A colourful window display in our local Mansfield Country Women’s Association hall alerted me to it being Purple Poppy Day on February 24, which commemorates the service of animals of all kinds in war and conflict situations. Many of us are used to buying a red poppy to support our service men and women on ANZAC Day, April 25 and Remembrance Day on November 11. The purple poppy was introduced to Australia in 2013 by the Australian War Animal Memorial Organisation (AWAMO). It is also known as the “Animal Poppy”. According to AWAMO, purple poppies are designed to be worn alongside the traditional red poppy. They are a reminder of the bravery of both humans and animals that served together. AWAMO uses money raised from donations and the sale of Purple Poppies to establish memorials. These funds are also used to train support animals to help soldiers with post-traumatic stress, and provide care packages, including paying for care for war animals retired from service due to illness, injury and old age after active service says the AWAMO. President Nigel Allsopp talks about the organisation’s work in the video clip below.
The Mansfield CWA members put their crafting skills to work to create purple poppies and other items to sell to support the AWAMO. I bought a purple poppy yesterday and look forward to wearing it with my red poppy on ANZAC Day.
Listen to the crashing waves,
Hear the cry of a lonely gull,
Feel the sting of the salty sea.
Hear the screams of a girl,
Young and frail,
As the giant waves,
Wash her away.
The waves whip the body away,
Far away from the sandy shore.
To the sea it doesn't matter,
Who dies in its icy depths.
When the sea is still,
And the flock of gulls,
None could believe,
That the sea could take a life.
What is love?
Some say it is an itchy feeling around the heart.
Is it endless declarations of undying love of Shakespearean proportions?
Maybe it is the act of loving someone or something more than yourself?
But don’t forget you need to love yourself before you can truly love others!
Love is many things to many people,
True love may be hard to find or follows a rocky path.
But love is never controlling or boastful.
It is not spiteful or hateful.
As they say love makes the world go ‘round,
And as my granny says “love is blind” but neighbours ain’t!
If St Valentine’s Day is a load of sentimental trash for some
And an economic boon for others,
Fear not because the love you receive and give,
Is of no less value on any other day!
My poetic take on St Valentine’s Day. My husband booked dinner out for the two of us last year but on the day, the state of Victoria was plunged into another lockdown! I saw in my social media memories today that I cooked a roast lamb dinner and apple crumble for desert last year so I must have still showed my love. But my darling husband has booked a table for dinner tonight which is very sweet. No lockdowns likely this year!
I have always loved the poetic works of Scottish poet Robert Burns since I was a little girl with romantic thoughts and maybe because of my Scottish ancestry. I have just discovered that the poem “My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose” has been recorded as a song by various artists including one of my favourite singers Eva Cassidy and a new one for me being Karen Matheson who does the most stunning lilting Celtic version. Decide for yourselves which one you like best. Happy St Valentine’s Day to all us romantics!
Thanks for flying with us. Keep up the good blogging.
This just popped up in my notifications and although I knew this blogging journey began in 2017 it still took me by surprise to see it has been five years. It coincided with my move from the city back to my country origins to begin a new life with my husband on 25 acres. Some things have worked out as expected and others have had their challenges, but looking back and given what has expired with the COVID-19 Pandemic, we made the right decision for us. My blog started out as more of a journal in words and pictures but now it is time to expand my horizons and stretch my creative self more than ever. There have been some sad goodbyes and happy moments to relish but through it all there has been a divine hand on my life. May my faith not waiver as we embrace another year of uncertainty but discover how precious life is and all that we have to be grateful for. Happy blogging one and all!
Some random images taken around and near my home in the High Country of Victoria. I love the changing natural light from sunrise to sunset. The changes in the seasons and the abundance of trees and other plants is also a joy to watch. The Delatite River is a delightful place to cool off or cross by bicycle. It is summer now and the lush greenness of spring has disappeared as the baking sun dries off the grass. It also brings outs the snakes including tigers and browns. We just chased one off now while having our coffee on the verandah. Snakes are a protected native species in Victoria but sometimes people will kill them if they get too near their house or sheds. We also have friends who have sadly lost dogs and even horses to snake bite so it does pay to be wary when out and about. Just like COVID we are learning to live with it!
To all my fellow bloggers and followers many thanks for sharing your insights and wisdom in a year of many challenges. Regardless of your background or beliefs, Christmas is a sign of hope that there is goodness, love and kindness in a world which can seem devoid of these things at times. How ever you choose to celebrate the 25th December, remember your presence is a gift to the rest of us. Dare to dream that 2022 will be a year to soar above the storm clouds and spread your wings as never before.
