With the success of Albert’s tobacco every other farmer in the region rushed to get their own crops in the following season, but even the best could not match that of Albert, who given the triumph of his debut had been granted the entire side paddock. But despite this, he still only planted half his paddock into tobacco, leaving the rest- that which had been planted the year before- to be divided up between several other crops as diverse as beetroot, broccoli, turnip, Brussels’ sprouts and even a short row of rice down by the water’s edge. The amounts he planted would never pass as commercial crops, but from watching him work I’m sure he was testing out whether the soil could handle these crops, and the regimen they would need in order to thrive. He approached the task most diligently and scientifically; working out the precise conditions needed to grow a vast assortment of plants. When asked why he would do such a thing he merely shrugged and replied “why not”.
Everyone else was chasing the most immediate profit and through their herd mentality increasing the supply and lowering the prices they would get, not to mention placing all their eggs in the one basket. In effect, he was sacrificing short-term profit for long-term knowledge and stability. Whenever the popular crops failed, Albert always seemed to be one step ahead, as if having foreseen it; already focussing on what, to him, logically came next. He never seemed to be caught unawares by droughts or pests or rot, and if he did there was always some contingency in place.
Wednesday 30 March 2011
Sunday 27 March 2011
Bush Life (cont.)
While Margie was off getting educated and doing her teacher’s training, Albert stayed back to work the farm. He never really excelled in any scholastic capacity, but what he lacked in book-smarts he more than made up with farm-smarts. It was as if he possessed an instinctual understanding of the life of plants and our interaction with the earth in which we grow. He knew when the season would break, the best time to plant, and when it was best to leave a paddock to fallow. He was also in possession of a quieting knack with the animals. Tearaway horses from neighbouring communities were brought to him, and within a couple of days they were as placid as the house cow. So Albert wasn’t a great loss to the ivory towers of academia, but he was talismanic to the farm and to Karabup.
Albert left the school when he was 15 to devote himself full-time to farming. Our parents wouldn’t allow him to leave school before this age, believing in the benefits to all of a proper education. But still, before this they had relented to his will and gifted him a small patch of the side paddock to call his own as reward for his childhood. Growing up he was never the type to do things by the book, which often set him at odds with his teachers and parents, even if his unorthodox methods resulted in the same conclusion as the textbooks. Even his plans for his first patch of earth came out of leftfield. Instead of treading the well-worn path with potatoes or onions, he convinced Dad to invest in seeds for tobacco. He had got wind of a rumour that a cigarette company had approached the council with a proposal to set up a tobacco shed in the region. Now whether due to the brashness of youth or through some divine inspiration, he decided that if these rumours were true, it was best to get in ahead of the pack. If things didn’t work perfectly the first time, at least he would have a years experience in growing and handling the tobacco on everyone else. And if the shd proposal fell through, well he’d just have to suffer the consequences.
But any thought of the risks Albert was taking were soon put to rest. His patch of tobacco outgrew the weeds, their leaves unfurling like the pages of a broadsheet on a lazy Saturday morning. Every day after school he walked amongst his crop, and with each passing day ever less of him was visible, until only his slouch hat could be seen above the praising green leaves. He tended them as he would his children; removing any weeds that dared attempt drink his plants’ water; crushing any slugs, snails or insects that dared attempt make his plants a snack.
Across the course of the season the tobacco shed gained the approval of the council and building proceeded with haste. And while the factory wasn’t completed in time for harvest, the company behind the venture set up a tent on the farm and walked Albert, and anybody else interested, through the process of picking, stacking and drying the leaves. So impressed were they by this young kids efforts that they made him a priority grower for the following seasons, and paid him to liaise with other prospective growers in the region and advise them on the best methods with which to grow tobacco. In his first year as a part time farmer he became something of a local legend.
Albert left the school when he was 15 to devote himself full-time to farming. Our parents wouldn’t allow him to leave school before this age, believing in the benefits to all of a proper education. But still, before this they had relented to his will and gifted him a small patch of the side paddock to call his own as reward for his childhood. Growing up he was never the type to do things by the book, which often set him at odds with his teachers and parents, even if his unorthodox methods resulted in the same conclusion as the textbooks. Even his plans for his first patch of earth came out of leftfield. Instead of treading the well-worn path with potatoes or onions, he convinced Dad to invest in seeds for tobacco. He had got wind of a rumour that a cigarette company had approached the council with a proposal to set up a tobacco shed in the region. Now whether due to the brashness of youth or through some divine inspiration, he decided that if these rumours were true, it was best to get in ahead of the pack. If things didn’t work perfectly the first time, at least he would have a years experience in growing and handling the tobacco on everyone else. And if the shd proposal fell through, well he’d just have to suffer the consequences.
