THE
EARTHRISE DIARY (April 2013)
© text: Don Diespecker 2013; guest writers retain their ©
Don
Diespecker
It is impossible to enjoy idling
thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do.
Jerome K Jerome: Idle Thoughts of
an Idle Fellow
This is the weather the cuckoo
likes,
And so do I;
When showers betumble the
chestnut spikes,
And nestlings fly.
And the little brown nightingale
bills his best,
And they sit outside at ‘The
Travellers’ Rest’.
Thomas Hardy: Weathers
The Japanese have a wonderful expression for spending time in the
woods: Shinrin-yoku,
or forest bathing. Widely practiced in Japan, forest bathing involves visiting
a forest expressly for its health benefits. Advocates of Shinrin-yoku claim
that breathing in the volatile organic compounds produced from trees,
called phytoncides or wood essential oils, helps to promote relaxation and
reduce stress. It works just like aromatherapy, set in the great outdoors.
Whether or not you buy into the aromatherapeutic effects of trees,
the general health benefits of nature are well founded. Studies show that
spending time in nature can help to enhance your mood, increase energy levels
and heighten your overall well-being. In fact, being outside for just 20
minutes a day is sufficient for boosting your vitality levels. Spending time in
nature can also increase your resiliency to illnesses, promote
longevity and decrease the risks of mental illness.
Joe Kelly (Vancouver Sun): March’s Challenge: Back to nature.
And when the afternoon was nearly
gone, and still there was no sign of rain, we tried to cheer ourselves up with
the idea that it would come down all at once, just as the people had started
for home, and were out of the reach of any shelter, and that they would thus
get more drenched than ever. But not a drop ever fell, and it finished a grand
day, and a lovely night after it.
Jerome K Jerome: Three Men in a
Boat.
April 7 2013. Sunday: a
blessedly sunny Sunday. The clocks are set at their accustomed and proclaimed
times: daylight saving is ended and autumn is properly noticeable again. I’m up
early and have had breakfast and I’ve done a modest load of washing because I
don’t trust this weather and showers are predicted. Again! And I’ve had a brisk walk down to Richardson’s Bridge and
back again. I’ve even washed some of the muddier parts of the floor and now
that I’ve had some lunch, I have some fresh new words in the current draft of
“Overview” (a draft novel, sequel to the eBook, The Summer River) and if
I’m quick enough I’ll get down to the saturated lawn with two months of the
Clouston & Hall remainders catalogues. I’m at last going to sit in the sun
for a few minutes, take my time, and look for good book bargains. So, off I go,
hurrying!
I sit and see my washing waving at me and then there’s a good breeze
and the high flooded gums wave down mightily. I start to read the front page of
the April catalogue and am compelled to pause.
I’m sitting in breezy sunshine, looking over the top of the paper,
using my eyes, seeing into the crowded air, happy that this is a rare day
simply because there are no clouds at this time. I stop reading. The air is
crowded with small objects coming at me in gusts.
I start writing instead of reading.
I’m trying to understand what I’m seeing: the invisible gusts and the
air crowded each time a small breeze wafts through the trees. There are small
flying insects seen clearly and they’re being blown off course (I imagine) and
tumbled. It’s not a strong breeze for me but for the little winged beasties it
looks catastrophic: they can’t get any purchase of the air to go where they
want to go. There are even smaller insects that I can’t identify: they probably
realise what’s going on but can’t do anything to fly out of the whirling stuff
and find shelter; they probably know that they’re compelled to move with the
hurricane all around them: they don’t seem to have choices. And there are
smaller specks that also may be fliers but I can’t yet tell and they’re moving
at high velocity: midges and gnats possibly or maybe not and the wind gusts or breeze
blows like an aerial tide moving everything indiscriminately, tumbling dust
motes, small creatures, fragments of drying flood debris, tiny bits of grass
that first break or crumble and then fly.
(For those who may find this text puzzling: where I’m sitting on Big
Lawn was, last month, 3-4-m beneath the flooding river; there remain stacks of
logs and debris that I have yet to clean up or remove. The insects and I are
adjusting optimistically to a drying world).
The macro creatures are small white butterflies and they seem to be cruising in their own space
above the crowded air down here on the lawn, 20-m higher than this aerial tide of life, of bits and pieces and
organic fragments. Way up high the tallest trees are whipping and swaying far
above the identifiable fliers I can see nearby. The big trees are also letting
go their used leaves each time there’s a windy gust suggesting that the higher
trees are monitoring more efficiently than I possibly can: they have their old
leaves standing ready, they sense the breeze gusting; they let the leaves break
free and go. The small leaves flying are mostly yellow: they are the autumn
tumblers and twisters and whirlers let go by the big old white cedars above and
in front of me.
The warming sun is on my left; the time is about 12:30 and I’m puzzled
by what I’ve seen because I’m a mere human. After yesterday’s heavy showers the
‘lawn’ still shows puddles and ponds: it’s as saturated as can be. The West
African tulip tree flowers lie in the mud, all orange and as big as teacups,
recently buzzed by the high white butterflies now down from that altitude
cruising in the lull and close to the wind-drying grass.
As fascinating as the butterfly flying show is, I now have to leave
because there’s a great curtain of cloud drawing itself over the entire sky:
showers are imminent. I grab my two chairs and hurry from the lawn and my ease
and almost reach the house when the first big drops smack down to freshen the
mud. I’m thinking of the tiny fliers: have they been quick enough to dodge the
raindrops? Are the butterflies sheltering on the undersides of big leaves?
Butterflies are (and not forgetting the moths): any of numerous diurnal
insects of the order Lepidoptera,
characterized by clubbed antennae, a slender body and large, broad, and often
conspicuously marked wings (The Random
House College Dictionary).
(I see from my old The New Standard Encyclopaedia
published in the UK in 1936 that there are six families of butterflies {yes, I
know there’s Google and the Internet, but old books have a timely flavour} and
one of them, ‘hesperiidae, or
skippers, so-called from their peculiar jerky flight, differ considerably from
other families, both in structure and in habit.’ ‘To pieridae belong the common cabbage butterflies or garden whites.’ I
may have a problem here because the ‘garden whites’ in my garden fly jerkily:
are they common cabbage fliers or skippers hesperiidae
skippers?).
