It’s Sunday morning, I’m lying on the lounge and I’m not feeling very well. Suffice to say, I’m only partially responsible for the way I feel, and that the true culprits are M&D. There is a reason for this state of malaise which I will get to later as it has its root cause in a very special local event.
Yesterday, Saturday, the inaugural Dennes Point Dog Show was held in conjunction with the Anzac Day weekend Dennes Point Market Day. All the Nebraska Beach dog walking fraternity, with a few ring-ins, were encouraged to make an effort to participate in a chaos-inducing parade at the end of the day.
All the dogs were corralled outside the hall and we had a good time re-acquainting ourselves with each other. Anticipation and excitement were high as no one quite knew what was going on. Being dogs we were just living in the moment and enjoying the camaraderie.
Each dog was introduced to the expectant crowd by local celebrity, Steve Abbott (aka The Sandman), after which we promenaded around the stalls in the hall. A brief Q&A with the owners and out the door. Judges were on hand to rate the dogs and their handler’s disposition and style. First prize was conferred on my good mate, Baudin, a rescue greyhound owned by Gerry and Veronica.
I thought that my performance, attitude, and demeanour was of the highest standard, perhaps let down somewhat by my companion, otherwise known as Mum! I sniffed my way around the stalls, stopping to engage with small children and behaved in a way that many people would not expect of a Labrador, i.e. I didn’t whack anyone with my tail, eat food from the floor, or bowl anyone over with my enthusiastic welcomes. Still, I’m gracious enough to acknowledge and endorse the judge’s decisions. All entrants were worthy contestants.
A journalist from the ABC was there to record the event and I did explore the microphone. She later caught up with Mum to talk about my blog writing prowess.
All this brings us back to setting the scene for my current ill health. Mum brought me back to the house so that she could go back to the hall to help clean up. But she was very careless and didn’t close my food cupboard entirely. There was just enough room for me to get my nose in and fully expose all my treats. So when M&D did arrive home some time later they were confronted with one packet of pig’s ears ripped apart and emptied, another packet that I hadn’t managed to open as yet and half of my ‘Baker’s Best’ biscuits gone! I guess even Labradors have limit to their food intake. I must admit that I was asking for my own tea not that long after. M&D were strangely reluctant to oblige.
The whole experience was great fun but while I think celebrity could have its upside, I think I’ll just look forward to meeting my mates on the beach and my next meal!
Cheers
Ruby
PS BIG thanks to Masie’s Dad, Sam Shelley for the amazing photos of us all. He is a legend.
05.00 Awoke and realised that it’s 10 hours since I last ate! Nudge Mum into consciousness to alert her to this fact. She that was born in The Year of the Snake has a reptilian look to her eyes so I decide to retreat and return to sleep although it is hard when you’re on the verge of starvation.
07.20 I sense that Mum is awake, and yes she’s stretching and getting out of bed. I play possum and am the very model of a dog in deep slumber, but my every sense is alert to what will happen next. I hear the tap run, the kettle being turned on and then, joy of joys, the two doors that stand between the kitchen and my food bowl are unlocked. Playing it cool it is not until I hear the distinctive sound of metal on the granite bench top that I forego the casual approach and tear down the hall.
07.22.00 Breakfast is served. Poached chicken breast (shredded), with steamed pumpkin.
07.22.10 Breakfast is finished including a thorough clean of my bowl (twice). I head outside to avail myself of the facilities, and check the perimeter fence to identify and wildlife incursions overnight. It is evident that a possum has, once again, been snacking on Mum’s softer herb plants. She bought those protective metal cloches which are slightly obstructing my ingress and egress to the back door some weeks ago. Time to install them girl!
07.25 Mum is in position in the chair we share, sipping on her morning cuppa from the special mug her friend Therese gave her, and checking her mail. I give her the side eye but as I don’t officially take over the chair until after breakfast (rules set and enforced by me), I let it slide. I indicate that I would like the door onto the deck to be opened.
