Friends

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This post is an appreciation for my friends Marisa and Marco

These are two fantastic people. They are the kind of people who are down for anything. They are friendly and funny and fun and are the type of friends who even if you haven’t seen them or spoken to them in forever, they welcome you back into their lives just like you never left. They are adventurers. They are outdoor people. They are just so great. Marisa and I met when we studied abroad in Costa Rica together. We spent some awesome times together there, exploring, adventuring, knocking on doors and stumbling through surveys in Spanish for our research, eating Mangos in hot springs, visiting the swing-set for long, reflective conversations, skinny dipping and countless other shenanigans. Marco waltzed in for a visit just before we all left Costa Rica. We all had a splendid time ziplining in Monteverde and dancing through the streets of Santa Elena. I remember climbing into a taxi on the night we all went our separate ways. I was in tears, mourning the loss of these beautiful friendships since Marisa and Marco were going back to Utah and I back to New Hampshire. But my older (and wiser) brother tried to comfort me by telling me that friendships like that don’t just end and that life has a way of bringing people back together again if it is meant to be. I, of course, ignored him and continued crying.

But right he was! Last summer it just so happened that Marisa, Marco and I visited our mutual friend, Niles in South Carolina and had an epic weekend of couch-fort building, camping, swinging, rainy day fire starting, cookie eating, Frisbee losing merriment. And now, rather by chance we are both in the same part of Australia at the same time!

I’ve been lucky enough to visit them twice during the three weeks I’ve been here. This past weekend was one of those weekends that you remember as just all sunshine and smiles. A gay pride water polo match, a paddle down the Yarra river to see the flying-fox bats sleeping in the trees, a trip to Victoria Market, where we gleaned bountiful armfuls of delicious fruits and veggies discarded by the vendors.

And then, the best part of all. We packed up a picnic of 

guacamole, bean dip, chips and smoothies and headed out to find the bats by foot. We parked ourselves down underneath the trees where hundreds (maybe thousands?) of bats were just awakening. The sun set, the bats woke up, they started flying away to their feeding ground. Slowly at first, but building up with the flapping of wings and chirping that soon turned into pandemonium. Bats everywhere. There were so many we wondered how they could all possibly leave. We thought there must be one or two lazy ones who slept in, missed the boat. Or maybe they just weren’t hungry? Or maybe someone forgot to wake them up? But no, at long last, every single bat was gone. Even the last one who kept flying around in a frenzy. We thought he was the rounder upper. “Come on, last call! Everyone up! Lets go! Time to eat! Wake up, wake up!”

With guacamole and smoothies filling our bellies and memories of the bat exodus filling our thoughts, we started the walk home, stopping to sit on a backwards bench that faced directly at a wall instead of into the street, then frolicking on.

A weekend I will never forget. And even though we parted ways again (Marisa and Marco en route New Zealand and I headed back to Castlemaine) it wasn’t a tearful goodbye because I am older and wiser and I know that true friendships never end and I’ll see these two again. 

Thank you Marisa and Marco! I love you guys!

Lingo

Just before I left for Australia, I spent a wonderful night at my parents’ house with some great family friends – playing music, reading stories and enjoying the Christmas spirit. In preparation for coming here, we decided to try playing “Waltzing Matilda” by Banjo Paterson and soon realized we had absolutely no idea what the song was talking about! Every other word was Aussie slang. I was told to do some research and report back. So here goes…

The lyrics to the song are as follow:

Once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong
Under the shade of a coolibah tree,
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled:
"Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me?"

Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me
And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled:
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me."

Down came a jumbuck to drink at that billabong.
Up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee.
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag:
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me."

Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me",
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag:
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me."

Up rode the squatter, mounted on his thoroughbred.
Down came the troopers, one, two, and three.
"Whose is that jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me."

Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me",
"Whose is that jumbuck you've got in your tucker bag?
You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me."

Up jumped the swagman and sprang into the billabong.
"You'll never take me alive!" said he
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong:
"Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me?"

Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda
"You'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me",
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong:
"Who'll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me?"

Here’s a link if you don’t know the song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CwvazMc5EfE)

When it came out some years ago, I watched the movie “Australia” with Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman. I obviously came away from that experience as an expert on anything Australian so I already knew that a “billabong” is a small body of water.  I’ve since learned that a swagman is an itinerant traveler, a billy is a can for boiling water and Matilda is another word for a bedroll.  A jumbuck is a sheep and a tuckerbag is for storing food. The title actually means traveling by foot with one’s goods and the basic story line is that a guy is camping and making tea when a sheep wanders through. The guy captures the sheep to eat but soon the farmer shows up with the cops to arrest the guy for stealing a sheep. Rather than be arrested, he jumps in the water and drowns. And Bob’s your uncle.

