Twitching

I'v discovered that bird watchers are called twitchers. It seems appropriate for a bored isolated writer to start twitching.

The plover chicks across the road are getting bigger and causing consternation to their harried parents. One has sadly fallen prey to the ever watchful kookaburras but the other two continue to delight us with their antics.

The biggest chick has decided he is ready to fly and runs everywhere, wings outstretched. He seems disappointed that he has yet to take to the sky but I'm sure all this practice will be strengthening his wings. The good thing is that it deters the kookaburras.

His smaller sibling keeps close to Mum, scouring the ground for worms and insects and hiding behind ground cover when I come near.

The parent plovers (aka Masked Lapwings) will continue to monitor the chicks until they are adult size. Indeed, I have seen some chicks that have refused to leave the parental home and continue to hover around next year's babies.

THE UP SIDE TO ISOLATION

I now have two forms of daily exercise, gardening and walking.

On my daily walk around the island, I've noticed a huge difference. With less human traffic, the birds have come out of hiding. Birds I haven't seen in ages have suddenly reappeared.

Too shy to be seen when there are cars and people around, the Swamp Pheasant or Coucal is often heard but seldom seen. It's 'whoop whoop' noise is difficult to pinpoint as the bird is ground-based and it's call echoes through the trees. We now have one living on the block behind us and venturing into our garden every evening.

The Blue Parrot, l(Pale Headed Rosella), was once common on the island but with the advent of the Rainbow Lorikeets in their thousands, the Blue Parrots are now scarce. I love it when they take to flight, that scarlet splash under their tail contrasting vividly with the pale colourings of their head and wings. They are always found in pairs.

And this morning our Plovers introduced three babies to our world. Plovers (Masked Lapwings) are fretful parents. From dawn to dusk, they call continuously to their errant young, who ignore the calls. Baby plovers, tiny balls of black fluff, run constantly in different directions, never noticing the keen eye of the kookaburra on the wire above. By the end of the week, we'll be lucky to see one baby plover. The sadness of nature.

There are over two hundred species of birds on our little island. It's lovely to see them reclaiming their territory.

ANOTHER DAY OF SELF ISOLATION

I'm  getting bored by self isolation. 

I’ve cleaned the house, done some sewing, mowed many, many lawns including the helipad, gardening till the mozzies made my arms and legs swell up, walked the island daily. 

The helipad, with Rural Fire Service, Paramedics and Local Ambulance Committee. (I'm a firefighter)


It’s a scary thought but as time drags on, the crazy in me is surfacing. I want to dress up to go shopping - either in evening gown or a Darth Vader look-alike protection outfit. 

I want to do crazy videos like the current parody by Chris Mann  taking off the Adele song ‘Hello’. Hell, I've even learned the words to it!  'Hello, it's me. I'm in California dreaming of just going out to eat a burger .....'

Life goes on. What are you doing with your time?

Living with COVID-19

Hey guys,
It's been a long time since I posted on this site. These things happen when you're busy but I've decided to come back to blogging to talk about life as we now know it on the Halfwit Sundays. Halfwits with COVID-19.

(In case you've just come onto this site, the Halfwit Sundays is the derogatory name given to the Southern Moreton Bay Islands of Macleay, Russell, Lamb and Karragarra by envious mainlanders.)

So her we are surrounded by water and with approximately 5000 residents living on the island.

If we get sick, we can call our doctor on the island. Not sure what he would suggest but it certainly wouldn't be telling us to come in for a test. Nothing available. I think 'Stay at home and we'll try to organise something' is more the line.

Better call the paramedic. He's part of Queensland Ambulance Service and knows exactly what to do. Again, you either stay at home if you're not very sick or he will have you transported to the mainland in a water-based ambulance called Kittykat.

So that's us sorted for COVID-19. Stay home, self isolate, wash your hands. However .....

Today was election day for local councils Queensland wide. That's right, a local council election when we've all been told to self isolate. For some strange reason, the government insists that this will be perfectly safe. 'Bring your own pencil' they bleat. 'There will be hand sanitiser.' 'Stay a metre and a half apart.'

Too late for the postal vote, I tried to do a phone vote. No, you might be someone we consider at high risk (over 70) I was told by the telephone operator, but it appears you are healthy. You have to vote or get a fine.

I thought about it. Should I risk it and enjoy the legalise down the track? I planned to take photos of long queues at the voting station and then refuse to go in.

We've just come back from the booths. There were no queues. Guy (hubby) and I went straight in, masks firmly in place. 'Where's the hand sanitiser we were promised?' I asked the lady in the booth. She produced this teeny spray bottle which she sparingly squirted on my hands.

I then handed her my card and she looked up for the first time. "Hi, Jenny,' I said. Surprised, she peered closer. 'Oh, Alene!' she replied. 'Didn't recognise you with the mask.'

