September 19, 2019

Spring – a time of new life

It’s always a relief when September arrives and we can finally wave winter goodbye for another year. While it’s true the lengthening days don’t always mean a sudden (and welcome) rise in temperatures, the bulbs are a colourful herald of summer, and iris, daffodils, freesias and bluebells are a cheerful sight, as well as a sure sign the garden is waking up.


The swallows are back from their winter retreat, flying around, checking out last year’s nests, and building up their strength after their long flight as they prepare to start their families. Lambs and calves in the paddocks are more signs spring has arrived. So are the loud, proud and daily announcements of our chooks after the girls have laid another egg. Some of them go on a bit, as though their achievement is somehow unique, and then there are always the ones that are particularly motherly and simply cannot wait to sit, and hatch some chicks. We have to keep an eye on these free-ranging bantams, and watch where they nest. Chooks are canny, and are past masters at remaining hidden as they sit motionless on their eggs in a trance-like state, seemingly oblivious to everything around them.


The dark side to this cycle is that the seasonal pattern is well known to predators, and despite their much lauded vigilance and protective characteristics when it comes to their offspring, sometimes the predators win. More than one hen has vanished without trace over the years, presumably taken while on her nest. Or, as happened this week, when a newish and very protective bantam lost her chick to a rat or feral cat. The murderer then went on to dine on the three tiny eggs the same bantam’s teenage daughter had laid in a nest close by. We can only hope it won’t return for seconds.

On the roadsides there is evidence of other casualties; a flurry of feathers suggesting its plover or magpie parents lost the fight, as well as the bodies of roadkill: hares, rabbits and frogs, usually, but occasionally there is a duck from the Indian Runner flock up the road, or a guinea fowl from the same farm.

Lambs can sometimes fall prey to predators too, and reports of unrestrained packs of neighbourhood dogs are not uncommon in this semi-rural area, but thankfully this hasn’t been an issue so far this year.
So while spring is certainly a harbinger of renewal and new life, like every season it has its darker side, and it can also be a season of untimely death.

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Magni
By Anne Layton-Bennett June 14, 2026
It’s taken far too many months for this marvellous model to grace the dedicated desk space in my office. When Fiona comes to visit next she will be very surprised, and hopefully gratified, that her amazing creative talent is finally on display. We’ve known each other for a very long time, and during the insanely busy time when I was helping to run the flower farm, working part-time in a school library, doing a spot of journalism on the side, and fighting the proposed pulp mill that is the subject of the manuscript I’m hoping to get published, Fiona cleaned my house each week. There’s only so much a person can do after all, and it has to be said cleaning our house during those manic years was fairly low down on the list of my priorities. But Fiona is a woman of many talents and she certainly possesses one that I so don’t have: sewing and dressmaking. So over the years she’s also made a few garments based on the pattern of a favourite garment that I was particularly fond of, and she’s also done some clothing alterations for both of us. My skills with needles and thread are limited to sewing on buttons, and taking up hems on John’s too-long pairs of jeans. Anything else is beyond me. But this fabulous model is the pièce de résistance – along with the beautiful crocheted knee warmer she gave me last year. This was when winter was approaching and so determined was I to finish writing the book, I decided to get out of bed at the insane hour of 5am and get in a solid hour’s writing in before dog walking and the demands of the day took over. Fiona was also one of many Tasmanians who needed to be circumspect about her opinion of the pulp mill. It was a project that polarised people, including families and friendships. She was one of several who passed on snippets of useful information, but on the basis of anonymity so it couldn’t be sheeted home to her.  Needless to say Fiona will be one of those whose contribution will be acknowledged – when this book is finally accepted by a publisher.
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