Old Dogs And Children
Without Prejudice
105 Bishop Road, Beachmere QLD 28/4/2012
Summer Of 42, the Movie of Years ago haunts me as I sit here on the beachfront at Beachmere. There is a longing for something, the brightness of striped nylon bathers and canvas lawn chairs has gone. Left now are half sunny days, the sun making its showing later in the day after the slight mist and low clouds have lifted. The sea running one way today at Moreton Bay, choppy, iron grey and almost a brown look to the bases of each wave, the mudflats are deserted save for a high stepping gull.
The tide is running and its "The fish willl be jumping " type of weather, good only for the Fisherman or the broken hearted to walk along, macs whipping at their bodies, thinking of lost love and how much the weathers suits their mood.
Every type of fish is in the bay. Twice a year West Australian Pilchards migrate up from Victoria, literally in their billions, swimming to warmer waters. They get trapped in the bay in front of us and then the sharks arrive and there is a shark feeding frenzy of epic proportions, the kind you see on the news sometimes.
There are all your crabs out there, muddies and sand and prawns and Moreton Bay Bugs and sometimes a lobster. The bay is full of the fish, whiting a popular one. My friend goes on the trawlers sometimes and he said the experience is just amazing. Bringing back a tonne of fish. all kinds, thrashing and moving, shifting and sliding in waterfalls of colour and scale.
Overgrown vegetation sits in front of me to the right, and there under the Mangrove tree with trunks that have oval mouthed screaming man knots in their boughs. They look like at night they move and untangle, stretching out too tight limbs, like on an over exercised joint.The Mangrove tree is protected now and they look almost like a Moreton Bay Fig with it's canopies of dark green leaves
Nestled in the climbing roses tangled at the base is an old bird cage, metal mesh, rusted, A tin conical roof and inside branches used to support a pole for a perch. No birds captured in it now, it seems to need them , their chatter, vibrant feathers hopping, prancing up and down on the almost ghost white branches. Palm fronds drape over one corner of the cage like a ladies lace shawl, delicate, lovely, trembling in the slight breeze.
And to the left of the base of the old tree, Mother in laws tongue in striped variants of green reaches up to the sky, ramrod straight looking like a Hydra about to strike. And Kentish palms, resilient to the salty sea air and wind. Stand majestic, only the very tops rustling in a slow dance.
Lives of other holiday makers are duly noted in left over items, a rusted chain around one branch, a woven basket tossed to one side, a childs plastic bucket half filled with damp sand, a football, a pair of thongs, plastic, that look like the ones Thai Airways were handing out at some stage.
There is a smell of something in the air, is it rain,?????
Across the bay, dark masses reveal themselves as land, Bribie Island, Tangalooma, Moreton Island. My companion says he has kayaked there to Moreton. It looks like many kilometeres and a rough crossing today, but on a clear day. mmmmm.
I love the autumn here, there is not a definite autumn like you would get down south, there is more a softening, a sleepiness, a hibernation that comes to the beach when Summer is no longer here. Gone are the breathless days of Summer with sunburned bodies and kids frolocking in the sand. Gone are the tourist and camp sitters, who have stretched out holidays now. Gone are all the public holidays in the first half of the year.
Summer lasting till end of March this year, an I ndian Summer, then Easter with it's promise of chocolate and a quick hour's or so drive from Brisbane. The five day break warranting the cracking open of the camper van or Motor Home. Anzac day 26th April seems to be the last stand of the holiday makers. They pack up for good then and wend their way home. Bracing themselves for the push on through winter with no quick term fix in their horizon until Ecca Day, August.
The time when My brother says the ill winds of cold blow in for two weeks immediately after the "Ecca" and that's it, he says, winter is over and we once again make the climb towards Christmas and the heat. Winter in Queensland is the winter you always want to have when you are older. People spend three months up here, like the snowbirds in Florida.
Queensland is very Southern California in climate. Especially around San Luis Obispo and those areas. We don't get the fire season like they do, not up here near Bribie Island anyway, as there is lots of water and very little land.
My Sister should buy this house, it's up for sale. It's only 760,000 and an offer could be put in. You would get 3 decent blocks out of it and it is absolute beachfront, sitting right on the water. How often can you get that anymore in Queensland. ?? A block that is close to things and half way between the Gold and Sunshine Coasts.
Blocks average $400,000 anyway, so I tell my Sister you get your money back and own your house in the deal, outright. I don't think Beacmere is likely to be ever built out unless it starts in twenty years time. It is a tiny little Fishing village with bait shops as it's most popular retail experience. People sit around at nights and watch the hair on the back of each others necks grow.
I love it as it suits my solitary nature, and I can wander "lonely as a cloud "for miles on the sand flat beach thinking about stories, experiences, never tiring of the weather or the scenery. My Fisherman friend tells me of the floods and the knock on effect for months after. Huge logs floated on the water and no craft could go out for months. The prawners couldn't go out or the trawlers or even the casual boaters.
The floods devastated the fishing industry for a while as all the detritus floated up from Brisbane and swirled into the bay. There were literally thousands of the logs in the water, showing only in photos as large dark masses. All the plastics exploded out of the waterways in Brisbane and floated up here as well. The plastics put under such pressure they were no more bottles or containers but millions of tiny shards, coloured, in every hue that lay on the beaches in a glistening trail of confetti, as if the Gods above had a wedding and showered down millions of stars.
