Life on the Edge

I was so looking forward to picking the above peppers off the thickly leafed potted pepper plant that I had been watering and caring for for the past several months. They were growing in the protective atrium which is attached to the dining room. Just last week I took the above photo of the ripening peppers thinking I would write a journal entry about their vibrant, luscious look. Alas, yesterday evening I forgot to close the windows to the atrium and, just after darkness came, two possums crept in and had the audacity to enjoy themselves to a feast at my expense. If it hadn't of been for them loudly squabbling over who got to eat what and alerting someone in the house to their presence, they might have demolished, not just the pepper plant (which they succeeded in pretty well), but also the three tomato plants, the Chinese mint, the lime tree and two lemon trees. The cacti I think they would have left alone.

One brief moment of inattentiveness and tomorrow's Mexican feast gets postponed until the next crop of peppers come along. The little buggers. I don't wish the possums any harm, but a bit of heart burn or upset stomach might put them off from tampering with the kitchen goods.

When I first noticed this family of caterpillars munching away at a silver peppermint eucalyptus leaf, I thought it was "one" larger insect rather than the seventeen individuals grouped together. This was because they had the habit of simultaneously arching their bodies upward from the head, giving the impression of some winged creature or dangerous spider. Possibly it was a defensive gesture to make their "collective self" appear too large or too dangerous for any small birds flitting about the tree looking for smaller insects to satisfy their own appetite. Here's the quandary I face..... in a just, fair and diverse ecosystem there are enough checks and balances in place to make sure that there are sufficient leaves to eat, but not the whole tree; that there are sufficient caterpillars to eat and that there are sufficient birds (in particular, the kind of little bird that hops around on the branches searching out the smaller insects). An increasing problem at Windgrove is the introduction of the feral cat and the feral bird, the kookaburra, because both diminish the populations of the smaller birds. Everyone understands that cats will kill birds, but not many people know that kookaburras will do the same. The end result is that the leaf eating caterpillars are allowed to proliferate because their "natural" predator is gone and the trees get stripped of more leaves than is warranted with the possibility of the whole tree dying. I, therefore, shoot feral cats and kookaburras. They are not native to Tasmania and their introduction has caused problems in maintaining a healthy and diverse ecosystem. On mainland Australia, the natural home of the kookaburra, the goanna keeps the bird in check by climbing trees and stealing the kookaburra's eggs from the nest. We don't have this goanna in Tasmania, hence my decision to protect the littler birds with the rifle. Living peacefully in harmony with nature is not always an easy task.

I want to explain why it is that even after 500 days I will continue to swim; why it is still important to continue this daily immersion into the waters of Roaring Beach. In part it is because I have not remembered the forgotten language of the flippered fairy penguins and dolphins of the ocean.

In early April there is to be a colloquium of gathered nature writers discussing the issue of art and political environmental activism; a subject very dear to my heart. To attend, though, would mean giving up on the sincere quest to reach three years, three months, three weeks and three days or a total of 1212 continuous, unbroken surfs at the beach that is my home. Ultimately, the final number is not important. But what is, is the seriousness required to stay with a ritualised discipline long enough for a transformation to take place. When, how or what this might be I will admit to having absolutely no idea. My soul, however, urges me to accept this mystery and just get on with the practice. As for the colloquium, my hope is that in a few years another one will happen and I will receive a second invitation to attend. There is every possibility that at the next colloquium I just might have something worthwhile to talk about; something grounded in an authenticity that comes from intimately knowing the particulars of the place where one dwells; something where "the sense of place" includes the languages of the place. As for the fairy penguin in the photo..... I rescued the little fellow from the surf four days ago when it swam up next to my boogie board, all exhausted from malnutrition, and asked for a lift into the shore. True. I gently picked the fairy penguin up in the palm of my hand, placed him/her on the board and kicked slowly to the beach. After an overnight of drying out in a box full of fluffy blankets in the house, a friend and I tried to release him/her back into the surf, but the penguin only wanted to crawl into the nearest cubby hole and sleep. Sensing it was still too weak, I took the bird to Leslie "the sea bird lady" for her to look after until the penguin's undernourished body has gained sufficient weight for it to survive another attempt at finding fish to feed itself. Hopefully, at our next encounter in the water, the fairy penguin will be chipper enough for a decent conversation.

Like the gods suspended above the stage in a Greek theatre who arrive in the nick of time to solve a difficulty, two separate events have allowed for the placement of guardian stones in front of the house.

