Isolation continues

While isolation continues, regular readers of my blog are getting an armchair tour of the Fleurieu Peninsula. We are still out every weekend exploring and photographing parts of the Fleurieu hills - the end part of the Mount Lofty Ranges that extend from Adelaide south to the coast.

The Inman Valley
What could be more idyllic than this quintessential shot of donkey, barn, fields and hills?

And a closer view.

We were in the Inman Valley and visited the cemetery as a first stop. We were disappointed to find only one 19th century grave and all the others were from the mid-20th century and onwards. I guess there must be a pioneer cemetery elsewhere.  But a peaceful setting nonetheless.

We walked for about 3 kms along a deserted road, passing only these lovely vistas of trees, hills, farmland .. and fungus.

And then we saw a mob of kangaroos - around 30 of them. Of course, as soon as we got out of the car they bounded away, but after a while settled down to grazing again. I still get a thrill when I see them even though they are a fairly common sight for us.

The Heysen Trail
Another weekend, we did a different section of the Heysen Trail. This was in the Mount Majestic Conservation Area just out from the town of Mount Compass, about 20 minutes from home. It was not visually as spectacular as some parts of this 1200 km trek are, as you can see in this photo. The trail is always clearly signposted.

 Steve took time to take some photos.

The path took us through dry forest to a steepish descent; it was narrow, rocky and a smooth, hard clay that would have been treacherous had it been wet. You can glimpse Mount Majestic behind the trees in this next photo.

We got to the bottom and decided it was not worth the effort to climb to the top of Mount Majestic (all right... we felt that perhaps our knees and ankles might not get us there!!!).  So we turned round and headed back to the car. On the way Steve spied this metal ring jutting out of a tree. I thought they were what tree fellers put in the trees to enable them to climb, but Steve was not so sure about this one.

 It had been a good walk in gorgeous weather so we were happy.

And the panoramic view from across the road from the carpark was worth the day's outing. We could even see Encounter Bay in the distance.

Mt Billy Conservation Park

Steve discovered this unassuming park while browsing over a map looking for our next adventure.  This too was 20 minutes from home. Nothing spectacular but a pleasant walk through mallee, stringybark, and pink and blue gums, with an understorey of wattle and grass trees. 

There are two walks here: the circuit walk to Mt Billy and the flatter one-hour Banksia Walk. The walks are mostly along the fire-break track which is relatively flat, though there were a number of steepish bits.

We chose to do the one-hour Banksia Walk. The website and the signs at the park were not that clear and we walked for ages until we realised that, to get to the Banksia Walk, we had to walk for some time on the Mt Billy Walk and then diverge to the Banskia Walk. 

We set off in fine spirits, enjoying the easy walk along the track.

Here I pose alongside a grass tree. I love how their spiky fronds somehow manage to look soft and gentle as they bend gracefully to the ground.  I've been told these are quite different from the ones found in the south-west of Western Australia, but I'm not sure in what way they differ.

We kept walking, but, after an hour, we had still not reached the turn-off. We decided to give up and head back to the car, especially as the sun had disappeared and the afternoon chill was settling in.

On the way back, I found some fabulous bark. I love looking at the shape, colours and texture of the bark as it peels off, and taking photos. I reckon this looks like a painting.

Spring is the best time to visit for the orchids, but we did spot some winter fungus ...

 ... and lichen-covered rocks.

 The sun had now completely disappeared behind a bank of grey clouds so we trudged back to the car ...

... and home for a cup of tea and my famous 'tennis slice' (so named as it was what I always made and took to the tennis club back in the 1980s when I was playing pennants and we had to supply morning tea for the opposing team; it's a much-requested family favourite now).

As I finish writing this, I hear that the Government has now announced that isolation restrictions are easing and we can indeed return to cafes and wineries and meet more than one person at a time! So perhaps this is the end of our weekly travels around the Fleurieu Peninsula. We'll see. 

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.

Keep on smiling

I haven't blogged for a while, but in the interests of history I feel I should record a little of what life is like here at No 5 during the Covid-19 virus crisis.

Basically, we are being careful but not letting it get us down. In fact, there are lots of advantages.

The local library closed? No worries. We've got our own library. I can sit here, put my feet up and read for hours!

I still have to read a couple of Arthur Upfield's I've been saving. Maggie gave me Daphne du Maurier's Jamaica Inn, and while I've seen the 1939 movie and a recent TV series, I've never actually read the novel. I've been reading a gardening book since Christmas, savouring each chapter about Australian gardens that survive in challenging locations (such as the edge of a desert, along a dried-up river, in the mountains, historic gardens that need revitalising), and still have a few chapters to go. And finally, a book about the English artist Eric Ravillious from the 1920s and 30s who I (and Kate and Kim) adore. It's heavy going as it's so detailed but I'm getting there as I pick it up every now and again.

Here are two examples of his work. The one on the left (1933) is called Two Women in a Garden and right is Resting in the Shade (1938) from a series he did for Wedgwood. He did lots of watercolours as well as woodcuts.



Steve and I spend more time together chatting over a cup of tea in the courtyard. There's no need to hurry because all our community activities have been cancelled. Here he is sorting out his old slides, a project he's been wanting to do for ages.

And here is what he was going through: our camping trip to South Cape Bay in southern Tasmania in 1989. It's good to reminisce on the good times, how fit we were and the amazing landcapes we passed through. I remember encountering no-one at all. We drove to Cockle Creek, the most southerly point we could drive to, then crossed Blowhole Valley, loaded up with tent, food, clothes, medical supplies. I loved the sense of utter freedom - though I can't remember how I managed to cope with that backpack.

I used to love cooking on our Trangia and setting up camp.

This was our first tent in Tasmania and I'm glad to say we upgraded as we camped more. This one looks so tiny and fragile.

The vast Southern Ocean and expansive beaches spread before us. I remember feeling so invigorated.

 We walked back ...

...passing Lion Rock, a huge massif that certainly dwarfed me.

Back to the here and now. We stay home most of the time but we went to Middleton Beach for some fresh sea air the other day - no backpacks required! No-one around as you can see.

Fossicked in the rock pools.

We stay well away from friends and neighbours, respecting the designated distance.

However, everyone is keeping morale up. Interstate friends are calling. A local friend dropped around, depositing a bag of freshly picked figs for us. I made stewed figs plus an almond and fig tart. Yummy.

And neighbours left a tray of cupcakes and this note on our doorstep.

Of course Bix is oblivious to all of this. Playful as ever, he's giving us loads of pleasure, even when he's being a firecracker and getting into mischief.

And with all the time in the world available to us retirees, I'm cleaning out the shed, planting a new garden near the water tank, going through old photos to add to the 'memoirs' I am writing, making recipes I've long wanted to attempt (the fig and almond tart, for example, that was easy with my newly gained horde of figs) and generally keeping busy in a relaxed, I'll- get-on-to-that-when-I-feel-like-it way. It's rather refreshing.

Here's my latest gardening project. I had a few straggling plants growing around our massive water tank (which, while good to have, is far too big for us and takes up virtually half our backyard). I want to disguise it but suggestions so far  - a mural, a creeper, a fence - are not what I want. So I decided to remove any plant that was already there and make a fresh start.

 I added good soil and have slowly added more plus compost, manure and pea straw. So far so good, especially with the rain we've had this week.
I chose two shrubs that should grow quite large and detract from the tank's bulk: a hibiscus and a murraya. You can barely see them in this photo. The stake is where a small rose will grow. I've ordered one called 'Adorable' which will arrive in June.

  
So..... we're happy, healthy and keeping sane at the moment.