jesus, I can't even fathom the magnitude of the infamous outback), with little by way of landmarks, with everything so eerily similar, as if the track you are on is simply turning back on itself, over and over again. I had already nearly gotten lost in the sanctuary several times. On one recent occasion, I simply wandered off to take a piss. Simple as that. But when I stood up I began unwittingly walking off, in the wrong direction. Ten minutes later I realized my mistake, which put me twenty walking minutes back to the fence. Ah, but which way? I miraculously made it back a little less than an hour later, thirsty, a bit spooked, only to find my students lazing in the truck and in the shade, oblivious to the fact that they nearly lost their fearless leader (uh, that’s me). It is a wonder how bush folk get around in these parts.
Back to the hunting!
Only that one wombat ass was seen, but the night was still well worth it. Near midnight Phil took us to a wombat burrow big enough for a man to crawl into, and eight of my students as well. Inside the burrow (I’m not shitting you) we all fit, able to stand if we were so inclined and gazed about at fossils embedded in the kalkouri, sp?, (the chalky rock making up most of the land and deposited nearly 20 million years ago when the whole lot of it was under sea, an old abandoned farmhouse, complete with a dilapidated door, bat inside, and old well that you couldn’t see to the bottom of (and didn’t know if you wanted to anyway). The ground all around the farm and stretching away on all sides was rough, rock strewn, and thick with dry brush. I wondered what the hell the first settlers thought when they landed in Aus and tried to work the land.
“Who would buy this land?” I asked Mimi, Phil’s wife. You couldn’t grow crops, or graze animals.
“Oh, this is good land for drugs. They grow real well. And some people come out for a respite from the city, for some peace and quiet.” It was so quiet out there I could hear the wind, it seemed, from miles away.
My head spins every day I wake up here, there is so much to absorb. And I spent all last year taking notes and sucking in information like hard candies, and still, more and more and more.
In other news, I got into it with the students tonight for spending the majority of their nightly free time staring at a large screen. We don’t have a TV but we do have a DVD player that projects onto a 4x4 ft screen! During the dinner, it’s on, after dinner, on. Tonight I asked if we could cool it with the idiot box after I repeatedly asked everyone how they liked dinner and no one heard, but instead stared blankly at the screen (though, to their credit, Family Guy was playing and hey, its funny). I asked why it always has to be on and more than a few responded, “there is nothing else to do.”
I haven’t had a television for three years and I’m keeping it that way. Try it for a week, it really is amazing how much time one can spend there, especially if its “fang week” on the National Geographic Channel. Or Family Guy reruns…
Ah, this just in, a few of the students finagled me into checking out the ‘bilby’ enclosure. The bilby is a very significant marsupial. Small, white, with big ears (like a rabbit) and there has been a push to rid Oz of the Easter ‘bunny’ and replace it with the Easter ‘bilby’ – since rabbits are a pest of the country and in fact out compete the bilby for food.
Anyway…on our way back to the cabins I was chatting away to one of my favorite students when we hear this scrape, an eerie sound that made me think of a large body being pulled along the ground…my legs went numb, heart hit the ribs, hard, and I turned to see, crawling on all fours towards us in the harsh and bitter full moonlight..
Josephine!
Which was quite opportune because I had yet to have a pic taken with her. In the pic attached my heart is still sitting nicely in my throat.
I’m wrapping up at my first project in a day. I really cant believe one is down, three to go! Next I'm off to Perth but not before I binge and purge on what I learned from Yookamuura, what I’m taking with me, what I'm leaving. Stay tuned. Hope all is well in your parts of the world.
laura
Ah, who cares, you might ask?
Wombats aren’t just awkwardly robust nocturnal mammals. No. They are built like the thickest part of an oak. Nearly 60 pounds. They have pig faces. They bolster their way about, shrugging their shoulders and grunting. They brake through fences. They are considered a “pest” in Oz because of their boisterous behaviour, can subsequently be shot, by anyone, and they are now endangered because of this. To see one, in the wild, is quite rare.
Phil, the caretaker and sanctuary manager, told me he used to climb down into wombat holes, "for fun". These are huge underground lairs and from the surface they are simply holes--about one square foot and the perfect size for a little boy to crawl into. Ah, but can you guess what the wombats primary defense mechanism is? When he senses someone, or something (dog or fox, or child) enter his hole, he backtracks, pushes past the intruder until he's back on the OUTSIDE OF THE LAIR, and then uses his body to push the intruder INTO his burrow, all the way to the end, until the intruder gets mashed up a good number of times, and then dies. Nice job escaping childhood death, Phil.
