A gathering in a rainforest

My sister Clare is the one who finds lovely accommodation places to  gather our siblings together each mid-winter.  After a Covid enforced absence I was there this year at Sweetwater Cottages in the rainforest at Maleny.  

I know from visits to Maleny in the dim and distant past that the drive there is picturesque with dairy farms interspersed with the rainforests but rain put a stop to any sightseeing.

We had a wonderful time, four brothers and four sisters, a husband and a couple of wives, probably all talking at once.

Danny, Denis and Terry

Brother Bernie was also there but not when the photo was taken.

The location was beautiful, secluded and peaceful.  Most of us went for a nature walk to a waterfall.  Some, like me, turned back when we saw how steep the path was and we all ended up with leeches.  Ewww, not nice, I'd forgotten about them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The two photos above are from Sweetwater Cottages website 

My apologies for the all over the place photos.  Darned if I know how to fix it.

Trains and planes

There were no boats on my just finished holiday to Oz but there was an unexpected train ride, my first on the all electric Queensland Rail tilt train.  That was a thoroughly enjoyable experience, whizzing along at, I believe, speeds of up to 170km hour, very quiet and smooth. 

 

The on-board service was as good as on any airline and pulling into stations was smoother than the landing on my return Air NZ flight to Auckland that's for sure. It was lovely spending a couple of nights with my brother who lives in Bundaberg and his wife.  I'd got it into my head that he wasn't as well as he'd said when I'd seen him briefly the previous weekend.  It seems I was wrong and he is fine. 

It's never a hardship spending time in Bundaberg with its rich farmland and temperate climate which is rated the most equable of any Australian town or city and ranked 5th on a worldwide comparison.

The day we drove a few minutes to the beach for lunch there were so many people dining out we gave up and went back into the city. 

We had lunch at the RSL (Returned Soldiers League) on the river with the blinds half down to keep the sun out of our eyes.  Can't complain about that in the middle of winter!  As you can see most of the diners were enjoying eating at the beach.

 

 

 

 

The art gallery for no reason other than it's one of my favourite older buildings in the town.

I've just checked the weather forecasts for Brisbane in Oz and am relieved to see their cold snap seems to be passing.  I'm not headed that way for a couple of weeks but wasn't happy at the prospect of visiting when the temperatures were likely to be much the same as they are here.  I go home in June/July to escape winter not have more of it.

Actually winter is only just now arriving, it hasn't been very cold so far.   There has been a lot of rain though and last night we had a corker of a storm pass over.  The thunder shook the house and had the boy cat looking slightly confused, not too sure what was going on.  He didn't seem to notice the lightning at all whereas the girl cat found her way to the window side of the curtain and was watching it intently.

The rain found us on Saturday too when my daughter and I went to watch our local footy team play against our old home town team.   The buildings in the backgroiund are at the dairy factory where I used to work in the dim and distant past.

For the past five weeks I've been an art student learning how to do acrylic pouring.  We are lucky enough to have a gifted art teacher in our district, just a couple of kms from where I live.  When I say art student I simply mean a student learning a form of art, I am not naturally artistic or creative.  That's probably why  I'm so over the moon about my creations.  I felt the process could be compared to just playing with colour and, for me, there is nothing more enjoyable.  I definitely was attracted to  strong, bright colours.  I was almost jumping for joy when I saw the colours emerging on the plant pot below.

 

I tried different colours on this one, I call this 'the eye of the storm'.

For the piece below I thought I'd try for some soft and pretty colours to go on a box that could be used for trinkets, bits and pieces.  This is the top of the box, I like it but the colours really aren't for me.

I still have one piece, a large food platter waiting for the resin coating to dry.

The lovely young neighbour who lives on one side of my shared driveway had thoughtfully warned me that, if it was OK with me and our other neighbour who shares the drive, a large truck would be blocking our drive for a few hours yesterday.  

The day was bleak with lots of nasty little showers.  I thought they might postpone the cabin lift over the fence to its new home but no, the men who arrived to do the job were hardy types.  Jovial types, too, as it happens. 

The cabin will become a bedroom for a teenager, making extra room in the house for the rest of the family.

