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10-25-04 I have been very upset this afternoon, for I found out why the ducklings were deserting their mother and why she wasn't going after them, just quacking a lot. |
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."
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