I am writing because, of all the beasties I have seen in Oz so far (koalas, platypus, roos, wallabies, bilbys, potaroos, burrowing betongs, huntsman, golden globes, brown snake, red bellied black spider....) I have yet to see a wombat. And tonight, in just a few short hours, in fact, we will go out hunting for them.
Later.
Dammit! Of course the wombat was so fast I only saw his fat and furry ass as it bound over the stick and dry bush infested earth, back into the dark pit of his burrow! We were out, past bedtime, in the vast and empty fields of S. Australia, exploring the rest of the 11,000 hectares that Yookamurra owns (we reside on 1100 of them). There was a barbed wire fence, a small collection of cars decorating the one small swatch of land that ‘couldn’t be sold’ from some stubborn old coot who had since disappeared, and the Southern Cross. All ten of us were snug on the back of the ute (utility vehicle, like a small flatbed truck) directing huge spot lights out into the darkness, while Phil sat up front, navigating his way around trees, huge wombat dugouts, fences, and the occasional dead fox (these we had to get out and take pictures of, most are poisoned with a compound called 1080. It’s derived from an Australian plant so native animals are immune to it, sorry little foxes…). The moon was FULL and fat and the night crisp. I thought—as we trundled along, gazing out across the flat plains, the never changing horizon—how horrifying it would be to break down, or worse yet, get dropped off, out there, alone or with others, it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t know in which direction to begin stumbling.
This continent is so vast, so monstrous the closer one gets to the outback (jesus, I can't even fathom the magnitude of the infamous outback), with little by way of landmarks, with everything so eerily similar, as if the track you are on is simply turning back on itself, over and over again. I had already nearly gotten lost in the sanctuary several times. On one recent occasion, I simply wandered off to take a piss. Simple as that. But when I stood up I began unwittingly walking off, in the wrong direction. Ten minutes later I realized my mistake, which put me twenty walking minutes back to the fence. Ah, but which way? I miraculously made it back a little less than an hour later, thirsty, a bit spooked, only to find my students lazing in the truck and in the shade, oblivious to the fact that they nearly lost their fearless leader (uh, that’s me). It is a wonder how bush folk get around in these parts.
Back to the hunting!
Only that one wombat ass was seen, but the night was still well worth it. Near midnight Phil took us to a wombat burrow big enough for a man to crawl into, and eight of my students as well. Inside the burrow (I’m not shitting you) we all fit, able to stand if we were so inclined and gazed about at fossils embedded in the kalkouri, sp?, (the chalky rock making up most of the land and deposited nearly 20 million years ago when the whole lot of it was under sea, an old abandoned farmhouse, complete with a dilapidated door, bat inside, and old well that you couldn’t see to the bottom of (and didn’t know if you wanted to anyway). The ground all around the farm and stretching away on all sides was rough, rock strewn, and thick with dry brush. I wondered what the hell the first settlers thought when they landed in Aus and tried to work the land.
“Who would buy this land?” I asked Mimi, Phil’s wife. You couldn’t grow crops, or graze animals.
“Oh, this is good land for drugs. They grow real well. And some people come out for a respite from the city, for some peace and quiet.” It was so quiet out there I could hear the wind, it seemed, from miles away.
My head spins every day I wake up here, there is so much to absorb. And I spent all last year taking notes and sucking in information like hard candies, and still, more and more and more.
In other news, I got into it with the students tonight for spending the majority of their nightly free time staring at a large screen. We don’t have a TV but we do have a DVD player that projects onto a 4x4 ft screen! During the dinner, it’s on, after dinner, on. Tonight I asked if we could cool it with the idiot box after I repeatedly asked everyone how they liked dinner and no one heard, but instead stared blankly at the screen (though, to their credit, Family Guy was playing and hey, its funny). I asked why it always has to be on and more than a few responded, “there is nothing else to do.”
