Road Trip! Spring wildflowers and Giant Art

      I have written about the Spring Wildflower season before.  It's the glorious time when near exotic flowers make their peek-a-boo on an otherwise desert barren landscape.  Spring lasts rather a long time--it arrives in the north of this long state of Western Australia in August (still considered 'winter' in OZ)  and moseys southward until  November when summer and its blowflies  have long arrived.  We hadn't planned a road trip but when the kitchen ceiling in our new home starting falling towards the floor, we needed a change of scenery while the tradesmen fixed the place up.  

     The grand wizard (and sometimes tricky to find) is the Wreath flower.  Looks just like a Christmas wreath--and about the same size as well.  It is a single tap root flower.  Imagine a carrot growing beneath this huge wreath of flowers.  Bugs Bunny would be amazed.  

           Wreath Flower      👆                                                                  

     This grows in along the side  of hard earth roads.   When the road is being regraded, the seeds split open and start to blossom.  Locals keep an eye out, not just for their enjoyment but they know tourists will ask for them specifically. Often locals will put rock-filled milk jugs to let folks know where they are.  👉 close up of wreath flower

     At speed , one misses too many flowers.  You may see a blur of yellow or purple but you will be missing out.    Stop the car.     Get out of the car.      Walk a few steps  into the bush.      And be amazed.

                                     
☝Bottle brush flowers come in lots of colors.

👈  Kangaroo Paw.   This one is a beaute.  Big, bright and colorful. And blooms are starting.  The native flowers don't look like the roses one is used to. And some are heavily regulated.  Uprooting a wreath flower to transplant it on your own property is verboten.  Permits are needed to plant, grow, sell and ship native wildflowers.

      Taking a break from the West's flora to eat a picnic lunch, we are visited by the local fauna.  Pesky magpies are only too happy to help you eat your lunch.  One tried to take my sandwich as I was putting into my mouth!   Kookaburras-with their wonderful laugh- must be raptors in disguise.  In fact, they are kingfishers but can extract a piece of meat from between  your fingers with surgical precision.
                                             Don't feed the magpies!👉

       OK, back on the road.   One of the quirks of Australians is their love of Giant Art.  Sort of like Texas on steroids.   Any town looking to make a name for itself has a giant something for tourists-local and foreign- to adore.  Giant sheep, crayfish, guitars--you name it and it is sure to be somewhere in the country.  Two of the newest pieces of public art are the Large Tractor and the Black Cockatoos.  👉That's me hiding behind the tire. Even Aussies were taking such photos.

👈 Black Cockatoos  under construction .

      Black cockatoos.  They're very noisy, drop macadamia nut shells on your head,  and fly in Alfred Hitchcock-like flocks.  They are also considered endangered due to loss of habitat. The suburb I live in is actively planting fast-fruiting macadamia nut trees to make sure our black cockatoos don't go hungry or away.

         Well, one cannot eat under the black cockies yet but you can eat in the ute  (utility truck- like an El Camino- and with great cultural identity here) that is next to it.  Out in the country, public art in any shape or form is important.  Not just for tourist photos but happy identity in a land just a bit dry/barren  most of the year round.  It shows each community's character.

     👉This stone must be wickedly hot in the summer. 

      There is so much more to see on a road trip in WA.  I'll take time out here to fill up the gas tank >> at $2.70 liter/ $10.80 a gallon. 😑    See you at the next stop.

Hello ... Again.

     Hello.  Again.  It has been eight years since my last post of ePostcards from OZ.  I started it in January 2009 when I was new to Australia--a perfect time in life to realize cultural differences in real time and write about them.  If experiences become too common, one might not recognize a difference, I thought.  Had everything Australian become too common by 2018?  Actually, three of my most engaged readers had died in fairly short order and I missed their feedback.      I missed them.       Several months ago, we moved from our original location to a new place.  New perspectives.  It's time to get back to business.

    From our tiny townhome to an actual house! [This change is noteworthy on its own and will get its own story.]  In the townhouse, we shared a porch with two other units.  I had started to welcome newcomers to the other units with a smile and a jar of my homemade jam. While entirely an American custom to greet a new neighbor with a gift of cake or other edible treat, it is not really a practice here.  Or, apparently anywhere else.

    After we had been here for a few months, I still hadn't seen or heard from most of our neighbors.  Indeed, I had only  met one lady because I went up to her hoping she had strong fingers or a pair of scissors handy to open a bag I needed in the moving process. Terri is nice enough but it had become obvious if we were to meet the folks living around us, we would have to make the first move.  Or I would. My husband Kevin is Australian and won't approach neighbors he doesn't know.  Hmmmm.

    So I made my resolve,  pulled out a few jars of my homemade Apple Butter (also an American thing) and went to knock on a few doors.  The front door to the neighbor's house on the right is actually behind their fence.  Not exactly welcoming but I reached over the gate, unlatched it and knocked on the door. The man of the house answered and stood at the doorway while I gave my best northern version of Dolly Parton folksiness I could manage. He gave his name and his wife's.  He made no mention of his two (?) kids.   I commented on the double-story  playhouse in the backyard (super cool--will write a story on these also) and he said that his son only plays on it when friends are over.  I mentioned our names (for the third time) and he ended the brief exchange with "We'll let you know how it is." referring to the jar of apple butter.     The door closed.      The neighbor on the left was a bit more forthcoming (I know the name of his two kids and their favorite toy store) but we don't chat over the fence either.  Yeeeessh.

    As it happens, around the corner on the next block lives a friend and former colleague, Linda, an expat from the UK.  I mentioned to her about the above exchanges.  She was surprised that I was surprised.  "This just doesn't happen here. In fact, if you approached new neighbors in England like this they would give you very strange looks."  

    Oh well.  Welcome to the neighborhood.  And welcome back to ePostcards from OZ.   I will be chatting over our electronic fence as often as I can with new observations and stories.