But any thought of the risks Albert was taking were soon put to rest. His patch of tobacco outgrew the weeds, their leaves unfurling like the pages of a broadsheet on a lazy Saturday morning. Every day after school he walked amongst his crop, and with each passing day ever less of him was visible, until only his slouch hat could be seen above the praising green leaves. He tended them as he would his children; removing any weeds that dared attempt drink his plants’ water; crushing any slugs, snails or insects that dared attempt make his plants a snack.
Across the course of the season the tobacco shed gained the approval of the council and building proceeded with haste. And while the factory wasn’t completed in time for harvest, the company behind the venture set up a tent on the farm and walked Albert, and anybody else interested, through the process of picking, stacking and drying the leaves. So impressed were they by this young kids efforts that they made him a priority grower for the following seasons, and paid him to liaise with other prospective growers in the region and advise them on the best methods with which to grow tobacco. In his first year as a part time farmer he became something of a local legend.
Thursday 24 March 2011
Bush life
Two parts today. It was a hell of a struggle to get writing again after a couple of days off, but through persistence and pig-headedness I have something to show off. Context be damned. Begin...
You should know that we plants are the worst gossips of any of the kingdoms of earth. We clutch on to any piece of information we can and spread word of it far and wide. Being rooted to a single spot for year after infernal year lends itself to a restlessness and thirst for information, no matter how obscure or insignificant, that no man could ever know. These titbits are conflated and ascribed purpose and importance far beyond their measure. We have to amuse ourselves somehow and the mythologies of the ages can only stretch so far.
One summer’s day Margie left Karabup for life in the big smoke. She would return each season, but it was clear that her life was now somewhere else. Whenever she was back she would talk of life huddled shoulder to shoulder with thousands of other people, of new-fangled gizmos and gadgets that made life so much easier than that which the rest of the family was accustomed. She would share stories of her classmates, her friends in the dormitory, and of the lengths they would go to in order to break curfew and go out on the town with their boyfriends. She insisted that she never took part in such behaviour, but the word from the ivy outside the kitchen window that the glint in her eye belied the innocent façade she presented to our parents. Still, our parents bought it (or chose to ignore it) and I suppose there is no harm in that. Men would always be attracted to a girl as sassy as our Margie.
She did come home one winter with a certain young man in tow- the dreaded meeting of the parents. He was tall and gangly; a mop of blonde hair that would not cooperate no matter how much Brylcream was combed between the strands. He stood out like the pet emu in the chook yard- the sort that live in a state of nerves; who apologise for every slight whether real or imagined. My parents, and even Albert for that matter, tried to make him feel welcome, waving away his apologies and reassuring him of his actions at every turn, but after a while it all felt somehow forced. There was that lingering feeling that Margie could do better. They left deflated; a void had opened up between them and it was clear to Margie that this was a relationship that couldn’t last, regardless of how pig-headed and obstinate she could be.
It was two years after first leaving the farm that Margie graduated from teacher’s college and moved to her first posting in another Groupie community about 40 miles south. She would return to visit every now and then to maintain her roots, but it was evident that her life was now elsewhere. As happens in life the children are raised to the best of the family and communities ability, then when the time comes they spread their wings and take those first faltering flaps and leave the nest for good. And while they may return from time to time, there will forever be that rift separating the old life from the new.
Margie integrated into her new community with ease. It was a world she was used to and comfortable with, far away from the hustle and bustle of the city. She delved into her teaching with gusto, in the first year grooming eleven kids between the ages of 6 and 15 towards life after childhood. They revelled in the worlds of words and numbers and looked on school as a pleasure rather than a chore. She also fell in love with and married a fine man, a fellow Groupie, by the name of Martin Calloway. He earned his living from a run of 100 dairy cattle, and Margie helped out with the milking before heading off to the school building to teach, then again after school closed she returned to the dairy before going home and preparing dinner. She was forever busy running between the school and dairy, while he spent the middle part of his day clearing trees from the back paddocks and slashing bracken that was threatening to over-run the paddocks, poison the cattle and taint the milk. Theirs was a simple life of hard work and simple pleasures deep amongst the Karri. And it wasn’t long before their first bub was on the way.
You should know that we plants are the worst gossips of any of the kingdoms of earth. We clutch on to any piece of information we can and spread word of it far and wide. Being rooted to a single spot for year after infernal year lends itself to a restlessness and thirst for information, no matter how obscure or insignificant, that no man could ever know. These titbits are conflated and ascribed purpose and importance far beyond their measure. We have to amuse ourselves somehow and the mythologies of the ages can only stretch so far.
One summer’s day Margie left Karabup for life in the big smoke. She would return each season, but it was clear that her life was now somewhere else. Whenever she was back she would talk of life huddled shoulder to shoulder with thousands of other people, of new-fangled gizmos and gadgets that made life so much easier than that which the rest of the family was accustomed. She would share stories of her classmates, her friends in the dormitory, and of the lengths they would go to in order to break curfew and go out on the town with their boyfriends. She insisted that she never took part in such behaviour, but the word from the ivy outside the kitchen window that the glint in her eye belied the innocent façade she presented to our parents. Still, our parents bought it (or chose to ignore it) and I suppose there is no harm in that. Men would always be attracted to a girl as sassy as our Margie.