I haven’t had a television for three years and I’m keeping it that way. Try it for a week, it really is amazing how much time one can spend there, especially if its “fang week” on the National Geographic Channel. Or Family Guy reruns…
Ah, this just in, a few of the students finagled me into checking out the ‘bilby’ enclosure. The bilby is a very significant marsupial. Small, white, with big ears (like a rabbit) and there has been a push to rid Oz of the Easter ‘bunny’ and replace it with the Easter ‘bilby’ – since rabbits are a pest of the country and in fact out compete the bilby for food.
Anyway…on our way back to the cabins I was chatting away to one of my favorite students when we hear this scrape, an eerie sound that made me think of a large body being pulled along the ground…my legs went numb, heart hit the ribs, hard, and I turned to see, crawling on all fours towards us in the harsh and bitter full moonlight..
Josephine!
Which was quite opportune because I had yet to have a pic taken with her. In the pic attached my heart is still sitting nicely in my throat.
I’m wrapping up at my first project in a day. I really cant believe one is down, three to go! Next I'm off to Perth but not before I binge and purge on what I learned from Yookamuura, what I’m taking with me, what I'm leaving. Stay tuned. Hope all is well in your parts of the world.
laura
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Aussie Rules and...cracking the shits?
Before I begin, "cracking the shits" is an Aussie term that means getting angry, mad, irate. For example, "I cracked the shits last night after I hung up the phone on the insensitive moron!"
...
Hello! From the depths of a sleepy Sunday morning. Where I have an entire day off and am going to spend it greedily, by myself, wandering the grounds taking pictures, writing poems, and generally soaking up the cool and cloudless sky. And, to be honest, after a night like last night, I deserve it.
I took the guys into Adelaide—capital of South Australia and 2.5 hours away—for they wanted to go to an Australian Football Game, a league otherwise known as "Aussie Rules." Its rough and tumble folks, and these guys are HUGE. We left around noonish and headed south where, 200 km and 3 hours later, we were lost off our asses. So we hit Hungry Jacks (eerily similar to Burger King) where all the guys were more than happy (hungry?) to woof down greasy food while I sat in the van and contemplated our next move.
When most things begin to fail, in Australia, you have three options: fight, get drunk, or head to the beach. Knowing full well that the drinking (and hopefully NOT fighting) would come later, we hit the beach. The ocean down here is ENORMOUS, the South Ocean, the one that laps up against Australia and also Antarctica. Although we were only able to stare into the cold eye of the Gulf of St. Vincent, I could imagine the monstrous water just over the horizon, moving toward the bottom of the world, cold, deep...and full of great whites.
Jaws was filmed down in parts of South Australia. There are few shark attacks (I'm not sure of statistics, but perhaps one or two every few years) but if you were to get a good chomp done on ya, it might be in these waters. Jaws, by the way, thoroughly messed me up for life. Anyone out there ever go swimming with me in a lake (yes, freshwater) only to find me terrified out in the deep water, swearing profusely that “something” was nibbling at my toes!?? Though I could also blame my ridiculous fear of water on the movie, “Piranha”, where these biting frenzied and nasty fish make their way into the river where they happily begin to decimate the young and unsuspecting campers, right along with their rubber tubes! Whew. Memories…
We found the stadium, finally, but I decided not to go. I was really seeking that one thing that normally keeps me sane (or keeps me mad?) and that’s some solo time. Instead, I hit a quaint coffee shop right across from the stadium where I watched fireworks light up the sky (these people really like their “footy”), and already-rowdy Aussie boys and girls rolled their way across the parking lot. Later, as the game was echoing with cheers of madness, I made my way back to our 12-seat van (did I forget to tell anyone I been driving round this whole state? Barely avoiding injury by swerving to the “right” side of the road when I see an oncoming car, and don’t even get me started on avoiding roos at night…). Back at the van I was keen to read for the hour until I met up with the group. During this time I saw a man, along with his two children, walking up and down every aisle of cars, trying the doors, and breaking into a few.
Horrified that he might see me (and react and get pissed because I was a witness) I hid on the bottom of the van floor! Moments later the door handle shook, stopped, shook some more. I felt eyes peering into the large white van—with the words BUDGET RENTAL stenciled on the side (hm…would that be a good target I wonder?)—and so I thrust my face and arms under a sleeping bag. Sketch? After the man and his kids passed me over I leapt out of the van and alerted a policeman, on a horse. He galloped away and that was that. I suppose these sorts of things happen at every large gathering--people take advantage of people. Not the American or Aussie way, the worldly way?
