~ a third column

“I started this blog because, like everyone who gets into blogging, I wanted to add a third column to my ... template.” ThreeColumnBlogger

Over the next week or so, health willing, I’m going to make an effort to update the Sails of Oblivion layout, so please excuse me if the page looks strange from time to time. I really want that third column ... mainly for the twitter feed and all that stuff which gets lost at the bottom. And I think it’s time for an improved header. And a fresh new look all round.

I saw a little wattlebird yesterday. Similar to the common red wattlebird but devoid of wattle and yellow-stained chest, and blessed with a distinctive, possibly even more demented range of vocalisations. Today there were some masked lapwings on one of the Monash Uni ovals. In the Valley Reserve I witnessed the wonderful display of a flirty grey fantail and, briefly, I think, an eastern spinebill.

As long as I can remember, there have been tiny brown and grey chirruping birds living outside the window of my study. Like all species, they have their own specific character - a thing which birders (unfortunately) call their ‘jizz’ - but until recently their identity has remained mysterious. Despite their abundance, it was a hard job pinning them down - even with the help of my new field guide. They do not look spectacular; they are not an imposing bird in any way, yet they colour the ambience here with their twitters and trills, and the flickering they do among the leaves. I am sure I would notice their absence.

I learned that they are brown thornbills - and with this knowledge a world opened up, just there, outside my window, of which I had no real prior awareness. Now I know their preferences, the months they breed, the kind of nests they make and the extent of their range. It’s all so ... fascinating. A name is a key - and never more so now we have the internet.

I am beginning to see the hot churning black hole at the centre of the birder’s mind; I am beginning to feel its irresistible attraction ...


This is the long-billed corella. The last few mornings I have heard the harsh, grating voices of a flock passing high above the house. The bird often looks scruffy because it has a habit of digging for tubers, including, helpfully, the bulb of the hideous onion weed. The individual above, (photographed by Noodle Snacks) is, however, perfectly presented, though the bloody bib suggests (falsely) that it may recently have been gnawing at something’s throat.

Yesterday, Polly imprisoned a daddy long legs in a small lidded container together with a snail in the hope that by morning they would have ‘mated’. Also, she’s acquired a device called an R5 which holds eighty games and can be plugged into the back of her DS - this will settle her for the next week or two

Speaking of mating, did you hear about the transgenic pig-sheep? I was excited for a while - and hopeful, thinking it might have some advantages for the environment. We farm pigs anyway; if they could grow wool as well as bacon, then there's got to be some kind of energy saving. Perhaps some of our sheep pastures could be turned to forests roamed by woolly free-range pigs? Disappointingly, the abomination turned out to be the Mangalitza, a rare porcine breed from Austria with no apparent sheep genetics. Still, the idea is there. There's no reason to give up hope entirely.

And if only there were a substance that was neither illegal nor poisonous which you could have just a little of as night begins to fall. Something to make you laugh and forget how tired and sick you feel, something to elevate the spirit and anaesthetise some of the wounds acquired during the day - and which did not give you a hangover. Is Big Pharma working on something like this? Would they be allowed to? And if they succeeded, would it be legal?



This is a an old car that burned in the black Saturday bushfires. It was part of a collection of valuable Australian antiques and was donated to the Melbourne Museum in the condition you see. The chassis of most modern cars warped, even melted in the terrible heat, but older cars, with heavier steel bodies, seem to have been able to hold their shape. Mind you, the insides were a charred and melted melange.

~ a clear path through the maelstrom

Hello, once more, again, after so long.

There have been all kinds of reasons why I’ve been silent, but probably most importantly I’ve been rethinking what this blog is about. I’ve learnt the hard way that more delicacy is required when discussing personal matters, so for better or worse, I’m going to steer away from them. I have a tendency to say imprudent things at inappropriate times, and it appears that I’ve carried it along with me into this medium … in spades …

That aside, I’m going to keep my posts shorter this time around. That way the blog won’t weigh too heavily on my other writing responsibilities. Single topic. Not too much digression.

My novel is going well by the way. I’m just about adhering to my page a day regimen. And I’m immersed. Living half my life here, half in the strange world of Nonesuch.

*

Some worrisome attitudes have been revealed in our reactions to the apocalyptic Victorian bushfires. In the aftermath, with some celerity, and true to human nature, people sought someone or something to blame. Arsonists, naturally, were the first to come into their sights. Those arrested were afforded special protective measures.

A clear second were the ‘environmentalists’ in local councils who prevented landowners from clearing native vegetation in proximity to their dwellings. I read of the outrage of one person who was not allowed to cut back grasses along the front of his property. Another, who had had been fined tens of thousands of dollars for illegally felling hundred of trees on his land, claimed to the media that he was vindicated and should be returned the money. One more suggested that, as a future rule, vegetation be cut back to however many metres from all public roads. [Recall that many roadside easements provide a refuge and throughway for native flora and fauna].

As victims, they could speak from a high moral ground. Suddenly, they no longer felt constrained by political correctness and, in emotional extremis, brought their bugbears to light. But these opinions are no less thoughtless or misguided because their owners have suffered. Demands such as these, coming from devastated people, ought never be appeased at the expense of a correct response. I sincerely hope that terrible decisions are not made in response to these people’s terrible sufferings.

To paraphrase The Age, climate change did not cause the bushfires, however it did make them more likely to happen, and to be more severe. As part of our response to climate change, the environmental lobby seeks to minimise our destructive effect on the environment. We must learn to live peacefully and equitably with the natural world, as we depend on it and are naturally a part of it.

If we are to house ourselves beyond the cities, in the midst of nature, as did the people of Flowerdale or King Lake, then rather than gouge out a sterile safe zone, we should seek to have as little impact as possible. What is the point of living amongst that beauty if your presence is a defacement? Rather than alter or destroy the flora and fauna in order to shield ourselves against a natural process such as fire – we should be building structures that are either fireproof or disposable, and making sensible plans for our own safety.

Idealistic, I suppose, but the truth as I see it. No human action could have prevented or caused the holocaust that day, fed by extreme winds, unreasonable heat and a bone dry land. Lessons are sure to be learned in time, but no credence should be given uninformed opinions or short-sighted prejudices. The environmentalists are not putting trees above people – in working to preserve the ecology which sustains us, they are working to preserve the future, the common good.

It is wrong to lay blame at their feet.