April 8 2013. Monday. Up at
05:00 and leave for Coffs at 06:45. It’s a slightly warmer day today. Park
Beach Plaza for shopping, then the NRMA where the computers have crashed but
I’m able to pay my comprehensive car insurance and hurry back to Bellingen in
warm sunshine the car growling along close to the speed limit: a very nice
drive and ‘Well done, car,’ I murmur to the aged Honda. I change shoes for
wellington’s and drag my shopping to the house, eat Atlantic salmon for lunch
and because the sun is so bright and I have more stuff I want to read in good
light I make a cup of tea and race down to the lawn again. There is no wind
today, not even a breeze. The air is clear except for some ground-hugging brown
butterflies (the ones with yellow roundels) and columns of dancing midges that
seem all blurry wings as they bob up and down at reckless speed (I can watch
them for hours: they are a mystery moving at speed and, thank you, I do not
wish to know of any science that might explain their peculiar actions). A
flycatcher parks in the tabebuia in the Dog’s Garden and dodges out every so
often to feed on the wing (even if one is a flycatcher catching dancing midges
at speed—and I do mean speed—it seems hardly worth the energy expended. The W
African tulip tree flowers are easier to see: later when I walk across to the
roadside I see these bright flowers glowing at the top of the tree and am
certain that this is the last hurrah for numerous plants to flower and set seed
before it’s too late and the Indian summer weather vanishes for long months).
And before I leave I sense showers planning to start again soon. Clear air
without breezes or wind makes a difference in April: winged creatures are
unhindered, feeding and even dancing and flying (perhaps for pleasure?) like
the grass-bobbing brown butterflies) seem the order of the day. I walk slowly
to the house and begin writing from my notes. Time and words and lack of sleep
catch up with me and I soon lie down.
April 9 2013. Tuesday.
Showers are of course predicted. I leave early after breakfast and walk the
road to Richardson’s Bridge: the water is carrying silt after the heavy showers
at sunset yesterday; the stream ought to have cleared by now, but hasn’t and
there’s no chance of seeing the early sun cast images over the stones on the
riverbed. As I stand watching the ripples and swirls in the mainstream four
swallows burst forth from beneath the bridge and then spread wide across the
downstream prospect hunting in air before parking on a flood-dumped casuarina
to watch me across the bank-side stones. They seem a little early this year.
Then I think: when did the drongos leave the area: was it when the floods
began? And when did the cicadas finally call it a day? The weather is surely
out of kilter, uncertain of itself and annoying the wild life (including we
grumpy humans who have missed most of the summer and now are making do with
sunny mornings in autumn that change remorselessly in the afternoon to heavy
showers). I then study the weathered cutting next to the bridge: there is flood
debris suspended at the height of the Bellinger River National Park sign: the
torrent has swept through and submerged the road, the approach and the bridge
by more than 3-m. I walk back thoughtfully and note the boulder-sized stones
placed along the bank by the Council: they all remain firmly in place.
There are several planes in the air: fixed wing, piston-engine-d and
slow, as well as relatively low, thrumming their ways between the coast and the
ranges. Further along the homeward road I see the vapour trail of a jet coming
up from Sydney behind a threatening low cloud and stop to watch. The cloud
moves toward the coast and the jet appears high above and I listen for her
sounds: the tiny image leads a line of light against the blue and higher
cumulus and watching the vapour trail change I see how it glows near the rising
sun and swirls bigger and fluffier further behind. Then there’s a second flight
coming up, the vapour trails are in parallel, rolling and enlarging overhead.
The passengers will be off to Brisbane and beyond, drinking coffee, reading the
tabloids and also thinking ahead to meetings and assignations.
I chat with Victoria when she stops to say hello; I spot a king parrot
feeding in the canopy; I study the flood debris in my roadside trees and shrubs
and frown at the logs that look increasingly settled around the garden. I’m not
yet ready to begin the clearing of flood debris: there are the writings that
first require settling and some that are about to be drafted into this April
Diary. I might have to get up earlier to catch up with myself.
April 10 2013. Wednesday.
Again I sit in the same place on the flood-battered lawn in light and shade and
although it’s pleasantly warm there’s a strong breeze blowing. Leaves fly, the
high flooded gums wave and whip alarmingly, particularly the canopy—the tops
seemingly ready to break and I look carefully up to see how vulnerable I might
now be to deadwood falling or worse, to a big green limb breaking away from the
nearby white cedar. The white cedar is always breaking greenly these recent
years and when least expected. I’m within 10-m of her dual trunks and high
spreading branches. Three of her lofty main-stems point in three directions (it
must be a strain to forever be holding your arms out like that). All the
main-stems carry bird’s nest ferns or stag-horns, elk-horns, and tiny white orchids
that flower in spring, and mosses. Close to the cedar are two high W African
tulip trees, their orange cup-sized flowers brilliant in the windy light, their
smallest branches bobbing to move clusters of leaves in different
directions—even, apparently, in still air—like pendulums and the leaves
luminous in the sunlight. And now in a main-stem white cedar one white
butterfly moves close to the mosses that grow up there. I plunge into the new
beginning of “Overview” where my narrator is flying a Moth and remembering
‘still wet air’ (meaning: air that remains damp at altitude); my garden
influences my story, of course it does: everything is connected).
April 11 2013. Thursday. The
sky is again dull at lunchtime, the sky completely clod-covered and dancing
midges around my head. Some bird’s nest ferns bob their long green leaves up
and down and sideways. The sky is clearing from the east. Butterflies break
cover and climb like Spitfires! One alights on the back of my hand. There are
four or five of them now. It’s as if they are receiving forecasts allowing them
to leave cover. Now there are three of them here.
(A thoughtful note on Spitfire power, gleaned from Wikipedia: the
Rolls-Royce Merlin engine produced 1,030 hp (768 kW); the Rolls-Royce Griffon
engine (used in later Marks) produced up to 2,035 hp (1,520 kW).
April12 2013. Leif visits
just prior to the sky clouding over again and in another five minutes the rains
starts and we run for the house.
April 13 2013. Saturday.
More showers. Primed with Saturday coffee I head for the carport with a
barrow-load of tools.
I see how the river has raced through this part of the property and
dropped loads of mud and silt against the grass that’s been growing around and
over the pile of stones intended for building into the wall that retains the
hard-standing area. Here the mud looks shiny and well settled.