07.30 Shaun the Postie drives down the road but does not stop at our letterbox.
07.34 I growl softly at four wallabies who are quietly grazing near the house. They ignore me.
7.38 Great excitement! my friend Sneaker (Border Collie) who lives down the hill has news to impart. I listen intently with my head on one side and bark a reply or two in response. Conversation is bought to a sudden, and I would think unnecessary conclusion, when I am hustled inside. On reflection I think it strange that our friend Rosie (Kelpie) who lives between us didn’t have anything to say. Maybe she’s under house arrest as she hasn’t escaped to ours for weeks! Maybe I should call the RSPCA, but wait, they no longer take my calls. What did they say ‘melodramatic and entitled madam’.
08.05 Second Breakfast better known as M&D’s breakfast. I take up position on Dad’s right hand side hoping that a corner of toast might come my way. Absolutely no point sitting near Mum, she is immune to my pleading eyes and gentle nudges.
08.15 Chair work
09.55 The Golf has just disappeared from sight heading down to the beach with M&D aboard heading for their daily dunk. I have been left in charge of the house. I slide off my chair and do a reconnoiter of the living room. They are pretty diligent about putting things away these days but what’s that I spy on top of the divider between the kitchen and dining area. Bingo!, a brand new packet of jelly snakes waiting to be transferred to the car where they are used as travel snacks. I am never offered one when we’re on the road so I decide to redress that injustice.
10.45 Having a sugar high.
11.20 Morning tea with Dad. Look longingly at his biscuit. Am reminded that I have just eaten a packet of jelly snakes
11.42 Sneaker Alert! He has escaped and could (very probably) be headed my way rush out onto the deck and here he comes, up through the scrub. I bark joyously but perhaps a bit too soon. The Sneaker vehicle driven by his Mum pulls in at the bottom of the drive and poor silly Sneak is lured into the back seat with the promise of his frisbee.
11.45 – 13.15 Garden work. Dad works, I snooze in the shade.
13.15 Lunch. Repeat of parental breakfast routine. Salad so not really worth my anticipation.
14.00 – Post lunch rest with Dad
15.00 Garden work continued until a David Attenborough moment presents itself! An echidna is busy burrowing on the other side of the fence. I shadow him as he moves along, barking hysterically. Have I previously mentioned how this species takes ABSOLUTELY NO NOTICE of me, and how frustrating this is.? I am bundled inside with the word ‘ridiculous’ ringing in my ears.
15.10 Chair work.
17.00 Walk time! The highlight of my day. I have been ready for about 30 minutes but M&D fuss around and we are at least 4.5 minutes late in departing ‘Wainui’ which logistically puts connecting with all my friends at the correct time at risk. It’s normal for M&D to have a jelly snake when we park to sustain themselves for the walk ahead. Not today – oops!
Perfect walk; firm sand, smooth seas for swmiming and lots of fresh smells plus so many of my friends are there. I get high on excitement but maintain a quiet, trustworthy composure which lures Mum into letting me off my lead to frolic in the shallows with Norman and do Zoomies with Coco. It is a happy gaggle of dogs and adults that hit the big rock and turn for home. I wait until we are several hundred yards along the beach when I make my move. By the time I hear the words ‘where’s Ruby?’ I am well away into the scrub. A search party comes after me – I won’t repeat the words I heard – but cunning moi hid from them all for a full 45 minutes until I allowed myself to be found – I was after all tired and a little hungry.
It was a silent drive home. Once there I was bundled unceremoniously into the back garden to reflect on my ways. I was more concerned about when dinner might be served. Eventually M&D relented and I was served bread and water (not!) before I retreated to my bed. You could cut the air with a knife.
Thankfully M & D believe in the old adage of not letting the sun go down on your anger and as I drifted in and out of dreams in which I featured as Ruby the Explorer I was aware of being kissed goodnight and told what a loved, but naughty girl I am.
Tomorrow is another day!
With love
Rubes
P.S. You can’t get good help these days – I wrote this weeks ago but my assistant has only just realised she didn’t press ‘publish’ – honestly!
