Ah! A spring picnic at Brown Hill Creek. I loved picnics with Mummy, Daddy and Richard, my eleven-year-old brother. Brown Hill Creek in the Adelaide foothills had paths lined with eucalyptus trees, and a creek filled with yabbies and tadpoles for Richard and me to hunt. I imagined Brown Hill Creek as the perfect “happy hunting ground” for cats.Read more "T-Team, The Younger–Happy Hunting Ground"
At Haasts Bluff station we filled up with petrol, water, and supplies to last us in this virgin land. We were going where not many people, except the Indigenous, had gone before. Upon entering the land belonging to these people; there would be no shops, no houses, and no roads. To salute our departure from civilisation, we bought something to eat and drink. I ate a meat pie.Read more "The T-Team with Mr. B (28)"
I strode up to Dad. ‘We need to swim, now!’
‘All good things come to those who wait,’ Dad replied. ‘I reckon it’s just around the next corner.’
Lesson with Mr C–On Australia Day, couldn’t get more Australian than a lesson on teaching in the bush. While Mr T, in the 1950’s, taught the Arunda students in a classroom, Mrs T learned by School of the Air, and in the 1970’s Mr C taught the Arunda children plein air…Read more "The T-Team With Mr B (23)"
I lay in bed and gazed up at the ceiling. Wish I hadn’t.Read more "The T-Team With Mr B (22)"
I remember as a young teenager being upset because my older brother would be invited to parties and not me. I remember standing at the kitchen counter, invitation to my brother in hand and complaining, ‘It’s not fair. I’m friends with them too. Why wasn’t I invited?’Read more "Monday Musings"
Several kangaroos bounded across the sealed road in front of us. We slowed, keeping a wary eye on the wildlife that seem to have an attraction for roads and cars at dusk. Once in the camping ground, we followed the clearly numbered camp sites until we found ours.
Mr K set up the tent with little help from me. I just held the poles while he hammered pegs into the hard ground pitted with stones. He made sure the Ford stood between our tent and the gum tree.
‘What do you say, ol’ boy?’ Mr B badgered Dad.
‘I don’t know, it’s getting late.’
We edged around the southern foot of the mountain-sized boulders. Mr B leaned forward and peered at the hill leaning up against the designated highest peak. ‘I mean to say, we could give it a try.’
The morning warmed but the atmosphere between Dad and Mr B remained frosty.
‘I’ll drive us to the Olgas,’ Mr B said.
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea, if you’re tired and had no sleep?’ Dad asked as he chucked a bag of peanuts in the back of the Rover.
At the mouth of Walpa gorge, Kata Tjuta, we dumped our baggage under a tree, and then advanced up and into the gorge. The heat and flies evaporated as the dank shadows of the gorge’s walls towered over us.Read more "The T-Team With Mr B (14)"