GETTING THERE
Don Diespecker
Introduction
There was a high flood in the Bellinger River (February 22 2013); it
was also the second highest flood that I’ve experienced here at Earthrise (the
highest flood in my experience here was in March 2001 and reached to the top
step of my house; the recent 2013 flood reached halfway up my steps). Mine is a
pole house and was built on three levels by my girlfriend and I in 1984/85; it
was necessary (Feb 2013) to again move the computer, the favourite books and
manuscripts and family documents upstairs to avoid inundation: the gardens were
flooded from two directions (from upstream and over the adjacent Darkwood Road
and also from downstream where the torrent always rebounds from the hillside
and eddies into the property). The flood ran through the gardens to depths of
3- to 4m. The adjacent Darkwood Road, adjacent bridge approach, and the deck of
the bridge were beneath an additional 3- to 4-m of the torrent.
At other times flash floods
and severe weather here flood the
road with high volumes of storm water, soil, stones and mud. Drainage from high
ground on the south of Earthrise flows as torrents, either to the road or
through this property and from the overflow spillage
of flooding paddocks of the deer park across the road. At such times the road
directly in front of my house (and running downhill to the river) is submerged
to a depth of 1-m and (like the bridge) is impassable. Such storm consequences
usually damage severely the road between the bridge and the gated Yo-Yo Road at
Dreamtime (my next door neighbour).
None of what I’m writing here is intended as a complaint: I know and have known for almost 30 years,
that this lower portion of Earthrise is flood-prone; I was aware of this when I
purchased the land. High floods run through everything on
the lower parts of this property and on all sides of my house: gas cylinders,
tools and much else are either removed by the torrent, never to be seen again,
or are displaced 40- or 50-m from the property. Cleanups are hard work because
the river, on its passage through Earthrise, drops large quantities of silt and
sticky mud.
The area that includes Earthrise is again saturated and the road in
this area would ‘benefit’ from there being a viaduct here; and there are
similar other areas along the road that may also benefit from viaducts, rather
than bridges. The area that I have described here continues to be a problem
because it remains saturated, i.e., the road is always severely damaged and
sometimes remains impassable for days.
Most of the time, however, I’m envied my place on the Right Bank next
to the Plains Crossing Bridge where there are high flooded gums and rain forest
remnants overlooking rapids and a beautiful deep pool in the river. High floods
happen here, but touch wood they continue to be relatively unusual or even rare
occurrences.
The Bellinger River Valley is a beautiful place and the population is
growing: those of us who live here love the area and want more reliable
road/bridges not only for ourselves but also for visitors. With Australia’s
population steadily increasing, the future in this area implies many more
residents, much more traffic and a need
for improved infrastructure (road and bridges/viaducts, particularly, and not
forgetting telecommunications).
Outmoded timber bridges rendered useless in floods are not unusual in
Australia. In a front-page story (April 1 2013) The Sydney Morning Herald
(‘Bridge Safety Crisis’) and (‘The ticking time bomb’, pages 8-9) reported that
‘Hundreds of ageing bridges and culverts across NSW are at risk of collapse, as
councils fight a losing battle against a $6.9 billion bill to bring regional
infrastructure up to an adequate standard.’
When severe weather and flooding rains occur and an emergency has been
declared Shire Councils are able to access ‘emergency funds’ for the repair or
replacement of infrastructure. Replacing a destroyed bridge washed down in a
flood (i.e., building a new bridge) is otherwise costly and largely
unachievable.
Are there solutions? I believe so. Some Locals, myself included, write
letters to BSC and Letters to the Editor (of the BSC-S) expressing concerns or
raising issues regarding Darkwood Road and the Valley’s bridges and have been
doing so for years. (On May 24 2006 the BSC-S published on its Letters page a
fantasy that I’d written, “Darkwood,” that anticipated a way (a Presidential
decree) to build what was required:
“Weeks later the President and
his new bride opened the new Special Road and Mozart’s Mass in C Minor was
broadcast. The road was officially named Darkwood Way and declared a National
Treasure. The area became a Special reserve protected by the Government.
Visitors required permits. In many places the road looked remarkably like
Penelope’s paintings. People came from all over the world to admire Darkwood
Way and its superb environment.”
‘Waterfall Way as described in the preceding paragraph is only a
fantasy: it may even raise a smile. Is it achievable? Probably not…unless there
can be found very smart ways to do what presently seems impossible.
Everybody living in the Bellinger River Valley at Thora, Upper Thora
and the Darkwood has concerns about Getting There. We want to be able to get in
and out of the Valley and to Bellingen and beyond to wherever else that we want
to visit and we all want to be able to return home safely again. Our community
is one that is stretched-out along the Valley. We depend upon a winding rural
road that’s partly macadamised and partly not (some rural roads are more rural
than others). For those of us more or less in the Darkwood the bitumen ends at
Richardson’s Bridge: parts of the bitumen are regularly maintained and even
improved; much of the remaining road requires 4WD skills and if you don’t own a
4WD vehicle, driving will be exciting and during wet weather when the verges
might be largely deep mud, driving will be dangerously difficult. This usually
dangerous rural road depends upon bridges that cross the serpentine Bellinger
River and also cross some creeks. The river
bridges would have been outmoded a century ago because they’re low level
timber structures that become submerged in floods and in high rises of the
river. If even one bridge is damaged or destroyed we can’t easily drive in or
out unless we have appropriate (4WD) access to a forest track or are
sufficiently adventurous to use trail bikes through the high forest.
As a Valley resident I would like nothing better than to have
all-weather access to a reliable road, preferably with two-lanes, and connected
to either road bridges that are proper
bridges built well above flood levels of the river, or viaducts that are high
and dry—and that will also enable pedestrians to safely cross them.
In floods, especially high floods, the low bridges are progressively
damaged and sometimes destroyed and washed down in remnant pieces. The valley
bridges meet or abut the Valley road (Darkwood Road). A bridge that is quickly
submerged in a high rise of the river (not quite a flood) is useless. Continual
maintenance by the Shire Council is necessary; serious damage or destruction
will lead ultimately to the need for large sums of money for repair or
replacement. When a natural disaster is declared, such money may be applied for
from the Government. Councils hope and believe and expect such emergency funding to be forthcoming once it has been
applied for. Such expectations may become as outmoded as old-style low-level
timber bridges because global warming and climate change already threaten
bigger and more damaging natural disasters. If the Valley road and the bridges
can only be ‘fixed’ by Government funding following emergencies we all need to
reconsider the reality we have for so long accept and switch radically to a
reality that holds more promise.
The Bellinger’s bridges need replacing. The Bellinger River is
serpentine; Darkwood Road crosses and recrosses the river. Whatever else the
existing low level timber bridges may be they hinder rather than aid the
river’s course. These timber bridges have long passed their use-by dates and a
growing population in the Upper Thora/Darkwood area deserves better. Replacing
these old timber bridges with viaducts may be a possibility in the Bellinger
River Valley; can a way or ways be
found to provide a 21st century solution?
