The MacAlba

It was only a couple of days ago when I wrote about small groups of kangaroos being seen while out on my early morning jog. Over the weekend I’ve become aware that the roos must be suffering the effects of the drought and are moving closer to habitation than they normally would, and in greater numbers.

This morning I watched a couple of roos a couple of metres away from my study window – then I saw a couple of ears hopping just above the bottom of the window frame – a young roo must have been hopping along the outside of the house. Minutes later a loud clatter came from the verandah. A large roo had decided that he was too close to us for comfort – he hopped off the verandah, knocking potted plants over, and caused potting mix to spill everywhere.

Walking with the dogs in the afternoons on our property, I’ve counted about 40 to 50 roos watching us approach, and hopping away. Likewise, further afield on the morning jogs, roos have been in greater numbers on the neighbour’s property – competing with the sheep for feed.

Where are they coming from? The gorge country? Or from neighbouring properties that have little feed left?

Does this mean that if Scotland were to suffer from drought, that the Haggis would begin to be seen closer to habitation than normal?

For the past several mornings now, as I’ve been jogging with the dogs, we’ve seen many more kangaroos than in previous weeks. As we head down the track from the house to the road, about a kilometre, we see about 25 to 30 ‘roos, in two or three groups. They’re mostly females with a young offspring at foot, and many have joey’s in pouch. One or two solitary adult males can be seen amidst the trees.

Solitary swamp wallabies can also be seen, but usually within 100 metres of the house where there’s more tree cover.

I wonder if the drought has them congregating on our property because there’s more feed here than on neighbouring properties (as we’ve no stock that would compete for feed), or if it’s just that the tree cover provides greater shelter from the winter overnight temperatures (lows of -6 degC (21F)).

I was listening to a recording of Robbie Shepherd’s Reel Blend program from BBC Radio Scotland this morning as I drove in to work when I heard “The last trip home”, a ballad about the last day of work for a pair of Clydesdale horses, as sung by Jock Duncan. The tractor was going to replace them tilling and ploughing.

So steady, boys, walk on,
Oor work is nearly done,
No more we'll till or plough the fields,
The horses' day is gone,
An' this will be oor last trip home,
So steady, boys, walk on.

As we head back our friends have lined
The road tae see us one last time,
Not one o' them will want tae miss,
The chance tae see us pass like this,
They'll say they saw in years tae come,
The muckle horses' last trip home.

My, what powerful images and emotion that invoked. Sadness that the gentle giants would no longer be a part of the normal day on the farm. My own great-grandparents had a farm on what is now the outskirts of Aberdeen. I never knew them and I don’t even know if they had Clydesdales, but I like to think that there’s still some link in me to that way of life. I have a soft spot for heavy horses, Clydesdales in particular.

Here’s a photograph I took at an agricultural show here in Armidale towards the end of last year.

Atypically, even for this part of the world in winter, it was cold and windy during the day today. The maximum temperature was about 8 degrees C (47F), with a 30 to 40 km/hr wind. Add to that the fact that I’m just at the peak of the head cold I’ve had for a few days now, and so it was a fairly miserable Sunday.

I know perfectly well that I’ll be fine in a couple of days, but it’s hard to get the energy to do much at the moment — so I haven’t.

Other than walk the dogs this morning (yes, walk, not jog), and chop the firewood for the coming week, all I’ve done with myself today is to catch up with items on the blogs I subscribe to, and tidy up my other two blog installations (having installed the latest version of WordPress yesterday). I’ve chosen to run with the same theme (or “look”) for all three blogs – at least for the time being.

I’ve just finished listening to the June 9 on-demand edition of Travelling Folk, a program from BBC Radio Scotland, presented by Archie Fisher. I listen a handful of BBC Radio Scotland programs on a weekly basis – Travelling Folk is one of them.

Archie Fisher interviewed Eric Bogle, a Scot now resident in Adelaide, South Australia. One of the reasons for the interview was that EMI have recently released a 5-CD set which showcases Bogle’s several decades as a performer. I’ve been a fan of Bogle’s since the 1980′s when I first heard him. During the course of the interview, a sentiment that caused me to reflect on my own situation was Bogle’s comment that Australia, rather than Scotland, is “home”. He’s been here for over 35 years. In my own case I think of myself as a Scot (I’ve not become an Australian citizen even after 26 years in the country), and, to some extent, I tend think of Scotland as “home”. Under what circumstances might I think of Australia as “home”?

The answer, I think, is “it depends”. I do recall thinking “I’m home” on returning to Australia after visiting Scotland last time (over 10 years ago). I also felt “at home” when in Scotland. Perhaps, for me, “home” is where I am comfortably settled at a given point in time?

I spent two years in Sydney (in 1997/8) – I can’t say that I ever thought of that as “home”. Does that mean that I wasn’t comfortably settled there?

So, it would seem that “home” is where the heart is – but it’s just that the heart moves around a bit that confuses the issue at times.

For some years now I’ve been astonished by the strength of words used by the media when reporting sporting events of the one-team-versus-another-team variety. I don’t follow sports myself, probably as the result of too much rugby union and hockey in the midst of Aberdeen winters (especially the hockey on the playing fields adjacent to the North Sea) as a teenager.

I hear on television, and read in local and national newspapers, of one team “thrashing”, “walloping”, “bludgeoning”, “making mincemeat of”, or “hammering” the opposing side. I realise that at times the magnitude of violence on the pitch might give one the impression that a war is indeed being fought, but why on earth does that translate to the media.

In a sense though, it is a war that’s being fought on the pitch. Two sides start the battle facing each other. Some small part of the cohort might sneak around the sides, but in the main it’s warrior versus warrior.

Is team “sport” just an outlet for the remnant warrior in our genes?