THE EARTHRISE DIARY (DEC 2011).
Don Diespecker
© text Don Diespecker (individual © retained by included writers).
Today the weather here is cold and overcast. It changes by the second. I had my breakfast outside with the cockatoos earlier when there was a brief gap in the cloudbank and the two birds seemed quite content to sit close by, feeding and pausing occasionally to see what was on my breakfast menu. I've been drawing as well, over these last few weeks as there are many natives in flower here at the moment. Plants down this way don't seem to stay in flower for long as they prepare for the possibility of a hot and dry summer ahead. The emphasis seems to be on getting to the business of seeding and therefore my time to draw so many varied and beautiful blooms runs short. So far, I have managed to draw (and add a little colour to drawings of) River Lomatia, Daisy bush, Pink Bells, Native Pittosporum and the Victorian Christmas Bush although there are still quite a few species I would like to capture before summer truly sets in (including the Hazel Pomaderris and Cassinia ). I am envisioning these drawings as part of a suite to accompany written text about the river here..."
PETRA MEER: Journal, Dec 1 2011.
When the Irish novelist John McGahern was a child, his sisters unlaced and removed one of his shoes while he was reading. He did not stir. They placed a straw hat on his head. No response. Only when they took away the wooden chair on which he was sitting did he, as he puts it, “wake out of the book”
ANNE FADIMAN: Ex Libris, Confessions of a Common Reader.
Petra was describing parts of the Yarra riverbanks near Warburton, VIC.
December 15, Thurs. The medium sized eucalypt behind the remains of what used to be the bunkhouse came down to break the incoming power line and its ‘point of attachment’. Neighbour Leif kindly sawed it into rounds that I was able to recover and to wheelbarrow down to winter fuel dumps near the house: the rounds will be axed (unless a flood removes them) and used in the slow combustion heater. Long story short: a licensed electrician is being employed to construct a better and more permanent structure to support the switchboard and meter but not until after Christmas.
December 17 2011. This is a time of very uncertain weather, a La Niña time I think, and the weather is now so variable (at least it is for me) that I marvel at the ability of the meteorological predictors who more often than not are accurate in their forecasts. From bed and well before sunrise I could see a suspect grey sky yet again. By the time I got downstairs encouraged by the Saturday thought of some coffee to start the day, the day was bright and shining, the river twinkling away downstream, shades of green and black (if that be possible) in the cheese trees and tamarinds between myself and the riverbank. Although the weather these days changes endlessly much of it is far from dry; rather, it is either raining or bursting with showers or, at best, steaming and humid. The early summer growth here is phenomenal.
This ought to be a bracing month for part-time gardeners to race outside to weed, but too much bending to un-wanted plants may wreak havoc with one’s back and caution is advised. I have one of those backs such that the ideal weeding position would require my lying on my tummy and reaching uncertainly to horizontally pull weeds, but that would be absurd. The next and more realistic possibility is to kneel either on newspaper or on those strapped-on kneepads with Velcro fasteners that save the knees from total ruin. But, alas, the obvious and foolish temptation, always, is for the weeder to bend with legs almost tautly straight and the back hinged forward and tensed to pull weeds from directly above and this always works well until I realise that I’ve again compromised my not so well designed back and that I can resume the normal posture and attempt to walk again only with a grotesque Quasimodo lurch until I can find a cure. For those who have similar backs and want to avoid the wrenching adjustments of the chiropractor or physiotherapist or (best of all) the Chinese medicine person who doesn’t start anything as drastic as ‘adjusting’ until the patient has invested in highly recommended (but horrible) Chinese herbs. –But that’s another story and for those about to commence such treatment for the first time, be advised that your nearest and dearest may abruptly leave the family home once those herbs begin simmering on the stove (so, too, the nearest neighbours and passers-by who may be forced to close their windows or to rush past at speed).
December 22, Thurs. This morning at 09:00 while writing a book proposal I heard the ominous sound of a tree crack, break and start to fall while I was scrambling to cover my head and dive under one of the tables. It came down across the retaining wall behind the house with a great whoosh of air but didn’t break anything. It was the old coastal fig tree that had always been attached to the cliff face above the house. It may even be a blessing in disguise if it slows or prevents a further landslide. I can see the sky up there now because the falling tree brought down a cascade of smaller trees and tangled vines that reach from the cliff down to the retaining wall. My theory is that the loud crack that began the incident was caused by the unstable and downward moving slope breaking the tree’s root system because the tree has been uprooted (the complete trunk is unbroken, from what I can see).
