Post

Back, long ago, remote farm-people lived for the post. It brought news. It also brought mail-order goods, and parcels of things from people in places where the shopping... well, existed, or was more extensive than the general store thirty (or five hundred) miles away.

We're quite lucky in that between Walkers, Bowman's, Max's (in lady Barron) and Roberts (with bits at the post office and pub and tourist stuff in couple of other spots) we have quite a range. We even have a dress/fashion place, which of course I'm into every half hour. Um. Sorry, I really am terrible on names :-) you can buy most things on the island. Because we have a rather eclectic cosmopolitan population (that polite speak for bunch of weird people from odd places, even South Africa) you can buy a range att he supermarkets that eclipses most neighborhood supermarkets. Sushi stuff, curry spices, organic gluten free... we have it.

But the post is still much more special than to folk who can shop more widely. It doesn't just bring bills. Today for example brought me a supply of great shed-rags. I have already modified my will accordingly and bequeathed the remainder to my grandchildren (it's an in joke. You have to be here :-)) and a pair of slippers (of 3 ordered) and a box of 10 copies of

Right, a few more details about the great flotilla expotition to find the North Pole or East Kangaroo island (whichever came first). The wind set fair for France, the day we embarked... (true. So long as you don't mind taking the long route) After causing some wallowing when we loaded Peter's boat with 6 people and dive gear for 3 we took two boats. Unfortunately boat 1 took off like a rat up a drainpipe, and did not realise that boat two was sitting at the jetty suffering a serious dose of flat battery and electric start. They did see us coming along their wake... only it wasn't us. It took getting a battery out of the Ute to get it going (and no, pull starting 110 horse motor did not work). By this stage yours truly's toes had froze and I barely noticed them getting nipped by a rising boat and not rising jetty ladder. I notice now. Anyway, had a nice run out once we got going, with wonderful airconditioning (aka evaporative cooling off the drips from the bimini). The divers went into various caves and crannies and found... not a crayfish. The fishermen drifted sans sounder and did not hit any rocks. No fish, no rocks either. We did get a few flathead in the end but it was not a great day for fish. Still it was beautiful out and Barbs did get her first gummy shark (I always want to throw them back, but they are popular trading items.)

Ok, a very tired quick post. We've been to sea and fished and dived as a family, come home, eaten flake (why bother IMO) and fresh flathead for our tea. tired now, will write all about it tomorrow

Kookaburra

The Kookaburra - like a fluffed up bundle of old rags with a sharp beak was sitting on the fence post laughing at me last night as I rushed about doing the chores (Barbs is working until 6-7 every night, and James leaves home at 7.15 and often doesn't get back until 6.30-7 every night, so it's very quiet here on the farm. Dogs bark and the kookaburra laughs and blasted kurrawongs make a racket passing through. Human chatter, not a lot.

I've been told that people are very superstitious about killing kookaburras. That explains why they're not extinct :-). I've got quite used to it and almost fond of it, but the first time nearly made me jump out of my skin. I do begin to appreciate, though, why they said that the early Flinders island farms were really tough on the women. While it's not universal, I think women are more gregarious, and this must have been a very lonely life if you liked a bit of a chat. Fortunately I like people and can see them once a week even if I don't need to. The internet too makes a big difference. But I understand why some people talk back to the kookaburra

We have had heavy frosts again this morning. I conclude this side of the mountain is just colder. Having James home has meant a few changes - he's got to be at work in Lady Barron by 8, and both of them are getting home later. It's meant I get to walk out to the gate at 7.15 and there was ice on the puddles this morning. Still lovely having him home and I think he's learning a lot and hopefully enjoying himself. He went to see today and got wet and cold.

I'm, I hope, getting myself back toward myself with the writing. I did quite a lot of tidying today, which is always a good sign. New books come from a clear desk (which by the end of the book is cluttered with open reference books, notes, maps, diagrams and empty coffee cups)

We have a rat eating my onions. It's in the old chook yard, and I can see the holes. It's quite far from the house, and well fenced, so cat proof without a lot of effort. Some kind of trap is needed. A big one - it's a big hole. A rat called Kimberly, perhaps?

Okay, yesterday involved a fair amount of running around with the little big one, and culminated in him going off to work this morning, at 7.15. We also went out with the professional hunter last night, so that got him and I back home at 11.15. Then I had to MGC post, and then I fell asleep - at about one, and awoke to cramps at about 2. No one else in the family was affected, and none of the usual ills that follow this were received. But I am under-slept. Barbs is doing her first day alone at the surgery, and James is having his first day at the Abalone diver's place (he will be mr manyjobs, and nothing glamorous like diving in cold water. Yet.)

And I stopped to visit Peter after dropping B and have returned with all sorts of goodies, including a portable generator - this is an investment in our future home (which may, who knows, end up off grid - I'd like that). I was also considering it as possible squid-catching device - take a few really bright lights and shine them on the water at Red Bluff.

Welcome home little one

Our Boy James is home after some epics with his Zimbabwean visa. We'd like Alana too, but for the next 6 weeks, we've just got James. Anyone needing to employ a large likely lad on the island, let me know. Peter brought him across with his new ute, and we're deeply grateful. Once the flock of locusts (AKA 22 year old) has descended on the larder, we may need to send him out to forage. Better lock up your chickens.

Seriously, very relieved parents.