Life in isolation

The kitchen has never been so spotless. The garden could be photographed for a glossy magazine, it is so trim and lush. The garage is neat and manageable at last. I could go on.  During this isolation period, mine have certainly not been idle hands.

We've also been walking a bit (in mid-week we go our separate ways and walk on our own, and in the weekend we go for a country walk together). A few weeks ago we drove 10 minutes from home into the Fleurieu hills, parked the car then walked along the deserted road - so peaceful and calming.

The next week it was to another close location. Here we wandered down a No Through road, passing a few farm cottages but little else. Again, fresh air and an invigorating walk.

Then, more recently, we ventured along the nearby Inman Valley Road and turned off to do a section of the Heysen Track - the 1200 km walk that begins near Cape Jervis in the south and heads north to end at the Flinders Ranges. We've done bits of it before, but not this section. It was especially beautiful in the late afternoon sunshine, a landscape so reminiscent of Hans Heysen's work that all this scene needed was a couple of cows to wander into the frame.

We strolled for about 2kms - we weren't in the mood for any energetic walking as it seemed wrong to hurry through this gentle setting.  

After an hour or so, the track joined up with the main road so we headed back. Our sense of contentment, so complete up until now, was suddenly dashed. Ahead of me I saw a suspicious shape.  Using my acute bush sense and awareness of imminent bush dangers (and self-preservation), I immediately jumped behind Steve and, stating the bleeding obvious, whispered, 'I think that's a snake'.

It had reared up but was perfectly, eerily, still. It was about three feet long and, if you are observant, you will see a mouse-shaped bulge along its body. Hiding safely behind Steve I peered out with my camera and took a couple of quick shots - I hasten to add that my camera has a very long lens so I was not as close as this following photo assumes.

We gingerly stepped off the track and made a wide berth away from any potential danger, wisely social-distancing us from our unexpected encounter - then hot-footed it back to the car. Back home, my research discovered that it was a red-bellied black snake. Venomous. Eeek... But 'ours' behaved just as described in the article I read: it rears up, freezes and waits until the danger has past before it slinks to safety. It will only bite when stepped on. I think our next walk will be back on a road!!!!!! Which it was. Perhaps not as picturesque but definitely easier on the heart.

A much safer and more pleasurable pastime has been my reading. I devoured Daphne du Maurier's 1936 novel Jamaica Inn, enjoying its evocative, cloying sense of intrigue and danger not only at the inn with its claustrophobic atmosphere and suspicious characters, but also on the bleak moors and the dangerous coast that surround the inn. I'd forgotten how it ended even though I had seen the 1939 movie and the more recent TV series.

On a lighter note I whizzed through a gentle romance, a welcome counterpoint to gothic horror, then returned to my favourite genre, 1930s detective stories. This was the Golden Age of detective fiction and I've read most of the famous authors, but Ethel White was an unknown to me. One of her novels, Some Must Watch, written in 1933, was the inspiration for that creepy 1946 movie The Spiral Staircase. Very eerie, with a sense of impending doom on every page

As the sun decided to come out I was able to do a spot of gardening this week. This unusual flower is an osteospermum and rather cheekily called Black Widow.

And, finally, another walk, this time in the Hindmarsh Tiers.

We stopped off to see the nearby Hindmarsh Falls. After the recent rains it was fairly gushing down the hillside.

A golden banksia.

 And a fungus shot.

Then, on Friday, when some of the restrictions eased, and with the sun shining (occasionally), we decided to go to Adelaide and visit the Botanic Gardens. These venerable gardens were opened in 1857 and feature wide paths, hundred-year-old trees forming gracious overhead canopies, gorgeous underplantings of colourful flowers, tall palms from around the world, swathes of lawn now thick and lushly green underfoot, a lake, and groves of deciduous trees shedding their beautiful autumn colours of red and gold. Come wander with me.

Many of the buildings (the palm house, the waterlily pavillion, the botany collection, the cafe) were closed because of the virus, making a return visit a must.












Here I am outside the magnificent Victorian-era Palm House.

Afterwards, we wandered along North Terrace, admiring the stately terrace houses and public buildings, built in Adelaide's boom time of the 1880s.

Today I returned to Hindmarsh Falls with friend Dolly where we had a yummy picnic to the sound of the bubbling river, overlooked by rolling green hills, and surrounded by the gorgeous scents of the Australian bush in autumn. A thoughtful visitor offered to take our photo.