Up and over the fence

So that was what happened around here last week.  I also had a lovely visit from my oldest niece whose company I enjoy enormously and a quick visit from one of my grand-daughters, the one who pays a small fortune for her clothes and then is devastated when they wear out and brings them to me to be mended.  She doesn't mind at all if the repair is obvious, I think she likes telling her friends that her granny fixes things for her.

This repair job is going to take a while, there are a few challenges for a geriatric sewer than I haven't faced in the past.  Firstly, I need someone to lift the sewing machine up on to the dining room table.  I can get it as far as the chairs but that last bit is beyond me.  

Now the machine sits on the table, I feel like I ask every visitor to do something or other for me.  Lucky for me I have good people around me (and don't need grandsons like that ridiculous Prince Harry to check on me). 

Next problem - I can't see well enough to thread the bloody needle. I know even doing the sewing is going to be difficult on black material but I'll worry about that when I get started.

I'm expecting a visitor this afternoon, must remember to ask him to do it for me!!

Hope others have had a more exciting week.

Rob and the fisherman

Facebook users will be familiar with the Memories function where they remind you of what you posted on this day in past years.

After a prompt from Facebook, at the moment I'm being reminded of the road trip I did with my sister, Tricia along the Queensland coast in 2018.  We started in Cairns, went north to Cooktown and as far north as one can venture without 4 wheel drive.  Then turned around and went south down the coast to Brisbane with many enjoyable stops in between.

Thanks to the reminder, I've spent a lot of the past few days thinking about Rob.  Someone I've never met but I have visited his grave and it made a lasting impression on me.   Rob is buried in Cooktown, in far north Queensland, right in the back corner of the cemetery.

Who was Rob I wonder?  Did no^-one really know his full name?  Obviously someone cared enough to put a marker there for him.  I wonder if there is a back story to why his grave is adorned with sticks?  I threw on a couple extra.  I got the feeling Rob wouldn't have wanted flowers.

He is listed on the FindaGrave website as Rob Unknown, with birth "unknown" death "unknown".    Maybe that is what he would have wanted.  I just think it is incredibly sad but is it any sadder than the dozens of other graves in that cemetery where, for cultural reasons, the graves of Chinese and aborigines were not marked in days gone by.  Maybe it was the simplicity of his 'headstone' that captured my imagination. 

Oh, and along with my morbid fascination with the Cooktown Cemetery I discovered that it is indeed a cemetery as compared to a graveyard which primarily refers to a burial ground within a churchyard.   Who knew?  Not me.

 

Another man we met on our travels who sometimes springs to mind is the fisherman at Hydeaway Bay in the Whitsundays.  He was pretty ancient and I say that kindly as he may not have been much older than me.  He carried evidence of years spent in the sun, a retired cane farmer, perhaps, or maybe he had always been a fisherman.

After my sister and I had enjoyed a happy  lunch and afternoon with old friends, Bill and Linda who were celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary at Dingo Beach Hotel we'd gone with them and other friends to their accommodation at nearby Hydeaway Bay for a bit more celebrating.   We stayed with them the night and the next morning after they had rushed off back to their home at Airlie Beach with prior commitments, Tricia and I had a leisurely drive further around the coast and then stopped on our return for a stroll along the tree lined beach with wonderful views across the water to Gloucester Island, Saddleback Island and many more. 

It was still reasonably early, probably around 8.30 am and we were in no hurry.  Although we planned to be on the road south again that day we didn't have accommodation booked for that night so had no schedule to meet.    When we came across the fisherman putting his tinny into the water we stopped for a chat.  He was in no hurry either, explained he was waiting for his mate to turn up and go fishing with him.   But after a while he said it looked like his mate wasn't coming, he's have to push off, get going before his wife came past and saw he was heading out to sea alone.  We gathered that wouldn't be a welcome scene and gave him a wave as he headed off in that lovely sparkling sea.  There weren't any subsequent reports of men missing at sea so he must have returned safely.

Time for a change

I wonder if it's always been this time of year when I've felt this restlessness, the need for change. In some ways my spirit, my personality is solid, grounder but there's another side of me that gets restless now and then. 