Nonetheless, I survived and at 10:30pm I met up with my group (quite miraculously, actually, that 9 drunk and stumblers could coordinate anything). To make it very short, they were wasted. Not all, but most. Everyone wanted to hug me, tell me stories, tell jokes. I got them in the van in a manic rush, knowing the longer we waited, the more likely it was that I would be too tired to make the 2.5 hour journey north. I put the most sober of the lot in the front with me, then took off. Very pleasant ride, with techno beats thumping, kids laughing and yelling drunken obscenities at one another, until we made our way into the country side. There, the roos came out in full force and slowed the van to a mere 60km/hour (in a 110 km zone). There was no way I wanted to hit one--talk about a long suffering nightmare, not to mention guilt, for the rest of my life! Then, around a series of serious curves, one of the students in the back, yakked. Not a small, dry yak either. Wet slurping sounds slushed through hands, hit the floor and began to slide around on the rubber matting. My scarf was "down there", and my jacket. Eww.... And who could ever forget the smell of bile after a long night!
After a 20 minute pull off, some narrowly missed roos, and much heart pounding on my part, we made it back in one piece, I ate handfuls of chocolate, and passed out.
Now it is morning and I sit with many of the students in our common kitchen area, listening to them tell me all of the stories they told me last night and the puker, Mike, even asks,” I wonder who won the game?” If anyone hasn’t had enough of these drunken stories and stupors, why not sign up to be a project leader with ISV?!
Now, a poem. Hope you enjoy your days. Each one is a gift. It's interesting when we are depressed or just in a relative funk when we think, “Someday it will get better”, or we dream of some distant moment or occurrence when everything will "fall into place." We have all heard this before but its true: Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is a gift, because it is the present. Right now, this moment. This present. What will you do with it?
If you walk just far enough off the track,
through the mallee scrub, the sugarwood,
through all of the
severe branches, over the driest
of earths, crunching stone and scat
under foot, you will find
the bones
resting
under the smoldering eye of the sun.
Not small bones,
not fresh.
I sit close enough to see the whites
adorning the ground like jewelry, and wonder
how and why and
when the bones first fell.
Instinct tells me not to go
where the big predators go,
but here, in the southern desert heat, it is the cat, the
fox, the wedge-tail eagle, the man
that draws the most blood.
When so many years have passed and we are gone, not
only from this land but from this life,
and the feathers fall like cotton, blown
in the wind, and
the flesh of everything roots in the belly of
another,
only the bones will remain of some wiser and
more simple
existence.
In my own skin, the bones ache.
For the earth—for a
resting place, for the bleached skin of the
sun to strip away everything
expose me
from the inside out.
All of these bones that are mine.
I wonder where they will end up,
here,
on, or in American soil,
burned in a forest fire in 2052,
ground to a fine powder or thrown,
with a heavy bag of weighted words,
from the peak
of a chaotic mountain
top
laura
...
Hello! From the depths of a sleepy Sunday morning. Where I have an entire day off and am going to spend it greedily, by myself, wandering the grounds taking pictures, writing poems, and generally soaking up the cool and cloudless sky. And, to be honest, after a night like last night, I deserve it.
I took the guys into Adelaide—capital of South Australia and 2.5 hours away—for they wanted to go to an Australian Football Game, a league otherwise known as "Aussie Rules." Its rough and tumble folks, and these guys are HUGE. We left around noonish and headed south where, 200 km and 3 hours later, we were lost off our asses. So we hit Hungry Jacks (eerily similar to Burger King) where all the guys were more than happy (hungry?) to woof down greasy food while I sat in the van and contemplated our next move.
When most things begin to fail, in Australia, you have three options: fight, get drunk, or head to the beach. Knowing full well that the drinking (and hopefully NOT fighting) would come later, we hit the beach. The ocean down here is ENORMOUS, the South Ocean, the one that laps up against Australia and also Antarctica. Although we were only able to stare into the cold eye of the Gulf of St. Vincent, I could imagine the monstrous water just over the horizon, moving toward the bottom of the world, cold, deep...and full of great whites.
