Treechange – Treechange life

October 2025: reviews, experiences, and happenings on the farm

Read – The Watervale Ladies’ Writing & Firefighting Society by Mette Menzies

This book has three elements important to me right now – friendships, writing groups and preparing for a potential bush fire. (Let’s hope I don’t have to fight a fire like the resourceful women in this book.)

Four women, with a variety of ages and backgrounds, join a writing group in an Australian country town. They soon find themselves besieged by issues including a land grab by big business and dastardly deeds by crooked lawyers and journalists.

The women are all facing various challenges and life transitions. Soon the pressures lead to friction in the group. Can they find the courage to question and prioritize what’s important in their lives? Will they find forgiveness for themselves and each other?

Importantly, the women are lucky enough to find great food and coffee in the township while they face these other hardships. This is worth celebrating in rural Australia.

The Watervale Ladies’ Writing & Firefighting Society was laugh out loud funny in places, with a romance thrown in.

Watched – Slow Horses (Apple TV)

In the industry, ‘Slow Horses’ is a derogatory name for this team of supposedly failed secret service agents. A team that usually manages to outsmart and embarrass England’s intelligence agency elite.

The show mixes thriller, drama, comedy and black comedy genres.

Jackson Lamb is the team’s boss. He’s both obnoxious and endearing. There’s multiple Reddit threads dedicated to his hilarious one-liners which get better with each new season.

There’s a sneaking mutual respect between Lamb and his team, even though he constantly belittles them. Many of the Slow Horses show symptoms of unprocessed trauma. A feature of the show is how they support each other through professional and personal challenges.

Live – Take me to the river

The river bank is still scarred and eroded, still littered with fallen trees and debris in places. Our community is still struggling to recover from the 1-in-500 year flood we suffered earlier this year.

This made the Take me to the River cultural riverside walk with a local historian and Aboriginal Elder all the more beneficial.

We learned our region was named by the Governor of the Bank of England who had never been to Australia. The local Aboriginal people refer to our region as ‘the place of the big hollow’ which indicates both the land’s fertility and propensity to flood.

The highlight for me was hearing a very recent Indigenous story. Over 1,000 members of the Aboriginal community came together to perform a dance to heal the land in December 2019. This followed four years of terrible drought, followed by the worst bush fires in Australia’s history.

After hours of traditional music and dancing in the sand, their feet found the fresh water beneath. A flock of yellow-tail black cockatoos soon landed nearby. These prehistoric-looking magnificent birds are considered to signal coming rain. It did rain soon after, and the drought was declared over in February 2020.

October farm happenings

It’s spring, which means lots of seedlings to plant for summer crops. Herbs were one of the first to go in. Charlie, loves helping in the garden.

Over the past four years we’ve planted lots of Australian native plants. We’re now getting to enjoy both the blooms and the bird life they attract.

June 2025 – in review

A month of books, TV, movies, performances, happenings on the farm.

Read – Some Day is Today by Matthew Dicks

Have you noticed I’ve hardly blogged over the past few years? Well, this post is my second in two weeks (not six months). I’m on a roll.

Reading Some Day is Today is the kick up the pants I needed to get writing and put it out there.

If you have a desire to create, there’s no excuse.

Author Matthew Dicks is known as an epic storyteller. He’s nerdy and eccentric, but successful in following his passion. He’s both relatable and inspirational.

Some Day is Today is full of interesting anecdotes about how Matthew overcame challenges. He organised every aspect of his life to achieve his creative and life goals. There’s advice on career choice, decision-making, relationships, and time management right down to minutes taken to unpacking your dishwasher.

Narrated by the author, it’s an easy and engaging listen on Audible or Spotify.

Watched – Murderbot (Apple TV)

A TV adaptation of the science fiction series by Martha Wells (comedy/action/sci-fi).

I’d never read a science fiction book. I asked hubby for a recommendation, as he only ever reads this genre. He suggested Martha Wells’ The Murder Bot Diaries. Immediately engrossed, I marathon-read the entire series. So, I was excited to get into Murderbot when it came out on Apple TV.)

The protagonist, who calls ‘itself’ MurderBot, is a rogue, but benevolent, ‘self-governing’ security unit. A ‘synthetic’. It’s assigned to guard a team of human researchers somewhat naive to the realities of a universe of exploitable resources. Observing its charges, MurderBot grapples to understand human nature with all its messiness, duplicity, desire and emotion. Trouble usually ensues when MurderBot indulges its addiction of sneakily binge-watching its favourite human soapie TV series, Sanctuary Moon. This provides MurderBot with more questionable insight into the nature of humanity.