She did come home one winter with a certain young man in tow- the dreaded meeting of the parents. He was tall and gangly; a mop of blonde hair that would not cooperate no matter how much Brylcream was combed between the strands. He stood out like the pet emu in the chook yard- the sort that live in a state of nerves; who apologise for every slight whether real or imagined. My parents, and even Albert for that matter, tried to make him feel welcome, waving away his apologies and reassuring him of his actions at every turn, but after a while it all felt somehow forced. There was that lingering feeling that Margie could do better. They left deflated; a void had opened up between them and it was clear to Margie that this was a relationship that couldn’t last, regardless of how pig-headed and obstinate she could be.
It was two years after first leaving the farm that Margie graduated from teacher’s college and moved to her first posting in another Groupie community about 40 miles south. She would return to visit every now and then to maintain her roots, but it was evident that her life was now elsewhere. As happens in life the children are raised to the best of the family and communities ability, then when the time comes they spread their wings and take those first faltering flaps and leave the nest for good. And while they may return from time to time, there will forever be that rift separating the old life from the new.
Margie integrated into her new community with ease. It was a world she was used to and comfortable with, far away from the hustle and bustle of the city. She delved into her teaching with gusto, in the first year grooming eleven kids between the ages of 6 and 15 towards life after childhood. They revelled in the worlds of words and numbers and looked on school as a pleasure rather than a chore. She also fell in love with and married a fine man, a fellow Groupie, by the name of Martin Calloway. He earned his living from a run of 100 dairy cattle, and Margie helped out with the milking before heading off to the school building to teach, then again after school closed she returned to the dairy before going home and preparing dinner. She was forever busy running between the school and dairy, while he spent the middle part of his day clearing trees from the back paddocks and slashing bracken that was threatening to over-run the paddocks, poison the cattle and taint the milk. Theirs was a simple life of hard work and simple pleasures deep amongst the Karri. And it wasn’t long before their first bub was on the way.
Sunday 20 March 2011
this one is not so good...
... so I'm just going to put it up and walk away.
[continued from a previous writing session]
Anyway, I’d better actually do some work before the pub this afternoon. I’ve been a bit slack in my journal reading, so I’d best get onto it. I reckon I can get through 3 or 4 papers by 3pm. Wish me luck.
Have a lovely night with whatever you get up to (except old flames, of course). Love you.
Marshall
Marshall, [Fri 10]
Your reading habits sound, ummm, interesting…
I ran into an old high school friend yesterday evening and ended up having dinner with her in town. She went to uni in Auckland but has since returned to an accounting firm here in Chch. Her mother is being treated for ovarian cancer, so she wanted to be near her and lend a helping hand. Fair enough I suppose. I can’t really blame her. So anyway, she (her name’s Katie by the way; sorry for being rude) is going to try to rustle up the troops for a night out tonight. Only cool people mind you. We don’t want to be hanging around some of the creeps we went to school with. I shudder to think what some of them are doing now. No doubt drinking tinnies, snorting meth, driving utes and avoiding paying child support. Katie’s going to call me this evening and let me know what the plans are. Hopefully there’ll be a few of us; if not the two of us will just have dinner and chat about old/new times again (don’t fret, I’ve left out telling her all the bad things about you. She probably thinks you’re a saint).
As for Dad, the doctor wants him to stay another night under observation, but would allow us to take him home this afternoon if we insisted; she’s left it up to us to make the decision. Dad’s itching to get out, and I imagine he’ll talk Mum into letting him, which is a bit crap for me because I’ll feel obliged to stay home tonight if he is let out. Part of me hopes that he stays another night. Maybe I can get into Mum’s ear and convince her to make him stay. I want to go out and let my hair down for a change. Selfish yes, but well suck my dick.
I finished off the first draft of the short yesterday morning, but I haven’t gone back to it yet. There has been no spare time between running into Katie, having dinner, sleeping in and looking after Elise. It’s been fun though, and given me space to think of extra shades to add to the draft and start formulating ideas from other stories. On the whole it’s good I think.
Well, I’m off. I’ll call in a couple of hours. Hold tight until then.
I love you.
Hazel xXxXXXxxX
[And then something from a different Chapter]:
The community gathered, bonfires were lit, beer flowed steadily and together they danced and sang the night away safe in the knowledge that summer would produce bountiful crops of corn and lucerne.