Jaws was filmed down in parts of South Australia. There are few shark attacks (I'm not sure of statistics, but perhaps one or two every few years) but if you were to get a good chomp done on ya, it might be in these waters. Jaws, by the way, thoroughly messed me up for life. Anyone out there ever go swimming with me in a lake (yes, freshwater) only to find me terrified out in the deep water, swearing profusely that “something” was nibbling at my toes!?? Though I could also blame my ridiculous fear of water on the movie, “Piranha”, where these biting frenzied and nasty fish make their way into the river where they happily begin to decimate the young and unsuspecting campers, right along with their rubber tubes! Whew. Memories…
We found the stadium, finally, but I decided not to go. I was really seeking that one thing that normally keeps me sane (or keeps me mad?) and that’s some solo time. Instead, I hit a quaint coffee shop right across from the stadium where I watched fireworks light up the sky (these people really like their “footy”), and already-rowdy Aussie boys and girls rolled their way across the parking lot. Later, as the game was echoing with cheers of madness, I made my way back to our 12-seat van (did I forget to tell anyone I been driving round this whole state? Barely avoiding injury by swerving to the “right” side of the road when I see an oncoming car, and don’t even get me started on avoiding roos at night…). Back at the van I was keen to read for the hour until I met up with the group. During this time I saw a man, along with his two children, walking up and down every aisle of cars, trying the doors, and breaking into a few.
Horrified that he might see me (and react and get pissed because I was a witness) I hid on the bottom of the van floor! Moments later the door handle shook, stopped, shook some more. I felt eyes peering into the large white van—with the words BUDGET RENTAL stenciled on the side (hm…would that be a good target I wonder?)—and so I thrust my face and arms under a sleeping bag. Sketch? After the man and his kids passed me over I leapt out of the van and alerted a policeman, on a horse. He galloped away and that was that. I suppose these sorts of things happen at every large gathering--people take advantage of people. Not the American or Aussie way, the worldly way?
Nonetheless, I survived and at 10:30pm I met up with my group (quite miraculously, actually, that 9 drunk and stumblers could coordinate anything). To make it very short, they were wasted. Not all, but most. Everyone wanted to hug me, tell me stories, tell jokes. I got them in the van in a manic rush, knowing the longer we waited, the more likely it was that I would be too tired to make the 2.5 hour journey north. I put the most sober of the lot in the front with me, then took off. Very pleasant ride, with techno beats thumping, kids laughing and yelling drunken obscenities at one another, until we made our way into the country side. There, the roos came out in full force and slowed the van to a mere 60km/hour (in a 110 km zone). There was no way I wanted to hit one--talk about a long suffering nightmare, not to mention guilt, for the rest of my life! Then, around a series of serious curves, one of the students in the back, yakked. Not a small, dry yak either. Wet slurping sounds slushed through hands, hit the floor and began to slide around on the rubber matting. My scarf was "down there", and my jacket. Eww.... And who could ever forget the smell of bile after a long night!
After a 20 minute pull off, some narrowly missed roos, and much heart pounding on my part, we made it back in one piece, I ate handfuls of chocolate, and passed out.
Now it is morning and I sit with many of the students in our common kitchen area, listening to them tell me all of the stories they told me last night and the puker, Mike, even asks,” I wonder who won the game?” If anyone hasn’t had enough of these drunken stories and stupors, why not sign up to be a project leader with ISV?!
Now, a poem. Hope you enjoy your days. Each one is a gift. It's interesting when we are depressed or just in a relative funk when we think, “Someday it will get better”, or we dream of some distant moment or occurrence when everything will "fall into place." We have all heard this before but its true: Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, today is a gift, because it is the present. Right now, this moment. This present. What will you do with it?
If you walk just far enough off the track,
through the mallee scrub, the sugarwood,
through all of the
severe branches, over the driest
of earths, crunching stone and scat
under foot, you will find
the bones
resting
under the smoldering eye of the sun.
Not small bones,
not fresh.
I sit close enough to see the whites
adorning the ground like jewelry, and wonder
how and why and
when the bones first fell.
Instinct tells me not to go
where the big predators go,
but here, in the southern desert heat, it is the cat, the
fox, the wedge-tail eagle, the man
that draws the most blood.
When so many years have passed and we are gone, not
only from this land but from this life,
and the feathers fall like cotton, blown
in the wind, and
the flesh of everything roots in the belly of
another,
only the bones will remain of some wiser and
more simple
existence.
In my own skin, the bones ache.