Light-hearted in bite-sized episodes.

Cinema – The Salt Path

Based on a true story by author Raynor Winn, this movie stars Gillian Anderson and Jason Isaacs.

The couple are beset with challenge and heartache. They’ve lost their home and livelihood, and the husband was diagnosed with a terminal illness. So they set off on a yearlong hike around the wilds of coastal south-west England. Why wouldn’t you?

Bleak and desperate are two words I’d use to describe the first half of this movie. There were a few lighter moments and the cinematography is glorious.

The Salt Path is about bravery, overcoming challenges, and most importantly identifying your life’s priorities. In this case – relationships and a connection with nature.

The movie was ultimately life-affirming and reignited my bucket list desire for a long hiking holiday. An unexpected theme about sustainable living also came through, which of course I completely related to.

Live show – Tales from the Climate Era

When I lived in Sydney, going to the Belvoir Street Theatre was a treat, so when this theatre company visited my new country hometown, I had to go.

The traveling production Tales of the Climate Era was a series of skits about climate change. How companies, governments, communities and individuals are grappling to understand. Asking questions – is it real? Should we do something? If it is real, when would it be over?

It could be described as confronting, however, I found it no darker than my already swirling thoughts.

I realised how confused I am about the whole issue, so I’ve enrolled in a short university course to hear directly from experts in the field. Hopefully I’ll come away with more answers than questions.

June farm happenings

We harvested a huge crop of purple sweet potatoes. (Well hubby did. It involves rooting around in the soil with your hands, and there’s earthworms the size of boa-constrictors in that garden bed. They creep me out.)

Please, urgently send your best recipes for these purple beauties. I’m learning to make purple pie crusts and gnocchi.

Our region suffered a devastating flood, where people died and thousands of animals were killed. This has been a terrible event. I’ll write about it when I’ve come to terms with it.

We celebrated the Winter Solstice, a turning point for life on the land.

We’re nurturing our first batch of koala habitat trees. Part of our long-term aim to give back to Mother Nature. More koala news to follow.

Celebrating Nature’s Dates and Lunar Cycles

The sun will arise later this morning than it will any other day of the year.

But not yet. Only a few streaks of orange are colouring the early sky.

It’s the Winter Solstice in Australia.

Winter may be all cosy fires and hot soup, but I’m not a fan of dark mornings and early evenings. Today, in the Southern Hemisphere, we’re now tilted furthest from the sun. From today, even though the daily temperatures will continue to fall, at least the sun will shine for a little longer each day. We’re starting our tilt back towards summer.

Another year has passed.

I acknowledge the Winter Solstice like others celebrate New Year’s Day. For me, it’s a time to plan for the coming year. Today, I’ll prepare some of the garden beds, ready for the planting. Other beds are already flourishing with winter crops now well established.

Rows of garden beds ready for winter planting with sunrise in the background — Garden beds ready for winter planting

I’m more connected to nature’s sequence – the Solstices, Equinoxes, and lunar cycles – than dates on the calendar. Not everyone is, of course. I once worked for an accountant, and for him, New Year’s Day was 1st July. The first day of the financial year in Australia. Anthony the Accountant celebrated with a day off and a new financial year diary.

For me, the full moon is more noteworthy than noticing in my diary it’s the first day of the next month. It does help to live away from the night lights of the city.

Bright white moon in a dark sky with light glare and tree silhouettes. — Full moons shine bright in dark country skies

Some witchy woo-woo types align with the monthly moon cycles and consider the new moon the start of each month. As the new moon waxes and builds in power, it’s a time to start new projects and take new directions. After the full moon, as the moon wanes and falls away, it’s a time to let go of things that don’t serve us well. I don’t know if there’s any truth to this lunar energy theory, but it seems like a way to live mindfully.

Does the full moon hold a special power for setting intentions, and does it affect us by drawing the water in our bodies as it draws the tides in the ocean? I don’t know.

I do know, however, the bright light of the full moon makes it harder to sleep. I understand how earth-centered and ancient cultures might have sat up for hours by a full moon campfire, or danced around it.

To bathe in the light of the full moon is invigorating. The light feels cool, clear, cleansing and powerful. Last month, I sat in a steaming outdoor hot tub with light from a full moon illuminating me. It was a time for reflection and appreciation.

