10

She had made a nest of baling twine, and stupidly I let her. Well, the obvious, if I hadn't been wrapped up in my own affairs so much (no pun intended), was that she was well and truly lassoed by it, and could not extricate herself.

Her babies, I think, are all dead. Fourteen beautiful ducklings.

I cut her loose, and put an enormous amount of twine in the bin, never to darken our doors again. The rest of the roll is up in a cupboard, out of harms way. Poor little things. Mama hightailed it for the water feature, only to be set upon by three drakes. Now she has disappeared. Oh dear.

Hah! I have been away from the computer for some hours, have found and cornered the poor duck (still being hotly pursued by three drakes, and much the worse for wear) AND FOUND A DUCKLING!! YIPPEE!!

Momma and babe are in one of the hutches where they can get a bit of privacy and rest. Alice and Nathan, Brian's younger son, were both such a great help in this particular round-up, Nathan in catching the duckling and helping to catch the mum, and Alice in helping to get the cage ready and make sure that Ash the rabbit was okay in a different cage, with plenty of food and water.

I am hoping like crazy that geese families have all unknowingly adopted some of the ducklings. I'll know as they grow. Normally it is easy to tell, but with this batch...

We have had some glorious days here, and here it is, after 6PM and I have just hung out another load of washing.

The day is not over, not by a long shot. Beau, our peacock, has just escaped, and entirely my fault, too. A cage door left open, and then I scared him the wrong way, and we know not where the overgrown budgie is.

Hopefully, we'll be able to grab him at first light, if he comes down for a feed. Otherwise someone is in for a lovely present.

Monday morning - no sign of Beau the peacock, and Mother duck and baby are both dead. Not a good start to the day.

I have taken our half-wild kitten, Cinderella, to work, and the bloke from the RSPCA has just picked her up and taken her to the Animal Shelter. She had killed a chook and a duckling, not to mention at least a bird a day, and even if they were only starlings, which are an introduced pest here, it would only be a matter of time before she started catching the local natives.

Botheration.

Now, to more of the trip:

At the Airport, we were met by our bus driver and local identity, Nicole, who promised that, if she could (that is, if we had time) she would take us to see the Australian Arid Lands Botanic Garden, something I had missed seeing when our Family went to Coober Pedy at Easter. We found out later that Nicole, as well as being a local bird spotter (she's brilliant at it), is also heavily involved in the Botanic Garden.

Anyway, I grabbed the passenger side front seat and we headed in to Port Augusta and did a bit of shopping at the local supermarket. The folks seemed to be of the opinion that we were to be starved of healthy produce, so they loaded up with fresh fruit and spring water.

I grabbed a fly net at a local newsagent. It was the best decision of the trip, I feel.

Back in the bus with Nicole, and she started explaining a bit about the local bird life, but it was a bit loud and all but impossible to hear. We swapped stories anyway!

Nicole is a local who decided to come back home and give others the benefit of her local knowledge. Bless her! She's great, and very patient.

We arrived at the Camp, which is set up with bungalows and caravan sites in a small valley some kilometres to the South of Pt. Augusta.

There is a dry creek bed that wends its way through, and the hills eventually become bigger the further upstream you venture.

Wildlife? Well, the expected rabbits, and definitely kangaroo, lots of different birds, more flies than you can wave a swatter at and in the shower one morning, I found a dead scorpion, which I brought back to Alice and which she happily took to school on the proviso that no-one touch the stinger.

And the providore? Well, the water was unpalatable, having a high level of calcium as it was bore water, straight from their own supply, brought up from deep below.

Yes, there was fresh fruit, but not a remarkable variety or supply, and the one night we had roast lamb, it was tough mutton (the place next door was a sheep station, and I had the feeling the owners were parents of the one of the owners of the Camp), which I have not been priveleged to have in some time. Two of our poor ladies had had too much mutton as children and balked at the food. I ate one plate full, and Craig ate the other.

The salads were nice.

And at least this time, I knew that the breakfasts were included in the cost.

We were given an afternoon of "how not to talk down to the locals, especially Aboriginals", which was fascinating stuff, because there are so many Aboriginal nations within Australia that it was a given that I could offend almost anyone saying almost anything. Even more so would have been my non-verbal communication. If I approach an Elder, I should definitely not look that Elder in the eye, that is the height of rudeness. I can not use the slang that Aborigines use amongst themselves. That would be considered patronising.

There were more pitfalls than the average castaway-inhabited deserted island.

What this meant in history was that children would not look missionaries in the eye when being told or asked something, out of respect for an older person, and the missionary would take that as deceitfulness and untrustworthiness. Naturally, that meant terrible repercussions in how the children were treated.

We were priveleged to visit an old missionary homestead, and met up with Uncle Danny, who was voluntarily given up by his Mum when he was nine years old. He didn't know a word of English, but his Mum could see which way the World turned and knew that Danny had to have a Western-style background to fit in better with the dominant culture.

Danny was happy, having laid to rest many ghosts, and bore no gruges against anybody. Perhaps a lot of this had to do with his Christian attitude, but he did seem content, having come back to settle on the old property and occasionally give talks to those who found this snatch of the past so interesting.

Leah, who is of Aboriginal descent, and one of our number, has parents who were missionaries. She is actually related to Danny, and it was a joyous time for them both in reunion. I wish I had thought things through a bit better, and I would have not spent so much time in questions and more time in seeing that Danny and Leah had a longer period of loving each other. I think that was the first and last time they will see each other.

Next week, I'll tell you the rest. I had written a lot today, but the computer went on the fritz and I lost it all. Bother.

The Ghost

I'm haunted in my dreams

by nameless longing

When I wake up

it is still there

the might-have-beens

the if-onlys

the I-wish-I-hads

all crowd me for awhile

But the busyness of the day

is my release

and the 3AM guilts

are driven out

by practicalities

I still love sleeping.

From Lisa McInnes-Smith - "Life is too precious and marriage is too sweet to rush into relationships that are less than the best for you."