Overwhelmed

There should be a word for how I feel right now, after my time last week, a word that would encompass after-glow, still high, coming down, sad it's over, trying to hang onto as much of the experience as I can.

I spent last week at Varuna, the Writers' House in Katoomba. I drove, flew, bussed and trained to get there the Sunday before last and then flew, bussed, drove and trained back last Sunday. In between I attended the Sydney Writers' Festival's Katoomba program, took part in a panel, and then wrote, read and ate for the rest of the time. Bliss. The festival was held at the Carrington Hotel, a super grande old dame of a country hotel. Its large rooms resounded with the excited chatter of lovers of books and ideas.

I got to swan around all day wearing a tag around my neck that proclaimed me to be an author. That was a new and thrilling experience in itself!

I sat in on all the sessions. I thought they were all particularly well run, especially my own, I have to say, which was chaired by Ed Campion, a Sydney priest and author in his own right. He made it all look so relaxed and casual as though the ideas were just popping into his head as he went along, but in reality he had prepared thoroughly and read the books very carefully.

The other author on my panel was David Carlin, whose memoir Our Father Who Wasn't There is beautifully and intelligently written. It's a complex and moving book that unfolds like a whodunnit.

David and I have had similar publishing experiences, with our books both being published by Scribe and edited by the same lovely but scrupulous editor, Nicola Redhouse. Ed managed to draw out many themes including the difficulties of telling personal stories as well as our paths to publication.

I thought our session went very well and so did the members of the audience who spoke to me afterwards.

After the intense time at the festival I put my head down at Varuna and worked. I should devote a whole blog post one day to Varuna and again there should be a word to describe how the place works, what it does. For now I'll just say I needed this boost to my writing and took full advantage of it. Every afternoon I went for a walk to get my body moving and on a couple of days I had coffee in Katoomba but otherwise I sat on my backside and wrote. Ahh bliss.

Now it's over and I'm back in my almost-ordinary life. This week I'm talking about my book and my experience twice. Tuesday evening I spoke to the Friends of the Baillieau Library. As a Melbourne University graduate it was particularly lovely to return as a speaker. I spent many hours in the library, though I must admit I spent many more on the lawn outside, discussing issues of the time with my friends - feminism mostly, and the Vietnam War.

Tomorrow morning I'm speaking at Rosebud library, so if you're anywhere nearby pop in at 10 am. I'd love to meet you. An interview I did with Melissa Hart is on the library blog.

Cradle

Although we live only about an hour from Cradle Mountain we usually need an excuse to go there.

A visitor is always a good reason, especially one from from overseas. Yesterday's justification was the autumn foliage of the deciduous beech, Nothofagus gunnii, Tasmania's only native winter-deciduous plant.

Normally the leaves go from vivid green in spring to dark green in summer, through yellow to bright red in autumn before they fall, leaving a wonderful confetti underfoot. This year the foliage seem to have got stuck on yellow, but the trees are still beautiful. It was a cold day but we rugged up in jackets and scarves, gloves and woollen hats and kept warm by walking.

It's such a magical place. Every corner you turn reveals more beauty.

Whenever we go we say how lucky we are to live so close and how we should visit more often. Then we get busy and forget. This time we swear we'll return in mid winter. I hope we do. These photos are lovely but it's not just how pretty Cradle Mountain is; it's the effect the landscape has on you, the way the spirit of the ancient wilderness reaches out and melts the hard shell that civilisation constructs around us all.

Mole Creek Autumn

This year autumn has been particularly mellow and fruitful at Onemilebridge.

There are fungi everywhere you look. Some are clearly poisonous, some we're not sure about and others I've already turned into soup and pizza topping.

We went shopping for a new ram to service our Border Leicester ladies, though he won't go out until next month. We like to lamb in mid to late spring here.

We ate too many matzah balls, Farmdoc made perfect crossless hot cross buns, but somehow I seem to have missed out on easter eggs.

And we took advantage of the pleasant weather to sit outside whenever we could. It won't last much longer. May is usually the cloudiest month of the year here and we'll soon be lighting the heater and rugging up.

Wombat Bonney Again

Bonney may be our first release failure.

She seemed to be settling in. Her droppings were becoming firm and she would come to eat while Farmdoc was in her enclosure, though she stayed well away from him. All looked normal though she did seem to have lost weight.