A women's face in near darkness, illuminated by moonlight. — Bathing in moonlight

One lunar ritual I do ascribe to is putting my bowl of crystals beneath the full moon for an energetic cleansing. (I also rinse the dust off them at the same time, which is possibly the real cleansing they receive.) I don’t really believe the crystals hold any special powers beyond being a pretty collection I’ve built over time, but this ritual acknowledges time passing and the trinkets from Mother Earth.

A bowl of crystals and shells to be placed under a full moon for energetic cleansing. — Crystals and shells – trinkets from Mother Earth

Did you pause to notice the Winter Solstice this year, or the Summer one if you’re in the Northern Hemisphere? Or are you more attuned to the passing of the days and months in your calendar, like Anthony the Accountant?

The perfect break – finding a holiday that ticks those most important boxes

It’s February and holiday season is over. Are you planning your next holiday?

Years ago, at a holiday destination in Fiji, Hubby and I met a couple who had spent their annual holiday at the same resort … for the past 18 years. I judged them – privately of course – for what I perceived to be their lack of curiosity, the missed opportunities for adventure and personal growth.

But people need to choose their own adventure, or seeming lack thereof.

My aunty is planning a holiday to Rwanda to see the gorillas. What amazing memories she’ll make.

I have a bestie whose holidays usually involve long trips by road, train or plane, with tightly scheduled itineraries, to visit historical and cultural sites.

Neither of these two types of holidays call to me at this stage of my life.

Vehicles parked on the beach with surf in the background. — A group of friends waiting for sunrise

For me, holidays are precious. There’s never enough time or money available in this short life to spend on a holiday that doesn’t meet my needs. And since we’ve moved to the country, it’s harder to get away in summer, when there’s endless watering, mowing and weeding.

We’ve just come back from a week’s break, camping at the beach. In summer. Last week, as I lay on our holiday beach 200kms away, I knew the grass was growing under our house-sitter’s feet.

Now we’re back and we’ll have to mow for two days, but the holiday was worth it. It ticked all the necessary boxes for me right now.

Group of seagulls on the beach with sunset behind them.

When I lived in a city, months would pass without my stepping on sand or grass, without seeing a sunrise or sunset. I needed trees, streams, rocky escarpments and gorgeous gorges. Remote hiking in Australia’s Top End? Tick.

Much earlier in my life, before kids, when I was establishing my own business, I worked 16hrs a day. I was completely focussed on my client’s needs and making the next mortgage payment. I popped Ibuprofen for headaches and alcohol for insomnia. I was vaguely aware my mind inhabited a body which moved me between client meetings, a body I was neglecting. After visiting a health farm, for detox and deep-tissue massage, I returned, more a human being and less a human doing. Tick.

Vehicles parked on the beach near the tide line.

When the kids were younger, each day was rushing between before/after-school care and work. Packing lunches, cooking healthy meals, weekends of shopping and house-chores. I needed a break with domestic assistance. Buffet meals, housekeeping and kids’ activities every day and evening. Yes.

Now I live on a rural property and work mostly from home. Aside from the bird calls and an occasional koala growl, it’s quiet. Most of my human interactions are via Teams meetings. I crave friendships, laughter, conversations, connection with others.

Our beach camping break with good friends was perfect. I lounged in the sun with sand between my toes. Each day started with coffee on the rocks, watching the surf and sunrise. Each day finished with a communal cook-up. We laughed from sun-up till sun-down.

Coffee cup in the foreground with the ocean waves behind.

Camped away from the city lights, one night we were lucky enough to see the Planetary Parade. Mars, Jupiter, Saturn and Venus all clear against a crisp indigo canvas. Then the dark night fell completely and lights from thousands of stars sparkled to life as we all gazed upward.

Vehicles parked in a campground at night with a single star in the sky. — Watching the planetary parade – Venus just visible at the top

Returning from one holiday I’m always planning the next. This break was just what I needed. My next holiday may well be the same again. And again. It’s ticking those most important boxes for me right now.

Drop in for Chaos, oh, I mean Christmas

Our friends and family are invited to call in any time, any day, this year.

We are not doing a Christmas Day. Instead, multiple days of feasting, fun, games, swimming and day trips exploring.

It’s Choose our Own Adventure.

I’m not responsible. No-one is. We all are. Each day will roll like the dice on our board games.

Family cat playing with Monopoly board game money — Charlie playing Monopoly

At a time when the most family members are present, we’ll open our presents. This year is one present each from Secret Santa.

