Edgar, I am relieved to say, is without doubt getting stronger. He is standing more without splaying legs (I cover the bottom of the box with leafy twigs to provide traction), can eat on his own with food just dropped into his mouth rather than having a finger shove it down, and his attempts at walking are more frequent and better controlled. He has a long way to go yet improvement is obvious and welcome.
He is starting to grow into his black fluffy stage. Very cute. His eyes are fully open with bright intelligence and curiosity.
I have agreed to take Karen's three baby crows for four days while she goes to the coast. A couple of days ago she texted me that she had them and did I want them to which I said no - too much work and smell and IF we had an inspection I doubt I could mask the crow smell successfully. Did text back that perhaps, when they are older and nearing the time when they would fledge, they could come and live in the aviary with Edgar, form a bond so all four could be released together. That seems the best way to introduce them into the wild. Even wild crow babies don't always make it through their first year I read. Forty-two percent die. What are the chances of hand raised crows? I don't know but will just have to try our best. There is no other alternative.
Taking these three crows for a trial four days will be excellent for Edgar and perhaps I will find that I can manage them quite all right and can keep them until they fledge. They will entertain each other and behave as crows should behave rather than having their personalities warped by interacting with humans. (I find myself wanting to kiss Edgar's fuzzy black head, NOT conducive to keeping emotional distance from this wild creature).
On the home front - not one iota of interest since dropping the property price to $399,000. On Monday Richard, Anthony, Cameron and their families met at Laidley cemetery to affix the bronze plaque over David Anthony's grave, fully 44 years after he died. They also dug a small hole on his grave for Glynis' ashes. A major loose end finally tied off in a fitting manner. Richard is kind and very family oriented. Can't begin to imagine how David Anthony being in an unmarked grave all these years felt to him. But now he has done what any loving father, and he is a loving father, would do.
Now can we sell the house and move? Crass of me I know but there you go. I try not to want but I want nevertheless. Try not to feel guilty about wanting and feel guilty anyway.
Every day is a goulash of gratitude and guilt. Was reading up on the various species of Buddhism. My loo book is An American Pilgrimage by Paul Elie about four Catholics; Dorothy Day, Flannery O'Connor, Thomas Merton and Walker Percy. It is subtitled, The Life You Save May Be Your Own. The book details their Catholic conversion and their struggles with themselves, philosophy, the nature of good and evil, poverty, war, writing and much else that pertained to being alive as well as what it meant to be Catholic. One thing is for sure, none of them really had the answer. Even Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk who lived the penultimate Catholic life of seclusion and reflection, even he was riddled with the angst which is part and parcel of being alive.
I don't think the 'isms have it. Perhaps I just am not evolved or disciplined enough to understand what they offer yet it seems as soon as reality is filtered through the prismed opinions of someone else I am lost. Reality is so immediate. I sense that even if I don't know it. It is as close as my next breath and the universe behind my eyelids.
Oh, yes, read a report on how some people have negative reactions to mindfulness meditation. How interesting as sometimes I have felt, and I think I have written about it, this mild sense of panic, that if I don't open my eyes and move NOW. It is irresistible. There is a sort of external pressure which confines and frightens me. Am glad I'm not alone. Also glad it doesn't happen all the time. In future, if I experience it, having read of these bad experiences, I won't fight it or berate myself for being weak-willed and undisciplined.
Wednesday, January 27, 2016
Saturday, January 23, 2016
Just starting to sprinkle. Was thinking this morning how we are slowly but inevitably contributing to the desertification of the Lockyer. Yes, it rains. Yes, there is the (dwindling) underground aquifer, but with continual land clearing and burning, the continual hoovering up of the underground water supply to irrigate the factory farms, it is turning into a desert. If I had photos of our drive into town from 1991, when we first moved here, and compared them to now, the changes would be significant. Little by little, slowly yet inexorably, patches of bush or entire swathes of bush have been cleared or burnt. It makes a difference. Having trees, lots of trees, attracts rain.
One hobby farmer down the road removed every tree from his one flat paddock so on the days when the temperatures sore, his cattle have no relief. It beggars belief. Doesn't need much in the way of common sense to know that cattle are happier and put on more weight if they are comfortable. He doesn't need to know, and obviously didn't, that the trees he removed are legumes and fix nitrogen in the soil, all great for growing grass. Tree prejudice is pervasive.