A viaduct is a bridge for carrying a road, railroad, and much else,
over a valley or the like, consisting of a number of short and often high
spans. A system of viaducts built at crucial locations in the Valley would
enable all-weather transportation, banish isolation for hundreds of residents
during floods and may also be utilised for further purposes: e.g., the safe
carrying of the Telstra landline, and of enabling eco tourism.
Tourists, particularly eco tourists, would better appreciate the local
amenities and the Valley itself were there a safe and reliable road/bridge
system. Residents would benefit and not be marooned: the recent February 2013)
flooding of the Bellinger in the Darkwood and Upper Thora areas marooned us
all. It takes only one inaccessible bridge to isolate a community dependent
upon bridges that were outmoded a century ago. Some residents run their
businesses via the Telstra line. Recent flooding not only marooned locals, the
landline phones in this area were dead for 17 days—from February 22 to March
11—and the line was broken in several places. High viaducts could safely carry
the landline (and much else) high above the flooding river.
A viaduct system between the Valley and Thora (and/or Bellingen) will
be enormously expensive: the BSC cannot expect nor can ratepayers/residents
expect, that the money for such a solution will come from Government support
and many other Shire Councils have similar problems. The cost of designing and
building a viaduct system will have to come from elsewhere. The BSC faces the
challenge of costly replacement in a time of growing uncertainty produced by
bigger and more frequent flooding. Bigger floods indicate global warming and
climate change. What could the BSC possibly attempt in order to fund and to
build what is needed?
There may now be a challenging opportunity to invite business ventures,
organisations such as film and video studies, colleges and a university into
the Shire (pleas see excerpts below from my recent suggestion to the Bellingen
Shire Mayor, Cr Mark Troy). Radically new development in this Shire would
enable the start of funding for a new system of viaducts and possibly
associated cable systems.
Entrepreneurial encouragement from the BSC might imply the BSC becoming
an entrepreneurial Council. Viaducts are not new, but they are very expensive.
Built high they will be less likely to be damaged (as are low-level timber
structures) and likely to require less maintenance). Steel or reinforced
concrete structures carrying a modern road system at appropriate elevations
over an old road and a ‘difficult’ (but beautiful) serpentine river will cost
an enormous amount of money. I respectfully suggest that BSC explore
possibilities for first considering a tourism possibility: cable cars, or
lifts, or aerial tramways more or less parallel to the path of a road/viaduct
system. The Portland Aerial Tramway in Portland, Oregon is an example. An
aerial tramway or system of lifts in the Bellinger Valley would be an
attractive tourism venture and help to fund a viaduct system.
“Foreshadowing a Possibility” is the
subject and title of an email I sent to Mayor, Cr Mark Troy, of the Bellingen
Shire Council on March 13 2013. Below are extracts from that email; I
encouraged “a cooperative approach to an unusual kind of solution to the road
and bridges difficulties in the Darkwood and Upper Thora areas. –And surely
elsewhere in the Shire, too.”
I
suggested, that
“BSC in cooperation with other appropriate
organisations in this Shire (including, particularly the local newspaper, the
Bellingen Shire Courier-Sun {BSC-S}) consider possibilities of encouraging into
the Shire organisations, businesses, and educational institutions or
facilities. Promoting such discussion and debate may then begin the
establishment of a fund intended to enable the design and construction of more
permanent roads and bridges/viaducts (specifically the Darkwood Road and the
Bellinger Valley bridges). [New businesses, colleges, institutes will bring
employment to the area and imply further accommodation and housing. If such
endeavours are controlled/owned by BSC, a fund for developing infrastructure (like
road/bridges/viaducts) can be started].
“I am suggesting the possibility of BSC becoming
entrepreneurial: "Bellingen Shire
Council—The Corporate Entrepreneurs."
“If it is normal and usual in this Shire that bridges
are best replaced by [utilizing] governmental emergency funds generally when a
bridge fails, say, in a flood, or normal that special emergency funding be
obtained to repair or improve Darkwood Road (notably a mere rural road),
then that, too, is rapidly becoming unacceptable. There have to be better ways
to generate the large sums required for capital expenditure on infrastructure.
Waiting for government emergency money is like waiting for Godot and the wait
may drag on for years or until some appropriate catastrophe occurs. Similar
situations exist elsewhere, notably in Queensland where there also are
"bridges that have been rebuilt twice in three years needing to be rebuilt
again."
“We need a road and bridges [or viaducts] that are
permanent, reliable, safe and functional at all times and in all weathers: we
need something that (for example) might look like an elevated road or viaduct
(built of steel and reinforced concrete) designed and engineered to move people
and vehicles well above any high flood or similar severe weather event. And not
forgetting the need for on/off ramps at suitable sites.
“Yes, such facilities will cost a fortune, but if a
fortune is what it takes, then that's what has to be found. Finding the fortune
to ensure good access and communications via a viaduct system is not rocket
science: it's just enormously costly.
“Bellingen, the town and the Shire, could become the
smartest Shire in Australia by attracting organizations and offering tax breaks
or free land or some other appropriate incentives. Imagine the wealth that
could be generated by international film and video studios in Bellingen or
nearby, by a school of music, by colleges of the arts and a university that
is second to none in the world or a world-renowned teaching hospital. Imagine
elevated 'roads,' i.e., high bridges or viaducts having short spans that
connect Bellingen the town to the highway and to otherwise remote communities
in the Darkwood and Kalang. Imagine business entrepreneurs seeking to establish
in or near Bellingen where electronics or solar panels or whatever it may be
that is required can be located at low cost. Imagine Centres of Excellence,
including one for River Studies (the Bellinger is surely a particular kind of
serpentine river flowing through particular kinds of geography and having the
tendency to generate big floods during severe weather).
Imagine a Centre for the study of power generation in rivers like the Bellinger
through waterwheels. And imagine tourists flocking here because there is an
'aerial skyway' associated with a viaduct system allowing tourists (eco
tourists) to ride above or through some of the river's sub tropical rainforest
areas and that also implies first class hotels of international standard, an
airport or heliports. Bellingen might soon become a Special City.