December 25, Sunday, Christmas Day. The showers have persisted for days; they’re heavy showers that soak the garden and wash parts of the recently repaired Darkwood Road into the river so that the river quickly runs brown with valuable soils and expensive road-building materials. The Lime Glow dahlias that were knocked about last month by BIG hail are flowering and look as healthy as can be—I’ve not seen better blooms (well…not since Dad’s prize-winning dahlias in the garden at 1129 Oxford St., Victoria, B.C.). Today two other dahlia types are opening their buds: the Lynda decorative and Mandy’s red. Several of the roses have also flowered and with the exception of these and the cloned and bountiful red salvia, the rest of the garden is an embarrassing mess and the lawn has been too wet for weeks to mow. I would like nothing better than a meditative mow but there’s no possibility at this time. From the house Big Lawn looks very well indeed: it’s wonderfully green and it’s difficult to see the raggedy weeds that are a foot high in places. Even though most of the green is a mix of (mostly) ground covers and several kinds of loyal grasses, green is green and the lawn is still beautiful.
There is, however, plenty of writing to be done and I’ve been able to get the memorable book proposal off (via email). It’s often quiet enough early in the day: Christmas visitors and locals leaving on journeys pass through this area at all hours, but dawn, sunrise and breakfast time are usually quiet enough to think and to write.
During the afternoon there were sunny breaks until I looked long and hard at the sky and its huge masses of BIG cloud—cumulonimbus—and began to suspect the breaks were much more than occasional patches of blue: after weeks of on/off heavy showers and the river levels bobbing up and down threateningly, the weather was clearing!
Boxing Day became a clear-aired bright and sunny summer’s day and stayed that way into the evening. No rain, for once and the hysterical gardener seized the chance to get the mower going and to mow down the jungle growth on the belvedere, then later, to begin the circular mowing around the Dogs’ Garden. The grass was drying nicely and was just mow-able (with some hard pushing); parts of this old Big Lawn now look excellent. The Test match (cricket) between Aus and India would have to manage itself without my participation. With luck, I thought, I might get some more of the lawn trimmed on Tuesday, the second holiday of Xmas.
Alas, there is no TEDROB, the review of books and writing, this month. I think it would be Bad Luck were I to bung in a bunch of my own fiction or personal essays, so I’ll wait until after the holidays before resuming that section. For readers thirsting to know: I enjoyed most of my reading this year, especially these books: The hare with amber eyes (nonfiction); Anna Karenina (one of the greatest reads ever); Blood Meridian (hair-raising) and All the pretty horses, both by Cormac McCarthy whose prose is magnificent; the Stieg Larsson Millennium books (great page turners and irresistible storytelling); and an excellent personal essay, Fairy Death by Gillian Mears. –These were the standout reads. I’ve made starts on Philip Roth’s American Pastoral and have been dipping into the annual The Best Australian anthologies. And partly read: David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas, Deborah Eisenberg’s Twilight of the Superheroes, Barbara Kingsolver’s The Lacuna, Ford Madox Ford’s The Good Soldier. And I have another chance to re-read a book I reviewed in 1979, Lawrence Durrell’s The Greek Islands (thank you, my dear). I would have much more to say about these books, but more reading and thinking about them would have meant less time spent on my own writing and discussing my writing, I think, might bring me bad luck.
Dec 27 2011, Tues. I had a sunrise walk around the garden. The river looks wonderful the air is again like crystal. Soon the day will be filled with the determined sounds of mowers up and down the Valley. The eucalypt barks have been splitting for weeks and clattering down to be crunched underfoot, even during the showers and rains. The dahlias look so lively I’ve had to re-tie them: they’ve thrived in the wet and climb skyward.
I might just give myself permission to sit on the belvedere for a few minutes dreaming…
Later: a thunderstorm cut short the mowing, dreaming and cricket watching.
Here’s the link to a blogsite and the writings of my friend, Russell Atkinson: www.theoldestako.wordpress.com
With best wishes for a calm 2012 to all The Diary Readers