But this is an old and battered drum I beat and no one listens because I am living in the wrong place among the wrong people at the wrong time. Climate change doesn't exist here or if it does it's someone else's problem.
Going home to the Tweed, and it does feel like going home, just confirms my ardent desire to move there. Driving from the Tweed Art Gallery towards Stokers Siding or from Nobbys Creek to Cabarita I was struck by the amount of, the colour of and the lushness of trees. Green filtered light. How long since I've seen green filtered light? And I didn't have time to stop and just look at it. One day....
Edgar update: He's eating better, seems a little less weak (head not lolling backwards so much) and I don't worry when I open the door in the morning whether he will be dead or not....yet something doesn't seem right with him. Perhaps the weakness goes deeper than I thought. Perhaps his screaming when we found him was the last hurrah before he died as it is taking a long time for him to recover. He grumbles and calls when he's being fed but there is no crying out for food as I would expect. Magpies that I have raised scream the house down for food. He sleeps all the time and doesn't move much except to find a corner where he feels more secure and perhaps supported. So, it's wait and see. His eyes seem a little more open than previously and I think they will be blue which indicates he is probably a Torresian crow.
One hobby farmer down the road removed every tree from his one flat paddock so on the days when the temperatures sore, his cattle have no relief. It beggars belief. Doesn't need much in the way of common sense to know that cattle are happier and put on more weight if they are comfortable. He doesn't need to know, and obviously didn't, that the trees he removed are legumes and fix nitrogen in the soil, all great for growing grass. Tree prejudice is pervasive.
But this is an old and battered drum I beat and no one listens because I am living in the wrong place among the wrong people at the wrong time. Climate change doesn't exist here or if it does it's someone else's problem.
Going home to the Tweed, and it does feel like going home, just confirms my ardent desire to move there. Driving from the Tweed Art Gallery towards Stokers Siding or from Nobbys Creek to Cabarita I was struck by the amount of, the colour of and the lushness of trees. Green filtered light. How long since I've seen green filtered light? And I didn't have time to stop and just look at it. One day....
Edgar update: He's eating better, seems a little less weak (head not lolling backwards so much) and I don't worry when I open the door in the morning whether he will be dead or not....yet something doesn't seem right with him. Perhaps the weakness goes deeper than I thought. Perhaps his screaming when we found him was the last hurrah before he died as it is taking a long time for him to recover. He grumbles and calls when he's being fed but there is no crying out for food as I would expect. Magpies that I have raised scream the house down for food. He sleeps all the time and doesn't move much except to find a corner where he feels more secure and perhaps supported. So, it's wait and see. His eyes seem a little more open than previously and I think they will be blue which indicates he is probably a Torresian crow.
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Edgar the Crow
Two days ago we found a crow. A baby crow screaming its head off in the long grass by the side of the road. It sounded more like a frog being taken by a snake than a crow so when I investigated I walked really really slow, peering as best I could through the grass. Green snakes are harmless but browns are deadly. Even when the crow was at my feet he was difficult to see. When I did see him, I saw a bundle of black and grey spiky pin feathers and a yawning red cavern from which the squawks were coming.
Took him home and dug out the emergency rations of frozen mince. Squirted a bit of water in his mouth with a syringe as I suspect he was dehydrated (next day found his first poop buried in the folds of the cloth used as emergency bedding. It was pure poop with no urine and as big as the first joint of my little finger).
For two days I have put off writing about Edgar as I wasn't sure he'd pull through. He wasn't eating much and seemed very very weak as his head kept flopping backwards onto his back. That didn't seem normal. The heat hasn't helped. Today I've put a cloth covered ice bag in his basket which seems to help. Today he seems stronger, his head rarely flops back and he eats with more gusto and less coaxing. Oddly his eyes aren't fully open.
At first I thought he was a casualty of the Channel Billed Cuckoos. Thought the cuckoo nestlings either ejected the crow eggs or the crow nestlings but that's not what they do. They actually do nothing
but eat and as they are bigger, grow faster and are stronger than the crow babies, the parents feed them and neglect their own offspring until they starve to death and are thrown from the nest.
Looking up in the gum tree which looms over the area where Edgar was found, there was a nest on an outermost branch. It is so high up the tree I can't tell whether the nest is intact or whether there are other babies. It appeared to be empty. So I don't know whether Edgar was an accident or a victim.