Ruby here seeking some clarification. The word ‘we’ is used frequently at #87 to describe our little family, ie Mum, Dad and ME. I like the concept, it expresses the egalitarian nature of our happy home.
We are all registered with authorities as living at this address; we are all included on Christmas cards ‘Dear Jan, Marcus and Ruby’; we all have our own personal floatation devices for use in an emergency evacuation; and all three of us write on this blog ( though it is generally accepted that my style and content is superior).
Can I then ask why when WE were gifted a lovely wedge of orange cake last week by Aunty Claire, none was forthcoming in my direction although I am sure that was the intent of the giver. I watched the Tupperware it was housed in with an eagle eye. My cake tastebuds were further tantalised on Friday morning when Mum whipped up a ginger sponge with lemon glaze to take to the Bruny Island Historical Society Christmas Party. When she left it to cool while she went dunking I thought all my Christmases had come at once – until she built a barricade around it that even Super-Rube couldn’t conquer. So I waited.
Patience is a virtue my friends and it, together with an innocent demeanour, is something I have in spades. Mum came home from dunking and sliced and plated the sponge cake ready to head to her party. She popped some in the Tupperware for Dad who was off-island shopping (nice touch), together with the last piece of orange cake. I feigned disinterest and snuggled down in my chair.
Lulled into a false sense of security, and knowing that Dad was close to being home, Mum decided to let this doggy enjoy her slumber. No sooner was she down the drive than this tornado was in a desperate battle with the Tupperware. Result: Ruby 2( pieces of cake)/ Tupperware 0 ( well a few teeth marks which means it needs to be replaced). To give the Tupperware it’s due , it was an heroic fight.
Dad arrived home a little while later innocently thinking that I’d just consumed the orange cake, oblivious to the ginger number that Mum had left for him.
The moral to this story? M&D need to re-consider the concept of we. I would welcome your opinions ( unless they use terms like spoilt brat).
The indignity, the ignominy, the injustice! M&D have perpetrated the most egregious treachery on my well-being by insisting that I go on a diet. For the last few weeks, I have been fed a much-reduced quantity of gently poached chicken, supplemented with steamed, mashed vegetables and a mere sprinkle of kibble. How do they expect me to survive, let alone, thrive on such meagre rations. The motivation for this is supposedly the middle-aged spread that has been occurring of late. This has been amply evidenced by my difficulty in jumping on the bed unaided. I think my perceived ‘bulkiness’ can be attributed to my winter coat but that hasn’t passed the pub test. I must admit that I appear to be regaining my waistline and the bed problem seems to have been resolved.
With Maisie, Murphy & Winnie, with Baudin
I hope all this focus on my weight won’t impact too heavily on my upcoming birthday. Yes, I will be turning seven on 24 November, and I do expect the requisite treats and at least a birthday cake. Maybe all my friends – Norman, Pearl, Baudin Sneaker, Rosie, Chester, Mia, Mae, Masie, Annie, Lily, Murphy and Winnie could come for a play date.
Norman, Rosie, and me with Annie
I have to remind M&D occasionally that I am still capable of puppy mischief. Take this morning for instance. I was being ignored by Dad soon after breakfast so I tried bringing in a pillow from the bedroom, then I rescued a tea towel from the kitchen followed by a cushion from the outdoor setting. All failed to get a reaction – too predictable. So, I resorted to a trick from my puppy days at Rowan Street and grabbed Dad’s novel from the bookcase and took it outside where I proceeded to run at pace all over the back garden. It worked a treat! I had him huffing and puffing up and down the garden all the while hurling imprecations at my fleeing form.
