My Day in Court

      It all started very early on a Saturday morning last October.  Holding a new Australian drivers license, I couldn't convince Kev to get out of bed at 6:30 a.m. and drive me to the Canning Vale Markets (see Canning Vale Market ) where I could buy the tomatoes that would eventually win me the blue ribbon at the Perth Royal Show ( see 2010 Perth Royal Show ).   But I digress.  With much map searching and white knuckles, I negotiated complex intersections on the wrong side of the road/wrong side of the car without distraction (radio, air, etc.,) or speed and completed the journey.  Thought no more of it until a traffic infringement came in the mail. 

     The lackluster photos indicated that I ran a red light. Gee, I was sure it was yellow. Kev snickered and reminded me that in OZ it is the back bumper that counts in this country, not the front.  Well, I would have paid the fine and called it a lesson learned...until we read the wording of the infringement.  It made no sense, whatsoever.  And I asked around to people who would know better. The photos weren't impressive. And, well, doggone it, certainly there has to be some leniency for  a new driver in this country.   I will challenge this.

     Friday, nine months later, I finally get my day in court.  The prosecutor takes me aside to discuss the case.  Shockingly, inaccurate infringement and prosecution notices are  common and are routinely changed in court with the magistrates approval.  Yoikes, I'd get fired in a heartbeat for being that slack.  I decide to see one of the Duty Lawyers [for $20 you can get legal advice, even represented if pleading guilty, by real lawyers for what are called "petty sessions court". Many people do spend the money to minimize their damage.  It's a bargain, actually.]     While I was waiting, the prosecutor and assisting officer found me. Did I know there was video? VIDEO??!!   News to me, but eager to see it.  And indeed, if you advance the video frame by frame, you can see that I was about four feet behind the line when it turned red.  Two of my three defenses shot, I've no choice but to plead guilty.  The prosecutor said he would speak on my behalf as far as the heretofore unknown video was concerned.

     The court reconvenes:

     There is a change in this case?

     Yes, Magistrate.

      You are Canadian?

     I was born on the US/Canadian border on the US side.

     Oh, I was looking at your middle name. (Celine)

     Yes.

      Are you in residency now?

     Yes, sir.

     How are you finding life here?

     (Pause) It's growing on me.

    Yeah, I'm from the eastern states and it did take a few years to adjust to life on this side.

     It is a different world. heh, heh, heh

           [The voice of British TV's Horace Rumpole of the Bailey spoke to my brain, "The old darling is in a friendly mood today."]

     At this point, the recording equipment acted up and we stopped.  The prosecutor took this moment to walk over and clue me in that I don't have to call him Magistrate. "Just say Your Honor."  Uh, OK.

     When the equipment was running properly,  we continued with the case: my very truthful new driver angst, the unhappy admission of guilt and the prosecutor "defended" my lack of knowledge of the traffic video.  Bless him, the magistrate couldn't cancel the fine  -- I did plead guilty after all -- but waived penalties and court costs.  Thank you, sir.

     This magistrate would not have recognized me and  the police prosecutor and court officer did not. I don't see those two often.  I did not mention to them that I was a court monitor. (see Court Monitor)   It really wasn't germane to the proceedings.  That said, what with all that sympathy I received, I kind of hope my employer never sends me to Magistrate's Court again. I might get a few very odd and unwelcome  looks.

     Epilogue:

          The guy at the service window was very surprised to see only the fine on my notice.  Apparently very few people escape without court costs and penalties.

          The Duty Lawyer office refunded my $20!

          Now having the complete court experience, I have no need or desire to repeat this experience again. Still not overly comfortable on the wrong side of road/car, I drive as little as possible.  Hey, public transportation is a good thing.

Chooks R' Us

NOI  chooks

     One fine day during a walk in my neighborhood, shortly after I arrived in Australia, I saw a chicken crossing the road. And I asked "why?". 

     Ha ha. Not why did it cross the road, but what was it doing there in the first place? It was doing the same thing I was, taking a little walk in the 'hood before going home.

My chooks seen in America?

My Neighborhood Old Italian, Carlo (whom you've met before)  has a couple "chooks".      Chickens -  up to 12 of them - are allowed to be kept  by city dwellers.  No roosters, thankfully. Several of my neighbors who live in real homes instead of flats have chicken runs and coops in their yards.  Another NOI, Dominic and his elegant wife Conchetta,  have 10 which enjoy a large chicken run, daily run of the yard for bugs and old lettuce/other green scraps negotiated  for free from the neighborhood grocery store.  It's these greens that Connie insists are the secret to her healthy chickens and nutritious eggs. No hormones, no antibiotics. But their chooks lay too many eggs for their use.  Guess where I buy my free range eggs?  Not super dirt-cheap but significantly less than the grocery store charges. Plus, I positively KNOW that my eggs come from happy chickens.