My Little Sister Helen, the Nurse Extraordinaire
Love Janette
Summer Of 42, the Movie of Years ago haunts me as I sit here on the beachfront at Beachmere. There is a longing for something, the brightness of striped nylon bathers and canvas lawn chairs has gone. Left now are half sunny days, the sun making its showing later in the day after the slight mist and low clouds have lifted. The sea running one way today at Moreton Bay, choppy, iron grey and almost a brown look to the bases of each wave, the mudflats are deserted save for a high stepping gull.
The tide is running and its "The fish willl be jumping " type of weather, good only for the Fisherman or the broken hearted to walk along, macs whipping at their bodies, thinking of lost love and how much the weathers suits their mood.
Every type of fish is in the bay. Twice a year West Australian Pilchards migrate up from Victoria, literally in their billions, swimming to warmer waters. They get trapped in the bay in front of us and then the sharks arrive and there is a shark feeding frenzy of epic proportions, the kind you see on the news sometimes.
There are all your crabs out there, muddies and sand and prawns and Moreton Bay Bugs and sometimes a lobster. The bay is full of the fish, whiting a popular one. My friend goes on the trawlers sometimes and he said the experience is just amazing. Bringing back a tonne of fish. all kinds, thrashing and moving, shifting and sliding in waterfalls of colour and scale.
Overgrown vegetation sits in front of me to the right, and there under the Mangrove tree with trunks that have oval mouthed screaming man knots in their boughs. They look like at night they move and untangle, stretching out too tight limbs, like on an over exercised joint.The Mangrove tree is protected now and they look almost like a Moreton Bay Fig with it's canopies of dark green leaves
Nestled in the climbing roses tangled at the base is an old bird cage, metal mesh, rusted, A tin conical roof and inside branches used to support a pole for a perch. No birds captured in it now, it seems to need them , their chatter, vibrant feathers hopping, prancing up and down on the almost ghost white branches. Palm fronds drape over one corner of the cage like a ladies lace shawl, delicate, lovely, trembling in the slight breeze.
And to the left of the base of the old tree, Mother in laws tongue in striped variants of green reaches up to the sky, ramrod straight looking like a Hydra about to strike. And Kentish palms, resilient to the salty sea air and wind. Stand majestic, only the very tops rustling in a slow dance.
Lives of other holiday makers are duly noted in left over items, a rusted chain around one branch, a woven basket tossed to one side, a childs plastic bucket half filled with damp sand, a football, a pair of thongs, plastic, that look like the ones Thai Airways were handing out at some stage.
There is a smell of something in the air, is it rain,?????
Across the bay, dark masses reveal themselves as land, Bribie Island, Tangalooma, Moreton Island. My companion says he has kayaked there to Moreton. It looks like many kilometeres and a rough crossing today, but on a clear day. mmmmm.
I love the autumn here, there is not a definite autumn like you would get down south, there is more a softening, a sleepiness, a hibernation that comes to the beach when Summer is no longer here. Gone are the breathless days of Summer with sunburned bodies and kids frolocking in the sand. Gone are the tourist and camp sitters, who have stretched out holidays now. Gone are all the public holidays in the first half of the year.
Summer lasting till end of March this year, an I ndian Summer, then Easter with it's promise of chocolate and a quick hour's or so drive from Brisbane. The five day break warranting the cracking open of the camper van or Motor Home. Anzac day 26th April seems to be the last stand of the holiday makers. They pack up for good then and wend their way home. Bracing themselves for the push on through winter with no quick term fix in their horizon until Ecca Day, August.
The time when My brother says the ill winds of cold blow in for two weeks immediately after the "Ecca" and that's it, he says, winter is over and we once again make the climb towards Christmas and the heat. Winter in Queensland is the winter you always want to have when you are older. People spend three months up here, like the snowbirds in Florida.
Queensland is very Southern California in climate. Especially around San Luis Obispo and those areas. We don't get the fire season like they do, not up here near Bribie Island anyway, as there is lots of water and very little land.
My Sister should buy this house, it's up for sale. It's only 760,000 and an offer could be put in. You would get 3 decent blocks out of it and it is absolute beachfront, sitting right on the water. How often can you get that anymore in Queensland. ?? A block that is close to things and half way between the Gold and Sunshine Coasts.
Blocks average $400,000 anyway, so I tell my Sister you get your money back and own your house in the deal, outright. I don't think Beacmere is likely to be ever built out unless it starts in twenty years time. It is a tiny little Fishing village with bait shops as it's most popular retail experience. People sit around at nights and watch the hair on the back of each others necks grow.
I love it as it suits my solitary nature, and I can wander "lonely as a cloud "for miles on the sand flat beach thinking about stories, experiences, never tiring of the weather or the scenery. My Fisherman friend tells me of the floods and the knock on effect for months after. Huge logs floated on the water and no craft could go out for months. The prawners couldn't go out or the trawlers or even the casual boaters.
The floods devastated the fishing industry for a while as all the detritus floated up from Brisbane and swirled into the bay. There were literally thousands of the logs in the water, showing only in photos as large dark masses. All the plastics exploded out of the waterways in Brisbane and floated up here as well. The plastics put under such pressure they were no more bottles or containers but millions of tiny shards, coloured, in every hue that lay on the beaches in a glistening trail of confetti, as if the Gods above had a wedding and showered down millions of stars.
My Little Sister Helen, the Nurse Extraordinaire
Love Janette