I was finally on track to achieve one of my biggest goals and dreams when it all went somewhat pear-shaped. Back in September, I found the ideal horse to build up my confidence again after many years of absence from the saddle. His owner wanted to see how I bonded with him and make sure we were a good match before selling him, which was fair enough. I was upfront that it had been several years since I was riding regularly. He is a gorgeous 15.2 hands palomino part-quarter horse gelding with a lovely nature and a delight to ride. Biscuit had been used by many a beginner and was soft in the mouth without a hint of pulling. I visited him several times. With the assistance of a curry comb, I got stuck into shifting his shedding winter coat revealing a bronze-like colour beneath. I got to rug him, feed him and watch him being shod. Biscuit is the ideal horse to handle. We took it slowly to begin with, but we were cantering around the small paddock by the second time. My dream of being a horse owner was about to become a reality. Biscuit and I were working well as a team. I had no nerves while riding him. I joked with my husband that I felt safer on that horse than on our ride-on lawnmower! After a couple more visits, three of us set out to ride along the grassed roadside near his home in late October. It was a beautiful vista being in the foothills of the nearby mountains and walking past the bushland on horseback. The ground was very wet in places following heavy spring rains, and several small ditches were full of flowing water. On our return trip, the rider ahead leapt over a ditch on her horse. So Biscuit and I followed suit. We did this fantastic leap, and his hooves had barely hit the ground when suddenly his backend went up. As I felt the buck beneath me, I remember thinking where did that come from as I tried to rebalance myself. Alas, it was too late, as I parted company with Biscuit and fell with a thud onto the ground below. I was ever so apologetic to his owner for managing to fall off such a quiet horse. She said it was totally out of character for him, not to blame myself so much. Biscuit didn’t run away, and I intended to get back on thinking maybe I had just winded myself. I held my ribs as I sat on the ground when everything began to swim before my eyes and started to blackout. It dawned on me maybe; I wouldn’t be getting back on after all. Biscuit’s owner called her husband to come and get me, as I turned as white as could be from the shock. My right side had taken the brunt of the fall with my arm so painful that I couldn’t move it. Back up at the stables, I sat quietly with a bottle of water. I was going to drive myself home, but Biscuit’s Mum insisted that I shouldn’t do that. I let her drive my car, and her husband followed behind to my place. On hearing the cars pull up, my husband thought Biscuit was arriving at his new home but found his wife in the passenger seat of her car in a world of pain. I found what painkillers were in the house and dragged on my pajamas. After a terrible night’s sleep and concerns the following day that I couldn’t move my right arm, it was a trip to the emergency department of our local hospital still in my PJs and dressing gown. COVID restrictions prevented my husband from coming inside the hospital with me. Because I couldn’t use my right arm, he had to put my face mask on for me and learn to use my mobile phone for the QR code required for contact tracing. Finally, I was admitted inside. The nurses found me some strong painkillers before the doctor ordered some x-rays done on-site. I was in so much pain. The hospital staff were worried that my right arm was dislocated, so advised a trip to a bigger hospital over an hour away to get scans. It was suggested by the staff that I get someone to drive me over there. Since the advent of COVID, our paramedics and other front-line health workers, like many others worldwide, are being overwhelmed by demand. I was loaded up with paperwork to take to the emergency department at the other hospital and a “green whistle” full of morphine to dull the pain en route. A nurse found a triangle bandage to make a temporary sling for my arm. So I go to the other hospital with my husband, still dressed in my night attire. Of course, once again, when we arrived about midday, my husband had to remain outside after we managed to do the COVID-safe check-in. Then more paperwork. The waiting room was full of patients and divided into two with a plastic sheet separating the COVID or potential cases from the rest of us, which I found a bit unsettling although I had recently had my second jab. Finally, I was taken to another part of the hospital’s emergency section, and the staff did a cat scan of my upper body, including my injured right arm. I then went into a room with other patients, some on beds and others like myself in an upright chair. I had to request more painkillers because the opiates had worn off. Three different doctors attended me, with one confirming that I had sustained four cracked ribs, a broken scapula (shoulder blade) and suspected nerve damage to my arm. I also learned that the hospital had a three cracked ribs policy which requires hospitalisation of the patient for 24-hours because of the risk of developing pneumonia. Once I convinced the doctors, I understood the risk and had spent the previous night at home after the accident; they allowed my discharge. With several COVID cases presenting at the hospital, I felt it was safer to be at home. About 5 pm, my husband was able to collect me from outside the main door of the hospital. I had been given some prescriptions, which we then took to the large pharmacy store in the town to be filled. A staff member told my husband at the door that the store was closed for a deep clean following a COVID exposure. The chemist in my hometown would be closed by the time we got back. I struggled through the night with what pills I had. My whole right side was in so much pain, and the slightest movement triggered spasms. Once I got into a somewhat comfortable position, I wasn’t game to move. My poor husband had to help me out of bed because I couldn’t use my arm and put up with my groans. For several days, he was my wonderful full-time carer, which turned into weeks. Since then, there have been trips to the local doctor, physio and the hospital for more x-rays. Two weeks ago, I thought I had turned the corner but overdid it because my arm pain flared up badly, and I needed to use a sling again. The doctors recommend only using a sling for about two weeks or so. I am supposed to be doing some exercises to assist in getting more mobility in my arm, which is hard when my ribs are still sore. But almost seven weeks since the accident, and I am slowly starting to feel more like my old self. I still have plenty of work to do to improve my breathing and build up muscle tone in my arm again. I am very weak on my right side and still can’t do any heavy lifting. But I am hopeful that I will be much better soon and able to get back into the saddle again by the early new year. I intend to stay on next time.