With Mae and Chester and Norman
On my behaviour, most would agree that I have been much more accommodating of late. The bedevilment that often assailed me is less in evidence. I have only escaped once in the last few months where I led Dad a merry chase down the gully towards the beach for a couple of hours, although that might be more a function of closer attention to closing gates rather than my need for adventure. Socks and handkerchiefs are still in great danger of being hoovered up if I’m given the chance and any excuse to grab a shoe or slipper is seized upon – no distinction between M&D’s or unsuspecting guests. I still continually push the boundaries of acceptable behaviour – M&D expect it to be so. Minor misdemeanours are a part of life and give M&D something to grumble about. And there’s such a thing as a reputation to live up to! Where’s the fun in calmness and order? There are still toilet rolls to deal with, not the cute labrador puppy of advertisement fame who spools the roll from the bathroom, but the chewed chunks under the bed. Why can’t I eat wallaby poo or anything from the beach? Does it really matter that I have dug a hole that a wisdom of wombats would be proud of?
Echidna 1, Ruby 0
My role as protector of the back yard has come into question in recent times – not always as a consequence my actions or lack thereof. I have been known to wake the household in the middle of the night to alert them that the defences of the backyard have been breached. Quolls under the deck send me crazy because they know that they are unreachable. They just lie under there and hiss up at me. The other night I heard strange noises up the back and I was surprised by a curled-up ball of spikes lying in the grass. My normal bravery was called into question and the ensuing ‘Mexican Standoff’ between me and the echidna was only ended when Dad (thankfully) pulled me inside. Its generally been assumed that my presence has been a factor in keeping the back yard possum-free, but even this was severely tested last week when I again woke the household due to wildlife activity out the back. Dad and I went to investigate and horror of horrors, we were confronted by a possum on the back fence. Luckily for him/her it disappeared up into the bushland before I could give him/her a taste of Ruby retribution.
Apologies for the extended time between posts but I think you’ll agree that life in Ruby land isn’t all bad and with the exception of reduced rations, things are looking pretty good!
Ruby
P.S. Special love to my friends Mayhem and Abbey in Orange. Still in my heart xx
It will come as no surprise to most of you that the first group I became involved with when we moved was quilting based. In fact I was invited to join before we’d even left Orange through a serendipitous online conversation.
At the time I was enrolled in the University of Tasmania’s Diploma of Family History and, purely by chance, began a dialogue in one of the chat sessions with the wonderful Liz Nicholson who lives across the water from Bruny. When I explained that we were moving to Tasmania, apropos of nothing she asked if I was a quilter. It was kismet, and I have been a member of Channel Quilters ever since.
Liz & Pip
We meet in each other’s homes every second Tuesday and it has been a great way to learn the layout of the land up and down the D’Entrecasteaux Channel. The welcome is always warm and the morning tea delicious. CQ has also been ‘the’ place to gain intel on all things local. Often there’s more talking than quilting but that’s par for the course.
I must admit to getting lost a couple of times in the early days, giving up and driving home defeated, packed lunch still unwrapped. I mention this inability to navigate unmarked roads as if I don’t Michelle Maunder and Adele Casey will – they will both sometimes send a message on the relevant Tuesday to make sure I got there.
About the same time I joined CQ I also joined the Tasmanian Quilting Guild which is the parent body for quilting in this space. This entitles me to enter quilts in the annual ‘Island Quilt’ exhibition but I had never done so – until this year! Must admit having a quilting buddy who is heavily involved in the Guild is an ‘impetus’ ( thanks Pip!), but once I was ‘in’ there was no stopping me.
A work in progress!
I decided to enter ‘Not the Levens Hall at all’, a quilt I started in a workshop at Bathurst with legend Marg Sampson-George in 2013. I had made the central medallions in the months following but then it was packed away until we moved to Bruny. There it was resurrected as adding the successive hexagons was perfect hand sewing to take to a CQ meeting. Once I got to the many borders I was on a roll and I finished it in 2023 a mere 10 years after I started it ( I love it when people ask me how long it takes to make a quilt!). I then sent it back to Orange and my amazing friend, Belinda Betts, to be quilted
Quilt Handlers!
The process of putting a quilt exhibition together is huge and hats off to the team who do it. A couple of weeks ago I volunteered to be a quilt handler at one of the judging days, parading the quilts past the jury just like the Archibald Prize. It’s a great chance to see them up close and to marvel at the work. When your ‘section’ is being judged you are required to absent yourself!