A restless me to drift and roam

A quiet me to stay at home.

The quiet me has been settled the past few years but I think her cage is being rattled a bit right now.  For the past few days I've been fighting feeling rebellious, which at my age exhibits in a craving for chocolate and cream donuts and anything else that is forbidden under my current strict eating regime.  I've resisted so far but only because I know I'll suffer and be sorry if I don't.  Yesterday in the supermarket I got quite excited when I  found some gluten, dairy and lactose free chocolate biscuits.  Egg free, too, but I'm OK with eggs.  They taste like flavoured - hard to decipher which flavour - chaff.

If I had the funds I'd be off to a far away place, arctic blue or tropic green.  The places I've seen and loved - and other exotic places I've only seen in my dreams. 

I'll just have to keep focusing on the two happy occasions on my horizon until the feelings drift away.  They will.  And maybe when they return again I'll handle them better.  Who knows?  It could happen.

At the end of June there will be a happy reunion with most of my siblings in Australia.  It's been so long since we've seen each other!

And, breaking news, in November my son will be coming home from Brasil for a couple of months.  And I will get to meet and spend Granny time with little two year old Emilia.   I cry with joy every time I think of it.

Town Basin

I haven't spent as much time along the Town Basin as I used to before I retired.  It was always a good place to fill in time or to meet someone for a cuppa or a meal.  It  has been a pleasant place to spend time but the recent redevelopment has made it even more so.

The most recent addition has been the Undertwasser Art Centre, a project dedicated to Friedensreich Hundertwasser, an artist, visionary and ecological activist whose work in Kawakawa we Northlanders have been familiar with for quite some time.  The common themes in his design are bright colours, organic forms, strong individualism (to say the least) and rejection of straight lines.

A cupola covered in $50,000 worth of gold leaf sits on top of the building.  I'm pretty sure I lack appreciation of art, I just can't see the point of it, to me it makes the whole structure look sort of comical. 

 

You can see the little red boat that took us for a trip down the harbour to Limestone Harbour last week berthed nearby.

 

 

Below is the toilet which I think was built first to prove we had the craftsmen capable of completing the creation. Maybe that is an urban myth but the idea appeals to me so I choose to believe it.

 

 

 

Beyond the structure below lay landscaped grass terraces leading down to the harbour edge, making a very pleasant seating option.  There is also an interactive water feature (where, last week,  several children were having loads of fun) and a children's play space.

 

I've always been a bit hopeless with Labels on my blog.  I know I've twice before shown photos of the Waka Wave, one of the sculptures along the waterfront.  Now I know this artwork is best viewed from the water.

Sorry about the large blank space.  I left the draft for a few days hoping I could fix it but ...

 

Limestone Island

Thanks to my friend, Chris, I had the opportunity to go on a boat trip to Matakohe-Limestone Island, which sits in the Whangarei Harbour.  

 

 The M.V Waipapa docked at the island

All the boat day trippers were senior folk so the trip wasn't planned for physical activity. I would have liked to have a bit more time to wander around but I enjoyed the talk by the ranger and the time we had amongst the ruins of the old cement works. Also on the island are a couple of shipwrecks, the remains of an old school and cement works manager's home.

Originally the island was a strategic Maori Pa (Maori village defensive settlement). The little island (37 ha, just over 90 acres) has an interesting history. It lays claim to the first cement made in the Southern Hemisphere being produced there 1881 and being a thriving cement works until around 1918, when most of the buildings and equipment were moved to nearby Portland on the mainland. The island was then farmed before passing into the ownership of the Northland Harbour Board.  Portland Cement, which can be easily seen from the island, is still a major sponsor for ongoing rehabilitation on the island.

The old and the new - Portland Cement in the distance, on the left.

At one stage there were 250 workers at the cement works, 200 residents on the island.   The only human resident now are the ranger and her partner who kayaks back and forth across the harbour daily to his job off the island.  There is a flock of half a dozen sheep which keep the grass down around the ruins.