Some other words that I’ve learned (and of course have started peppering my conversations with…probably incorrectly) are:

…And Bob's your uncle!  Don’t ask me why, but it means something like  “…and it’s as easy as that!” or maybe “…and there you have it!”

Jug Pitcher

Line Hose

No worries You’re welcome and also sometimes OK or Yes

Full on Completely – or in some cases Hardcore

Knickers Underwear

Knackered Exhausted, pooped, tired.

Sunnies Sunglasses

Dam A swimming hole or water reservoir

Mob Group

Bathers Swimsuit

Bloke Guy

Bloody Very

Blowie Fly

Brekkie Breakfast

Bush The forest, the outback, the woods, anywhere that isn’t in a town

Good Onya Well done

Lollies Sweets/candy

Mate Buddy

Mozzie Mosquito

Oldies Parents

Appreciate the Small Moments

My fingers are trailing slowly through the water, leaving tiny ripples behind them. My eyes are closed and the only sign that I'm floating is the sounds of the birds and insects shifting around me on shore and the changes of temperature in the water. Joel talks to Bindi, the tiny puppy, and Harley floats somewhere nearby, the sounds of his paddling giving him away. We're cooling off in the dam after a day of wheeling load after load of hay into the garden and spreading it around the roots of the parched plants. It is hot. It is dry. There is not enough water to quench the garden's thirst in this weather. So we lay the hay down thick, hoping to keep the moisture in. The dam we swim in is the only source of water for this property. It is pumped up to the house, directed through pipes that heat as they reach the woodstove in the kitchen. The wood stove is where meals are cooked and tea is made. The house is filled with smoke and soot. When it is too hot to fire up the wood stove, there is no hot food, not hot water for showers.  The rest of the water is diverted off to the garden tap. We only water on weekends. On weekends, the electricity to run the pump is cheaper. Off peak.

Cheryl worries about the garden. She worries that her trees and plants will die, leaving her with nothing to eat (she maintains a self-reliant raw food diet) and nothing to trade (she runs her household on the barter system- hardly paying for anything. Just trading her lemons or zucchinis within the community for necessities). She worries that the electricity costs too much. She worries that the trees closest to the house provide a corridor for bush fires to leap up the hill into her home. She worries that foxes will eat up her chickens and ducks. She worries that her grown twin boys won't take care of the place when she's gone. She worries. A lot.

Mark loves cars. One look at the place and you'd know that. There are cars everywhere. Old ones, new ones, half ones, whole ones. He loves to fix them up. Sometimes he loves to sell them. But right now he's too busy for cars. He's building an addition to the house. They've bartered for all the materials. And a good thing! Their combined income is 10,000 a year. But they live happily. Provide for their sons, dogs, goats and chickens. It is an exchange, Cheryl says. She feeds the chickens good healthy food and lets them free range in her garden, she eats their eggs.

Cheryl and Mark love music and yoga. They host retreats, festivals, weddings and other events. Sometimes hundreds of people flock to their property with tents, campers, hammocks and they enjoy a few days of festivities. Mark has re-furbished an old church. Honey colored wood and funky yoga type decorations inside. I'm lucky enough to stay in the church. On Friday, they will host their weekly jam session for the Celtic band they play with.

Bella Donna the goat gives us 2 pints of milk a day. Cheryl makes cheese. The other two goats, Elvis and Billy, are still young. Cheryl hopes that they will provide her with more goats. She worries that they'll grow up and become mean bucks. Bindi is best friends with the new kitten, Moose. They are the same size for now. But soon Moose will outgrow Bindi. We wonder if they'll still play then. Sheba is an overzealous stick chooser. She likes the reeeaaally big ones. Usually she gets stuck at the gate and refuses to drop the giant branch she's got clenched between her teeth. So we don't see her often. Duke is the biggest beast of a dog. A giant fur ball of black, brown and white. Face like a bear. He is a Burmese Mountain Dog and how he survives in the heat of this place, I'll never know. His paw is bigger than Bindi's entire body. He plays gently and Bindi likes to sit on his back.

Bella Donna and Billy eat while Elvis photos bombs

Bella Donna

Elvis. What a goof.