We’ve been on a mission to simplify Christmas for nearly two decades.

For about ten years we had family camping trips. Our small family group of vans and tents clustered in a beach-side caravan park.

On the day we arrived and set up, we were all as busy as elves. Then, we enjoyed a week of relaxation.

Christmas feasting was limited to what could be kept fresh in small camping fridges or cold on ice.

The kids got presents including pushbikes and ‘walky talky’ two-way radios. They spent days running about with newfound camping friends. Over the years, we got to know other repeat Chrissy Campers at the caravan park.

Motorhome in a caravan park — Family camping

Then, the years flew by like a red nose on Christmas Eve. Grandparents sold their vans. Families formed step-families, and kids needed to share Christmas Day with both sets of parents. We moved on, simplifying camping to a morning picnic.

Chrissy breakfast at the beach followed by a swim. Afterwards, everyone was free for lunches and dinners with extended families. Or, by 11am, head off on holidays. Jump into the car when most people were jumping into other Christmas traditions. Get well ahead of the holiday traffic.

Our Christmas picnics usually had a theme, most memorably, 1970s Finger Food. Who agrees food on a toothpick just tastes better?

Circular bread cut-outs topped with slices of tomato and basil held together with a toothpick. — credit Abdulgarfur Ogel (Pexels)

After moving to the country, the new Christmas tradition is to celebrate at our place. It’s hot and the property and animals need us at this time of year. But the family loves visiting from the city, enjoying space, the pool, and quiet starry nights.

Girl aiming at a target with a bow and arrow during a family Christmas activity — Target archery at our place

The kids are older now. The pressure of step-families has been replaced by the pressure of juggling time between us and their partner’s family.

After 20yrs of us simplifying Christmas, there’s still time pressure.

So, this year, it’s Christmas Day/s. Call in any time. Stay as long as you like.

Three family members doing craft at a table — Family craft

There’s a draft menu for four-days. We’ll all be cooking together. All hands on deck to Deck the Halls. And low stress preparation in the days beforehand.

The days may be chaos, but it will be jolly chaos.

Merry Christmas to all the many and varied families!

Waiting to pop #WordlessWednesday

#Photography #Gardening

Feathered families – friendships with magpies

Instead of making my morning coffee as I lay in the caravan bed, my husband was lingering outside the open door.

Was he waiting to talk to one of our camping friends returning from a walk?

Suddenly, he crooned with a sing-song lilt, “Oooogle oooogle woooogle oooogle.” And I knew he was talking to … a magpie.

We have magpies around our new home in the country, but they are aloof and independent. They don’t drink from the bird bath. Or follow us on the lawn mower like the butcher birds do, feasting on easy meals of crickets and tiny lizards.

When we moved into their territory, we were glad to find the magpies here are not in the small minority who swoop people they don’t know during nesting season … because it was nesting season.

Magpies can apparently recognise at least 500 different people. So we walked around with uncovered faces so they’d get to know us. And they’ve ignored us ever since.

Maybe country magpies are just too busy. Their city counterparts will give you the time of day on the back deck.

At my parent’s house in the city suburbs, magpies share their mornings.

Mr and Mrs Maggie know once the jug is set to boil for coffee, it’s time to make meaningful eye contact through the back window. A tiny portion of mince will be provided.

Mrs Maggie (females are mottled black and white behind their neck) knows the mince is kept in the fridge. There was that one morning when the screen door hadn’t closed, so she popped in and sat on the fridge, tapping a toe impatiently.

Magpies are known to live to 25 years, and Mr and Mrs Maggie are at least that.

My parents still remember the initial privilege of Mr and Mrs Maggie first introducing a fledgling nearly three decades ago. They’ve met a new fledgling every year since.

Each year, before the new chick arrives, there’s a gruesome period when Mr Maggie drives the adolescent chick from the territory. Many times, he’s flipped a reluctant son over on his back, with a peck that can draw blood.

One year, a departing son had the original idea of coming to the front door and knocking, while his parents were out the back. Kudos for ingenuity, but my mum and dad reinforced the wishes of Mr Maggie – it was time for the son to search for a home of his own.

Raising a fledgling is quite the commitment for magpie parents. For several months after leaving the nest, chicks need instruction on finding food, flying, and social etiquette.

It takes two adult birds to raise each fledgling. Mr and Mrs Maggie consistently raise one chick each year. Except for that wet and productive season, when grubs and earthworms must have been prolific. Mr and Mrs Maggie knew it would be a favourable season. They allowed their adolescent daughter to stay as an ‘Aunt’. That year, the three adults worked together to raise two fledglings.