 

All that industry and later neglect left the island much worse for wear - in 1960s the island was in a degraded state with only a handful of trees remaining. Its main visitors were ships coming into port who dropped off their rubbish to be burnt in the quarantine incinerator located on the island!

Luckily a group of passionate members of the local community came along with a vision of seeing Matakohe-Limestone returned to its former glory. They became Friends of Matakohe–Limestone Island Society and have transformed the island into a regenerating forest habitat. They have planted 155,000 native trees to date and their work continues. Mammalian predators have been eradicated from the island, meaning this ‘new’ forest is now a safe home for a growing variety of threatened native fauna that have been re-introduced.

 

Angels galore

The scenic location of the HSBC building on the Auckland waterfront was lost on me.  I usually enjoy the sight of the old ferry building looking so staid and solid amongst all the high-rises.

My memory was having a good day, I remembered the Australian Consulate is on the 7th floor.  I was hoping it was the 7th floor of their current location and not the previous one.

Going up the escalator to the foyer I passed this colourful hanging artwork.  

 photo by Tiffany Singh

Had I stopped and asked for directions from the concierge I probably wouldn't have got past that point.  It didn't even enter my mind.  Somehow I knew when I'd reached the lifts but what had the shape of lift doors appeared to be more artworks.  Artworks that matched the hanging installation.  And there were no lift buttons near them.  So there I am, not even realising I'm doing my bewildered old lady act again, trying to admire these artworks whilst thinking nah, too much for me, don't like them and another female voice asks what floor I'm going to, and wouldn't you know it, she's going to the same floor and says, "Come with me."  And as if my magic, one of the artworks parts and reveals itself to indeed be a lift.  My new guardian angel explains how the lifts work, seems awfully complicated to me.

When we get out of the lift (another minor miracle she works on the same floor) and she learns I'm visiting the Australian Consulate and have no appointment she tells me I have no chance of getting in there, their security is "next level" and no-one gets in there without an appointment.  That is news to me.  I think I've followed the directions on the webpage and have come to lodge my passport renewal application in person as it says.  And anyway, I've tried for three days to ring hoping it was possible to arrange to post my application and each time after holding for over an hour a voice tells me they are unable to service my call today.  I might add that their on hold music has almost robbed me of the wish to proceed with my application.

Anyway...the consulate office is through glass doors off to our right and a large (very large) and rather surly looking security guard can be seen on the other side.  I tell my angel I'm going to bang on the doors until he looks up and sees me and she becomes quite agitated and beseeches me not to set off the security alarms.  What's left of my common sense comes to my rescue.  I stand in front of glass doors and wave my arms in the air instead.  My angel, still by my side,  is a bit disturbed by this.  What did she think might happen?

The guard hauls himself to his feet, scowling, comes over and presses the button to open the doors and my angel starts to beg for my entry.  I think she has underestimated me, I've still got it when it comes to talking.  Eventually the guard gives up explaining there's no admission without an appointment, says he will see if he can find someone to interview me, my angel says she will wait for me to take me back down in the lift again.  And the guard - did I say he was surly? my mistake - puts an arm on my shoulder and tells her he will take care of me.  And that he did.  A very nice lady came from somewhere in the depths of the building to take care of my application.  And when I was ready to leave the guard escorted me back down in the lift.  It did dawn on me that maybe he just wanted to make sure I was gone.

But the thing is.  I keep thinking about those lovely people who helped me.  Where have they all been in the past when I've been lost?   No-one rushed to my aid when I was in Thessaloniki airport in Greece trying to understand the announcements, hoping like hell I was lining up for the right flight.  Or when I was trying to get a flight attendant to understand me in Uruguay. 

Do I really look that old and helpless now?

 

Here's my passport photo, taken the day before my expediation.  I think I look more like someone who shouldn't be messed with.  And it would take a brave person to tell her she shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition.

It's a whole new world

It's a whole new world!  Progress does not stand still while I live my quiet life in the sticks.  Which if fine with me, I'm all for change and improvements.  But then comes the day I need to re-enter that brave new world and I find that the years that have been quietly passing by have stolen some of my confidence for venturing amongst those changes.

