A hertz-felt thanks

I went west for a few days

after we had finished our class at Newburgh
and I had committed the Bundle Book to Blurb

I needed some thinking space

to sort a few things out

quiet time in wind and rain and sun to mull over things

to smell the heather

and to gaze into deep waters

and to rearrange small pieces of the whirled
while considering new ideas for classes
and pondering different ways of presenting

it was a splendid wandering : made even more enjoyable by Hertz who upgraded my very basic four-door reservation to this glorious chariot.  

I named him Wolfgang and the keys had to be prised from my fingers when we parted at Edinburgh airport. He purred along for over 400 miles on a scant half tank of diesel

I even managed to write a small poem.
it was a very productive time.
and thenI found that the Australian Embassy in Lisboa
kindly mentioned our exhibition
on their website
which pleased me very much

and on the seventh day

Saturday and Sunday are generally regarded as days of rest
but i had things to do

a warp to wind
text to tame
a book to bind
and some serious weeding

somehow my morning walk
became an evening walk

and unsurprisingly i found diversion in the cow paddock
where the stones were just too tempting
and made a very nice pile
with an elegant cantilever detail

i wasn't carrying the pocket rocket though
so trotted back to the house to get it

by the time i returned to take an image
the moon, bless her
had decided to take a seat

near osceola, wisconsin

the view from our workspace last week was enchanting

and a few rather interesting miracles happened there...

what are they all going to eat when farmers give up?

the latest brilliant idea from the cunning rats who run our state is to make farmers pay for water used from farm dams.
it's already impossible to make a living from a small-holding such as ours [470 acres] without working off the farm, unless of course you don't mind working 24/7 doing every single task yourself so as not to have to pay someone else.
at 52 that kind of back-breaking labour is getting well beyond me. which is one of the reasons why i wander about the whirled telling anyone who will listen how to get pretty colours out of leaves.

but back to the story.

farmers [and other landholders] already pay water tax. it's called "rates" and these rates are based on the value of the land. this may seem a mere coincidence, but observation shows [quite consistently] that the more rain falls on your property [in South Australia] the more highly it is valued and [consequently] the higher the council rates paid.

installing meters [at farmers' expense] on dams to make us pay for water used [bearing in mind we've already paid for the construction of the dam and all the infrastructure, unlike our city cousins who have it provided for them] is outrageous.

if i'm fortunate enough to inherit the family farm [and this is not a "given", my parents have every right to sell up and go live in luxury on the Queen Mary if they wish] then frankly "farming" is not going to be high on the agenda. i'm thoroughly sick of having to tag each animal with an electronically readable plastic tag. i'm tired of hearing farmers being accused of pillaging the land and emitting excessive rates of carbon [what about all the other industry emissions? the tricky chemicals the politicians can't spell?]
we've just been advised that as stock-owners we'll are required to pay an annual "epidemic tax" [in case some blight descends upon the herd/flock] and i'm not looking forward to the day when we are made to individually weigh our stock and pay methane emissions tax based on their possible gas output [and probably calculated on the basis of feed-lotting as opposed to paddock grazing]. we also had a letter from the MLA telling us that we've been chosen at random to have our "books inspected" to make sure we're not feeding meat products to our stock. what the? if i were stupid enough to feed meat products to ruminants [and unlike the idiots who fed scrapie-infected sheep carcasses to cattle and kicked of the BSE plague i don't], do they really think i'd be writing it all down in a book?

so i'm extremely unhappy about having to pay a water tax on top of maintaining pipes and pumps and associated paraphernalia.


after a cup of tea and a bit of thought, here's the development plan for 'Hope Springs', assuming i have anything to say in the matter.

* discontinue meat production [let the old cows retire in peace for the rest of their days] and only keep a flock of pet sheep [none of whose children will be sent to market]. plant lots more trees and let most of the place become a wild forest, keeping a bit of clear space around the houses so there's a chance of eluding the inevitable fires. [there are plenty of kangaroos to graze under the trees.]

* grow enough fruit and vegetables to feed the family and trade with the neighbours. carrying the water in buckets from the dam should keep us all quite fit, no need to go to the gym so there's another saving [not that i go anyway, he he]

* compose a lovely "nyah nyah i told you so" song to sing when the government starts bleating about food shortages because nobody wants to be a farmer any more


oh and while i'm having a food and farm rant - the next semi-vegetarian who tells me they don't eat meat on principle but DO eat kangaroo because it's a soft-footed native animal that doesn't damage the country might like to have a little think about how that soft-footed animal is "harvested".  these gentle creatures are chased at night by men in 4WD vehicles with spotlights and guns. they die in agony [very rare to knock an animal out with a clean shot to the head] and in terror.
don't tell me that's sustainable meat production.

sorry about the rant folks, but had to get it off my chest. time for a coffee and then back to the sewing room...

one more thing, as my friend from Soewnearth has kindly reminded me [see comments]....the other item on the grand plan is to consider the installation of meters on our rainwater tanks and charge us for usage as well... i may spontaneously combust at some point.

ecological day - a thought

now i'm NOT trying to upset readers from the sub-continent or be culturally insensitive...but here's a thought. if the plastic non-biodregradable rubbish that drifts around India were instead collected and used as a building material the environment could become much more pleasant for all concerned.

just as straw and old rope is traditionally mixed with mud to give strength to adobe housing, so too plastic could be shredded and mixed with mud to give strength to mudbricks.

salvaged plastic waste could also be used to stretch concrete when pouring concrete slabs. admittedly neither of these two solutions is ideal - but images such as that above are common in India. the advent of plastics pushed the traditional recycled paper packaging (that Asia had down to a fine art) aside. the streets of Indian villages and cities abound with scenes such as the one pictured.

and yes, I am aware that Australia doesn't have all the answers either. here at Hope Springs we try to re-use, recycle, re-invent or reclaim as much as possible but there are still too many things that do end up heading for the landfill.

plastic waste is an insidious problem....and apparently at least 3/4 of the worls's crude oil is guzzled by plastic production. i say wrap your goods in folded bags made from old telephone book paper, avoid plastic as much as possible and direct the few oil reserves we have left to transport needs rather than packaging...

down home on the farm

ain't nothing like farmwork to keep one firmly grounded between flitting about signing books and installing exhibitions. despite a sprinkle from the sky we're still doing daily feed runs and carting water to the cows.
they are truly delightful animals, with a well-organised social system...usually one of the adults sits in the sunshine, surrounded by babies while the others eat; even the bull takes his turn at minding the young ones when the mothers are off grazing.



today has the added entertainment of extracting a bogged sheep from one of the nearly empty dams. it's up to its neck in fine black mud (perfect for a bit of mud-dyeing!) and we have to crawl to it across a couple of sheets of corrugated iron so as not to be swallowed up by the quicksand-like goop.

where are Frank Hopkins and Hidalgo and a lassoo when you need 'em? Pegasus would have been welcome, too



perseverance wins, helped by much digging in mud with bare hands. scrubbing it off later in the day i discover that my legs have been screenprinted (using jeans as mesh) with black marks. we're reduced to washbowl baths (due to low rainwater) and the water takes on a disgusting smell from the mud. collapsing into my pillow i discover the scent is still firmly embedded.
all night i dream....of mud.