What goes down...

Must sometimes come up, as was the case -for me, of the saveloy that B had brought back from the cattle auction. It was 4 AM this morning befor the last of parted with me, and I got some sleep. Until first light when I was up as usual. Very annoying to be a light sensitive sleeper. Anyway, it's been a tea and toast day and the book has not moved very much.

The tiny little art gallery had a show this evening, and we went to show solidarity. One of the things on display was a number of paper-thin lathed bowls - made a friend of John's - delicately shaped and drawn out of the grain and sometimes bark.



That's the artist herding cows. You don't want to judge people quickly.

Cattle la lowing!

Today was the island stock sale. I was part of the team who were selling tea, juices, sandwiches, cake and hot dogs to the 'crowd'. As it is school holidays there were quite a few children out for the day, as well as the farmers who had come to sell, or hoping the price was right, to buy. We were a little bit removed from the actual pens, in our old army style tent, but were the only refreshments available, so we did a brisk trade for most of the day.

So there we were, 4 women stuck in a small sheltered area, with a small gas stove to heat the saveloys and the coffee water, an esky (what we would call a coolbox) to keep the juice cold and several tables for cake and money etc. Unfortunately someone had herded their cows over our piece of ground before the tent went up, but we had a piece of red plastic over the biggest pats, and having labelled that the 'red carpet' the fun began. I have not laughed so much for so long in years, and I think my cheeks will be stiff tomorrow.

The 'A' team, who usually do the work, were not available, so we were apprentices without guidance, and we muddled through, and I hope made some money, but it was more by good luck than good judgement in the beginning, before we learned the ropes, and how to make the leaky gas stove cook faster. Do you know that if you put saveloys in water and begin to heat them, and then take some of the water out of the pot, it will have become a really girlie pink??

I think every customer left with a smile, but whether they were laughing with us, or at us, is anyones guess.

I thought that the saveloys were tastier this time, but I am not sure if that was hunger adding sauce, or whether I am becoming more accustomed to island tastes. I could smell coffee all day, but dared not have a cup, as there are no bathroom facilities at all at the saleyards. Which I found really strange.

A cow got its leg over one of the wooden struts that make up the sides of the pens, and immediately our landlord and a 'mate' of his jumped into action. One running to the ute to fetch the chainsaw, and the other getting into position ready to use it. The commotion even attracted our attention, so we popped out of the tent, in time to see the burly farmer pull the chainsaw into action on the run. Except that it didn't start, first, second or third pull. He handed it over to the owner, who also failed to start it for a few pulls. Then finally, just as I was going to jog over to ask sweetly if I could help, it started with a roar, and the cow was saved. If it had broken a leg, it would have had to be put down immediately, and as we have no abbattoir on the island it would have been a total write off. I asked the landlord later if I should have come to help, but he just muttered that his 'mate' had flooded the engine, normally she starts first pull.

Still it was great to get home, and over a delicious cup of coffee, tell Dave all about it. What did we laugh at? I think it was mass hysteria, at how many things can go wrong in setting up a stall, when we found we had no water, or matches, and the first customer used one of those 100 dollar notes to pay 3 dollars for his coffee. One of the ladies car's had overheated on the way in, and she had discovered there was a hole in her radiator, and her husband was worried she had cooked the engine, which just added to the need to laugh away the tension.

It was certainly a day to remember, the company, the sights and the smells. I really hope they invite me to help again.

Sweeping the house

Now it's been said that the sort of South Africans who emigrate legally (the ones other countries want - who are generally well-educated, skilled and, well, at least used to a South African middle-class lifestyle and income) really battle with the simple domestic chores the rest of the Western World's people accept as part of life (once I would have said white South Africans, but these days it is more a case of income than skin colour). Many of them have never cooked or washed up or cleaned their homes. They can be found in many foreign countries looking in puzzlement at a vacuum cleaner or trying to wash up in pure dishwashing liquid, and weeping noisily for Miriam that they never appreciated over the iron...

Of course we're different, as we seem to have spent most of our adult lives too broke to pay a fair wage and therefore not employing anyone. We know how to cook, clean etc.

And to prove it here is a picture of B sweeping the house.
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(actually dealing with spiders but it looked good ;-))

paper nautilus

I took an early walk down to the beach this morning, and found the this rather broken paper nautilus shell, in among the seaweed and the p-plater crabs. A bit symbolic I suppose - a fragile thing travelled across thousands of miles of sea to fetch up on a lonely beach on a remote island. I had several miles of sand-curve beach to myself... well, as the only human. The sky was slate fragments and the low-tide flats, full of the broken reflections seemed to go right on to the horizon. Across it a scattering of oystercatchers - looking for all the world like slightly disdainful matrons in widow's weeds (with red stockings!) at a bargain-basement sale stalking the sand-bar aisles. Sometimes I get so caught up in surviving, working, cooking, working, waiting, worrying that I lose sight of the sheer granduer of it.