For the earth—for a
resting place, for the bleached skin of the
sun to strip away everything
expose me
from the inside out.
All of these bones that are mine.
I wonder where they will end up,
here,
on, or in American soil,
burned in a forest fire in 2052,
ground to a fine powder or thrown,
with a heavy bag of weighted words,
from the peak
of a chaotic mountain
top
laura
Sunday, July 02, 2006
One feral proof fence please.
One thing that has really been enforced in this girl, from working in Australia all last summer and also in California this last winter, is how downright shameful I feel sometimes to be of European descent. The plight of the indigenous peoples in both Oz and the States is quite similar. The land has forcefully been taken from them and their cultures/traditions were at one time abolished to such a degree that many are now "lost". What is the use of a "white man's" education if one has lost the ability to connect with one's ancestors and own culture?
The aboriginal lore and history was one facet of Australia that I was immensely interested in last summer. The history of the dreaming and the aboriginal knowledge of the inhospitable outback and use of plants and animals is tremendous. I had very few opportunities to meet indigenous people last year and I'm hoping for more this summer.
Maybe one of the other reasons I'm suddenly pissed at my ancestors is because we have spent the last four working days putting up a “feral proof fence.” I know that I wrote about this last year—when we were living on a sanctuary surrounded by such a fence and one night all of my students got wasted and then couldn’t figure out how to get back IN. haha, That was actually pretty funny. BUT, here at Yookamurra, the students and I have been hard at it, establishing a six foot high fence around the 2000 or so hectares. This fence keeps out foxes, cats, and rabbits--the three most lethal introduced species (save maybe for the cane toad that has yet to make a presence in the south of OZ). The foxes and rabbits were originally brought over for sport and populations easily skyrocketed because of the abundance of food here. Marsupials (mammals that give birth to live young that then mature in a pouch) are pretty slow, having evolved on a continent with few predators. So, the foxes and cats (brought by early Europeans as pets) have a field day with them. The fence will keep these guys out while aiding in the safety of native marsupials and placental mammals to propagate and exist on the inside. As all of these native critters are nocturnal so the only time you will see one is on the way to the bathroom at night, alone, or on the way to your cabin, again alone, and one either flies across the path, much to your astonishment and momentary unease, or hisses at you from a tree!
It was one of these nighttime moments that Josie finally made herself known. An eastern grey kangaroo, Josie is about three feet tall, and very very inquisitive. At first we thought she genuinely liked us, but it soon became obvious that she was only using that as a ploy to get close enough to possibly sneak into the kitchen door! It had happened before, with other groups and we've been told "you don't want to see what she can do."
It's been cold here. Really cold. And I wake up clutching my sleeping bag along with a ratty old comforter I found about my head. Though, I could also be doing that because of the memory of the HUNTSMAN SPIDER we found on Tuesday! They live! Crawling with legs spread wide, the dreaded huntsman was found on a students cabin wall! Perched right above his bed! Waiting? Anticipating? Before I had any say in the matter (for I try to enforce in the unwieldy Americans the fact that we didn't come down to OZ to KILL everything) the students had bug sprayed the poor guy to death. One advantage of this was that we were all able to gaze into its beady eyes up close. You ever notice, however, that when you talk about bugs, or worse yet, interact with them, you keep thinking of them and maybe even '"feel" them crawling around...hm...but, Ive instilled in the students no more killing. Now I await my big moment when I get to try and capture one for release back into the bush...
Stay tuned for more, I hope everything is bright and happy back up north and that everyone had a smashing 4th of July. We ended up at a semi-seedy pub in Swan Reach that night to celebrate our independence. Interesting town in that you have to cross the Murray River to get there. The Murray is the largest river in all of Australia (and subsequently has a heap of environmental issues) and at this particular spot, we didn't cross a bridge to get to the other side. Instead they have a ferry, running 24 hours a day, that shuttles you and your car the 200 or so yards across the water. Pretty surreal and all at once, very Australian.
Laura
The aboriginal lore and history was one facet of Australia that I was immensely interested in last summer. The history of the dreaming and the aboriginal knowledge of the inhospitable outback and use of plants and animals is tremendous. I had very few opportunities to meet indigenous people last year and I'm hoping for more this summer.