Got my two voting slips for Councillor and Mayor and trotted over to the booth. Took out MY OWN PENCIL and crossed the boxes. All done in less than a minute. Over to put them in the ballot boxes - 'Thanks, Russ. Thanks Jan' and off home.

Just another day in the Halfwit Sundays.

The Peacock Plague (part two)

Well, the net is not going well. Peacocks are smarter than the Peacock Catcher thinks. They are bypassing the trap and are intent on taking over the house.
Last Thursday I was sitting (upstairs) in my office doing the finishing touches to my latest painting when I heard a strange noise. Looking around, I found three peahens gazing at my work of art. "Is it edible?" they seemed to be saying.
These dratted birds had come up on our back deck, entered the kitchen through the bifold doors, eaten everything they could find and then wound their way upstairs and into the office.
Not impressed, I screamed mightily, jumped up and ... showed them the door. Sounds easy but this involved some nifty side stepping of peacock poop whilst holding my nose (whew!!!) and avoiding flapping, squawking peahens. Door open, I urged them onto the top deck from whence they flew back to the ground.
Feeling  very proud of myself, I returned to the office, intent on going downstairs to collect cleaning items but upon opening the office door, I was met by several other peahens who had been investigating the bedroom, the bathroom and the toilet.
More mad screaming and arm and wing flapping and all but one peahen abandoned the upper story. One was left in the toilet and nothing I could do would persuade her that she should leave.

Unfortunately, the toilet seat was down so her attempts to use the toilet in the correct manner were a dismal failure.
I called Guy. "Come home and get rid of the peacocks!" I screamed into the mobile.
Of course, he had to tell everyone about it first and I could hear their peals of laughter as he agreed to return immediately.
In the meantime, I cleaned up the office, bedroom and bathroom and made myself feel better by swearing a lot at the peahen.

Guy to the rescue

It didn't take him more than a minute to enter the toilet, trap the flapping, yammering bird and calm it before taking it out on the top deck and releasing it.


.... and I cleaned up the toilet.

The Peacock Plague

We enjoyed the delight of Andrew Peacock grandly parading through our garden. All right, he did eat all our vegie seedlings but he was a glorious pest, long tail trailing behind him as he munched his way through the baby carrots.

Then there were five .... Susan arrived on the island, closely followed by three baby peacocks. So cute, those little ones, with their tiny crowns bobbing as they too munched through the carrot remnants.

And now there are twenty, with more in the offing.

They have officially become a pest.

Addicted to Whiskas cat biscuits, they scurry into our house through any opening, help themselves to the cat's bowl and leave, their stinky little offerings behind them as they scoot out the door.

"Help!" we cried to the Michael, the Feral Bird Man. (No, he is not feral: the peacocks are feral) So Michael and his offsider come out with a Peacock Trap. Not just any trap but a Peacock Trap. New: from Bunnings. OK, it was really a gazebo with mesh sides to keep out the mozzies but to them it was a Peacock Trap.

Erected in our backyard, they loaded the trap with corn which they assured us was better even that Whiskas cat biscuits. We waited. All day.

The next morning, we had one baby magpie in the trap. And six peacocks wandering round the outside laughing at him. We released the magpie.

Later that day, the three large males majestically entered the tent. Sprung! The gate closed behind them! Now we could see why they were classed as feral. Not just annoyed: feral! They screamed, they flew at the mesh sides of the tent, they tore it with their beaks and their claws. We released the three male peacocks.

Set again, we watched as the females arrived. The older females had seen a trap before and no way were they about to enter. But all that corn was too enticing for the younger ones and four ventured into the tent. This time we had them! Not nearly as strong as the males, there was no escape. We phoned Michael the FBM and he arranged to collect them the following day.

Peacocks, whatever you think, are not stupid. Feral, perhaps, but not stupid. The mothers milled, the fathers advised, the babies squawked. And in the morning there was only one in the trap. The three smaller ones had escaped under the sides of the tent. (Or through the holes that the males had made earlier in the day.)

Michael and offsider arrived to remove the one remaining young peahen. They entered the cage, offsider with net and Michael with large gunnysack. Easily netted, the offsider and Michael tried to get her into the sack.

Flapping, screaming and pooping everywhere, the peahen flew towards the side of the tent. As she flew straight through the mesh, the offsider did a creditable rugby tackle and also went through the mesh.

Feral Bird Catchers 0 : Peacocks 1 (or is that won?)

(To be continued........)\

Australia Day 2011

We sailed to Peel Island in Moreton Bay for an Australia Day picnic with the Tingira Boat Club.
Our boat "Bonnington" took a while to get there with no wind at all so we had to rely on our motor.

Crew included Julia, Eddie, Tane and Ranui Harmer and Helen and Sam Wells.

Julia found a native plant growing which she said the Aborigines had used as a form of cocaine. We tried it but perhaps stuffing it up your nose is not the way to go. My nose went numb ... but not in a pleasant way.

On the island, the club organised a damper competition and a best dressed Australian outfit.