In any case, the task now is to get him well enough and strong enough to move outside into half the galah's aviary. The less contact I have with him the better if he is to survive in the wild as a wild crow. The local crows, and there are at least two which live in the mugga ironbark, need to notice and accept him into their circle. A big ask.
If I can find that fine line between which he knows to come to me for supplemental feeding at the same time as he maneuvers his way into local society, I will have succeeded. The fate of tame crows, unless kept permanently in an aviary, is grim. They don't survive.
In the meantime, we'll just muddle through. He's still, compared to photos of other crows his age, very weak.
Took him home and dug out the emergency rations of frozen mince. Squirted a bit of water in his mouth with a syringe as I suspect he was dehydrated (next day found his first poop buried in the folds of the cloth used as emergency bedding. It was pure poop with no urine and as big as the first joint of my little finger).
For two days I have put off writing about Edgar as I wasn't sure he'd pull through. He wasn't eating much and seemed very very weak as his head kept flopping backwards onto his back. That didn't seem normal. The heat hasn't helped. Today I've put a cloth covered ice bag in his basket which seems to help. Today he seems stronger, his head rarely flops back and he eats with more gusto and less coaxing. Oddly his eyes aren't fully open.
At first I thought he was a casualty of the Channel Billed Cuckoos. Thought the cuckoo nestlings either ejected the crow eggs or the crow nestlings but that's not what they do. They actually do nothing
Looking up in the gum tree which looms over the area where Edgar was found, there was a nest on an outermost branch. It is so high up the tree I can't tell whether the nest is intact or whether there are other babies. It appeared to be empty. So I don't know whether Edgar was an accident or a victim.
In any case, the task now is to get him well enough and strong enough to move outside into half the galah's aviary. The less contact I have with him the better if he is to survive in the wild as a wild crow. The local crows, and there are at least two which live in the mugga ironbark, need to notice and accept him into their circle. A big ask.
If I can find that fine line between which he knows to come to me for supplemental feeding at the same time as he maneuvers his way into local society, I will have succeeded. The fate of tame crows, unless kept permanently in an aviary, is grim. They don't survive.
In the meantime, we'll just muddle through. He's still, compared to photos of other crows his age, very weak.
Monday, January 18, 2016
Down to the Tweed this weekend where I viewed this property http://www.realestate.com.au/property-acreage+semi-rural-nsw-nobbys+creek-120871409 at Nobbys Creek. The house is perfect. Lots of light, lots of wood, smells good, new, clean and an easy keeper - great kitchen with a walk in pantry and gas stove, high ceilings, generously wide hallways. Lovely. The land needs tweaking. Very steep, have to move fences and make some kind of arrangement for feed and tack a there are no suitable buildings. Also need to find way to separate Dakota to keep him from eating too much.
But as we've not even had a nibble since dropping the house price, all the above is a moot point. Suspect the house will sell long before we would be in a position to buy it. No matter.
As always, as soon as I left the M1 and drove towards Murwillumbah and the mountains came into view, my heart lifted. Actually my heart lifted before, as soon as I passed the exit to Tallebudgera Valley but as traffic was heavy and I needed to concentrate I couldn't really give in to it until I'd exited the motorway. I did sing along with Paul Simon at full volume however. Joy cannot be contained.
The contrast with the Lockyer is profound. The Tweed is lush, green, criss crossed and dotted with water (and of course has the sea as a lace fringed blue border) whereas the Lockyer, because we're experiencing an El Nino drought, is again turning brown despite it being January, normally our wettest month. The gums are skeletal and what water there is is mud brown, not clear and flowing like the creeks and rivers of the Tweed.
This confirms my already ardent desire to move. Surely, SURELY, the house will sell and we can move on.
When I left the house, following the real estate agent down the road, I gave it up to the Universe. The house, although beautiful, isn't perfect. It's 30 minutes from the sea, there is less bush around so birdlife won't be as abundant as it could be and the horse accomodation is problematic. The property is desirable and I very much doubt it will be on the market when we are in a position to buy. So be it.
But I wanted to blog today not because of house hunting and property buying but because of a tiny soft-bodied insect.