A legendary figure in Timor-Leste’s struggle for independence, the film-maker Max Stahl has died after his own long battle with illness. CHART’s chairperson, Prof. Michael Leach, reflects on Max’s contribution to, and place, in Timor-Leste’s history.
Timor-Leste is in mourning with the news that Max Stahl, filmmaker and journalist, lost his long battle with cancer in a Brisbane hospital on 28 October 2021 .
Stahl’s film footage of the infamous 12 November 1991 Santa Cruz massacre in Dili, in which Indonesian soldiers killed as many as 250 young Timorese protesters, shocked the world. Coming after the well publicised visit of Pope John Paul II to East Timor in 1989, the footage put Timor-Leste’s struggle for self-determination back on the international map. This occurred just as the Cold War was ending, shifting international politics in favour of the Timorese.
Originally known as Christopher Wenner, Stahl had been a British television host…
Spring has sprung in all its fullness.
A fickle season it brings abundant dampness,
But also cloudless days
Of warmth and soul-restorative sunshine rays,
Coaxing buds from their tight embrace
To bring blossoms and petals in a race
Against the changing seasons.
The daylight hours brightens
As a harbinger of shedding off the cocoon
Of winter sloth to welcome the spring none too soon.
Well my cat Rambo does on every day of the year and especially during this COVID Pandemic and the numerous lockdowns. We have become a permanent fixture in his world. My world has shrunk but his still offers lots of scope for exploration and patrolling outdoors on our 25 acres when he is not hogging the bed or sofa. He also loves finding other hidey spots just to change things up a bit.
We lost his mate Friskie almost two years ago, so he is a solo cat in our home. At times I call him the world’s most annoying cat when he wants out at 3am! Even on a cold, frosty night we leave the French door in our bedroom open and then later I will find a warm, little body snuggling up in the small of my back. Like us he is craving some warm sunshine to bathe in and when he can’t an electric blanket or a spot in front of the wood fire heater offers a substitute. He is over 16 years old now and feeling his age (he is not the only one). From the time I was a little girl, there were always cats in our home and I always feel bereft if I have to live somewhere without one. I am fortunate that my husband is a cat lover like me but he does have a hankering to be a dog owner once again.
Our pets have been vital for our mental health during these challenging times and deserve our love and proper care for all they give us. Happy International Cat Day to felines everywhere.
Life is a gamble for many of our native wildlife species in Australia. Wombats are often fatal victims on our busy country roads and have succumbed to the scourge of mange in more recent years. It is believed the mange is spread by introduced species such as foxes and rabbits as well as wild dogs.
Farmers have a love-hate relationship with these animals due to their ability to burrow underground and create cavernous tunnels. Our country house and shed are built on a concrete slab, so they don’t try to dig under our buildings, but neighbours with weatherboard houses on stumps are forever trying to keep them out. City people may think wombats are cute animals but have never seen the damage caused by their powerful digging prowess. They are also nocturnal mammals, so they are out and about during the hours of darkness when most of us are indoors. I often find piles of scats around our property the following day marking their journey.
Suppose you happen to see a wombat wandering about during daylight hours. It is usually a sign that the animal has serious health issues related to mange which is an infestation of mites. They get under the skin of the wombat and cause unrelenting itchiness and loss of hair covering. Constant scratching creates red raw sore patches on their body and in the worst cases open wounds. The loss of hair covering forces the wombat to graze more to keep warm and to come out during daylight hours.
Another sad aspect is the impact on their hearing and sight. I have a wombat on my property at present who I can get very close when it is out eating grass during the day. I am careful not to get too close because wombats are wild animals and can get distressed. But I did get close enough to take some pictures and a video as a record of the wombat’s condition.
My husband and I thought we had discovered where the burrow of this particular wombat is on our property. We put some small sticks in the entrance to test this theory. Unfortunately, they remain undisturbed. Other burrows are waterlogged due to the heavy winter rains we are having this month. So we think its home must be on one of our neighbours properties. We had hoped to treat the wombat as per the instructions from the Wombat Mange Welfare website https://mangemanagement.org.au/.
It is not always easy to know when the wombat will be out and about. We have contacted the welfare people to see what can be done. It is heartbreaking to see them suffering this way so we need to encourage more action to eliminate this mange and return our wombats back to full health. Hopefully as more people are aware of this serious issue the more that can be done for them.
I haven’t seen the wombat this week probably due to it being so cold and wet, but will continue to keep an eye out for it. Follow the link to the website to learn more about what is being done to manage mange in wombats