Then yesterday morning Farmdoc noticed the fur on all of Bonney's legs had come off. We couldn't tell from a distance what exactly was going on and there didn't seem to be any sores, but the telephone consensus was that it was probably caused by stress.

We phoned her carers and they came this morning to pick her up. They'll bathe her, examine her legs to see if she needs any treatment, and keep her while she settles down again.

All this must have been very stressful and upsetting for Bonney. I hope now she can regain some confidence and health, and perhaps in a few weeks she'll be ready to try again. Maybe when she's a little older she'll be more eager to leave home and face the world.

Meanwhile we're sorry to see her go, and we wish her well.

Rich and Famous

Two lovely book related things happened to me last week.

One was the arrival of my first royalty statement and cheque. In its first three months out in the world Alzheimer's: a Love Story had already sold enough copies to pay back my advance, with some left over for a payment.

To tell you the truth, I was so excited that I danced around the kitchen, singing, 'I'm in the money...' and then I tripped over the wood box, breaking a dish, bruising my knee and cutting my finger as I went down. Oh dear. What's that they say about pride going before a fall? Still, it didn't spoil the moment.

Not that it was such a huge cheque, but I'm thrilled the book is repaying my publisher's belief in it. When Scribe accepted my manuscript I hadn't even finished writing the first draft. In fact I was less than halfway through and some of the writing was still quite raw. It was a gamble really that I would be even able to finish it.

The second exciting thing was a full page interview of Dad and me by Bernadette Clohesy in Saturday morning's Melbourne Age.

I love that section, '2 of Us'. And apparently so do a lot of other people. I've heard it's the most read section of the Saturday paper. And there we are, Dad and I, smiling away at the readers. My mum would have been so proud. My lovely daughter Meg has put the article in the media section of my website if you want to read it.

I've had lots of exciting milestones along the way with the publication of this book. Receiving the advance reading copies was a highlight. And now I've begun making speeches, which I find I'm really enjoying. I'll be speaking on a panel at Katoomba as part of the Sydney Writers' Festival next month. That'll be another first. The session's called Stories and Secrets and I'll blog about it again closer to the time. I'm appearing with David Carlin, another Scribe author. Some of my appearances are listed on my website in the events section.

Welcome Wombat Bonney

This morning Bonney arrived for her stay in the Wombat Hilton. She is the thirteenth wombat and ninth female to stay in our pen while being prepared for release on our land.

Arrival of a new wombat is always a poignant moment. It's hard for the carers to farewell an animal they have lovingly reared from infancy and whom they have come to know well. When they go home they will be surrounded by reminders of the animal who has shared their home, and whom they will never see again.


Like all the wombats that are brought to Onemilebridge for release, Bonney was rescued after the death of her mother and raised by human carers who bottle fed, bathed and nurtured her.

These carers were available day and night to ensure her survival, and the bond between wombat and foster parent is very strong. Bonney has clearly been well loved and cared for. Wombats raised with kindness by humans repay the affection.

When we put Bonney into the pen that will be her temporary home (otherwise known as the Wombat Hilton) she immediately set off to explore. She ran down the two burrows that her predecessors have dug, she jogged in and out of the various shelters, and she sniffed at the pyjamas that accompanied her and that are now in the kennel in the pen to provide a familiar scent and reminder of home. She stopped briefly at the bowl of oats we put out for her but she was too excited to eat any.

We as releasers have a specific task. We have to undo some of the human-dependent habits the wombats have developed and prepare them for life in the wild.

As long as Bonney remains in the pen we won't interact directly with her at all, though we will observe her closely, feed and water her daily, and collect her droppings. In the beginning we expect her droppings to be loose because she will be stressed by this separation from what she regards as her home, but after a few days they should begin to be solid again.

When Bonney approaches for a cuddle we will ignore her. She will learn not to expect companionship from humans. We will resist the temptation to enjoy her company ourselves.

It seems apparent that Bonney is a naturally curious and resilient animal. She has already begun to dig and explore. We hope that in a few weeks we will unlatch the hatch in the pen's door and that then Bonney will take her place amongst the wild wombats, hopefully mating and raising a new generation of wombats in this area.

There is already another female wombat on the waiting list for the Wombat Hilton.

Dearth Hour

I guess observing Earth Hour in Melbourne during the weekend of the Grand Prix must have been a Comedy Festival act.

If so, it was pretty funny: sitting around in the dark with candles, ears ringing from the noise of all that burning fossil fuel.

Hilarious really.

Not.