Except it didn’t. While the water lapped eagerly at its wall throughout the summer, the paddocks and crops were stripped clean by a cloud of locusts that descended in January to feast for 3 days before moving continuing on westwards. Barely a patch of green remained on the ground, and once more the valley was coated in a layer of dust. What remained of the crops were tended to half-heartedly and harvested for chicken feed a few weeks later. The optimism that had electrified the community just weeks before was nothing more than a bittersweet memory. The men trudged wearily through the fine brown dust.
There were some calls for optimism though with the birth of a set of twin boys for one of the new families to the valley, and the promise of a railway siding being delivered into the bush downstream and the electricity that would accompany such a scheme. But the locals staunchly took the opinion of ‘we’ll believe it when we see it’, having been let down by the authorities numerous times before.
[continued from a previous writing session]
Anyway, I’d better actually do some work before the pub this afternoon. I’ve been a bit slack in my journal reading, so I’d best get onto it. I reckon I can get through 3 or 4 papers by 3pm. Wish me luck.
Have a lovely night with whatever you get up to (except old flames, of course). Love you.
Marshall
Marshall, [Fri 10]
Your reading habits sound, ummm, interesting…
I ran into an old high school friend yesterday evening and ended up having dinner with her in town. She went to uni in Auckland but has since returned to an accounting firm here in Chch. Her mother is being treated for ovarian cancer, so she wanted to be near her and lend a helping hand. Fair enough I suppose. I can’t really blame her. So anyway, she (her name’s Katie by the way; sorry for being rude) is going to try to rustle up the troops for a night out tonight. Only cool people mind you. We don’t want to be hanging around some of the creeps we went to school with. I shudder to think what some of them are doing now. No doubt drinking tinnies, snorting meth, driving utes and avoiding paying child support. Katie’s going to call me this evening and let me know what the plans are. Hopefully there’ll be a few of us; if not the two of us will just have dinner and chat about old/new times again (don’t fret, I’ve left out telling her all the bad things about you. She probably thinks you’re a saint).
As for Dad, the doctor wants him to stay another night under observation, but would allow us to take him home this afternoon if we insisted; she’s left it up to us to make the decision. Dad’s itching to get out, and I imagine he’ll talk Mum into letting him, which is a bit crap for me because I’ll feel obliged to stay home tonight if he is let out. Part of me hopes that he stays another night. Maybe I can get into Mum’s ear and convince her to make him stay. I want to go out and let my hair down for a change. Selfish yes, but well suck my dick.
I finished off the first draft of the short yesterday morning, but I haven’t gone back to it yet. There has been no spare time between running into Katie, having dinner, sleeping in and looking after Elise. It’s been fun though, and given me space to think of extra shades to add to the draft and start formulating ideas from other stories. On the whole it’s good I think.
Well, I’m off. I’ll call in a couple of hours. Hold tight until then.
I love you.
Hazel xXxXXXxxX
[And then something from a different Chapter]:
The community gathered, bonfires were lit, beer flowed steadily and together they danced and sang the night away safe in the knowledge that summer would produce bountiful crops of corn and lucerne.
Except it didn’t. While the water lapped eagerly at its wall throughout the summer, the paddocks and crops were stripped clean by a cloud of locusts that descended in January to feast for 3 days before moving continuing on westwards. Barely a patch of green remained on the ground, and once more the valley was coated in a layer of dust. What remained of the crops were tended to half-heartedly and harvested for chicken feed a few weeks later. The optimism that had electrified the community just weeks before was nothing more than a bittersweet memory. The men trudged wearily through the fine brown dust.
There were some calls for optimism though with the birth of a set of twin boys for one of the new families to the valley, and the promise of a railway siding being delivered into the bush downstream and the electricity that would accompany such a scheme. But the locals staunchly took the opinion of ‘we’ll believe it when we see it’, having been let down by the authorities numerous times before.
Wednesday 16 March 2011
Too soon? Too insensitive?
I'm not too sure about what I've written over the past couple of days. It seems a bit insensitive, and will perhaps come across as cashing in on other peoples misery, coming as it does hot on the heels of the Christchurch and Sendai earthquakes. But I've found myself boxed in somewhat. For context: in the story one of the protagonists has found herself in Christchurch tending to her father who has just had a heart attack. Documented are the emails sent back and forth between her and her boyfriend in Perth. I must stress that the story had reached this point well before even the first earthquake to hit the area back in September. To compound the awkwardness, that portion of the story unfolds in the height of summer. So it seems that the natural direction should be to incorporate the earthquake into the story. However I really am unsure as to whether the story should go down this direction. It's a bit of a diversion away from where I envisaged it going. I have to decide whether this segment actually serves the story in a positive manner. If I decide that it doesn't- that it's only there as an unnecessary conflict cashing in on a terrible event- then I will scrap it. If however it serves and adds to the overall themes of the novel, then it will stay, but believe me when I say it'll only be after a lot of soul-searching. The last thing I want is to be one of these leaches sucking the blood out of other peoples misfortune. So anyway, preamble over. On to the text:
Marshall, [Tues Feb 22]
All types of shit are going down here. I don’t know if it’s made it to the news over there yet, but there was a massive earthquake here at lunchtime. Apparently the CBD is in ruins and there are a lot of people trapped. The house is still standing, but there are some cracks in the walls. There are ongoing aftershocks so we’re hanging out in the park and staying away from any large or sharp objects. It’s truly terrifying. I tried calling you but couldn’t get through. I guess mobile networks are jammed. I’ll keep trying throughout the day, but for now this is the best conduit. The wi-fi is really slow, and I’m kinda surprised it’s still working at all. If it stops working, just know that everyone here is OK, just shaken (sorry, bad coping-mechanism pun). I’ll be in email contact until my laptop runs out of power and/or the connection fails.
