Sunday, April 28, 2013

The Earthrise Diary (April 2013)


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.








      


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