#LandcareStoryContest
It is six-thirty in the morning. The sky is passing orange through white as the sun fights the clouds for dominance. The local heavy metal band is in full swing as Cockatoos screech by from their roost in the gum trees, and the plum tree becomes a stage for daring acrobatic feats. One struts up to see if I have anything worth stealing, yellow feathers cocked high. Another hurtles towards me, veering at the last minute with a cheeky squawk.
Beside me the chucka-luk of a little wattle bird. Off in the distance magpies warble, a pair of grey shrike thrushes trill, a fantail cuckoo runs through the musical scales, and a magpie lark makes a plaintive attempt to be heard. A kookaburra makes a half-hearted attempt at a laugh, then appears to decide it is not worth the effort.
Two wood ducks shepherd their flock of ducklings past, with a watchful eye to make sure I remain where I am. Down on the pond, a black duck anxiously circles puffy little balls of feathers — something has worried her. Several straw-necked ibises spiral steeply down into the paddock to breakfast on the grubs and worms. Superb fairy wrens scamper past between the hedge and the garden that we affectionately call the jungle.
A raindrop, then two — the rumble of thunder in the distance. Packing up the breakfast remnants, I rush in to beat the rain, the very welcome rain.
On reflection, it all works so well. Each of those ibises will eat over a thousand grubs and bugs today. The wetland spreads over many ponds, yet nary a sting or buzz from a mosquito. The little honeyeaters will diligently search out insects through the branches and in the air, and pollenate our flowers into the bargain. Each has its role and each does it very well, and they all provide great pleasure and contentment.
That is why I live on the Mornington Peninsula.
(Original article written at the end of the drought.)
#NativeFloraFauna