Look what arrived today from Canada to join Kelly’s menagerie.

Here they are introducing themselves to her “gargoyle” which is ageing gracefully under the maple in the garden.

The moose is one of a pair and the Ogopogo is a miniature interpretation of the creature from  Lake Okanagan in British Columbia.

The Gargoyle has been awaiting Kelly’s return for just on 2 years and he looks pleased to have company.

Show bags in those days were known as ‘sample bags’ and they were much more affordable than the ones bought today. They were called sample bags because they contained samples of products, plus a few extras such as a comic, small toy or game.

One year I discovered a packet containing a miniature, submarine in my Sanitarium sample bag. This five centimetre, grey plastic sub was hidden under samples of ‘weet bix’, ‘weet puffs’ and ‘marmite’. Powered by baking powder (Sanitarium of course), it repeatedly dived and surfaced when placed in water, to the constant delight of a young yours truly. Incidentally, we were soon to have a submarine base backing onto our street where previously torpedoes had been maintained during the war years.

Down at the shops earlier this week, to my surprise, there on the sale table was an updated version of my little submarine, this time two subs included in each package. Same length, different design and cool colours, I bought them without hesitation.

And after all this time, they were still powered by baking powder.

The little boy was still there in me!

What Do You Know?

Oh, dear, what do you know?
Young Caitlin’s about to get up and go
On her two, little legs, she’s ready to walk
Why, very soon she could even talk!
She’ll be into everything, I kid you not
And telling us all just what is what!

The remaining jacaranda flowers hang high in the trees as if ready to chime in the coming new season. Cockatoos constantly fly past the back window with their chalk-on-school-board screeches. During the day a whip bird can often be heard in the valley, as if saying, “Wh-where’s … K-e-l-l-y?”

To Kellyanne,
Wishing you a wonderful birthday way over in snowy Canada.
Hugs and kisses,
love Dad.

1 December 2008

On the way I photographed old churches, their paint peeling and their access difficult through natural overgrowth. Along the Castlereagh River on the outskirts of Binnaway, I discovered that the farm labourer’s cottage where I had lived in 1971 had been demolished, another “victim of time and dreams”. But things were green and the roads were good. Binnaway looked welcoming to the traveller and had a cared for look about it.

On our first morning in Coonabarabran we drove out to BurraBeeDee Mission cemetery to pay our respects at Don Trindall’s grave site. Back in December 2006, one of Don’s daughters rang me with the sad news of her father’s death. She also asked whether a song I had written about her dad could be used at the burial ceremony. Apparently Don had requested this prior to his passing. I was deeply honoured and humbled. I had met Don earlier this century. He had been a drover, a rough rider, horse breaker and had worked for the council in Coonabarabran where he raised his family. He had also documented events from his life in poems which he loved to recite. The last time I saw Don was back in October 2003 at Baradine. It was his 76th birthday.

In the quiet bushland of BurraBeeDee I took time to fondly remember this man who was blessed with a great sense of humour, combined with a wisdom that only life can teach. “It was a lovely life,” he reflected, back in 2003 about his time droving. “I’m still missing those droving days … They were good old days. Hard, rough – how I loved it!”

After visiting the mission we headed off to Gilgandra, making a quick stop at Hickey’s Falls, a picturesque, little oasis beside the Newell Highway. Years ago we spent a very pleasant Saturday climbing to the top of the falls and sketching the landscape. Little did we realise that we would return to the falls years later as a married couple. We detoured to Tooraweenah to find it still “sprawling in the sun”, as Coonabarabran poet Hod Cay so aptly described it. Then it was on to Gilgandra for lunch, overlooking a rather dry Castlereagh River.

Resuming our journey via the Castlereagh Highway to Mendooran, we pulled in to a rest stop at Breelong. There we discovered a monument to the four members of the Mawbey family and teacher Helena Kerz. The monument’s plaque stated that they “died tragically” in the area in July 1900. To anyone unfamiliar with this horrendous incident, you could have been excused for concluding that an accident such as a fire or flood ended these five lives. No mention was made of the Governor brothers or Jackie Underwood who were responsible for their murders. The next leg of the trip was spent contemplating the motivation behind the wording of the plaque which had been erected in 2000 by members of the Mawbey family and why it was unsignposted. On returning home I had another look at the film “The Chant of Jimmy Blacksmith”.

Back roads through Merrygoen and Neilrex took us through scenic countryside to Binnaway. Afternoon coffee while observing children shouting and splashing about down in the Castlereagh River was picture postcard.

A brochure about self drive nature trails around the Binnaway area resulted in our returning to Coonabarabran along the red dirt Bourke and Halls Road in the late afternoon. We were looking for a natural spring that flowed across the road. The area apparently had been an important place for the local indigenous people and was a corroboree ground.