Belinda’s Quilt
Today I popped into Island Quilts and it was thrilling to see my little number hanging amongst the other entries. Belinda too had entered a quilt and hers was displaying a coveted rosette for 2nd in her section (Modern Professional). I posed in front of it pretending it was mine (call me shallow).
Home now, sitting in my sewing chair and thinking about my next project. A big shout out to my many quilting buddies here in Tasmania, in Orange and elsewhere. It’s a brilliant community where we come together to make the world a warmer place, one stitch at a time.
Apologies for the communication blackout over the past few months but it’s been hard to get near the keyboard. I suspect M & D thought I was getting airs above my station (or more ‘likes’ than them!) and made sure the office door was closed. But then they went on a mini break and left me in the care of Aunty Regina (AR) who is fully supportive of personal expression. I was almost ready to press the ‘Publish’ button when AR realised I was a wolf in sheep’s clothing and that avenue was firmly locked off. But today I saw my chance and acted! Read on …
Although she is our most frequent visitor, this was the first time AR has been left in charge of me for more than a night so I was on full alert to make sure our time together was memorable. Each morning we explored the rock platforms (as is our practice when she visits) and every afternoon we walked the length of Nebraska Beach, often in the company of my buddies Norman, Pearl, Sneaker and Baudin ( and their M & D s) I may have pulled AR over on the sand one day in my eagerness to reach Norman but we’ll keep that between ourselves
Rock platforms workBaudin, Norman, Ruby
During the day AR worked at her computer on the dining room table and I, Ruby, kept watch from my position in the red chair.
All was good … until AR accepted an invitation to Baudin’s house for dinner leaving me home, alone. Having heard unproven reports of my behaviour when abandoned she checked and re-checked to make sure that nothing was within my reach. Satisfied with her reconnaissance, and lulled into a false sense of security by my exemplary behaviour, she headed off to the deliciousness that awaits at Chez McAfee.
I was 11/12 of the way through a dozen eggs from Norman and Pearl’s chooks when she arrived home. Don’t know who was more surprised! She immediately phoned M & D who were wining and dining on the Mainland (dobber!). From that point keyboard access was denied. Between us, I think she was secretly thrilled to witness my prowess and we remain firm friends (this, despite the fact that she gave M her professional opinion that I need to loose weight! Bloody vets).
The remaining friends thing is just as well as AR loves Bruny so much she has bought a house down near my beach to come and stay in. She was back a few weeks ago and I took Norman and Pearl on an inspection of the premises. I may have stretched the friendship when I raced into the bedroom and bounced on the bed before grabbing AR’s hairbrush and doing zoomies around the house, dodging between the legs of the many humans who seemed to be taking up space. It’s a house made for zooming and I look forward to many more laps.
Happy Saturday ( especially to my friend Mel in Newcastle)
We woke to a world where it was hard to imagine that the D’Entrecasteaux Channel lay at the bottom of the hill, the fog was dense and cold! Messages from friends in Hobart about what a sparkling day it was there fell on deaf ears as we watched the Jerry intensify
Despite, or perhaps in spite of, the adverse conditions the Dunking Southern Rights were determined to squeeze a swim in. One by one 13 brave souls emerged from the mist all muttering our much used line – ‘we must be mad’! Air temperature 4.5 degrees, water temperature (as measured by our trusty duck) 10.6. We lasted 8 minutes before calling it a day though the surreal experience swimming in the clouds had its appeal.
Many hands needed to light the candles!
After lunch the sun broke through for a precious hour or so, just in time to add extra zing to the 100th birthday party for Dennes Point resident, Irene. There was singing, bubbles, cake and memories shared.
Back home, I took Ruby for a walk up the hill just in time to watch the fog rolling back in. Storm Bay had disappeared from view. From friends heading back to Hobart after a weekend at their shacks messages of ferry queues and fog horns.
I’ve decided that I‘m ambivalent about the festive season. This year I have tried to be positive and filled with the season’s good will and cheer. All that talk prior to the event of “being good or Santa won’t come” was a little bit daunting for someone with a penchant for mischief. M&D laid it on thick in the hope that it would curb all naughtiness. It must have worked because, aside from some minor infractions, I have nothing to report in the behaviour stakes.