I knew I'd never find a carpark in downtown Auckland so took an easier way out.  I'd catch a train from a suburb with which I used to be very familiar.  I'd been to the building I needed to visit before and knew it was just around the corner from the downtown train terminal.  (And it was the terminal so I couldn't miss the station.)  Couldn't be a better plan. 

And then I met the first obstacle.   And the first of several kind people who came to my aid. The carpark was all changed and there were roadworks outside, I couldn't find the entrance.  I took a side road and stopped to seek assistance from two young ladies having a chat over their prams.  One gave me a withering look, obviously patience with old ladies is not her strong suit. But the other lass was lovely, walked with me to the corner so she could point out exactly where the entrance was, explained how tricky it was, and even offered to come with me if her friend would watch her pram for a few minutes.  I wasn't going to bother her grouchy friend again, that's for sure.

Next new experience was buying a ticket for the train from a machine.  Normally I think I could manage that but the arrows on this one did not respond to my touch and I was desperately trying not to punch it when a teenage Asian girl came along who knew exactly how to deal with it.  She spoke to it in very terse language (don't ask me which one) then gave me her opinion, very politely, of the Auckland rail service.  Somewhere in that conversation she decided I needed a guardian angel and she stayed by my side until she reached her station just a few stops short of mine.  Which is just as well because I find I am no longer equipped to travel city public transport on my own.   My pint size companion had no hesitation telling an old Afghan man on the other side of me to, "Leave her alone," when he invited me to go to the mall with him and when I declined said he'd come with me instead.  Three youngsters who I'd guess would be around the same age as her bumped my leg with their bikes and she told them to apologize.  Which, bless them, they did.  I wanted to give her a hug when she left.

With a definite "I've got this" attitude I left the train and headed towards the building that housed the Australian Consulate.  Note I say housed.  As in past tense.  I don't know if I could give a repeat performance of the stunned look I gave the board that tells which business is on which floor.   It appears the whole building is now private apartments.  I think this is when I started muttering to myself.  Any ageing friends, take it from me, this is the best way to get help when you need it.  Just mutter to yourself and look around in an utterly lost, bewildered fashion. 

Luckily a very beautiful, upwardly mobile looking youngish lady was passing me heading for the lifts and made a detour to the letter boxes when she spotted me.  I sometimes object when people call me "dear" in a condescending fashion but I let this one get away with it, I was so thankful that she knew where the Consulate was (were?) now located - and it wasn't very far away.

A visitor is expected at any minute so will tell you later about the next level security at the Australian Consulate.  

That pigeon

There's been a lone pigeon driving me nuts.  Maybe not quite but darn near.

Just one.  Not one of our beautiful native pigeons, a feral pigeon.  I think that's what they are called.  The type that are found around human habitation.

It's living somewhere close by but I've never seen it.  But hear it?  Oh yes, I hear it.  Day after day, hour after hour.  I watch the clock waiting for mid-afternoon when the sound stops.

I don't know why it annoys me so much.  It brings back memories of my grandmother and no memory of her is ever unwelcome.  I tell that pigeon daily it's lucky Gran isn't here, she'd have it trapped and in a pigeon pie before it could utter another coo.  Maybe it's her voice somewhere deep inside me saying, "Go and chase those blimmin pigeons away from the chook food."  They were always 'blimmin' pigeons, the closest Gran ever came to a swear word.

Maybe I'm finally turning into one of those cranky old ladies who doesn't need much excuse to be irritable, although when it comes to words I prefer irascible.

On the bright side I got to spend time with my oldest grandson over Easter.  And that young man is the most golden-natured of people, could cheer the grouchiest of souls.   He was helping his mother to paint inside her unit.  Being so tall he didn't even need a step-ladder.

 

Storm coming

About 10 years ago the weather bureau issued a serious storm warning with the usual advise about securing loose outdoors items, etc.  Little Georgia helped me haul anything that could possibly be moved by a strong wind into the house.  Before she went home she told me to be careful not to trip over anything as the living room was a bit crowded.

There was no storm, not even a strong wind and when she arrived the next day, the cheeky little girl asked didn't I feel a bit silly now?