And this time next week my boys will be here. My Roly-poly-puddin'-n-pie- kissed the girls an got a black eye Old English got his smellogram and has been eating like a horse... or a labrador. has put on 1.5kg. All of them, Dats and cog babies, will be out of quarantine on the 21st.
Family all together again, soon.

Roly is getting fat!

We heard today that our dog, Roly the Old English Sheepdog, is gaining weight. He has Dave's unwashed shirt, that we posted to him, in his kennel, and he is eating really well. I am so so pleased. When we heard he had lost so much weight, I worried that he was ill, and not just pining.

Now we just need to pay for the kennel, we thought we had paid all we needed to, to get all 6 of our pets to the island, but it turns out we still need to pay for the kenneling in Sydney. Then hopefully they will be with us next month. I can't wait.

The Concert

Locals keep saying "In winter..." or "Once winter gets here.." As far as my toes are concerned, winter has already arrived, so I am a bit anxious about what is still in store for us. We need rain, but when it snows near Hobart, the wind comes off it straight to Flinders. So we need to pray for rain, but not snow!

I spent this evening in the town hall, which has a really fancy title, involving recreation centre. The music teacher had organised for her pupils to perform for us, and also for the 'sing Australia' choir to sing, and some adults to perform either a solo, or a duet.

I enjoyed the evening, and all the different performances, some were better, some not so good, but everyone tried really hard. The encouragement they got from parents and friends, the kind laughter that greeted any mistakes, and the enthusiastic applause at the end of each piece was really heartwarming. It was fun so see the different reactions of the children to being thrust into the limelight, in front of a crowd of fellow islanders. Kathleen had the children perform on the floor in front of the stage, so they were not so put off by the audience, but the choir were up on stage, and filled the whole hall with their voices.

There were fifteen different performers, and each performed several pieces, but two of the pieces chosen were of African origin. It was soooo weird to see a group of about 20 Australians doing the equivalent of a 'gumboot' dance, with the correct words, but in high heels and sneakers. For a moment I was almost homesick, but a rendition of Oh Bla Di Oh Bla Da, soon put an end to it.

We then went out into the foyer and descended on the food the mothers had provided. There was a 'gold' coin collection to raise money for the music school, so everyone made sure they got their monies worth. (The dollar coins in Australia are gold coloured, while the cents are all silver coloured, so they want to make sure everyone knows how much to give.)

There was a lot of chat and laughter, and once again it was really wonderful to feel part of the crowd, and included as part of the community.

The Galaxias

They're fish. Galaxias - probably G. maculata, although I will have to catch one for a proper ID. The nearest I have been to real live fish for a good few days. I took a walk across the field (had to escape my desk for a few minutes) and to the 'crick' (aka trickle with a few wider spots) and there they were. Only an ichthyologist could find them fascinating, alas. They're about 4 cm long and there in gurt big shoals (well shoals for a barely flowing puddle that is maybe 4 inches deep at the deepest.) It's amazing that they're there at all. Apparantly they're anadromous and move up from the sea.

Hmm. I see they are caught for 'whitebait' - when they move upstream - little fish that are fried whole. To quote the Wikipedia entry: "Foreigners frequently react with revulsion when shown uncooked whitebait, which resembles slimy, translucent worms." Hmm. Remind me not show them to B, uncooked.

Well well. I see it is a strictly controlled 'recreational fishery' in Tasmania.
Amazing what you can learn from a walk to the creek. At some stage the self-sufficiency live off the land bloke will have to try them. After all, we tried mutton-birds. Actually we had muttonbird - cooked by Inge (to show us how it was done and to be nice to us,)this evening, as we had a powerfailure (lost the longer post). It's still a bit on the fried-in-fish-oil stakes, but not inedible.

I think that one of the aspects of foraging is that you have to be 'noticing' and have an eye for detail, and a rather, relentless quizziosity. Funnily enough, in that sense, it fits rather well into the way I persue my other profession - especially with the current alternate history stuff. I probably look up about 400 things a day. It's not a great aid to flow... but it is rather what I am. Most of this doesn't obviously reflect in the books (for eg. if a character needs to look at other ships - I need to know what a crows nest was called in 1437. And I need to know that the telescope was not invented yet.) and I've often wondered if anyone notices.
But I would.
Which is why we'll end up tasting whitebait one of these days.