Ready Or Not.

I just adore the "i can has cheezburger.com" site. I visit it quite often, being a bit of an animal sucker.

Somehow this dear little pic reminded me of the changing seasons, which are coming, whether we are 'ready or not.'

Our Summer seems to have sneaked in early, pretending to be Spring. Either that, or global warming is much worse than we realised. It has been gaspingly hot here for the past few days, & the thunderstorm we had on Friday just made it all seem worse.

Jogging about the blogging world, I see so many pictures of the most gloriously coloured leaves, in the Norhtern Hemisphere, where, of course, it is Autumn. The wonderful strong, rich, reds, the hot, beautiful, oranges, & brilliant almost electric rusts, & golden browns. Sunstruck yellows, limes, faded greens. I am sure our autumn coloured leaves dont attain such strong, brilliant colours. I wonder why?

Is it the light, or the lack of, or the strength of the sun? Does the sun bleach the colours out? Or might it be the different types of trees that grow? The promise those glorious greens seem to hold don't last very long in this dry, hot climate. Not on the deciduous trees at least.

I know that we never seemed to see such brilliant colours in Christchurch, either, & many of the same trees grow in Hagley Park, & the Botanic Gardens, as grow in England. Many of the Northern hemisphere trees, of other countries, also.

I have watched the wonderful rich greens coming on the trees, the wonderful young lime coloured leaves. Golden new leaves, that will gradually turn a darker green, as the Summer comes on. Even the Eucalypts have a myriad of new colours, as they sprout new growth.

It always amazes me, to see the wonderful brightly coloured Rainbow Lorrikeets, & Rosellas, & to see how they blend, almost into invisibility among the shrubs & trees. Even the pink & grey Gallahs blend into the grass as they peck around searching for, I know not what.

Our birds in New Zealand were much 'quieter', in a colour sense. Introduced birds were prevalent, Blackbirds, Thrush with beautiful dusk songs, Sparrows, who have seemed to diminish recently. Native birds tended to be dull & quite difficult to spot in among the native trees. Many of which were dark evergreens.

In rural areas in New Zealand Pine trees of many varieties became popular for use as windbreaks, hedges, & delineating areas, such as hiding the woolsheds, stock yards, or sheltering the dog kennels, or just as windbreaks for the houses, affording some privacy as well as boundary markers.

Most old houses would have had some conifers, macrocarpa, lawsoniana, & pinus radiata. When the occupants had long gone, or the house had crumbled away, the remnants of the gardens would be left, overgrown, dark, & lonely. Often foreboding, as only those gnarly old trees could be.

As a child I have vivid memories of those old pine trees. Their dark, threatening, shapes, the carpet of needles so quiet & stealthy somehow. I always thought of Hansel & Gretel, & always had a shiver on entering large stands of such trees.

I loved the pinecones however, & loved to go & gather them for the fire. My father made me a very nice owl, out of a handsome pincone, & I wonder if that is where my lifelong fascination with owls came from. though some say I was a witch in a former life, & that is why I love owls- & wolves, though we had none of those in NZ!

I remember the pine cones could be rather treacherous to burn on an open fire- they were given to spit in protest at being burned, & a good fire guard was needed to protect the hearth & carpet! Sometimes even the furniture! I was 'gifted' a spot burnt armchair, which had been a rescue from Gom's first marriage.

You have no idea how much I loathed that hideous holed, ugly yellow, vynyl covered chair. To this day, it remains in my mind, a symbol of my MIL.

I had intended this post to go in another direction. (Ha ha, much as we sometimes intend our lives to take other directions!)

A memory of an old man, who lived in a very tumble down old cottage. It was surrounded by many old plants, where a former, perhaps lovely, garden had once thrived, & been lovingly tended. There were several banks of pine type trees, & many thick vines, surrounding his dwelling.

As children we used to venture across the paddocks, to hide, & peep at poor Old Billy's house. He had a beard, & longish hair, & he could occasionally be heard muttering away to himself.

There were many old plants, flowers & shrubs that struggled against the encroaching weed forest. Lonely oldfashioned flowers could be seen blooming in spite of neglect. Sweet Williams, (Dianthus) flowering valiantly, among the riotous weeds. Old forgotten Primrose clumps. Wild Narcissus, Daffodils, Snowdrops.

A particular shrub of pink small flowers, with a spicy fragrance sticks in my memory. A very old fashioned shrub, which no longer appears in modern gardens. I loved it's fragance, & recall it vividly, to this day. The slightly sticky leaves on the tips of new growth.

Most scary, or surprising, was Old Billy's 'Midden'. We lived some miles inland from the ocean. A short distance by car, but not exactly a 'short' distance on foot. To my knowledge, Old Billy didnt have a vehicle.

Old Billy, must have been a shellfish lover. There was a huge pile of Pipi, & perhaps Cockle shells. It had obviously been created over a long period of time. I was always curious about how, or where, he got his supplies of shellfish. I suppose there were many fish skeletons among the midden piles, but I don't remember any stench or vile smell. I do remember it being very high, & wondering what would be made of it all, once he was gone.

