Today I am feeling warm and thankful. On my little acreage here in Tanunda, we have had rain. A hundred and fifty years ago, this land was covered in ancient river red gums which were felled and used for timber needed to build sheds, barns, fences and homes of the district. One of these trees remains here and I have written about this old-timer, but since I’ve been here, others have grown, to mighty heights. And I have created a beautiful garden that needless to say requires a lot of water. So, on this day after our first substantial rain in a long time, the greenness that sustains so many birds, creatures and my peace of mind, is vibrant and sated.
The farm paraphernalia accumulated over a hundred and fifty years is gradually thinning. I have had help – someone to do the heavy lifting, to make it all seem achievable. We have shifted a huge metal rack to a more suitable place, where it will house long steel and timber posts, iron plate, bits and pieces of metal that may be useful for welding repairs. We are creating a heap of scrap metal – odd shafts and frames and bits of gates, chains, iron droppers, old engines, wheel rims etc. All will be taken to the scrap metal merchant. There will be things of character left – like the single furrow horse-drawn plough that Warren used to stand on as his Clydesdale horse walked the vineyard rows to turn the soil as he went. All farm work was so physical in those days.
This morning I came across this piece I penned, probably in the early eighties – about the effect of television on our lives. I couldn’t help but compare this with how social media has multiplied this effect manyfold.
Killing the imagination with television
Television, well-chosen, can be informative, stir the creative juices
but in my life far too much
Finding it difficult to create
to write, to paint
No singing, no music,
no passion except for the state of the planet
The Earth is in upheaval
Perhaps television has done more harm than good
It informs us of situations that stir us to anger
despair, frustration, feelings of helplessness
It’s full of bad news that burdens us
with far more than we could ever handle
Apart from our own anxieties and crises
we are faced with those of countless others
I never cease to be amazed at the quantity of non-essential items for sale
China pigs, crystal turtles, plastic fruit, head bands,
or by the tinselly razzamatazz of the city
I love a simple life, a quiet life
but I do have a standard of comfort to be met.
I don’t need extravagance
just a nice coat of paint for some of my rooms
an open fire
a warm carpet, a comfy chair or two
a welcoming table
a round table at which to eat with friends
enjoy good food, wine, and wholesome conversation,
time for the souls of kindred spirits to touch
A game perhaps
instead of what we’re fed by media
I understood it was something Warren enjoyed – to come in at the end of a long working day, and clear his mind of the countless challenges that confronted him in his work each day. Our house was small – one lounge/TV room. Nowhere for me to be quiet. Today it is all very different. Kids and even grandkids grown up. House empty-nested long ago. Evenings now are more likely to be spent by the fire – reading, listening to music, enjoying a glass of wine and rambling conversation – with an old friend these days. It’s lovely really that as we get older, all the old irks disappear. We can leave fixing the world to the younger generations.
I love this piece written by Confucius –
‘If there be righteousness in the heart, there will be beauty in the character.
If there be beauty in the character, there will be harmony in the home.
If there be harmony in the home, there will be order in the nation.
If there be order in the nation, there will be peace in the world.’
It’s 8.30 pm June 30th. My footy team has won. I’ve had a lovely dinner cooked by moi, a glass of wine, a phone chat with my best friend, and now time for bed with my book – ‘Prisoner Diaries’ by Elizabeth Schulz. This is a collection of her grandfather’s diaries written whilst he was interned at Wayville Internment camp during the second world war because his parents were born in Germany, and he was suspected of being a Nazi sympathizer. He was an upstanding Barossa citizen, and had been arrested without charge. It promises to be an intriguing work.
Until next time, take care.
Warmly,
Sue
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