Magpies have many of the same neurotransmitters as we do – including dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin. They experience emotions, including affection, playfulness, grief, and deceit. They play hide-and-seek like a five-year-old child.

Mr and Mrs Maggie deserve a huge amount of respect. They are within the 10% of magpies who reproduce in any year.

Only 25% of magpies will have the opportunity to raise a chick during their lifetime. This is due to the difficulty of finding a long-term partner and suitable territory. Also vital is the communication skills needed to form working relationships with magpies from neighbouring territories. This cooperation allows joint defence against outside threats such as eagles, goannas, and cats.

Today, my mum rang in tears. Mr and Mrs Maggie haven’t been seen for a week.

A great flock of white cockatoos, with all their screeching and chaos, had taken up in the small park next door.

We are all hoping that normality soon returns. That tomorrow, after seeing the jug set to boil, Mr and Mrs Maggie perch on the back rail, make eye contact, and ask for a breakfast treat.

Next time you see a magpie who’s willing to give you the time of day, remember they could be 30 years old, with wisdom and life experience. Remember, they’re intelligent and emotional. With highly refined communication skills.

Remember to say “Oooogle oooogle woooogle oooogle.”

Wild Australian magpie in garden with two lorikeets — Mr Maggie injured a leg 10 years ago, but he’s still doing well

Photo credits:
Featured image by Tim Phillips on Instagram @timbeyan. Pic 3 is from Pexels by Vlad Kutepov

References:
Podcasts
https://www.abc.net.au/listen/programs/conversations/talking-magpies-grieving-tawny-frogmouths-and-canny-galahs/103170988?utm_content=link&utm_medium=content_shared
https://www.tunefm.net/2024/02/02/une-emeritus-professor-gisela-kaplan-named-honorary-member-of-the-order-of-australia/
https://www.everand.com/podcast/590594548/What-makes-Australian-birds-so-smart-Gisela-Kaplan-Rebroadcast
Book
Australian Magpie: Biology and behaviour of an unusual songbird, Prof Gisela Kaplan, 2010

Bird of paradise #WordlessWednesday

#Photography

Spring has me green with envy

The Spring dawn of gentle sunrise and birdsong was torn apart by duelling internal combustion engines. The neighbours and I, ride-on mowers revving, trying to tame lawns and paddocks before a week of predicted rain.

If it was a ride-on mower duel, our neighbours would have won the morning, with their top-of-the-range, low centre-of-gravity, turn-on-a-tussock, purring machine. A far-flung second was me, astride our ancient, fume-belching, muffler-missing dinosaur. One of my legs held akimbo for balance on tippy slopes, one hand on the wheel and the other holding myself in position. A cramp in my toe from stretching to reach the distant pedal, because the seat’s rusted in position as far back as possible due to years of long-legged men driving in circles.

I may have a mild case of Lawn Mower Envy. An emotion I’d never felt, or even knew existed, before our tree-change to the country.

Hubby may suffer Lawn Mower Envy more seriously than me – he’s the one who spends hours on maintenance. Keeping our mowers moving – forwards. I’ve been instructed to limit engaging reverse as it creates wear on one of the belts, and the clutch.

I’m grateful our mower has a drink holder. Cheers to the person who first thought of including that. Ours usually holds a beer, but this morning, it’s coffee. It is only 7am. Our neighbours’ mower probably has a drinks holder too, even an insulated lunch chiller. Apparently, the expensive ones do.

Our main mower is Coxie, the Lawn Boss. He came with the property. He’s a long-time hard-worker, overdue for retirement. Yet he still battles through most of our heavy mowing.

We recently bought another second-hand, though much newer, ride-on called Fergie. Fergie as in the tractor manufacturer, Massey Fergusson. We thought that would mean she’s tough and reliable. Perfect for taming our tufts. Alas, she spends a fair amount of time up on the repair ramps in the shed, receiving Hubby’s ministrations.

Fergie may be much younger, shiny red, with a bigger motor, twin blades and a wider cut, but something to do with her gearing means she shirks the heavy work. The heavy work is along the back boundary where the tussocks are toughest, thickly interspersed with stiff-stemmed weeds that relentlessly march in from the poorly maintained adjoining property.

Today, with Hubby in the seat, heading towards the back boundary, Fergie blew a belt. (I promise I haven’t been overly engaging her reverse.) Fergie was left immobilised between the mango trees at the bottom of the slope.