This farm in Castlemaine has been a practice of endurance. Heat, fatigue, frequently feeling on the edge of hunger as my body adjust to raw food, soot, smoke. There is a Brown snake living in the wall by the back door. It is the 2nd most venomous snake and I'm slightly fearful whenever I walk near the wall. I am consciously trying to appreciate every moment for what it is- but I don't think I'll be sad to leave this one.

Cheryl with Bindi

Pizza's made by Joel

Bindi and Susie (friend of the family)

The "church" where I'm staying

Fireplace in the church

The house

Wood Stove

Duke

Bindi

Harley and Moose the kitten

Goat cheese in the making!

An Emu at Dinner

Penny has just made dinner. The only part of the meal she didn’t grow were the chick peas and as we began eating she wondered out loud “I wonder if I can grow these in this climate? No reason I can’t…” We heap the delicious combination onto our plates. Chickpeas and onions with swiss chard wilted in tomato sauce. There is homemade bread full of nuts and seeds (all of which she grew) and hummus (which she made).

            As we begin to eat I look out the glass door to find one of the emus staring in at us. He is about as tall as I am, with ridiculous long legs. When he walks, he picks up his large bird feet delicately and looks as if he’s doing high knees for a track warm up. Unfortunately Hilary follows my gaze and jumps up from the table in an insane movement, waving his arms and shouting. Penny shoots me a furtive glance. We had let the emus into the house paddock earlier that day for better grazing. Hilary hates the emus. Since they were raised from chicks they seek out humans and will often follow you, window to window and watch you from outside the house. Hilary runs to fetch the big puppy, Charlie, who would like nothing more than an opportunity to chase the huge birds. Penny has spent months training Charlie to behave around the emus, but Hilary is on a mission. He yells for Charlie and heads to the side door. Penny is frantic “Don’t even think about getting Charlie!!!” she shouts in her angriest voice, which still sounds adorable to me since I think all Australian accents are just the cutest things on Earth. Penny leans out the window and shoos the emu away, to save him from a fate of eager dog and angry man.

            The whole debacle is over in a few moments. I’m trying my hardest to hide my smile at the hilarity of it all. Hilary and Penny are smallish people. Penny is kind but direct. Her small, decided steps echo through their big, high ceilinged house. She has a large collection of floppy yet sensible hats (I’m assuming since I’ve been here 3 days and have already seen several appearances.) She shares stories of her greatest and worst wwoofers, of her three grown daughter’s and their children, of the plants she’s grown, is growing or hopes to grow, of the re-establishment of native trees on their property, of Hilary and all the things he could be doing if he wasn’t watching cricket. Hilary wears tan overalls. If he owns any other articles of clothing, I have yet to see them. He has a smile that reminds me of an impish child. If he isn’t cracking a joke, I have the feeling that he wishes he were, but senses it is not appropriate.

My Bedroom

            So the mini explosion over an emu at dinner was quite comical. Once things settled back down, we ate chilled mulberries, raspberries and boysenberries with yogurt – that Penny had made. This all tasted excellent after a day of cutting back trees, plants, and shrubs because of the heat. In order to save them, we lopped off significant portions of them so they wouldn’t need as much water or expend as much energy. It has been 105 degrees here with a dry, hot wind blowing through the crackly leaves. We also spread some mulch, took a break to explore the swimming hole, harvested berries, dug up daffodil bulbs, transplanted teeny sprouts that will one day be eucalyptus trees, sorted and washed seeds we had collected and “did thistles” which I learned meant riding the 4 wheeler through the hills patrolling for the evilest spiky, stingy, invasive plant and digging it up. The best part of doing thistles was watching the kangaroos hop away, boing-ing over the fence or diving under it head first where they could. I can check “see a kangaroo” off my Australia List.  

Penny and Hilary's

Boysenberries

Mulberries

Raspberries

My hand after picking all those berries

Mulberry Custard

View from Penny and Hilary's

The Garden

More Garden

Even more garden

Garden Continued...

Lavender!

Baby Gum Trees I transplanted

The Shade House

Beds in the Orchard

Daffodil Bulbs I dug up. It was like a treasure hunt!

That big bump in the foreground is Hanging Rock. A big hill of jumbled rocks. A historic and spiritual site. This is the view of it from Penny and Hilary's. Then I climbed up it.

Some rocks.

The Hanging Rock itself.

At the top!

View from the top of Hanging Rock

Vegetation near the base of Hanging Rock

Charlie.