Museum of Economic Botany

The Museum of Economic Botany in the Adelaide Botanical Gardens is always worth a visit with much more than one can absorb at one time. Over the years I have kept an eye on the display of wood turning there for works by Grandpa Albert Wiley. At last visit in January 2020 only one piece by Grandpa was on display along with work by some other wood turners.

BUSHFIRES

They’ve come early this year,

before the start of summer.

Hot dry days

for hot dry weeks

leave bush and grasslands

tinder dry -

at flashpoint.

A faulty vehicle exhaust?

A stray piece of broken glass?

A smouldering cigarette butt?

An arsonist or pyromaniac?

A lightning strike in a dry thunderstorm?

A forgotten electrical connection?

So many ways to start a bushfire.

A  spark

becomes a flame

becomes a fire

becomes a bushfire

becomes a holocaust.

Homes,

businesses,

infrastructure,

livestock,

pets,

human lives,

whole townships,

our precious bushland,

our wildlife and flora,

endangered species …

all at risk -

all under threat.

And yet

human spirit prevails.

Communities unite in mutual support.

Firefighters - many as volunteers -

sacrifice home comforts,  families and income

for days on end.

Others provide food, safe havens,

funds and resources.

Under threat we hold together

and so we survive.

Hot dry days

for hot dry weeks

leave bush and grasslands

tinder dry -

at flashpoint.

Summer is still young.

The worst is yet to come.

We must survive.

Advent 2019

Sunshine...
  a gentle breeze...
    birdsong.

Golden paddocks
  harvested or waiting.
The drone of a distant header.
The revving of a grain truck
  passing through town.

The nearby creek
  dried to a string of puddles;
    rain both a hope and a memory.

Christmas cheer an anticipation;
  preparations for the festive season -
    presents mailed to distant family,
      an annual letter to friends.

The sure anticipation of a new year
  and summer -
     hot
      dry
        dusty.
Maybe the relief of a thunder storm.
  Almost certainly bush-fires.

So life goes on ...
  Individual lives come and go;
      but life itself goes on.

Winter Drought

Winter did not come that year
with a storm,
or rain, or even wind;
just an invasive,
chilling cold.

The sun shone
but, somehow,
its rays were all light,
no warmth at all.

Clouds rolled in from the south-west
but then moved on eastward
without the desperately needed rain.

Frost preceded each new dawn  
and, when it was too dry,
the dreaded "black frost",
leaving gardens
and even hardy roadside natives
dead, burnt black.

Water pipes froze overnight
and burst, 
flooding  homes,
and overtaxing local plumbers
who just could not cope.

We all froze, 
but then,
in our north facing sun room, behind the glass,
there was afternoon warmth;
in a well cooked meal with a glass of red wine, 
there was nourishment;
by a cozy wood fire with a good book,
there was comfort and friendship;
in bed, snuggled under an eiderdown quilt,
there was rest and refreshment.

The freeze will stop.
The rain will come.
We all will survive.

This winter drought
will be followed by the excitement of spring,
and the heat and dry of summer,
and the promise of autumn,
and then winter again.

Who knows when,
but it will rain.

We will survive.