The only solution was to hope Coxie could tow Fergie home. Poor, ancient Coxie – wheels spinning, Hubby and I pushing. All three of us groaning. But we managed. We dragged Fergie up the hill and back to the shed for her next round of coddling.

I don’t know if the neighbours saw any of that, or if they even knew they and I were having a lawn-mower duel.

Perhaps they can’t hear me over the classical music playing through their headphones, as they sip champagne from their drinks holder, and nibble chilled canapes from their on-board insulated lunch box.

Cohabitating with nature

After my panicked phone call, the snake-catcher turned up – in shorts and thongs.

“I thought it would be a tree snake,” he said, looking at the photo I’d snapped of its disappearing tail an hour earlier – after it had slithered past my bare feet. “But that’s an Eastern Brown. I’ve never seen one around here.”

I checked in with my nearest neighbour. “Oh, really?” she said. “An Eastern Brown? I don’t remember the last time we saw one of those.”

Eastern Browns are the second deadliest snake in the world. I hope it’s gone from beneath my back stairs.

“The only way to know for sure it’s gone is to pull apart the whole staircase,” the snake-catcher said, helpfully.

That would be a full-day’s work. Plus, as Hubby estimated, three more days to put the staircase back together.

“You can live with a snake around,” said the snake catcher, “just be careful where you put your feet.”

A friend asked that night if I’d totally freaked out. I hadn’t, not immediately. Time had stood still. Then, after both the long, silent moment, and the long, silent snake, had passed me by, I’d screamed. Then, gasping, and with shaking fingers, frantically and repeatedly tried to send a text off to hubby who was slashing grass down by the dam.

I’d read that if a snake approaches you, stand still and let it pass. Ironically, in my frozen panic I’d done just that. The snake had flicked its tongue, tasted my presence in the air, then languorously turned away. Its scaly shimmer slipped soundlessly beneath the wooden step, right by my feet. I finally breathed again, into the silence. Silence, like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

“What are you going to do now? Do you regret moving to the bush?” My friend questioned that night, perhaps horrified and fascinated because she, too, had recently moved from the city.

“Well, I wish my husband would keep the back door closed!”

Hubby had tried to soothe me, saying snakes don’t go inside.

They bloody might. Why wouldn’t they, when it’s cool and quiet in the middle of the day. When we’re using the mower on the back lawn, stamping around and dragging pot plants about?

My husband’s behaviour didn’t change at all. Still walking around in bare feet. Me, in comparison, for the first whole week ‘post-snake’, chose knee-high gumboots to accessorise my usual sarong when venturing down the stairs to the spa at night. I also spent three days stomping up and down the stairs in work boots and jeans, generally creating as much ruckus as possible.

A week later and we hadn’t seen the snake again. I sought the advice of the experts on the Australian Snake Identification, Education + Advocacy Facebook group.

“Is it likely the snake has moved on?”

“To be sure, you should replace the wooden deck and staircase with concrete,” was the advice. “You have chickens which attract rodents, which attract snakes. You have water, frogs, and a safe space for snakes to hide and hunt. But remember, Eastern Browns don’t like movement. They’ll get out of your way before you even know they’re there. Just look down before you step down. It is possible to cohabitate with them.”

Cohabitate with the second deadliest snake in the world?

Remodelling the back deck and stairs IS on the renovation list – somewhere between the priorities of fencing, more water tanks, retaining walls and building another shed.

I now know snakes are definitely around, instead of possibly around. I’ve also learnt they don’t chase you. Just look out for them, and don’t step on them.

Life continued for another week.

I now look down before I step down. I’ve calmed down. I’ve reverted to wearing thongs outside.

Then, yesterday, as I looked down, a scaly scurry. Something half-seen slipped from the sunny step beneath my feet. A huge blue tongue lizard.

Another question for the Facebook snake advocacy group.

“There’s a big blue tongue living right where the Eastern Brown was. Does this mean the snake has moved on?”

“Possibly,” was the reply, “but not necessarily. Eastern Browns and Blue Tongues can cohabitate quite happily.”

I may be cohabitating with a snake. And a Blue Tongue.

Photo credit: Shane Walsh, who takes wonderful photos and advocates for cohabitating with wildlife.

Notes:

Even if we are cohabitating, we are never going to be friends. There’s a snake bite kit handy, just in case.

For international readers, ‘thongs’ in Australia generally means ‘flip flops’.