Sweet Wayfaring

This is the wrap up for this trip. On the way back home we saw the canola field again. Canola, known as rapeseed in other parts of the world, can be a contentious crop.

Having finished the circuit at the zoo we settled down for a nice lunch at the cafe. This chirpy little blue wren came close to our table while his brown wife Jenny jumped playfully on the grass. Nesting swallows swooped in an out of the rafters. Musing: The Blue Wrens and the Butcher Bird by Judith Wright "Sweet and small the blue wren whistles to his gentle hen, "The creek is full, the day is gold, the tale of love is never told. Fear not, my love, nor fly away, for safe, safe in the blackthorn-tree we shall build our nest today. Trust to me, oh trust to me." Cobwebs they gather and dry grass, greeting each other as they pass up to the nest and down again, the blue wren and the brown wren. They seek and carry far and near, down the bank and up the hill, until that crystal note they hear that strikes them dumb and holds them still. Great glorious passion of a voice-- sure all that hear it must rejoice. But in the thorn-bush silent hide the nest-builders side by side. ...

This little one stayed still long enough for me to focus.

The birds flitting about at the zoo fascinated me as much as the exotic animals. I tried to get a good close shot when one jumped up on the Rhino's fence but I was a bit slow as usual but rather liked the shot anyway. Musing: By Emily Dickinson "She sights a Bird - she chuckles - She flattens - then she crawls - She runs without the look of feet - Her eyes increase to Balls - Her Jaws stir - twitching - hungry - Her Teeth can hardly stand - She leaps, but Robin leaped the first - Ah, Pussy, of the Sand, The Hopes so juicy ripening - You almost bathed your Tongue - When Bliss disclosed a hundred Toes - And fled with every one -"

I named this post after the mythical many headed beast. This intriguing photo of the giraffes with their heads so perfectly aligned was actually in the background of the another shot I was taking. Aren't they beautiful.

While we were in Wellington we did the 50Kms or so drive to Dubbo and visited the Western Plains Zoo. Ok I know the photo is of a Rhino but I wanted to use the poem which is a match with yesterday's poem. At the zoo I was getting hot and tired by the time we went past the Tiger's area so I gave them a miss, then regretted it when it came time to be writing this blog post. Musing: Tyger by William Blake "Tyger! Tyger! burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? On what wings dare he aspire? What the hand dare sieze the fire? And what shoulder, & what art. Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand? & what dread feet? What the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven ...

It was so lovely to see the countryside looking lush, green and idyllic. I found it hard to photograph lambs. The instant I came within view the ewes bleated and led their little ones further into the paddock away from the fence. Musing: The Lamb by William Blake "Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight; Softest clothing, wooly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little Lamb, I'll tell thee, Little Lamb, I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For he calls himself a Lamb. He is meek, and he is mild; He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee! Little Lamb, God bless thee!"

I took this photo near the Lion of Waterloo hotel. I noticed these trees, each with a beautiful burden of flower, all over Wellington. I don't remember ever seeing this type of tree before. Musing: From Villanelle of Spring Bells by Keith Douglas "All evil men intent on evil thing falter, for in their cold unready ears bells in the town alight with spring make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing."

I liked this rustic fence at the Lion of Waterloo hotel. It has none of the craftsmanship I admired in the dovetailed fence by Ken at Stouffville Daily Photo. But it has a \slapped together Aussie country quality. Musing: Written by Cole Porter and Robert Fletcher and sung by many Hollywood stars. "Oh, give me land, lots of land under starry skies above, Don't fence me in. Let me ride through the wide open country that I love, Don't fence me in. Let me be by myself in the evenin' breeze, And listen to the murmur of the cottonwood trees, Send me off forever but I ask you please, Don't fence me in."

Isn't this canola field awesome. At least four other cars stopped to take photos the same time as us. Musing: By Emily Dickinson "A Light exists in Spring Not present on the Year At any other period -- When March is scarcely here A Color stands abroad On Solitary Fields That Science cannot overtake But Human Nature feels..."

Last weekend was a long weekend and we went wayfaring again at last! It was off west to Wellington where we had so much enjoyed the June long weekend. The weather was mostly fine, the grass was verdantly green after recent rain and there was an explosion of spring blossom in the gardens. Musing: By Emily Dickinson "A little madness in the Spring Is wholesome even for the King, But God be with the Clown — Who ponders this tremendous scene — This whole Experiment of Green — As if it were his own!"

