The mountain farm in winter

I’m just indoors having had a gentle savaging from a rainbow lorrikeet.

Blame my father. He always fed these gorgeous wild Australian birds from the verandah. Sunflower seeds only; but boy are they voracious feeders. I’m used to Heckle and Jekyll, the two tame ones.  But suddenly I was confronted by eight at once.  And only one bird feeder.

There was shrieking and screeching and I could have done without the din.

The boldest one leapt onto my arm to try and beat his fellow birds to the bucket of seeds.

This was meant to be the soothing time after the drive back from the mountains.

Rain has come to my trip.

Good for the crops. We could do with some of that stuff on the farm back in France. I keep logging on to the French weather forecast each day and am confronted with a relentless 30C sunny ‘prévision météo’.  No rain in sight.

Luckily we had a great afternoon of walking about the paddocks inspecting sheep, neighbouring gardens and trees. And admiring the extraordinary view.  Blue mountains are just that. Blue from the eucalyptus trees.

I haven’t been to Mt Irvine in late winter (early Spring) for years and years.

You can see how well pruned the chestnuts and walnuts are here in the huge ‘orchard’. Puts mine to shame as usual.

And everything is so well mown. I wonder if my terraces are going to look this neat when I get back.

The daffs are out all over the garden.  And I spent ages trying to work out where the divine smell was located in among the dense planting of shrubs and trees.

Daphne I think. But the hamamelis (witch hazel) trees just outside the front door were also pumping out a delicious scent.

My brain is so confused to be confronted by a spring scene in what for me is still summer in France.

Back next week to real life.

And in the meantime, here is a bit of botanical magic: a stand of wollemi pines at the Blue Mountains Botanic Gardens where we stopped on the way back to Sydney.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Wollemi National Park is located just over the ridge from Mt Irvine. You can peer and stare and speculate all you like, but you will never find the original grove of these extraordinary pines.  They are so well hidden and protected, to spare them from looters or tourists who want to see them in their wild location.  They were discovered in 1994 and their location remains a tantalizing mystery.

During the bush fire season the helicopters land and take off from our friends’ farm. It is the only seriously large farm in the region with open paddocks safe for chopper take offs and landings. 

Most of the Fire Brigade choppers take off in the direction of the fires.  And one will always head in the opposite direction towards the special grove of these trees which have survived since the time of the dinosaurs. They carry their water bombs to douse any potential threat. And it’s a secretive operation.

‘So where is that one heading, Uncle Bill?’

Long pause and a gruff reply: ‘If I told you, I’d have to kill you.’

Go on, Uncle Bill; your secret is safe with me.

Not bloody likely!