As you all know, my focus on food is pretty absolute, so I was looking forward to treats or at least some scraps from the kitchen coming my way. First disappointment – it would seem most Christmas offerings are ‘not good for dogs’. (conspiracy theory) Chocolate is not necessarily good for humans but it doesn’t stop its consumption by M&D. So all Christmas fare – chocolate, ham, dried fruit as in cakes, puddings, mince pies etc are all off limits. They never did Licorice any harm from all accounts. Slim pickings were the order of the season. I did manage to help myself to a gingerbread man that was left unattended on the kitchen bench. My early detection meant I didn’t get the chance to grab the lot. Photo of said gingerbread minus my ‘share’ for information!
There were upsides to the festivities. I really enjoyed opening the presents on Christmas morning. All that wrapping paper provided a lot of enjoyment as I ripped it all into tiny pieces, and the cardboard destruction was pure joy.
Guests are another cause for optimism. They are likely to side with you in treat-giving. Aunty Beverley is particularly on-side in this regard and can be relied upon to slip the odd titbit my way. Guests are also excellent for cuddles and use as a pillow, and I love the reaction when I request this after a swim and a roll on the beach.
Just to finish my rant about the Yuletide period, Santa wasn’t all that generous given the effort I put in to remain ‘good’. All I received was some beef treats that were obviously part of the pre-Christmas grocery shop. Better luck next December.
Let’s start with Dr. Izzy. M&D decided that I was in drastic need of some urgent training and psychological help. Behaviours perceived to be in need of correction were excessive pulling on the lead, escaping the perfectly pleasant house and yard area, total focus on food (allotted and scavenged), barking for attention and of course, my separation anxiety. So, the services of Dr. Izzy were called on. The registration papers caused Mum no end of bemusement as it was as detailed as a request for dual citizenship to North Korea.
Said paper work completed, the first contact was via a zoom call where M&D had to prioritise my behaviours with the aim of designing a plan of action. Excessive pulling on the lead got top billing. I was paraded in front of the camera and given a series of exercises to re-focus on the job at hand. Now forgive the cynic in me for thinking that M&D are a trifle naïve, but surely, they realise that I will do anything for a tasty treat, and boy were there lots of them. By the end of the session, I was feeling quite full! The training has continued and I must admit, I have been a star. Let’s see if the results are as good when we meet Dr. Izzy in the park in Kingston next week.
They’re funny buggers that M&D. They really think that I am going to blossom into some sort composite of Lassie and Rin Tin Tin. Let them bathe in the glory of their early success.
The Gully to Adventure!
Complacency is a terrible thing. In order to disabuse them of my new responsibility, I had to, in the words of Baldrick of ‘Blackadder’ fame – “have a cunning plan”. Then, lo and behold, Dad got distracted and left the back gate open. I seized this golden opportunity and after a quick jaunt around the front garden took off across the road with Dad in hot pursuit. Staying just out of reach, I led him a ‘merry dance’. And then, Oh joy! I came across a putrid, stinking, green carcass which I proceeded to wolf down. Stupidly, I became too engrossed in my unexpected bonus, and let him get close enough to land a blow with a rather large stick. So, in response I rolled luxuriously in what remained of the carcass and took off down into a huge gully that ends up down at the beach. I lost my infuriated shadow and left him fuming. What an adventure! -pools of stagnant water, the odd startled wallaby, long reeds and grass and a plethora of enticing smells.
Clean and exhaustedDo you really want to walk Dad?
Two hours and I thought I had better put in an appearance back at home. I bounced up the drive but then saw the thunderous countenance on Dad’s face. My bedraggled appearance and malodorous smell did nothing to endear me to him and I was unceremoniously marched into the back garden to contemplate my wayward behaviour. I felt a little bit bad but I have to say that it was worth the opprobrium I sensed from Dad. My smugness was short-lived. Out came the shampoo, the towels and the cold-water hose and as I was relieved of my mud and my stench, I couldn’t help thinking that Dad was enjoying this far too much. The whole experience totally exhausted me and all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and sleep it off. No such luck. He thought I might appreciate a walk on the beach as usual. Boy, I tell you what, that walk back along the beach was draining.