“I plan
to discuss this notion further with friends and neighbours; I intend doing this
with or without help or encouragement at a time in my life when I urgently want
to do my own work: writing and publishing fiction and nonfiction. I suggest the
possibility of what I have written here and hope that you will
agree that the wider notion suggested here is worth attempting. I have not yet
started any discussion: I ask only that Council will agree to explore the
possibility I am suggesting. I intend soon to draft a more comprehensive
proposal and to then circulate it (circulation will include my monthly blog
currently read principally in Australia, Canada, the USA, South Africa, UK,
France, Germany and Israel).
“Thank you for reading this far! I look forward to
your response.”
I was happy to have been heard by the Mayor and to
feel encouraged, too, to offer the notion to the BSC-S. The newspaper had
intended printing a story but has not, so far, had sufficient space to do so.
Following discussion at the BSC-S a story was planned
for publication on April 2 2013 but there was insufficient space available in
either of the following issues over the next two weeks. The information
provided to BSC-S has since been passed on to the new BSC-S Editor by the
acting Editor (April 12 2013) and my hope is that the newspaper will follow
possible developments. I have also (April 13 2013) indicated that I would write
up the developing story in this (April) Earthrise Diary and post it at the
end of the month and that I would include both the Acting Ed and the new BSC-S
Ed in an advisory email at that time.
I have also met with the Deputy General Manager
(Operations) of the BSC, Stephen Taylor (April 6 2013) and have raised and
discussed with him the possibility of
tourism (or eco-tourism), specifically an
aerial cable car system) as a BSC way of providing an initial impetus to
(and the establishment of) a fund for a possible
future viaduct system. A way forward for the BSC might presently be possible discussions at BSC by the Councilors
regarding appropriate designs and the eventual construction of an aerial
tramway or cable car system as a preliminary transportation system prior to
viaducts.
Such a system would bring a unique example
of tourism to the Bellinger River Valley. Any new enterprise such as a
university, colleges, businesses will bring development and employment.
Bellingen Shire could become a very smart Shire indeed.
Can the BSC become entrepreneurs?
Lifts, Cable Systems and an Aerial Tramway
According to Wikipedia ski lifts generally refer to
any cable device that carries skiers up slopes. There are three types: aerial
lifts, cable lifts and cable railways including funiculars.
There is abundant information on the Internet
describing such systems that are owned or partly owned by cities, e.g., the
Portland (Oregon) Aerial Tramway or New York City’s Roosevelt Island Tramway.
There are also many other lifts and similar systems elsewhere in the world,
e.g., a system from Cape Town to the summit of Table Mountain and one on a
smaller scale at Masada in Israel.
Designing and constructing a system similar to the
systems used on ski fields all over the world is a feasible enterprise in the
Bellinger River Valley. Such a system would (broadly) follow the existing
Darkwood Road and bridges ‘network’ and when convenient and appropriate, the
two systems would be ‘adjacent’ and partly ‘connected’. Such a cable system
would serve several purposes: (a) a ‘proto system’ might start either in
Bellingen or at Thora; it would progressively be extended (as required) from
Bellingen to the highway; from Bellingen to Thora; and from Bellingen into the
Kalang Valey; later, an established cable system could be extended into
National Parks and into New England. Such a system would be used as a tourist
facility long before other extensions might be effected, i.e., the initial
‘service’ would be intended to carry passengers either from Thora or from
Bellingen into the Bellinger River Valley.
Such a cable system might consist of cable cars
suspended from overhead steel wire ropes supported by steel towers. This system
would serve a BSC-owned ‘tourist service’. Passengers would be transported from
Bellingen to the Cable Terminal and then transported by cable car above existing roads and bridges, above, over and adjacent to the
Bellinger River, and through, above, and
into appropriate areas remote from and not otherwise connected to cable car
stations in, at, or near sub tropical
rainforest areas or nearby clearings where there will be viewing platforms and footpaths (in or near, e.g., rainforest creeks). At such ‘tourist stops’ there
will also be accommodations as well as a home/office for resident ‘wardens’ or
‘station managers.’
If a
longer
system, a bigger system, one that eventually will connect Bellingen to
not only Upper Thora and the Darkwood but across low lying areas (‘the
floodplain’?) to the highway. In the future such a system may also be extended
into New England, viz., through the Valley, the New England National Park and
on to Armidale. (Yes, this will cost a fortune, but neighbouring Shire Councils
might also be interested and join a BSC enterprise). An initial cable system or
‘aerial tramway’ that partly follows the lines of the Darkwood Road and parts
of the Bellinger River may pass next to or through or over forests and the
river. I live within metres of the river and of a magnificent sub tropical
rainforest and creek and can imagine tourists in cable cars one day being able
to see that, too.
Such a ‘tramway’ would attract visitors from all over the world:
tourists, eco tourists. That, alone, would encourage developers to build world
class hotels and for there to be helipads and a busier airport at Coffs Harbour
and for more construction and workers and accommodations…
I’m optimistic that the BSC could become a very smart Council indeed
and that the Shire could become a can-do progressive place. Could the BSC
become entrepreneurs?
Please read my end of month par at the end of the
Diary.
Creative Writing
The Nursery
Jill Alexander
Our time in the nurses’ residence at Vancouver General Hospital had
come to an end. However, to earn our Bachelor of Science degrees we still had
to face ten months of classes at UBC (the University of British Columbia). This meant that we would be required to
live off campus so three of
my classmates and I decided to join up and look for a place to live. As we had never lived on our own before,
we entered into this new venture with great enthusiasm. Our goal was to find the perfect place. We looked in the Ubyssey, the campus
newspaper, and selected a few possibilities. These we circled and discussed
together. There was one, a basement suite that stood out from the rest. We
wasted no time in making a phone call and setting up an appointment. Then we headed off together to check it
out.
When we arrived we saw that the address belonged to a house on the
corner of Sasamat Street and First Avenue, three short blocks from Spanish
Banks. We were familiar with Spanish Banks as a popular place for beach
parties. This expanse of beach was
dotted with logs and had a breathtaking ocean view over the water to the
mountains on the North Shore.
We walked up to the front
door and rang the bell where an older woman answered and introduced herself as
Mrs. Gruber. She had been expecting us. The first thing she said was, “I’ve
decided to try girls this time. Boys have given me nothing but trouble. Let me
show you the suite.”
We followed her down the steps and along a paved walk to a side door.
We stepped inside and she led us into a small hallway. The first room we
entered was the living room. It was finished throughout with dark wood
panelling. This wood panelling also included a built-in bar that encircled the
north end of the room. There was
an old sofa against the opposite wall. Two large unmatched chairs completed the
picture of what we saw in our minds as our party room. An ordinary table and
four kitchen chairs at the south end we guessed was where we would have our
meals. However, our eyes were drawn back to the bar and in a flash the room
came alive as we saw it filled with friends singing, dancing and drinking in
continuous party mode.