A more picturesque and reflective location you would have been hard pushed to discover. The constant sound of the spring water could be heard gurgling into a hollow between the sandstone, to emerge mysteriously in a still expanse of water below. Indentations in the sand betrayed the recent pathway of a snake of reasonable girth. Random marks left where possible tools were sharpened and strange shapes depicted on the rock transported us to another time. I thought of Judith Wright’s poem “The Bora Ring”.

The song is gone; the dance
is secret with the dancers in the earth
the ritual useless, and the tribal story
lost in an alien tale.

The next day we departed Coonabarabran and headed again for Binnaway. I stopped at Mow Creek to take some photographs of this favourite spot. The old railway bridge that crossed the creek seemed really useless.

No trains to cross it and now no water flowing under it. The creek was choked by an abundance of high grasses and weeds. I found an access gate and walked back along the track to the railway bridge to take some photographs. I was reminded of lines from a song I wrote in the mid 1990s after a previous visit.

High above the creek bed
On the Binnaway-Coona line
I gazed out on the paddocks
Washed in morning sunshine

The day was warm, the flies very friendly and abundant and the countryside hummed to the sound of the many unseen insects. The view from the bridge did not disappoint.

Then it was on to Binnaway and a drink in the Shiralee Hotel. We discovered that there were new owners and new hopes for this old pub which had featured in the 1956 film The Shiralee, along with Peter Finch. The walls of the bar room are covered with framed photographs of this still talked about event. We visited the Binnaway Progress Association shop which was once the newsagency. We left with a mug, a tea towel and a postcard, fine reminders of our visit. Actually we were amazed that souvenirs of this little town existed. How could we leave empty handed?

We travelled on via Beni Crossing. The water in the Castlereagh River was the widest I had seen it for a long time. As if to emphasise the river’s healthy state, while there a very large fish jumped out of the water and loudly belly flopped back in again.

As we headed for Lithgow we made an impromptu decision to detour at Ilford and descend to the old, gold mining town of Sofala. From there we followed the Turon River to the Razorback Road. This very narrow, steep and unsealed road is believed to have been constructed by the Chinese gold diggers who flocked to the Turon Valley in the second half of the 19th century. As it wound its way up and out of the valley it treated us to the most dramatically beautiful views of a spectacular countryside. Far below the Turon River gleamed in the afternoon sunlight as it stealthily snaked its way along the valley floor. Eventually the road met up with the Mudgee Road again at the top of Cherrytree Hill.

The Blue Mountain range soon dominated the eastern horizon and we felt like we were already home, even if we still had another hour or so on the road.

© Jim Low
8 November 2008

While at the museum
We sit in a car
A rollercoaster car.
Although the car
Stays where we are
In our minds we travel far.

***
Climbing slowly
Oh, so slowly
Up to the very top.
Then, over the rise
Just close your eyes
As down, down we drop.

Rattling tracks
And straining backs
Around the bends we fly.
High in the sky
Hear us scream and cry
Thank goodness I left that pie!

Where is my heart?
Has it come apart?
Is it high in the air?
No, I’m wrong
It’s still going strong
Was that my lunch back there?

When will it stop?
Not another drop!
We’re travelling way too fast!
“To the museum, please
Take me and Eloise
This ride will be our last!”

***
While at the museum
We sit in a car,
A rollercoaster car.
Although the car
Stays where we are
In our minds we travel far.

8 October 2008
© Jim Low

Listen to my song Kelly has Gone to Canada.

Kelly Has Gone to Canada

Kelly has gone to Canada
Oh, Canada.
We wish her well
She’s in our hearts
In Canada.

Our little girl
A woman grown and flown
To Canada.

And though she’s far away from home
We’re happy for her as she roams
In Canada.

Waltz your matilda
Across the seas
To Canada.
Visit the places
You’ve dreamed about
Near Canada.

Kelly has gone to Canada
Oh, Canada.
She’s in our hearts
She goes with our love
To Canada.

The wattle blossoms in our back yard have definitely arrived earlier than last year. The fires of 2001 savagely destroyed most of the bushland behind our home. Although all of the wattles on our block disappeared, they have quietly fought their way back through the regeneration of their seeds. Since the fires, the long periods of dry weather obviously slowed their return. It is great to see that they are again establishing themselves in abundance and in a variety of types. The subtle, unique fragrance of the wattle blossom definitely invigorates the soul.

The golden wattle is Australia’s national floral emblem. The many different varieties of wattle have inspired many a poet to wax lyrical. I have been reading John Mathew’s 1902 collection of poems entitled Australian Echoes. He included a poem on the wattle. For him, their springtime arrival inspired not only hope and happiness but brought a welcome beauty to the landscape.

“Thy downy pellets bursting out
Begirt with filigree,
With golden velvet wrap about
And glorify the tree.”

(Now why does the second line of this verse remind me of our national anthem? Oh, yes … “girt by sea”!)

Around thirty years ago I wrote a song about the wattle. During the years I was teaching, I often taught it to my students with the coming of the warmer months. When I work in my garden I often find myself singing it.

6 June 2008 © Jim Low