Peering through a neighbor's fence

       While I'm bragging about my excellent find, let me boast about how this deal benefits the entire planet.  I bring my empty cartons back to be reused (saving landfill space). The food miles equals about one block (calculate that carbon cost, if you can.)  The eggshells are deposited into my (OK, super-mini) compost pile and The Boss, Connie, has extra change in her pocket.   Virtue never tasted so good.

      FYI:  Truly fresh eggs do not hard boil in six minutes.   It takes 20-30 minutes at a rolling boil to firm them up for easy eating.  Plus, they are really good for baking.

The Water Issue

    One quick glance at an atlas will remind anyone that there is no shortage of water here in Australia. Unless, of course, you want to drink it. And then it becomes a whole other issue.

   Fresh water comes at a premium in this country.  Rivers, largely found near the perimeter of the country, are the domain of the farming industry.  People who like to play in water hop over to their nearby patch of ocean.  People who like to drink water hang out at the water catchment areas.  These rain filled reservoirs are strictly off-limits to human (and their pets) recreation but that doesn't stop the masses from trekking to their shores.  Picnic tables and grills are set up by the local shire so people can eat their lunches while looking at the water in the catchment.  Coming from an area of the planet where moisture arrives plentifully year round and its usually full reservoirs are far more people-friendly, I thought this behavior was rather amusing when I first arrived.  But it is serious business for Australians who know and consider this is their only potable water source.

    Until recently.

South Dandenup catchment

    Despite the massive floods you may have heard about in Queensland, most of the remaining states are nervous about the lack of it.  Rivers are being overtapped for irrigation water (the Murray-Darling an infamous example), water lotteries for farmers are random and often considered unfair and , here in Western Australia, the catchments are drying up for the increased demand for water and the lack of rain.  The South Dandenup catchment we visited recently (pictured here) is at 27% capacity. WA is collectively praying for a wickedly wet winter to make up for last year's abysmally dry one.


    But it is more than just our next glass of water from the tap is of concern.  Immigration policy officials, for example, are monitoring the situation closely.   It is predicted that the population of Australia will balloon from its current 21 million to 36 million by the year 2050.  Current water resource simply cannot support that people increase.  Something has to happen.  Clamp down on population control or rethink the drink.


    And so the ideas are being bandied about.  Exhortations to conserve water are ever more strident.   Ocean water desalinization, once thought too expensive a process to be viable, is now being reconsidered.   And recently it  was announced that the absolutely unthinkable was being developed for beta testing:  household and light business waste water will be diverted from its path to the ocean and on to treatment  plants for cleaning and recycling into the fresh water supply.   An abhorrent idea just several years ago, Aussies are now willing to give the idea a listen.  It's a mark of the desperation felt.


  
    

A Country Girl

    Sometimes it can be difficult to discern a real story from a larrikin jest when talking to Australians.  One of the first Aussies I worked with was a woman from rural Queensland on an ocean going ship.  Because of the close quarters on a ship, we would often entertain & introduce  ourselves  by telling stories. This Queenslander would tell us about her pet kangaroo which she kept on a leash and sometimes she would take him to school.   We thought she was pulling our collective leg.  Did she think of us as such rubes as to believe a hokey story like that?  Even if it did sound quintessentially Australian?  Well, she was very serious and we believed her.  But it still sounds a bit too cliche.

    Fast forward to a recent speech I heard in  a speechcraft class.  One of the participants, Sarah, was talking about her life growing up in the country.  She belonged to a farming family and it was all she was and wanted to be.  Barefoot and braids, hijinks and early morning milkings.  Her country school  had between 15 and 30 kids in it, depending on the season. Life was a hayseed dream.  And then her mother wanted her to learn to be a lady and sent her to finish high school at a boarding school  closer to the City.   She didn't become much of a lady or prissy there as it was chock-a-block with other country girls.  They just shared bad habits.  To make this experience worse, it was the first time she had been required to wear shoes inside the school and outside for play, too.   It was all too unbearable. Sarah just wanted back on the farm.

    Alas, modern farming requires more than a plow and a handful of seeds.  It requires business skills and our Sarah headed back to the Big City.  "But just for the university agri-business degree and then I was heading back!" she exclaimed.  "I'm a country girl."    Something happened on the way to to that degree.  Sarah found that she actually liked city lights...and even wearing shoes.  And today, in a full 180 degree turn,  she works as an accountant in the City.  In skirts instead of overalls.  With ladylike pumps covering her bare feet.   I forgot to ask if she had a pet kangaroo, also.

      *  *  *

    I was chatting with a man at a bus stop near my home. He was friendly and unfamiliar with the bus system.  "I'm in from the country.  The Big City is overwhelming to me."  I have to admit I glanced at his footwear and for evidence of  a leash.   We chatted during the short trip into the business district and he described the small town he lives in.  "We have only three businesses. In fact, one day a friend and I counted all the buildings in our town.  Including those three businesses, there are 47 buildings total!"

    Small town, indeed.   Welcome to the Big City.