March 18, 2025

Hide and seek

Keeping bantam chooks that are completely free range is all very well, but it’s a problem when they choose to scorn the nesting boxes in the palatial shed that is their chook house. They don’t even roost there at night since being spooked by a feral cat or quoll attack years ago. Bantams clearly have longer memories than most give them credit for. They’ve never gone back, choosing instead to roost in a tree that is arguably less safe than the chook house.

 

But it’s when they decide to go bush to lay their eggs that’s tiresome. Most were being good as gold this season, but with a few cooler nights last week, and summer on the wane, the rats and mice are moving closer to the chook house – and probably our house as well! - where they know there’s likely to be a free feed. And so it was. Two eggs had been scraped clean of their contents with just their broken shells remaining. Time to bring out some rodent bait.

 

I was already sure one chook was laying somewhere else, as she’s done before, so it was a matter of revisiting some of her previous haunts. It took a while but finally found her just as she was ready to settle in for the duration. A pointless exercise given the eggs weren’t fertilised since we have no rooster, but chooks never seem to get that bit.

 

So we managed to scoop up a dozen eggs, and left her with just one to keep her happy for a few weeks before she’s tossed off her makeshift nest, as they all have to be eventually. Theoretically chooks are supposed to know when the three-week incubation period is up, but every time it’s a triumph of optimism over harsh reality, even if it does take several attempts before that reality kicks in.

 

John’s theory is they’re all getting desperate because they’re getting older and their instinct is to reproduce before it’s too late. Maybe he’s right given he knows more about chooks than I do. Certainly we’re amazed they’re all still laying given they have to be at least seven or eight years old which is positively geriatric in chook terms..


And they’ll never know how privileged their lives have been compared to their farmed cousins.


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Fracturing my wrist on Day One of NT trip was an unexpected and unwanted shock
By Anne Layton-Bennett July 19, 2025
Alice Springs usually gets a bad rap in the media. Some of it is probably justified, but my recent experience is a very different and more positive story. And I’m giving the medical team at the Alice Springs Hospital a very big and justly deserved shout-out as a result. A visit to the hospital certainly wasn’t on the itinerary of our recent NT tour. But the trip didn’t quite go according to plan. We booked this tour - that included Uluru, Kakadu, Alice Springs and Darwin – months ago, and long before there was the possibility of another state election so soon after the one held last year, which also involved heading to the polls twelve months early. But that’s by the by. Day One of the tour, which started at Uluru, involved a sunrise viewing of the iconic Rock. But while heading up to the viewing platform I stopped – a bit too suddenly maybe – to avoid intruding on the view of some chap taking a photo. I either slipped or skidded on the shaley path and fell badly. My left hand took the brunt of the fall, (my phone was in the other hand) resulting in a fractured wrist. Since I’m a leftie this was rather serious. It was also very painful. Back at the hotel Anna the tour director, ensured I was able to see the team at the small Yulara Medical Centre before we were due to head to Alice Springs. The medics there were great too, taking X-rays to send to Alice Springs hospital, and strapping my wrist up more securely. At Alice I was dropped off at the ED and yes, it was a lengthy and tedious wait – exacerbated to a degree by the fact we’d arrived on Territory Day – the one day in the year that NT folk are allowed to set off fireworks. And they do so with gusto, which always involves multiple injuries and a crowded ED. So while I was eventually seen by the medics the hour was advancing a lot and the decision was made for me to return at 6.30am the following morning so I could have surgery. This was deemed essential given I’m cack-handed, and I’m extremely grateful for that decision being made. Obviously I missed visiting the various things the rest of the group did that day, but fixing my wrist was much more important. Arguably it would have been more sensible to suggest I go to Outpatients rather than the ED, but that didn’t happen so the wait was considerably longer than it needed to be – and I certainly saw a slice of life I wouldn’t otherwise have seen, mostly involving Indigenous people and reinforcing some of the stereotypes we hear about in the media. But once it was all systems go, it really was and thanks to Lewis, Mitch, Prof Julian, Dr Ping and others whose names I cannot remember, for taking such care and making such an incredible job of the surgery to reset my poor wrist. Never let anyone say the care and professionalism of all the staff at Alice Springs Hospital was other than exemplary. It’s an opinion that was endorsed this week at Launceston’s Orthopaedic Clinic where the doctors who commented on my scar and the stitches (and more X-rays) were full of praise for surgery well done, when the temporary cast finally came off. Even so, with one of those removeable support contraptions taking the place of a cast, I still have four weeks of no driving, and some very careful and gentle exercises to do. Life can certainly be full of challenges, and this challenge was definitely neither wanted or expected, but it is what it is – while typing one-handed has become a new skill!
The story of the campaign to stop  Gunns Ltd building a pulp mill in the Tamar Valley.
By Anne Layton-Bennett June 8, 2025
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Tasmanians stood up as one in opposition to an over-ambitious timber company - and won.
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For 12 years Tasmanians steadfastly opposed the building of a pulp mill in the Tamar Valley. The campaign was long and hard and took its tioll, but the community won it. This book is their story.

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