Although the rest of the suite paled by comparison, we were pleased
with the set-up of the two bedrooms, each with twin beds, a kitchen of average
size, and a tiny bathroom that wasn’t really big enough for the four of us, but
we would make do.
In the centre of the hallway leading to the bedrooms was a staircase.
Mrs. Gruber declared that this led upstairs to her part of the house. For the first time I felt a sense of
uneasiness pass through me as I looked at these stairs: they were the only part
of our new suite that seemed out of place. The rent was $100 per month and we
were confident this would fit our budgets. We agreed to move in the following
week. As we said goodbye to Mrs. Gruber, it seems we left her also with a sense
of uneasiness, wondering if she had made the right decision. As for the four of us, we were bubbling
over with enthusiasm and immediately started making plans for our new home.
The next week we settled in with ease and made a plan to deal with our
household chores. We worked out a
four weeks schedule with each of us putting $20 per month into a kitty. Our
plan was a simple one. Each week
one person would buy the groceries and do the cooking. The second person would
do the dishes and leave the kitchen tidy after our evening meal. The third’s
job was housecleaning and the fourth had the week off. Once this was established we got down
to the serious business of having a good time.
My brother was in residence on the UBC Campus and this led to regular
male visitors using the excuse of dropping in for coffee. As we were all on a
budget, we drank our coffee black and instant from the biggest and cheapest jar
we could find in the supermarkets.
In no time the boys began calling our place “The Nursery” and the name
stuck. Before long the guys brought a guitar and banjo. This was the folk song era and our
voices began to soar and we made some great sounds. We believed the music we
made was as good as that of professionals and we began talking about opening a
coffee house in Jamaica. We were drawn to Jamaica through some of our favourite
songs, such as Jamaica Farewell, Sloop John B., Day-O and others by artists
like Belafonte, the Kingston Trio, Pete Seeger and Peter, Paul, and Mary.
The boys usually appeared unannounced and often several times a week.
They were always welcome. To make our money stretch, we decided to cook up
large budget-cut roasts and other dishes that would last for at least 2 or 3
meals. As a result, there was always enough food enabling us to invite everyone
who showed up to stay for dinner.
One day Marie, one of our foursome, announced having invited a new male
friend for dinner. We didn’t ask questions but were rather curious. Harry
Hamper arrived in style that evening. He was wearing a three-piece suit,
sporting a shiny leather briefcase in one hand and carrying a huge bouquet of
red roses in the other. We were
instantly bewitched by Harry’s charm. When dinner was over he announcement that
he was going to return that weekend with steaks and to also cook dinner for us.
We were momentarily speechless. I
was brought up to believe that steak was something only those with means put on
their plates. We were now even more impressed with Marie’s new friend and we
heartily agreed.
The steak dinner was a huge success. Afterwards, when we were all
sitting around in our party room, Harry announced that he had a brand new
stereo system that he would like to store somewhere for a few months. Could he
bring it to us? Of course we were thrilled and accepted without hesitation. The
next day Harry, together with a friend and his truck arrived with the stereo. “I’ve thrown in a few LP’s,” he announced
casually as he hooked it up for us.
After this our Nursery exploded with sound. To get the full benefit of the stereo, we turned up the
volume. We loved the effect of the music filling the room and spilling out onto
the street. Our friends were impressed. They loaned us some of their LP’s: Joan
Baez and Miriam Makeba were two of our favourites and we played them non-stop.
The only person who wasn’t impressed with our new music system was Mrs. Gruber.
She began opening her door then coming halfway down the stairs, telling us to
turn the volume down. What started as infrequent visits and Mrs Gruber in a
relatively normal voice, soon became louder and more threatening. Eventually
she reported us to the Director of Nursing and we were called out of class to
report to her office. We were quite scared but fortunately the Director was not
too hard on us. She thought we were just being “noisy nuisances” and suggested
we tone the noise level down several notches.
When we had been using the stereo for about a month, Harry informed us
that a van would arrive the next day to collect the stereo unit. We then discovered that Harry had not
been enrolled at UBC as we had all thought but had been roaming about the campus
with an empty briefcase to give the impression of being a student. We never saw him again and never had
the chance to thank him for our wonderful month of musical euphoria.
The folk singing continued several times a week and often way past
midnight. As the weather became warmer we took breaks from our singing and
headed to the beach for midnight swims. On those nights when no visitors showed
up the four of us played bridge. These sessions could go on into the wee hours
of the morning as well.
That year was the last and the most intense of our Nursing program. Did
we fit studying into our busy social schedule? I cannot remember any of us ever sitting down to
either study or to do assignments, although we did show up for classes most
days.
I guess this was the Sixties and the spirit of fun was in the air. What
a great year! We all made it
through the year, too. I guess we floated through on a euphoric cloud of
musical vibes and friendship. And what a trip it was!
Jill Diespecker Alexander is a retired nurse and business owner and is
presently writing her life story.
Jill
Diespecker Alexander
After a short nursing career in
the field of Public Health, Jill Diespecker Alexander
changed directions. She and a close friend developed a day spa that they
operated successfully for twenty-five years. They named their business “Runaway
Bay” to honor their love for Jamaica, the place where they had met and lived
with their families for several years. After retiring in 2007, Jill began composing
the next phase of her life. She started writing her life story, one episode at
a time. She signed up with several writing groups that helped her develop her
craft. Her mentor, Don Diespecker, has been a great support. One of her joys is
what she fondly calls her ‘writer’s cabin,’ situated amongst the trees in the
foothills of Mt. Baker in Washington State, U.S.A. Here she spends several days
every month writing and reading in front of a blazing fire in her wood burning
stove. Another focus is on family.
She organizes gatherings to celebrate birthdays, especially those of her
8 grandchildren and her first great grandchild. After retirement she has
completed one full marathon and seven halves. She enjoys travelling, Playa Del
Carmen in Mexico being one of her favorite spots. She hiked the Inca Trail in
Peru in 1997 and stays in touch with her Inca Sisters, the name she fondly
calls the companions that were with her on this spiritual journey. She loves
her morning walks in the woods, and lives close to a trail beside a river. This
path eventually connects with the Baden Powel Trail, a well-known route for
hikers across North and West Vancouver.