I don't ever remember "Old Billy" stories really, in the township. We kids probably made his lonely life a bit harder, sneaking about spying on him. All he wanted, was to be left alone, to live his solitary life, in his little old, crumbling ruin of his "home".

My Beloved Brother probably remembers more than I do, about Old Billy. He spent more time, with his mates, roaming about the paddocks of the neighbouring farms.



Better Than, The John Butler Trio, ...for my lovely Granddaughter.

Trees

This picture is of trees & the river above the Waterfall at Whangarei, NZ.

I love trees, & am always amazed when people dont plant them, or cut them down. Apart from the necessity of taking down dangerous trees, of course.

Or Privet, which is just a menace.

Some of my earliest memories involve trees. When I was born, my father was in Italy, part of the NZ soldiers sent for the war effort.

A favourite Aunt was his younger sister, & she used to collect me from my grandmother's house, & take me on her horse, up to visit my other grandmother. They lived on a farm on a hill, in wild & rugged bushy country in a remote area, the 'outback' of New Zealand. I can remember asking my young Aunt the names of all the native trees on the way, & she would patiently teach me their names. New Zealand bush is very unique, & the trees were very beautiful to my young eyes- they still appear that way to me.

When I was about 3, the war was over, & my father had returned. We lived in an old farmhouse, on a farm where my father worked. There were huge old, ugly, pine trees at the back of the house, & they were dark & forboding looking. I was slightly frightened of them, & they harboured lots of Mynah birds, whose screeching nearly drove my mother mad.

The main farmhouse was quite close to ours, & I was allowed to go to play with the owner's son quite often. He was a large boy, I think he must have been older than me, & was somewhat rough. His mother, Mrs B, was lovely, & she used to let me play with his older sister's dolls, which were kept in a loft. The older sister was away at boarding school, so she was rarely home, & I cant remember her at all.

Mrs B had planted a beautiful 'Avenue' of trees she loved, & there was a huge old Magnolia, that used to flower so beautifully, plus a lot of Rhododendrons, which were also beautiful. I dont remember all the other types of trees but I can remember walking through that avenue holding Mrs B's hand, & feeling so happy.

My father had returned a 'changed man' as so many soldiers did, & the marriage of my parents failed, after the birth of my brother. (Who makes us laugh, as he tells everyone he wasnt a mistake, he was a genuine attempt at saving a marriage!)

Our mother took us, & moved back to live with her parents. At that time they were living in an old homestead on another farm, & there was an old orchard near the house. It was filled with old apple trees, & wonderful plums of all sorts. There were several Datura trees there, & I used to play with the fallen flowers. I was always fascinated with them, though my mother hated them, & hated the heavy scent they have. Now I know a little about them, I would never touch them.

Once I started school, there was a huge old Oak tree, that was a focal point of the playground. Our school photos were usually posed under that old Oak, & it provided shade in the heat of summer. There was another old huge tree, but it had horrible smelling flowers, & the hated school milk used to be placed under the tree. It would sit in the heat, & always made me vomit. I had a note to exempt me from having to have it! I always associate the smell of Privet with the flowers on that tree, & the rotting milk.

Once we got into the 'Standards' classes, we were allowed to play on the lower 'flats' as they were called. They were large areas levelled out, & grassed & used for football mostly. Later swimming baths were built down on one of the flats, & we learnt to swim in those.

These flats were surrounded by thick Lawsoniana trees, which had been planted in double rows, & were called the Air Raid Shelters. They were dense & dark, & when we were in the 'Primmers' they were a forbidden area. Of course once we got into the 'Standards', we would sneak down into the Air Raid Shelters, & the boys would sneak tobacco from their father's stash, & they would roll disgusting, deformed, cigarettes, & smoke them down among the dark trees.

There was a farm adjoining the Air Raid Shelters, & the old man who owned it used to peer through the trees, & we always believed he was 'spying' on us. His name was Bishoprick, so you can imagine the names he used to be called!

The Headmaster's house was next to old Bishoprick's place, & it bordered the bike sheds. Which were also the scene of smoking capers by the boys. I dont remember any of the girls smoking in those days, though perhaps they did.

One daring lad stole his father's pipe, & brought it to school, & braggingly smoked it, to everyone's admiration or horror. He didnt come to school for several days after that, & his brother told us it was due to the hiding he had recieved from their father. I dont know if it was true, but it could have been.

There was a lovely area in the front of the main school buildings, with thick hedges of trimmed Lawsoniana, & Camelia trees in the centre. I regret not going back to see the old school, on my recent trip back. My brother tells me he thinks the old Oak is gone now. And I would suppose the old Air Raid Shelters are also long gone. They were never very attractive, but they were fun to hide in, or handy to meet with the current 'crush'.

I always feel sad to see rented houses, with no trees. I know renters are not going to spend money on a plant they will never see grow much, but I wish owners would plant them.

I think part of the reason I love living here, is the fact we are high, & can look out on trees. And we have some nice ones of our own.