Hazel
Hazel, [Tues 22 Feb]
Holy Shit! I hadn’t heard. I don’t know what to say. Thanks for letting me know you’re all OK. Just take care and stay safe. Let’s hope for the best of possible outcomes. Keep me updated, and I’ll keep you updated with what the news is saying. Again, stay safe and out in the open.
Love you.
Marshall
Hazel, [Tues 22 Feb]
The earthquake is all over the news now. We’ve got the lab radio tuned in to ABC radio and it’s keeping us up to date with what’s going on. Apparently is was 6.3 on the Richter scale, so not as strong as the one late last year, but its epicentre was much closer to Chch and it would have exacerbated any faults in buildings caused by the last one. The cathedral has apparently collapsed, as have several other buildings. I shudder to think what the casualty list will be like. Thanks for letting me know you’re all safe. I’ve settled down a little and am no longer running around frantically trying to find out information. I’m glad I wasn’t there. If I’m freaking out over here, I shudder to think how useless I would have been to anyone over there.
The radio is now saying that the hospital has to be evacuated as it’s threatening to fall down. Yikes! That’s fucked up.
Marshall
Marshall, [Tues Feb 22]
I don’t know what to do. Everyone is running around not knowing what to do. There are sirens going off all around us, and smoke rising from neighbouring suburbs. It’s like some disaster movie, but in slow-motion real life. People are crying and visibly shaking. I feel completely powerless and useless. I want to help somehow; to get into the city and help in the rescue effort, but I don’t know what good I’d be, and know it’s best left to the experts. Having amateurs messing around amongst the chaos wouldn’t help anyone and would probably just cause more problems. I’m trying to stay calm and keep everyone else calm, but by god it’s proving tough. Everything is from some ghoulish nightmare.
I wish you were here, if for no other reason than to hold me and reassure me that everything will be alright. I’m missing you terribly. I love you.
Hazel XXX
Hazel, [Tues 22 Feb]
It all sounds horrific. I wish everyone there the best, whether you know them or not. It is a massive tragedy. Apparently several hotels and office buildings in the city have collapsed. I can’t fathom the devastation. Let’s hope for many miraculous stories of survival. The airport has also been closed, so I guess your return flight will be delayed….
Again, stay safe and keep your family safe. Just hold tight and everything will be OK. I’ll keep you updated from this end if you keep me updated from that end.
Love you.
Marshall XX
Marshall, [Tues 22 Feb]
Dad has set into getting-shit-done mode. He wanted to go to the shops and buy candles and torches and blankets and tinned food. Given his health we’ve managed to talk him around to letting the neighbours go scavenging for supplies. No-one here wants to go back inside their houses. We’re all too frightened that they’ll collapse while we sleep. We’re planning on camping out in the park with our neighbours. It’s drizzling at the moment so the conditions aren’t the best, but the threat of rain is certainly outweighed by the threat of flattened houses. Authorities have come by and suggested we head to the emergency evacuation shelter at the local primary school, but we distrust any and all buildings right now. I’m going to go with Anne and check it out in a minute and make a decision from there. There’s a lot of fear (justified IMHO) and chaos around here right now. I’m trying to stay calm, but it’s bloody tough.
Thinking of you.
Hazel XX
Hazel, [Tues 22 Feb]
I think being wary of buildings is a perfectly valid reaction. Still, if the school is still standing strong, and the authorities are happy with its structural integrity, then it’s probably safe. I imagine they build schools to pretty high design standards, what with the lives of children at stake and all. And stocking up on supplies is probably a good idea, too. Just don’t resort to looting. That’s really not a good look.
Worrying about you. Stay safe.
Marshall XXX
Marshall, [Tues 22 Feb]
We’ve decided to move camp to the evacuation centre, so we’re in the process of packing up. All the stores in the neighbourhood were closed and damaged, so the search party didn’t come back with anything. I volunteered to dash into Anne’s house and grab whatever tins I could, and candles if I could find them (I did). It was such an eerie feeling going into the empty house under those circumstances. I kept unnerving myself; imagining groaning and cracking noises coming from the walls and roof. Did.not.like.