Maybe one of the other reasons I'm suddenly pissed at my ancestors is because we have spent the last four working days putting up a “feral proof fence.” I know that I wrote about this last year—when we were living on a sanctuary surrounded by such a fence and one night all of my students got wasted and then couldn’t figure out how to get back IN. haha, That was actually pretty funny. BUT, here at Yookamurra, the students and I have been hard at it, establishing a six foot high fence around the 2000 or so hectares. This fence keeps out foxes, cats, and rabbits--the three most lethal introduced species (save maybe for the cane toad that has yet to make a presence in the south of OZ). The foxes and rabbits were originally brought over for sport and populations easily skyrocketed because of the abundance of food here. Marsupials (mammals that give birth to live young that then mature in a pouch) are pretty slow, having evolved on a continent with few predators. So, the foxes and cats (brought by early Europeans as pets) have a field day with them. The fence will keep these guys out while aiding in the safety of native marsupials and placental mammals to propagate and exist on the inside. As all of these native critters are nocturnal so the only time you will see one is on the way to the bathroom at night, alone, or on the way to your cabin, again alone, and one either flies across the path, much to your astonishment and momentary unease, or hisses at you from a tree!
It was one of these nighttime moments that Josie finally made herself known. An eastern grey kangaroo, Josie is about three feet tall, and very very inquisitive. At first we thought she genuinely liked us, but it soon became obvious that she was only using that as a ploy to get close enough to possibly sneak into the kitchen door! It had happened before, with other groups and we've been told "you don't want to see what she can do."
It's been cold here. Really cold. And I wake up clutching my sleeping bag along with a ratty old comforter I found about my head. Though, I could also be doing that because of the memory of the HUNTSMAN SPIDER we found on Tuesday! They live! Crawling with legs spread wide, the dreaded huntsman was found on a students cabin wall! Perched right above his bed! Waiting? Anticipating? Before I had any say in the matter (for I try to enforce in the unwieldy Americans the fact that we didn't come down to OZ to KILL everything) the students had bug sprayed the poor guy to death. One advantage of this was that we were all able to gaze into its beady eyes up close. You ever notice, however, that when you talk about bugs, or worse yet, interact with them, you keep thinking of them and maybe even '"feel" them crawling around...hm...but, Ive instilled in the students no more killing. Now I await my big moment when I get to try and capture one for release back into the bush...
Stay tuned for more, I hope everything is bright and happy back up north and that everyone had a smashing 4th of July. We ended up at a semi-seedy pub in Swan Reach that night to celebrate our independence. Interesting town in that you have to cross the Murray River to get there. The Murray is the largest river in all of Australia (and subsequently has a heap of environmental issues) and at this particular spot, we didn't cross a bridge to get to the other side. Instead they have a ferry, running 24 hours a day, that shuttles you and your car the 200 or so yards across the water. Pretty surreal and all at once, very Australian.
Laura
Saturday, July 01, 2006
Where the kangaroos are boss...
"Have you seen Joshephine yet?" My boss asked me from her home in Sydney. My 1st group of students and I had arrived at the "Yooka" Sanctuary just an hour earlier, bleary eyed but ecstatic that we arrived at all! (I dont know why but it always seems like a miracle.)
"Who is Josephine?" I asked. So far I had an only met Phil and Mimi, the adorable Aussie couple that run the joint.
"She is the resident kangaroo. She is small, but can pack a punch."
And so I held "ït", it being my bladder, through the long cold night, and into the early hours of dawn, curious but also somewhat terrified to run into "Josie" on the way to the john...
The plane ride from LAX to Melbourne was pretty uneventful. There were the usual "swooping" dips and sways of the big plane as it negotiated with those high pacific winds, but then again, you become so delirious after fifteen hours of sardine-style (good luck finding leg room in economy) plane travel that it all becomes part of a surreal dream.
And it doesn't change once you land either. When you walk out into the rainy overcast Melbourne morning, and begin to swim, on the wrong side of the road, through traffic, with a large 12-person white van and nine students laughing at your every minor mistake (windshield wipers on left! blinker on right!) As you drive along the Stuart Highway north, away from the South Australian capital of Adelaide, toward the Barossa Valley and your home for the next two weeks. And just when you think you can finally yawn and take in all that has happened in the last 24 hours of your life, the sun begins to pass in streaks through the clouds and light up the huge gaping eucalypt branches until long pointed shadows are thrown on the ground. As you stare at the white skin of these giants, a kangaroo crossing sign passes by and then the highway, lit up on both sides now by fields of gold, suddenly seems to extend into forever. You realize that you arent tired anymore. You are on fire.