It's time I let the sun set on Wellington. That's it for the while until I go on another wayfaring adventure.

The weather in Wellington was sunny, warm and glorious and a change from what had been a constantly grey wet week in the city. The townsfolk were kind enough to acknowledge that we were having a good weekend but couldn't resist mentioning that they were anxiously awaiting rain. They dry landscape was dotted with windmills faithfully pumping much needed groundwater to the surface. Water restrictions in the city and Blue Mountans have been lifted a little now the catchment has 66.7% storage. We can wash our cars again. The other side of the picture is that the drought has not yet broken in the bush, Lake Burrendong near Wellington is still at a mere 25% Musing: From Summer in the Country by Peter Skrzynecki "... watching grasses and grains shimmer in paddocks or sheep and cattle grazing beyond a windbreak of pines. Galahs clanged over the homestead. A windmill turned when a breeze sprung up. Cockatoos screeched from the pepper tree."

OK, it's time I moved on from old stuff, but I couldn't resist the fire engine.

Another memory, my Dad showing us the traction engine that he used to drive, by then rusting and languishing in an overgrown paddock near the saw mill. Musing: From The Dog Beneath the Skin by W.H. Auden a play he wrote with Christopher Isherwood "Now through night's caressing grip Earth and all her oceans slip, Capes of China slide away From her fingers into day And the Americas incline Coasts towards her shadow line. Now the ragged vagrants creep Into crooked holes to sleep: Just and unjust, worst and best, Change their places as they rest: Awkward lovers lie in fields Where disdainful beauty yields: While the splendid and the proud Naked stand before the crowd And the losing gambler gains And the beggar entertains: May sleep's healing power extend Through these hours to our friend. Unpursued by hostile force, Traction engine, bull or horse Or revolting succubus; Calmly till the morning break Let him lie, then gently wake."

Down this end of Gulgong is the local musuem, a wonderous place full of every conceivable object from country life. Having grown up in the bush where nothing is thrown out and in an era when 'old things' were used much longer, there is much that is familiar in the museum. The old mangle reminded me of Monday mornings (before the washing machine) -- the boiling copper, sheets rinsed in blue, school clothes dipped in starch and my mum semi-whistling hymns as she turned the handle of the old mangle mounted on the cement wash tubs. As it happens, my Mum was a member of the Salvation Army, so this poem by a famous American poet amuses me just about as much as the museum. Musing: Washerwoman by Carl Sandberg "The washerwoman is a member of the Salvation Army. And over the tub of suds rubbing underwear clean She sings that Jesus will wash her sins away And the red wrongs she has done God and man Shall be white as driven snow. Rubbing underwear she sings of the Last Great Washday...

Gulgong is another tidied up town -- in fact the main street has been so tarted up I found it hard to distinquish between real history and "Ye Olde" fake. But off the main street I was pleased to find the real thing. I like wrinkles on old faces and things being just a little astray. Musing: Delight in Disorder by Robert Herrick "A sweet disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness: A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction-- An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher-- A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbands to flow confusedly-- A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat-- A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility-- Do more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part."

After Yoeval we drove to Gulgong because we had heard the Henry Lawson Festival was on. I admire Henry Lawson's writing, particularly his short stories. Henry, a quintessential Australian writer from the turn of the century (last century not this one) apparently lived his early life in Gulgong. Musing: From Faces In The Street by Henry Lawson They lie, the men who tell us for reasons of their own That want is here a stranger, and that misery's unknown; For where the nearest suburb and the city proper meet My window-sill is level with the faces in the street Drifting past, drifting past, To the beat of weary feet While I sorrow for the owners of those faces in the street. And cause I have to sorrow, in a land so young and fair, To see upon those faces stamped the marks of Want and Care; I look in vain for traces of the fresh and fair and sweet In sallow, sunken faces that are drifting through the street Drifting on, drifting on, To the scrape of restless feet; I can sorrow for ...

We took a drive to Yoeval, for no particular reason other than to see what was there. We found a small historic town with all the things you would expect -- shops, schools, churches, masonic temple, RSL club, vet and ag supplies, football field, picnic spot by the creek, no doubt a CWA branch somewhere and of course a Royal Hotel. I'm sorry to say this, because the good citizens of Yoeval are obviously very proud, but I don't like this town, it has somehow tidied itself up too much.

In Wellington I kept saying "I really like this town" to which my husband responded "You say that about EVERY country town we visit." But it's not only the town, I like the the surrounding countryside too.