Inevitably the waiting game began – who would break the iciness first and restore the love and adoration? No contest – I won as always when Dad cuddled up to me on the lounge. All was forgiven – again.
A huge shout out to all who contributed to making my ‘significant’ birthday so very special. The past two weeks have been a delight and it has been enriched by all the celebrations, messages, gifts and champagne. Time now to move ahead but before I do, a few memories…
The day itself was cool and gusty – which is to be expected as the first half of ‘the party’ was at our house and tricky weather seems to be the go whenever we say ‘party’s on’ which is a bit squishy. Regardless, close quarters didn’t dampen the spirits as 45 + of our friends joined together to wish us happy birthday. And yes, I did say ‘us’ as it was a joint celebration with our friend and neighbour, Wally, who shares the same date of birth as me – how spooky is that!
Happy snaps
The first part of the evening started at Wainui ( ie our house) with drinks and savoury nibbles before we staggered down the drive and across the road to Wally & Giselle’s for cake and liqueurs. It was a blast back to the progressive dinners of our Wollongong days! There was much laughter and telling of tall tales, and naturally the Southern Ocean Sirens performed. Hell we’re talented, just ask us.
Archie hard at work
Among the beautiful gifts I received was a trip to Launceston and an early morning balloon ride from Marcus. As I write we have just returned. We had perfect spring weather and we’re able to explore Tassie’s second city by foot and by water. Our hotel was a fabulous example of building reuse, it was the former grain silos. You can image my joy when I realised that The Silos has a Canine Ambassador (Archie) , a black Labrador who ‘works’ in reception. When I popped in to see him he was mostly snoozing and the tell tale embroidered collar with ‘do not feed’ said it all.
As near to the balloon as we got – this time!
Sadly the balloon flight will have to wait for another day, thick fog having stymied flight plans. Still we did get to tour the countryside in the back of a 4WD bus with some total strangers looking for clear air before the call was made.
Stillwater (with the red roof) from our hotel room
What did go ahead was a perfect birthday dinner at Stillwater, one of Tasmania’s acclaimed restaurants. A perfect mix of relaxed ambience, delicious food, fine wine and the perfect dining companion.
Home to our girl today via the lakes of the spectacular central plateau. I’ll leave the description of that to the geography teacher!
By the time many of you read this we will know the outcome of the Indigenous Voice Referendum. Let us trust that kindness and decency has prevailed,and our country has voted YES. How grand if after 250 years since the first British settlers arrived we have listened properly to the traditional owners who have been here for 65,000 years.
Today I was ‘Booth Captain’ for the Yes campaign at North Bruny which is a grand term for handing out how to vote forms in, at times, bitterly cold and sleety weather with my friend Sue. I also got to assemble the core flute signs ( which blew away more than once) and ensure we were beyond the prescribed 6 metres from the entrance to the polling place.
I have always loved helping at elections, there is such a community feel about them; a chance to catch up with friends and neighbours and make new connections. Today was no different and I feel full of social connectedness. In my experience there is also often a certain bonhomie between the helpers for the different political parties with a sharing of snacks and jokes. Today only the Yes camp was present.
The polling place was the CWA Hall (Country Women’s Association for non-Aussie readers) which sits at the junction of several roads amidst bucolic farmland. Almost all voters arrived by car giving us time to prepare for each arrival.
And so now we wait. Since Federation there have been 44 referendums and only 8 have been carried. The last referendum was in November 1999 when we voted on the establishment of a republic. I remember doing the pre-closing time shift (4-6pm) at Glenroi Public School in Orange. At about 5.30pm a flurry of voters appeared from the nearby pub ad one elderly lady made her way up the ramp. ‘Which of youse is handing out how to votes so we can get rid of the bastards who killed Diana?’, she asked. Without hesitation the man from the No campaign ( who as it happens has a Bruny connection) pointed at me and said ‘Madam, I think this lady will be able to assist, and on that particular issue I am in agreement with you’. She took my proffered piece of paper and continued inside. We lost that one but live to fight another day.