I love this country. I really do. And the Yookamurra Sanctuary is just one more slice of heaven I am getting the good fortune to see. Since when do I get my own cabin? Come on!
So far the trip has been as epic as I imagined. South Australia, as well as all of OZ, is in the midst of winter so its cool here (50's and 60's) and even downright cold at night. A very stark contrast to the 100 degree heat I escaped in Colorado.
It's Sunday morning now (Saturday night for most back in the States) and I just made a telephone call to my nephew, Joshua, who I'd like to give a shout out to and say HAPPY BIRTHDAY! He just turned six years old and told me about all of his favorite toys he received (of course, I have no idea of the cool toys anymore). My Dad also emailed to alert me of the fact their ARE poisonous snakes in these parts and I should watch it! Thanks Dad! Fortunately (or unfortunately, because it would be an experience to see a Brown Snake) they are pretty sedentary this time of year.
So, that's the update. We thankfully have a free day today so I'll send more news once we start working with the wildlife, or I have a confrontation with Josie, whichever comes first. And, speaking of roos, I'm about to head out into the warming early afternoon and attempt a 20k run around the fenced-in portion (more on this later) of the compound. If I see a male kangaroo rearing on his hind legs and coughing, Phil, one of the resident biologists tells me, I'm to get down on the ground and cough back. This will assure him he's still the boss.
G'day to you all!
laura
"Who is Josephine?" I asked. So far I had an only met Phil and Mimi, the adorable Aussie couple that run the joint.
"She is the resident kangaroo. She is small, but can pack a punch."
And so I held "ït", it being my bladder, through the long cold night, and into the early hours of dawn, curious but also somewhat terrified to run into "Josie" on the way to the john...
The plane ride from LAX to Melbourne was pretty uneventful. There were the usual "swooping" dips and sways of the big plane as it negotiated with those high pacific winds, but then again, you become so delirious after fifteen hours of sardine-style (good luck finding leg room in economy) plane travel that it all becomes part of a surreal dream.
And it doesn't change once you land either. When you walk out into the rainy overcast Melbourne morning, and begin to swim, on the wrong side of the road, through traffic, with a large 12-person white van and nine students laughing at your every minor mistake (windshield wipers on left! blinker on right!) As you drive along the Stuart Highway north, away from the South Australian capital of Adelaide, toward the Barossa Valley and your home for the next two weeks. And just when you think you can finally yawn and take in all that has happened in the last 24 hours of your life, the sun begins to pass in streaks through the clouds and light up the huge gaping eucalypt branches until long pointed shadows are thrown on the ground. As you stare at the white skin of these giants, a kangaroo crossing sign passes by and then the highway, lit up on both sides now by fields of gold, suddenly seems to extend into forever. You realize that you arent tired anymore. You are on fire.
I love this country. I really do. And the Yookamurra Sanctuary is just one more slice of heaven I am getting the good fortune to see. Since when do I get my own cabin? Come on!
So far the trip has been as epic as I imagined. South Australia, as well as all of OZ, is in the midst of winter so its cool here (50's and 60's) and even downright cold at night. A very stark contrast to the 100 degree heat I escaped in Colorado.
It's Sunday morning now (Saturday night for most back in the States) and I just made a telephone call to my nephew, Joshua, who I'd like to give a shout out to and say HAPPY BIRTHDAY! He just turned six years old and told me about all of his favorite toys he received (of course, I have no idea of the cool toys anymore). My Dad also emailed to alert me of the fact their ARE poisonous snakes in these parts and I should watch it! Thanks Dad! Fortunately (or unfortunately, because it would be an experience to see a Brown Snake) they are pretty sedentary this time of year.
So, that's the update. We thankfully have a free day today so I'll send more news once we start working with the wildlife, or I have a confrontation with Josie, whichever comes first. And, speaking of roos, I'm about to head out into the warming early afternoon and attempt a 20k run around the fenced-in portion (more on this later) of the compound. If I see a male kangaroo rearing on his hind legs and coughing, Phil, one of the resident biologists tells me, I'm to get down on the ground and cough back. This will assure him he's still the boss.
G'day to you all!
laura
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