I’ll leave it there and pitch in and help. I think I’ll keep incommunicado tonight and focus on the family. I feel like I’ve neglected them a bit today. Hence why I volunteered to do the mad dash into the house. I felt like I owed them somehow.
Anyway, I’d better help out. I’ll try to call tomorrow. Love you so much.
Hazel XXXXXXXXXXXX
Hazel, [Tues 22 Feb]
Stop talking crazy talk. You haven’t let your family down in any way. The fact you are there in the first place is proof of that. I think you were very brave to volunteer to collect supplies from inside the house, but I’m not a fan of your motives. Still, you survived and you are all OK.
I’ve stopped following the live coverage of the quake. It’s getting me too excited and scared, so I’ve cut myself off. I’ll just have to convince myself that everything is alright. Obviously it’s not, but I won’t be able to sleep if I think about it too much.
Best of luck for the night. If I were a believer I would be praying for everyone. Stay safe and don’t do anything stupid.
Love and miss you. Marshall. xx
Marshall, [Tues Feb 22]
All types of shit are going down here. I don’t know if it’s made it to the news over there yet, but there was a massive earthquake here at lunchtime. Apparently the CBD is in ruins and there are a lot of people trapped. The house is still standing, but there are some cracks in the walls. There are ongoing aftershocks so we’re hanging out in the park and staying away from any large or sharp objects. It’s truly terrifying. I tried calling you but couldn’t get through. I guess mobile networks are jammed. I’ll keep trying throughout the day, but for now this is the best conduit. The wi-fi is really slow, and I’m kinda surprised it’s still working at all. If it stops working, just know that everyone here is OK, just shaken (sorry, bad coping-mechanism pun). I’ll be in email contact until my laptop runs out of power and/or the connection fails.
Hazel
Hazel, [Tues 22 Feb]
Holy Shit! I hadn’t heard. I don’t know what to say. Thanks for letting me know you’re all OK. Just take care and stay safe. Let’s hope for the best of possible outcomes. Keep me updated, and I’ll keep you updated with what the news is saying. Again, stay safe and out in the open.
Love you.
Marshall
Hazel, [Tues 22 Feb]
The earthquake is all over the news now. We’ve got the lab radio tuned in to ABC radio and it’s keeping us up to date with what’s going on. Apparently is was 6.3 on the Richter scale, so not as strong as the one late last year, but its epicentre was much closer to Chch and it would have exacerbated any faults in buildings caused by the last one. The cathedral has apparently collapsed, as have several other buildings. I shudder to think what the casualty list will be like. Thanks for letting me know you’re all safe. I’ve settled down a little and am no longer running around frantically trying to find out information. I’m glad I wasn’t there. If I’m freaking out over here, I shudder to think how useless I would have been to anyone over there.
The radio is now saying that the hospital has to be evacuated as it’s threatening to fall down. Yikes! That’s fucked up.
Marshall
Marshall, [Tues Feb 22]
I don’t know what to do. Everyone is running around not knowing what to do. There are sirens going off all around us, and smoke rising from neighbouring suburbs. It’s like some disaster movie, but in slow-motion real life. People are crying and visibly shaking. I feel completely powerless and useless. I want to help somehow; to get into the city and help in the rescue effort, but I don’t know what good I’d be, and know it’s best left to the experts. Having amateurs messing around amongst the chaos wouldn’t help anyone and would probably just cause more problems. I’m trying to stay calm and keep everyone else calm, but by god it’s proving tough. Everything is from some ghoulish nightmare.
I wish you were here, if for no other reason than to hold me and reassure me that everything will be alright. I’m missing you terribly. I love you.
Hazel XXX
Hazel, [Tues 22 Feb]
It all sounds horrific. I wish everyone there the best, whether you know them or not. It is a massive tragedy. Apparently several hotels and office buildings in the city have collapsed. I can’t fathom the devastation. Let’s hope for many miraculous stories of survival. The airport has also been closed, so I guess your return flight will be delayed….
Again, stay safe and keep your family safe. Just hold tight and everything will be OK. I’ll keep you updated from this end if you keep me updated from that end.
Love you.
Marshall XX
Marshall, [Tues 22 Feb]
Dad has set into getting-shit-done mode. He wanted to go to the shops and buy candles and torches and blankets and tinned food. Given his health we’ve managed to talk him around to letting the neighbours go scavenging for supplies. No-one here wants to go back inside their houses. We’re all too frightened that they’ll collapse while we sleep. We’re planning on camping out in the park with our neighbours. It’s drizzling at the moment so the conditions aren’t the best, but the threat of rain is certainly outweighed by the threat of flattened houses. Authorities have come by and suggested we head to the emergency evacuation shelter at the local primary school, but we distrust any and all buildings right now. I’m going to go with Anne and check it out in a minute and make a decision from there. There’s a lot of fear (justified IMHO) and chaos around here right now. I’m trying to stay calm, but it’s bloody tough.