She stays in close touch with her nursing class as well as her boarding
school classmates from high school and enjoys planning regular reunions. Jill
lives in North Vancouver B.C. Canada and is married to Brian Fraser.
Miami and the Reflection
Sharon Snir
The taxi pulled up opposite an orange and white Art
Deco hotel and off-loaded our suitcase in the middle of the road. Had I not
been so grateful to arrive safely after flying the longest nonstop flight in
the world, 16 hours from Sydney to Dallas Texas, I might have been a bit miffed
by Mr. Tired and Totally Over Airport Pick-up's lack of consideration. As it
was I thanked him and leaving my husband to complete the financial dealings,
carried, lugged and rolled our luggage out of the way of oncoming traffic and
onto the sidewalk. A man with a thick Cuban accent welcomed us and began to
tells about all the ‘fantastic excursions' available.
'My preference', he said, 'is the grand bus and boat
day out. Only $55 per person and you will have the best day. Guaranteed. Or maybe you want to take
two tours. The Everglades is awesome! Maybe you wanna do both. I can
giveyouagoodpriceifyouwannadoboth.'
Heads spinning. Maybe we will just go to our room and
decide a bit later.
We hadn't eaten for hours.
Traveling long distances involves either copious
overeating or utter starvation depending on where you flew from and what meal
you receive on landing. We dropped off our bags and stepped out into the humid
night of Ocean Drive, Miami.
The hot damp air blasted with Reggae and the
'sidewalk' teeming with big buxom, black, brown, white and sunburned red women
wearing less than I have ever seen on a public street. Tiny shorts barely
covering huge round soft, sensuous jelly-rippling buttocks. We were
transfixed on the scene playing out before us. Another woman passed us dressed
in a tight black skirt that did not quite cover the fold between her thighs and
her bountiful bottom. Oren and I were unable to begin a conversation. We spoke
only with our eyes, oscillating between astonishment and incredulity, from
shock to disbelief. Groups of people danced past us in time to booming
reggae music, Bob Marley singing 'No hunger no child.'
Where have we landed? Are we still on planet
earth? Streams of people wash past our table and with them meters of gold and
silver lame, rivers of electric blue sequins, six and even seven inch heels and
copious flesh squeezed into skin-tight stretch jeans, studded belts, loud
voices, laughter, all this juxtaposed with people searching for a night’s meal
in the corner trash can, a man carrying all his worldly goods in a black
plastic garbage bag, another with a Carmen Miranda scarf around his head and a
bikini top tied around his flat chest which he probably found and simply liked
enough to wear with his torn blue jeans.
This is Miami, South Miami on Ocean Drive, to be fair.
A world away from anything we had ever seen before. Spanish is the default
language. Thousands of immigrants from Cuba, Columbia, Mexico and Argentina
poured into Miami in the 1950's and 60's. I've heard it said that Miami is not
part of the United States. It certainly is a world of its own.
Four days later, and two tours under our belt, we
leave for another world: our first cruise. As I write, I am literally in the
middle of the Atlantic Ocean gliding through the sapphire-stained waters on the
most beautiful ship imaginable. Sitting on the balcony of our room sipping
Champagne and feeling deeply utterly exquisitely blessed to be here now.
The sun catches the waves and seems to sprinkle the
ocean with silver glitter. Rocked gently on the 340-m long, and 60-m high Reflection we float to Puerto Rico,
Saint Martin and Sint Maarten, and St Kitts in the Caribbean. Turquoise water,
colourful houses and duty-free shops await us but in the meantime all I see is
the curve of our planet touching a clear blue sky and I simply can't imagine
anything more beautiful.
Sharon Snir is an author, psychotherapist and consultant living in
Sydney, NSW, Australia
Sharon
Snir
Born 60 years ago Sharon Snir began writing poetry
before she was allowed to cross a road by herself. At the age of nine, her
beloved grandmother passed away and she began to communicate with the stars.
Although the brightest star became the light of her grandma, there were others
that became her guiding lights. Questions asked were strangely answered in a
silent, insightful way. By the time she was ten she had become an incurable
movie lover, a passion that continues to this day and one that no doubt
influenced her choices to become an early childhood educator, a mother of five
and later a gestalt psychotherapist. Though to be fair the editor of this blog
played a significant role in the latter, also. In her later years Sharon has
become a published author and has to date written three books, The
12 Levels of Being, Looking for Lionel and The
Little Book of Everyday Miracles. In July 2013 Sharon will enter one of
the most esteemed and prestigious communities: she will become a grandmother.
April 20 2013. Saturday. Already? This is a month that can’t wait
to be completed. The past week has been a busy one for me, and not unusual:
shopping, a BSC visit/inspection (yes, I have a septic tank system: the river
playfully swept over it without removing its covering weeds so all is well),
chelation therapy, scavenging gravel from the roadside after storm rains (April
16) had washed down tonnes of newly-placed road fines. Watching butterflies
(and being watched, I think), meeting with Raj my neighbourly builder,
purchasing new flooring for the bathroom, stabilizing the muddy entrance
driveway and the hard-standing area with loads of gravel, writing emails,
fiction, Diary drafts. And not forgetting the timely dispatch of a venomous visitor
who interrupted my viewing of Silk at
10 pm, by the light of the TV, after hearing a suspicious serpentine sound from
the top of the pole next to my bed…
It was cool last night and this morning. The temperature is down
several degrees and the first snow has fallen in the Snowy Mountains.
Midmorning. I retire ungracefully from gravel placement and totter out
to Big Lawn for an early sit in the sunshine. Nice. Perhaps I’m not too early
for the Air Show? No, I’m here at the right time. The wee flying beasties whir
through the sparkling air busily. I sit near the old white cedar and study
leaves falling while also scanning the area for butterflies. There is a very
slight breeze and at least two trees are taking the opportunity to release old
leaves: mostly the near-yellow small leaves of the white cedar and a few from
the highest flooded gum. Trees take timely opportunities when the conditions
suit to farewell old leaves by simply letting them go to descend widely on the
lawn: the leaves tumble, spin slowly, roll, twist, twirl down almost like
butterflies: the more breeze, the further the leaves will fly. The butterflies
are again busy: the brown ones with yellow roundels spend most of their flying
time bobbing close to the lawn grass and chickweed and landing frequently. The
only flowers I can see on the sunlit grass are minute and white: were they
larger they might be as fascinating (to me) as orchids (and perhaps that’s how
butterflies do see them). The
question is: do these tiny flowers supply nectar because there are so few of
them—and if the flowers don’t provide nectar why on earth are the fliers
alighting on seeding grasses and chickweed? What’s the attraction? Ten meters
away from the browns on the grass there are much bigger native violets (do they supply nectar?).