One mosquito can make sleeping a sleepless itchy hell. Woke up with bites on both legs, my back and my shoulder. Then heard the culprit buzzing around my face. The only way to combat a mosquito is to turn on the fan, unless poison is used which I don't like. So I got up to turn on the fan, thought I'd go to the loo at the same time. Fumbled around for the torch and couldn't find it. Decided I knew the way and if I walked slowly I'd get to the toilet without mishap. Got to the living room and saw a small green flash near the floor. It looked like the regular strobing of a In Sleep Mode bit of hardware. Except there is no bit of hardware at the base of a wooden plinth near the bookcase. I knelt down and swept my hands slowly over the light and felt nothing. Tried again, still nothing. I turned on a light and there on the floor was a small black bug. A firefly!
I've lived in Australia for 34 years and I've never seen a firefly. Tried to catch him to put him outside, after turning off the light to again enjoy his mating call, but he dropped down and out of sight in a floor crack. Maybe he was the only firefly around and now he's dead. Feel a bit sad about that but oh so chuffed that I saw him. Hadn't realized I missed them until seeing him.
But as we've not even had a nibble since dropping the house price, all the above is a moot point. Suspect the house will sell long before we would be in a position to buy it. No matter.
As always, as soon as I left the M1 and drove towards Murwillumbah and the mountains came into view, my heart lifted. Actually my heart lifted before, as soon as I passed the exit to Tallebudgera Valley but as traffic was heavy and I needed to concentrate I couldn't really give in to it until I'd exited the motorway. I did sing along with Paul Simon at full volume however. Joy cannot be contained.
The contrast with the Lockyer is profound. The Tweed is lush, green, criss crossed and dotted with water (and of course has the sea as a lace fringed blue border) whereas the Lockyer, because we're experiencing an El Nino drought, is again turning brown despite it being January, normally our wettest month. The gums are skeletal and what water there is is mud brown, not clear and flowing like the creeks and rivers of the Tweed.
This confirms my already ardent desire to move. Surely, SURELY, the house will sell and we can move on.
When I left the house, following the real estate agent down the road, I gave it up to the Universe. The house, although beautiful, isn't perfect. It's 30 minutes from the sea, there is less bush around so birdlife won't be as abundant as it could be and the horse accomodation is problematic. The property is desirable and I very much doubt it will be on the market when we are in a position to buy. So be it.
But I wanted to blog today not because of house hunting and property buying but because of a tiny soft-bodied insect.
One mosquito can make sleeping a sleepless itchy hell. Woke up with bites on both legs, my back and my shoulder. Then heard the culprit buzzing around my face. The only way to combat a mosquito is to turn on the fan, unless poison is used which I don't like. So I got up to turn on the fan, thought I'd go to the loo at the same time. Fumbled around for the torch and couldn't find it. Decided I knew the way and if I walked slowly I'd get to the toilet without mishap. Got to the living room and saw a small green flash near the floor. It looked like the regular strobing of a In Sleep Mode bit of hardware. Except there is no bit of hardware at the base of a wooden plinth near the bookcase. I knelt down and swept my hands slowly over the light and felt nothing. Tried again, still nothing. I turned on a light and there on the floor was a small black bug. A firefly!
I've lived in Australia for 34 years and I've never seen a firefly. Tried to catch him to put him outside, after turning off the light to again enjoy his mating call, but he dropped down and out of sight in a floor crack. Maybe he was the only firefly around and now he's dead. Feel a bit sad about that but oh so chuffed that I saw him. Hadn't realized I missed them until seeing him.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Boring stuff unless you're trying to sell a house
A thousand varieties of green. The subtropics in summer after rain. In winter it's a dozen shades of bleh, but once the rains come, one could gather together all the green varieties of paint, coloured pencils, pastels and inks, use them alone or in a thousand combinations and still not record every green nuance seen from this one window.
Next day: We've done it. Dropped the price on the house. Suppose many people have an inflated idea of what their house is worth. I was certain this would sell for $419,000. Heck, I thought it'd sell for $475,000. Wrong wrong wrong. So now it is $399,000 or will be when the realtors get around to changing the price. Now it had better sell. In April it will have been two years on the market. That long and prospective buyers wonder what's wrong with the place. Not a thing. It's a little piece of paradise and everyone who has been here comments on how beautiful it is, inside and out. Even people who came and didn't buy it.
Have to admit I've been stubborn about it. We could've sold it for $395,000 (the value of hindsight) but I was certain of it's worth. Now I have to come off my high horse and admit I was wrong (something I'm no good at). The property, as much as I love it, needs to go so we may go. And to do that we may have to take substantially less than planned.