Thinking of you.
Hazel XX
Hazel, [Tues 22 Feb]
I think being wary of buildings is a perfectly valid reaction. Still, if the school is still standing strong, and the authorities are happy with its structural integrity, then it’s probably safe. I imagine they build schools to pretty high design standards, what with the lives of children at stake and all. And stocking up on supplies is probably a good idea, too. Just don’t resort to looting. That’s really not a good look.
Worrying about you. Stay safe.
Marshall XXX
Marshall, [Tues 22 Feb]
We’ve decided to move camp to the evacuation centre, so we’re in the process of packing up. All the stores in the neighbourhood were closed and damaged, so the search party didn’t come back with anything. I volunteered to dash into Anne’s house and grab whatever tins I could, and candles if I could find them (I did). It was such an eerie feeling going into the empty house under those circumstances. I kept unnerving myself; imagining groaning and cracking noises coming from the walls and roof. Did.not.like.
I’ll leave it there and pitch in and help. I think I’ll keep incommunicado tonight and focus on the family. I feel like I’ve neglected them a bit today. Hence why I volunteered to do the mad dash into the house. I felt like I owed them somehow.
Anyway, I’d better help out. I’ll try to call tomorrow. Love you so much.
Hazel XXXXXXXXXXXX
Hazel, [Tues 22 Feb]
Stop talking crazy talk. You haven’t let your family down in any way. The fact you are there in the first place is proof of that. I think you were very brave to volunteer to collect supplies from inside the house, but I’m not a fan of your motives. Still, you survived and you are all OK.
I’ve stopped following the live coverage of the quake. It’s getting me too excited and scared, so I’ve cut myself off. I’ll just have to convince myself that everything is alright. Obviously it’s not, but I won’t be able to sleep if I think about it too much.
Best of luck for the night. If I were a believer I would be praying for everyone. Stay safe and don’t do anything stupid.
Love and miss you. Marshall. xx
Monday 14 March 2011
Stillness
I haven't had the greatest start in terms of volume of words, but I can in good conscience say that I have been productive. Aside from the words (see below), I have also done up a spreadsheet for our alcohol budget for our wedding covering all bases from sparklings to whites to reds to spirits (read: GIN) to beer to softies, incorporating all our favourite varieties. It's looking not too shabby if I say so myself. My better half was awestruck at the spreadsheeted goodedness.
And then life intervened and we went and welcomed another of our good Perth friends to her new hometown after having driven across the Nullabor. Welcome to Melbourne (finally), Sarah!
So onto the words:
'The faintest of possible rumbles developed in the distance and slowly, as the minutes passed, grew louder. Beth plotted the movement of the sound, the engine of a truck, along the highway over the hills. The pitch rose suddenly and slowly descended to a low rumble as the engine geared down to pass through the distant hamlet. The sound was muffled further as the highway passed behind another ridge, then grew again as it emerged from the shadow and exited the hamlet, gaining in pitch and momentum as it barrelled down the hill. As it rounded a corner its headlights glinted down the valley. As the lights moved past by degrees, so too the shadows of interrupted trees danced across the bedroom wall. Despite the miles separating her from the highway, it seemed to Beth as though the engine was hurtling directly towards their home, through their walls, into their bedroom. It roared straight through her before receding gradually back into the distance as it continued its way towards its destination.
Beth sighed and wrestled her heart back into a normal relaxed pattern.'
'Its skin shone beneath the three-quarter moon smiling benevolently from the northeast.'
'The Milky Way swept in an arc from northeast to southwest like the reflection of a handful of pebbles tossed idly across a pool of black water. Speckles of exploded stars resolved together within the cloud.'
And then life intervened and we went and welcomed another of our good Perth friends to her new hometown after having driven across the Nullabor. Welcome to Melbourne (finally), Sarah!
So onto the words:
'The faintest of possible rumbles developed in the distance and slowly, as the minutes passed, grew louder. Beth plotted the movement of the sound, the engine of a truck, along the highway over the hills. The pitch rose suddenly and slowly descended to a low rumble as the engine geared down to pass through the distant hamlet. The sound was muffled further as the highway passed behind another ridge, then grew again as it emerged from the shadow and exited the hamlet, gaining in pitch and momentum as it barrelled down the hill. As it rounded a corner its headlights glinted down the valley. As the lights moved past by degrees, so too the shadows of interrupted trees danced across the bedroom wall. Despite the miles separating her from the highway, it seemed to Beth as though the engine was hurtling directly towards their home, through their walls, into their bedroom. It roared straight through her before receding gradually back into the distance as it continued its way towards its destination.
