Monday, April 12, 2010
This (avocado-inspired) Burringbar life
Other than the fact that the word Burringbar means ‘an implement of war’ or ‘long boomerang’ in Aboriginal mythology, I know precious little about the history nor habitants of my new surrounds. Given my aversion to war however, this association strikes me as rather ominous, a cause to worry even, and I’m damned if I need that, since my motivation for being here, according to the oath I penned a couple of months ago and which I’ve pasted in super large, middle-aged-vision-challenged text on my wall, is to devote 7 hours per day, 5 days a week to the process of writing, researching and reading. This requires commitment and discipline, so listen to me demons, there’s no seat in the house for war around here!
But regardless of whatever someone else’s version of Burringbar means, it’s time for the inventory of what brings me pleasure in this haven I’ve chosen as my inspiration.
Directly outside the window where I sit, two large avocado trees stand, impressively dignified and heavy with fruit, acting as constant reminders of the abundant nature of this thing called life, and when they fall, which they’ve taken to doing half hourly, it sounds like the exacting cut of an axe on a seasoned log (an aural prompt for winter perhaps?). This veritable mountain of creative dip - a dash of lime, a liberal sprinkling of cumin, some crushed garlic, and a lot of mashed avo - guacamole - is poised for invention, if only I had the time or inclination. Beyond the trees rests, wait for it, the avocado-shaped pool whose slimy walls career at 45 degrees from its rim into the centre making entry akin to a visit to Wet ‘n Wild, and exit something of a comedy routine. Mandarin, grapefruit, orange and lime trees overhanging the driveway stoop precariously under the weight of their crop and knock their way into the panels of my guilt each time I move the car. All that marmalade and juice, going to waste! Glossy black cockatoos and currawong carol and screech across the skies while Gladys and Gloria hen and their numerous cousins, wander the perimeter of the property occasionally engaging in a friendly banter with Travis the terrier and occasionally tormenting the octogenarian caretaker’s prize horses. Quack and her entourage skim across the surface of the dam, zigzagging their merry tracks through the green algae (mmm Peking Duck … where’s the gun?) while the bottom pond is awash with lilypads and teeming with the happy symphony of resident croak.
I’m living in botanical zoo heaven. I can hear myself think, I can feel myself feel, and I have the space to finally witness my every action without distraction. Methinks the likelihood of the occurrence of any conflict around here is destined to be merely a manifestation of my beastly mind!