Meanwhile, the white butterflies socialize more at 2-m altitude bobbing
along on apparently erratic flight paths and one veers off course to buzz me,
which I enjoy, and then I learn something important: the same white butterfly
moves off to port a few meters and then in a bobbing climb ascends diagonally
to about 30- or 40-m where the orange flowers of the West African tulip tree
continue to bloom (and possibly offering the most obvious source of nectar for
miles around). When I move my chair 10-m to port, toward the river, for a
different angle on flying, I realise how adroit the white butterfly is being
because it climbs fast and navigates through
the foliage of several trees without banging into anything. How do the little fliers do that so
effectively?
The white butterflies fly fast, making many mini-changes of direction
very frequently, i.e., they bob and bounce and never fly a straight course.
They not only are doing that at speed, they’re intentionally navigating at speed. Humans in aircraft
can’t do that, not yet: the aircraft, if flying at speed, and changing
direction many times, would surely be torn apart by G-forces?
I’d like to see a video taken with a tiny camera set behind the head of
a white butterfly climbing through quite dense foliage. The camera would need
to be very tiny and secured with something light (spider silk?). Maybe
nanotechnology could achieve this, or has it already been done? Imagine: we
could watch live CCTV and the head-cam view and see how the butterfly does what
it does so well. Molecular nanotechnology is surely capable
of engineering tiny machines that would work efficiently at the molecular
level. The butterfly’s wings could perhaps be dusted with appropriate
chemicals to absorb energy from the sun and enable that energy to power the
camera, or perhaps the energy of wing beats could drive a dynamo that would
more directly power a nano-camera?
Trust me: if we can imagine such things somebody will discover how to
build such equipment, Almost rocket science? Maybe nano-systems for butterflies
are already old hat?
I like the idea of the nanosecond; I wonder how relevant a billionth of
a second (10-9) might be for a white butterfly navigating while
climbing through the foliage of a big old tree while also focusing on a target
the size of an orange teacup? And I think too of how aircraft designers managed
to engineer retractable undercarriages for modern aircraft.
I found this in my treasured old The Modern World Encyclopaedia
(1935): “Butterflies and moths are insects of the order Lepidoptera. They normally possess two pairs of large and nearly
similar wings which, like the thorax and abdomen, are, with rare exceptions,
covered with scales. The mouth, as a rule, has no biting jaws, but is provided
with a sucking tube, or proboscis formed by the maxillae. The metamorphosis is
complete. The larva is a grub or caterpillar, while in the pupa or chrysalis
the antennae, wings, and limbs are adherent to the body.
“In the adult, or imago stage, butterflies and moths feed upon liquid
food, mostly obtained from flowers by means of the proboscis, which is usually
coiled up under the head when not in use, but the larvae having biting jaws,
devour solid food, mostly the foliage, in some cases the wood, of phanerogamic
plants.”
Notice that the proboscis (in some ways like an aircraft’s
undercarriage), is tucked away when not in use… And isn’t it interesting that
the larvae have biting jaws and can eat foliage!
And much, much more, including this:
“Of the many remarkable changes the insect typically undergoes during
the chrysalis stage, the most striking are, the conversion of the biting
mouth-parts of the caterpillar into the sucking proboscis of the butterfly or
moth, and the development of the wings.”
I also ponder and speculate and view the flood debris that still
requires my macro assistance. Looking at all of these jobs is tiring. I keep my
eyes focused on leaves and butterflies and then go up to the house,
thoughtfully. When I switch on the radio to ABC FM for Listener’s Requests I
hear, of all things, The Lark Ascending.
Nice. Would the sounds of that violin have any effect on the white butterfly
climbing, I wonder?
April 28 2013. Sunday. The
weather at the start of April and for most of the month has been wet and dangerous
and epigraphs at the top of the Diary relate to that. These last few days of
April have been like summer days; also, the weather suggests that this is the
summer weather we didn’t quite have during the more wet and dangerous months.
I’m again enjoying this balmy insect-filled air, sitting outside in the light,
making notes, paging through some new books just received—and one of these
books is immediately relevant to much of what I’ve written above: its title is Bridges. The photographs are of magnificent
and breath-taking bridges and viaducts, some of which I’ve crossed and some
that I wish I had. One that I remember well is the Khaju Bridge (Isfahan, Iran) that has two levels of arches and was
built in 1650 and is an architectural beauty (thirty years ago the old
low-level timber bridge a few meters from where I’m sitting was washed down a
few months after we arrived here and was completely rebuilt by BSC workers in
exactly three weeks). The Milau Viaduct,
which crosses the valley and gorges of the Tarn River in France, is the tallest
vehicular bridge in the world (taller than the Eiffel Tower and not quite as
high as the Empire State Building). The deck of that viaduct is 270-m above the
Tarn. –And there’s the Langkawi Sky
Bridge (a steel pedestrian cable-stayed bridge that’s curved and supported
by one pylon sunk at an angle into the mountain); it also is suspended above
magnificent forests (that look remarkably like the forests where I now live…).
And there’s the Pont Valentré, a
fortified stone arched bridge, used as a road
bridge crossing the River Lot; it was first constructed in 1308 and was
opened in 1350.
If there’s a point to be gleaned from the above paragraph, it is that
the splendid old and new bridges portrayed in that book of bridges are all
real: they all exist.
My reading has been minimal this month, except that I have been
speedily devouring a brilliant book that I commend to all readers (thanks again,
Jill). Here’s a thought-provoking example that should excite river lovers
everywhere:
On ‘Sand’: “Mostly, the
continents’ streams and rivers make sand. Streams, especially, and fast rivers
bear bouncing rocks that knock the earth, and break themselves into sharp chips
of sand. The sand grains leap—saltate—downstream. So the banks and bottoms of
most streams are sandy. Look in any small stream in the woods or mountains, as
far inland as you like. That stream is making sand, and sand lies on its bed.
Caddis-fly larvae use it as stones for their odd masonry houses.”
Major themes explored are Birth, Sand, China, Clouds, Numbers, Israel,
Encounters, Thinker, Evil, Now.
It’s time for me to sign off. Thanks to my guest writers and thanks,
Jill, for the Vancouver Sun link. Please see, too, Russell Atkinson’s blog at
Be well, all. Best wishes from Don.