Yesterday, when the serious storm warnings started about ex tropical cyclone Fili moving near the country I moved the deck chairs to a safe place and started watching the sky.  I took a photo but noticed when I looked at it that it certainly didn't look very threatening but it probably was a bit darker than it looked on the camera.  So I stood on the deck and checked the camera settings.  I must have been quite engrossed, the next thing I knew the sky opened and dropped buckets of rain on me.

It hasn't rained since.  Not here, anyway.

Leap Castle

 

Yesterday I had reason to look for more information on Leap Castle in Ireland, with which my paternal ancestors were associated. After reading for hours, I now think perhaps I should deny any connection. 

 Photo courtesy of Wikipedia 

The castle was built by the O’Bannon family somewhere between the late 12th century and the 15th century, although likely around 1250.  It is well accepted that the fortified tower house was built upon a much earlier settlement site which dates back to the Iron Age. Though the O’Bannons were powerful in their own right, they were pledged to the O’Carroll family, who took control of the castle away. The O’Carrolls used the castle as a site for battles, and numerous massacres occurred inside the walls.  Yes, that's my lot.

Thanks to my DNA and Ancestry.com I've been in contact with a third cousin on this side of the family, a retired high court judge who is an amazing researcher.  I so wish I'd known her when I visited Ireland in 2015.  I visited Galway, Limerick and Cork all of which aren't very far from the castle which is located in County Offaly, Ireland, just outside of Coolderry, north of Roscrea.   Another relative has visited in the last couple of years and was shown around by the current owner, Sean Ryan.  She has sent me photos but they aren't as good as those I'm using, thanks to Mr Google (sorry Debbie).

 

 Photo courtesy of Wikipedia 

It is often called “the most haunted castle in Ireland,” thanks mainly to the bloody history of the O’Carroll clan. 

It is also home to one of the world’s most famous oubliettes.  The history of Leap Castle is deep and dark.

The opening of Leap Castle’s oubliette

 Photo courtesy of projectdreamscape.org/

I had never heard of an oubliette!  It's a French word and it translates to: a forgotten place where criminals and undesirables were thrown and left to die. It was a deep pit often found in castles. Dating back centuries, it frequently had sharp spikes and a narrow opening with a wider base which made it harder to scale back up.

The victim may or may not be impaled when they hit the bottom, it was a matter of chance. Usually the fall or spikes would not cause immediate death. Instead, the doomed would suffer for days if not weeks before death mercifully took over.

The oubliette at Leap Castle is housed in the Chapel (of all places), generally known as the Bloody Chapel because one of my ancestors stabbed his brother to death at the foot of the altar. 

The Bloody Chapel

The O’Carrolls were brutish and treated their enemies violently. Stories are told of the O’Carrolls hiring other nearby clans to act as mercenaries to murder other clans. Rather than paying them for a job well-done, the O’Carrolls invited them to a feast at Leap Castle, where the unsuspecting allies were poisoned and thrown into the oubliette.

During the 1920s, repair work uncovered the oubliette hidden by a trapdoor and it was cleaned out. Remains from over 150 bodies were rolled out in wheelbarrows. A pocket watch from the mid-1800s indicated how recent the oubliette had claimed souls.

The O’Carolls called Leap Castle their home until it was wrenched from their hands in 1642 by an English soldier of the Cromwellian forces named John Darby.  The castle has been subject to much remodelling and restoration over the years, most of the remodelling having been done by the Darbys. The Darbys inhabited Leap Castle from 1642 until it’s burning in 1922.  Unfortunately Leap Castle was the target for an uprising and was looted and burnt to an empty shell in 1922.  Here it lay dormant until it was purchased in 1974 by an Australian, Peter Bartlett, a descendent of the O’Bannons. This saw the awaking of the ancient building. The work is now being continued by current owners, the Ryans.

Sean Ryan claims to have personally met several of the ghosts including the Lady in Red who wanders the castle holding the dagger she used to take her own life and crying for her murdered child, and the ghostly spirits of two little girls who are believed to have lived at Leap Castle in the 1600s. 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leap_Castle