Written April 10, 2020. Good Friday today. I must go for a walk alone in the bush today and try to pray. My mother who was Jewish by inheritance but made by horrific circumstance to be Catholic, always sent us kids to our room on Good Friday at 3 pm precisely to think about Christ on… Continue reading…
Now we chat, our tiny community of 3, each morning to figure out what’s ahead. It gives a purpose to the days. The hope of renting a house for the cold months died with reports of strangers in towns met with hostile reactions. Strangers are dangerous for what they may bring, even in towns… Continue reading…
I found what I’ve needed all this time under the house, when we were fossicking for junk for Moxham’s barge- which still hasn’t come back, so the jetty is lettered with rubbish, and we have a hard time checking the fish traps. But there it was – a seed germinating box! complete with a… Continue reading…
GG says because of our failure, clearly the crabs aren’t running and the creek must be fished out. He might be right. He often is. Then there’s only the garden to feed us. But which are the weeds and which the spinach? I sowed the spinach seeds, admittedly out of date, along the… Continue reading…
Today, no farming, no fishing. The water tanks overflow, the power drops to 9, the generator roars half the day. But with headphones on, i sit on the sofa and read. I run down to the veggie garden to check the spinach. Who’d know if it was spinach or weeds? Or both?… Continue reading…
Twenty-four hours of hard. The power crashed last night at 11pm. K texted me, I ran up to the main house and switched on the generator, saying it was just for half an hour, hoping against hope that J&T could sleep through the racket. Then I dropped to sleep on the sofa, and woke at… Continue reading…
Day 13. Written March 31, 2020. I’m nervous about my NIDA lecture this afternoon to playwrights because I’m again addressing weird things that happen in the creating brain- weird, not normal, and in the usual course of things, not spoken about. One top neuroscientist thinks this thought takes a different pathway, “decorticating” at least part… Continue reading…
Day 9 The day begins in disappointment. In the fish trap that goes up and down like a blind, we catch only leaves and a long stick. Worse, again there are no muddies in the crab pots. I’m beginning to doubt that in my garden, the little green line is spinach, for the tweezer shapes… Continue reading…
Written March 26, 2020. A baby goanna takes a lively interest in our untidy deck. For my life as a farmer: There’s a line of 3 or 4 green spikes, like little tweezers. Perhaps they are spinach-lings. To be sure, I plant 6 seeds in the damp soil of one of the pots I… Continue reading…
Day 4 Written March 24 2020 My new life as a farmer : the spinach seeds haven’t showed little tips in a line, but I water assiduously. I told my students I was watering them assiduously and Anne warned: “keep the soil damp but not waterlogged”. I squat and consider the puddles; have I water… Continue reading…