Before I relate the latest Ruby exploit, I know you are all going to say, “Why can’t they just put everything away?” Well, the answer to that is we have a Labrador who, like most, is fixated with food. Coming a close second, is an unrelenting quest for anything remotely resembling food. Ruby is not a discerning gourmand. As most readers of this blog are aware, Ruby has a history of emergency surgeries to remove items of clothing from her insides. So it was with great consternation that I suspected that I was missing a blue handkerchief from the clean laundry basket, said laundry basket having been left unattended for all of ten minutes. Sure enough, our Ruby became sluggish and apathetic over the next few hours. Our experience suggested that we had a problem. Thankfully, in the early hours a couple of nights later she was able to expel said blue hankie all on her own. One less Mediterranean holiday for the vet.
Just to illustrate the difficulty in curbing Ruby’s behaviour, other favourites include toilet rolls, tissues, (boxes and used), dish cloths, footwear, hats and many tasty morsels on the beach. How many of you have to forego the use of your toilet roll holders because the roll can’t be left unattended?
Last month I had a couple of medical procedures lately which entailed two nights in Hobart so it was decided that we would rent a dog-friendly B&B in Sandy Bay so we could take Ruby and alleviate the anxiety for Ruby and the worry for us. I don’t think our efforts were particularly well received even though she got lots of new and interesting walks and constant love and care from us. She did object to using the paved courtyard for toileting, so that necessitated walking up to the local park in the early hours of the morning to satisfy her delicate needs!
With a few exceptions, winter has been fairly mild and blissfully devoid of the tourist hoards. A berth on the ferries has been a realistic hope and the beach decidedly unpopulated. Big storms and ‘bull tides’ smashed the beach a while ago and tonnes of sand from the dunes and beach have disappeared, hopefully to return soon. I know that I constantly comment on the wild winds here, but this winter they have outdone themselves. The winds slam into the house and the sugar cane mulch is literally blown off the garden. If only they were accompanied by meaningful rain. We had to buy water again recently.
The Partygoers.. and the cae made by moi!
The Southern Dunking Rights continue to brave ice-cold conditions with a staunch core of between three and six members dunking each day. On the odd occasion, the numbers are boosted by the less enthusiastic and as many as a dozen turned out for the first birthday swim back in August. The water temperature is about 9 degrees! Myself, being of less-hardy disposition have only managed two swims since late May. Give me the hot-tub of our friends any day.
The Southern Ocean Sirens
Another pleasant distraction to island life has been the singing group that has been going for the last few months. Our neighbour, a very patient and forgiving music teacher will not let the group be referred to as a choir. I think she has had experience with proper singers and choirs and is loath to suggest that we can be classified as such. That’s not to say that there aren’t people with beautiful voices and an innate understanding of musical notation, but there are definite ‘warblers’ like myself involved. I can’t decide, with others, whether I stand with the basses or the tenors. I try to sneak to the perimeters where I don’t put off the more able singers around me. If all else fails, I just pretend to be singing. A large concession has been made however, and she has entered us into the Street Choir section of the National Folk Festival in Canberra next year . The naming of the ‘group’ has been canvassed and one suggestion that gained some traction was the “Southern Ocean Sirens”. An unfortunate shortening of the name should be only too apparent. The other reason for it to be questionable is that my recollection of Greek mythology is that the Sirens lured mariners to their deaths by their singing – on reflection I sometimes think that that would be preferable to our singing!
So as spring arrives, we continue to revel in the clarity of the air, the amazing sunsets and the ever-changing view from our balcony. We look forward to the abating of the Sou’-Westers, the warming of the Channel waters, less reliance on heating and hope that mitigates the effects of the interminable ferry queues, traffic and people choking our beautiful, secluded beach. Bring on winter.
An Island Off an Island 