Beth sighed and wrestled her heart back into a normal relaxed pattern.'
'Its skin shone beneath the three-quarter moon smiling benevolently from the northeast.'
'The Milky Way swept in an arc from northeast to southwest like the reflection of a handful of pebbles tossed idly across a pool of black water. Speckles of exploded stars resolved together within the cloud.'
Saturday 12 March 2011
On the Origins of the Blog
I am starting this blog ostensibly to get me writing, and keep me writing. Now that I have all this time on my hands, it would be a shame to waste it in front of the TV or computer. I figure that having a device such as this in place will stimulate me to write, and hopefully to write every day. It is my aim to update this site every day or two with whatever I have managed to write in the interceding time, regardless of its quality or context. Hopefully it’s habit-forming.
Sometimes this may relate to the novel I have been trying to write over the past 3 and a half years, short works that will probably never be seen anywhere else (EXCLUSIVE!!), parts of collaborative projects, or even simple blog-posts dealing with day to day life- what irks and inspires. With any luck such a habit will translate into getting shit done. If nothing else it’ll give me a sense of accomplishment at getting something/anything out into the public sphere. Some of what I post probably won’t make any sense to anybody but me, coming as they no doubt will as snippets and edits from what I have already written. They will lack the context of the greater body, but who knows, some bits may actually make sense.
“So what is this ‘novel’ about then,” I hear you ask. I guess at its essence the overarching premise of the story is of the disconnect between man and nature. The basic structure is of two narrative threads that intertwine towards the end and hopefully result in an elegiac, poetic dénouement. These threads are interspersed with short tangential flights. I have it all mapped out in my mind, but getting it down and ordered is proving another thing altogether.
In some ways it is semi-autobiographical, borrowing from the adage ‘write what you know’. Some of the characters are based on real people, or amalgams of real people, however as more is written this is airbrushed somewhat and shade and nuance is given to the characters. Hopefully by the end aspects of real people will still be identifiable in characters, but no character will be a mere caricature of a real person. It would be a massive betrayal of trust, not to mention just plain rude, to do otherwise.
So that’s it. This blog will be a reservoir for my writing. The quality and quantity will be mixed. I make no promises regarding coherence. But please keep coming back. I can only get better from here.
Happy long weekend y’all.
Lloyd
Friday 11 March 2011
Dear Science
Dear Science (or more specifically biomedical research),
We’ve been together for quite some time now, but I think it’s time we take a break. What it all boils down to is that I don’t think I am the right person for you. I don’t feel that I have the right personality to make our relationship a success. I can see us stagnating together, and you deserve better. It’s not you, it’s me. I lack the forthrightness, the drive and passion that is needed to make this relationship work, so I think the timing is right to end it here. It has been a great journey, and I regret nothing about it. I will treasure all the times we had, good and bad. I’m not looking at this moment as a bad thing, but the start of something different and good for the both of us. This is no fault of yours, I just don’t have the passion and desire any more. And while I could stay around for another few years, I don’t think that that is fair on either of us. It’ll just be stalling the inevitable, and I get the feeling that neither of us would be truly content for that to happen. I don’t see this as necessarily a bad thing, merely something that just is.
Please know that you will forever be in my heart and mind. You cannot spend 10 years of your life with one and not expect to carry around sentimental feelings. This isn’t something that has suddenly popped up. I’ve had these feeling off and on now for several years, and it’s now got to the point where I think it is for the best for both of us if we break up. This is something I have to do for my self. I think you will be fine without me (please take this as a compliment). You still have your disciples and groupies. And this is not meant to be mean or derogatory, but I don’t imagine I will be terribly missed. You will get over me and move on with your life, and achieve even greater heights that neither of us can foresee.
I will always cherish everything you have given me. You have been a beacon in my life. You have nurtured me, taught me, provided for me and thrilled me. Through you I have developed many a talent and flair, and I hope to be able to use these gifts in the future. For these I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Who knows, in the future circumstances may change and we could make it work again. I’m not willing to close that door entirely. In the present circumstances, with me writing you this letter, you may think of it as closed, bolted and barred, but I hope that in time you also come to appreciate fully what we had together and leave the door unlocked. We’ve been through too much to close each other off completely.
For now I don’t know what I will do. Take some time out I guess. Re-assess where I am at in life. You will certainly leave a massive hole in my life. I won’t be rushing out to fill it any time soon, but instead take some space to think, to write, to challenge myself in new ways. In many ways I am excited about this next phase in my life, yet at the same time I am absolutely terrified. It covers the whole spectrum of emotions. For now I just want to sit back and experience this sensation for what it is, to the fullest and as something new.
So it is with a heavy heart, excitement and sheer bloody terror that I bid you adieu. I’ll try to check up on you every now and then, see what you are up to. I will always remember our time fondly and through a sepia tint. Good luck.
Lloyd
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