First, and definitely more "machina", was the 38 ton excavator shown delicately dropping into place two of the three dolerite boulders. When they first arrived on a rather large ten wheel truck, I was fearful of just dumping them in location thinking they would just roll through the house. They were, therefore, deposited elsewhere (with a big roar as they crashed down off the tip truck's tray). However, how does one move a three and a half ton boulder? The solution presented itself when the dams were being dug in the form of a nice, big yellow machine. But, even though the boulders were eventually placed in the correct spot, for the first few days they looked out of place, almost harsh. I began to fret over how to soften them into the landscape. On Monday evening, after a busy day working in the studio plus talking to two sets of tourists from New Zealand and Canada, and easing into a bit of stupor preceding bed time, there was a knock on the door. Standing next to his bicycle was a young German asking permission to stay for the night. At first I will admit to adamantly telling him "No!", but seeing the tired and disappointed expression on his face, my "welcome the unexpected guest " side of my heart one over from the "give yourself some privacy" side. I showed him a tent, the path to the beach and said: "I'll see you in the morning".

Well, Daniel has been here for three days now using his muscled 28 year old body and artistic mind of a graphic designer to create a more pleasing entrance to Windgrove. Once again, I have been reminded how good things can come in big or little packages. The key is to simply stay open to the possibility that a solution will present itself. And, when it comes knocking late at night, don't turn away out of tiredness.

As one walks into the Peace Garden there is a sign that explains to the public various aspects of the sculptural elements around the pond. The top of the sign reads thus:

The third "peace" is concerned with how we humans interact and make a sustainable connection with the natural world around us. This could be called a "green peace". It was appropriate, therefore, that this weekend a small group of Greenpeace people spent time here at Windgrove as a sort of R&R retreat. A time to rest, be nurtured, converse and engage in a very supportive and healing environment.

And, how even more appropriate to see Alanna and Kim reclining like temple guardians at the entrance to the "womb of the earth" and plant spiral totem of the garden; the area that symbolises the future. For these young people are the future. For myself, and I am sure that I can speak for the earth, it was encouraging to see that there are passionate, informed and committed young people willing and able to dedicate their present lives to defending Gaia and informing the public of the work of Greenpeace. Hearing their stories of being "front line" activists on city streets raising money and signing up memberships for Greenpeace, one realises that it takes a steady courage to face a not always generous or sympathetic populace. My heart goes out to them. May they continue to dance and see the deep underlying goodness and joy that lies within all of us. It was a pleasure being in their company.

Last Friday's journal entry focused on a few drops of water coming into the house. Well, maybe more than a few; a flood. What I failed to mention, though, was that while I was dealing with this inconvenience, the big effort of the day was in overseeing the completion of the last dam to be constructed at Windgrove in the past two weeks. All up, two new dams were built with the third one on Friday simply an enlargement of an existing upper reservoir for the Peace Garden pond. Now, just below the Peace Garden, a small reflecting pond has been installed. Presently, it looks a bit raw and maybe (to some people) even unnecessary, but for the past four years the thought of putting in another water element kept entering my imagination. And, who am I to question the muse? Since the 38 ton excavator, complete with a bucket capable of holding three cubic metres of dirt, was already on the land building the Gully Dam, now seemed the time to direct its big scoop this way. In a few months, after the top soil has been spread, new grass has sprouted and the pond filled to overflowing and reflecting a pink sunset, I'll take a photo and put it up on the blog.

Built between the she-oak hill on one side and the hill of the large keyhole circle on the other side, the biggest of the dams, the Gully Dam (above photo), is purely practical in that it will allow for a good sized garden and small orchard as well as instantaneous bush fire protection through a gravity fed system of sprinklers on the roof and hoses on the ground. Because both the hills had exposed dolerite outcrops dropping down their sides going into the gully, there was every chance that all we would hit when digging started was more rock or gravel (meaning no dam). But.... we hit a good seam of clay and were able to create a waterproof dam 100 feet (30 meters) long,16 feet (5 meters) at its deepest point and 75 feet (22 meters) wide along the Gully Dam's dam wall. Not only was it a joy to know that Windgrove's future water needs would be met, it was also a joy to see how Andrew, the operator of this massive, earth moving machine, could handle it with such skilful sensitivity and grace. There is still a lot of work to be done in the digging of a quarter mile long trench and the laying of two sets of pipes (fire/garden water and drinking water) as well as all the junctures and multiple fittings, but the really big work has been accomplished and for this I am happy.