Richard is also a sticking point. "Four hundred thousand no less" was his mantra. Had to convince him that we would still be okay financially if less money is accepted. We do need money in the bank and we do need money for perhaps a dog fence around the house, a shed perhaps, tank replacement, who knows? We'll just have to play it by ear.
I'm going this weekend to Currumbin to catch up with Helen and have a mini-break. Am trying to organize an inspection of the Cobaki house (http://www.realestate.com.au/property-acreage+semi-rural-nsw-cobaki-120545057 ). Wasn't going to look at any more houses until we had a solid offer/contract on this one but why waste a trip? Am so SO looking forward to seeing the sea. Tried to explain this need to Kathy but as she has an aversio to water, I may as well try to be convinced of the cuddliness of spiders by an arachnophile.
Next day: We've done it. Dropped the price on the house. Suppose many people have an inflated idea of what their house is worth. I was certain this would sell for $419,000. Heck, I thought it'd sell for $475,000. Wrong wrong wrong. So now it is $399,000 or will be when the realtors get around to changing the price. Now it had better sell. In April it will have been two years on the market. That long and prospective buyers wonder what's wrong with the place. Not a thing. It's a little piece of paradise and everyone who has been here comments on how beautiful it is, inside and out. Even people who came and didn't buy it.
Have to admit I've been stubborn about it. We could've sold it for $395,000 (the value of hindsight) but I was certain of it's worth. Now I have to come off my high horse and admit I was wrong (something I'm no good at). The property, as much as I love it, needs to go so we may go. And to do that we may have to take substantially less than planned.
Richard is also a sticking point. "Four hundred thousand no less" was his mantra. Had to convince him that we would still be okay financially if less money is accepted. We do need money in the bank and we do need money for perhaps a dog fence around the house, a shed perhaps, tank replacement, who knows? We'll just have to play it by ear.
I'm going this weekend to Currumbin to catch up with Helen and have a mini-break. Am trying to organize an inspection of the Cobaki house (http://www.realestate.com.au/property-acreage+semi-rural-nsw-cobaki-120545057 ). Wasn't going to look at any more houses until we had a solid offer/contract on this one but why waste a trip? Am so SO looking forward to seeing the sea. Tried to explain this need to Kathy but as she has an aversio to water, I may as well try to be convinced of the cuddliness of spiders by an arachnophile.
Saturday, January 2, 2016
More FISM
FISM is going to be a bit more difficult than I thought for Richard. What I didn't realize is the very thing we are trying to, if not cure, at least ameliorate, is the very thing which prevents him from getting his heart rate up to a significant level. He just cannot pedal fast enough and of course, walking on the treadmill is challenging enough for him without asking him to run. Would like to try him on the cross trainer but suspect, as it involves fast movement of the legs, the same hurdle will present itself.
So we have to up the level of difficulty. On the bike we raised it from 4 to 12 and managed to get his HR up to 85. The target is 134 for a 70 year old man but right now we're just shooting for 90. He did get a little breathless and turned a pale shade of pink so we're on the right track.
I am very proud of him as being outside his comfort zone like this is really...out of his comfort zone. He is not an athletic, sporty person and has never been interested in any sport beyond getting the State of Origin final score so as not to look like a complete doofus when talking to other men. Consistently going to the gym, using strange machines, getting sore - all alien to his nature.
But worth it. People spend a fortune on insurance. They insure their houses, the house contents, the car, have medical insurance, even insure their pets but as far as taking out insurance on future health by the lifestyle lived today, for many people it's not on the radar. We're taking out a bit of insurance, happily paying a higher premium to have, hopefully, the big pay off while we cruise to the end. Health.
So we have to up the level of difficulty. On the bike we raised it from 4 to 12 and managed to get his HR up to 85. The target is 134 for a 70 year old man but right now we're just shooting for 90. He did get a little breathless and turned a pale shade of pink so we're on the right track.
I am very proud of him as being outside his comfort zone like this is really...out of his comfort zone. He is not an athletic, sporty person and has never been interested in any sport beyond getting the State of Origin final score so as not to look like a complete doofus when talking to other men. Consistently going to the gym, using strange machines, getting sore - all alien to his nature.
But worth it. People spend a fortune on insurance. They insure their houses, the house contents, the car, have medical insurance, even insure their pets but as far as taking out insurance on future health by the lifestyle lived today, for many people it's not on the radar. We're taking out a bit of insurance, happily paying a higher premium to have, hopefully, the big pay off while we cruise to the end. Health.
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