Tales from the Bushland Shire - Part 4 - Crosslands

Crosslands is a little piece of estuarine paradise not too far from home.  In my younger days I would ride my bike most of the way there then struggle down to the water but the indistinct track finally become a road in around 1970 which was then sealed during the 80s.  Hallelujah!

And speaking of hallelujah, some may attribute the name Crosslands to the Seventh Day Adventist youth camp that stands on the western shore but not so.  After the Indigenous Dharug people were forcibly moved on or very conveniently died from disease or perhaps lead poisoning, Burton Crosslands and Matthew Charlton set themselves up on the western and eastern banks respectively.  They cut timber, grew fruit, fished and built boats for a living.  The Crosslands eventually bought out the Charltons and the SDAs and Scouts bought the western shore from them in the 1940s while Hornsby Council resumed the eastern side.  That become a reserve which has since been incorporated into Berowra Valley National Park and thus begins our walk.

There is quite wondrous thing called the Great North Walk which runs from Sydney all the way to Newcastle and today's short ramble covered a very small part of that.  We only did a couple of km which I though wasn't too bad for a couple of old blokes with mobility issues and only 2.75 eyes between them.  Once past the wheelchair friendly boardwalk the path has a good many roots and rocks to navigate.  We went another 500m or so until I had a vision of one or both of us tripping and rumbling down towards the mangroves below so we headed back.

 

What we did do was lovely though and we were joined by our newest best friend for a bit more of a wander around a backwater and the wide slip-off slope by the long sweeping bend of the Berowra Creek which accommodates the reserve.

When I studied geography in high school newly accessible Crosslands was the site of our 5th form (now Year 11) river geomorphology field study with Palm Beach being used for coastal geomorphology in 6th form and what we observed in the sand dunes that day is a whole other story.  Being not quite as handy to Asquith Boys' High, alpine geomorphology came straight out of the textbooks but I still remember the names of all the features which hasn't served me that well these last 50 years apart from one trip to the Colorado Rockies in the 1970s then two more to the Canadian Rockies 30 years on where I was able to say "Look, there's a cirque!"  

Of course that made it all completely worthwhile.  Anyway to this day I can recognise a slip-off slope when I'm walking on one and a brush turkey as well.  Here's a bit of both...

Tales from the Bushland Shire - Part 3 - Full of It!

Five nights at the Gemini Resort on Golden Beach would have been wonderful and the views are fabulous but the level of care at Hornsby Ku-ring-gai Hospital is far superior and that's where Peter ended up on what should have been our final day in Caloundra - had we gone.

It all began with a couple of days of increasing pain around the area which once contained his appendix but that was removed in Nuku'alofa over 40 years when he was there with Australian Volunteers Abroad.  He should have been airlifted to either Brisbane or Auckland on an RAAF or NZAF flight but missed both so the king's own doctor did the surgery, one of the first appendectomies ever performed in the Kingdom of Tonga, appendicitis not being something Tongans suffered at that time.  

 

The young chap in the next bed was one of the Fasi Bad Boys who was recovering from a knife fight with a rival gang.  He was quite perplexed and wanted to know when Peter's extracted organ was going to be put back.  The Bad Boy's assailant brought him a cake by way of apology which he very kindly shared with Peter, meals being provided by family not the hospital and Peter having none handy.

 

But back to the present...

 

Our doctor at the Hornsby GP clinic determined that something was wrong but was unable to diagnose exactly what without bloods and a CT scan.  She decided the quickest way to get both done was to send Peter to ER on the other side of the hospital so called ahead and off we set on another little holiday adventure.  

 

Hornsby Hospital is being demolished and rebuilt all at the same time so there was no direct route but the one we took was most interesting.  Those of you who are familiar with Hornsby will remember the circular Lumby Building which was state-of-the-art back when it opened in around 1970 but was several decades past its best by date when it finally closed earlier this year.  The original plan was to refurbish it as an administration centre until all the asbestos was discovered so it's now being very carefully demolished. 

 

Deconstruction of the Lumby Building with its replacement in the background.

 

Here's where I present bouquets all around to Hornsby Ku-ring-gai Hospital which is a well oiled machine with an intense focus on its patients and also their families.

We presented at the ER just after noon and Peter, seated in an electric wheelchair, was gliding into a room on a ward four hours later all blood tested and CT scanned and having been seen by nurses, doctors, medical technicians and specialists along the way, all pleasant, all personable and all professional.  My relationship to Peter as both partner and also carer because of his ABI was celebrated not questioned and despite the current COVID restrictions I was able to accompany him throughout his entire journey doing a little photo doco as we went.

 

 

I also commend the Northern Sydney Health Service for its inclusivity which is announced with desk sets of the Australian, Aboriginal, Torres Strait Islands and Rainbow flags on counters right throughout the hospital.

 

 

So what's the problem?

 

It would appear that Peter is full of shit, or at least he was.  The CT showed evidence of chronic constipation so they went at it from both ends which made for a fairly uncomfortable and unpleasant evacuation.  That done things have settled down considerably and I am expecting him home tomorrow after a few more tests and a little more observation.

 

It's a difficult time to be in hospital as well we know from Peter's sister's experience of having broken her pelvis a month ago.  There can be no visitors and although I was present for all of Peter's admission procedures the closest I can now get with a bag of fresh PJs and undies is the front door which is fine.  That's what we must do in order to keep everyone safe, this pandemic being a very real and potentially fatal thing unless you're a denier, an anti-vaxxer, an extreme capitalist or just plain dumber than dog shit in which case it's only the flu or not even a thing at all.

A paracetamol goon bag.  What will they think of next?!

Tales from the Bushland Shire - Part 2 - Fagan Park

Fagan Park at Galston was gifted to the people of NSW by the Fagan Family in 1980 with Hornsby Shire Council as trustee of the 55 hectare parcel of land.  It had been a large and very successful citrus orchard but The Depression brought an end to that and saw it converted to a dairy farm specialising in the breeding of Jersey cows which were popular at the time.  My mother's family always had a Jersey house cow which kept much of their street in milk during those difficult years.  It also fertilised my grandfather's gardens that helped feed much of that same street.

So fast forward to the Celebration of a Nation or the Masturbation of a Nation as I preferred to call it, our gloriously self-indulgent Bicentenary Year of 1988 when NSW Premier Nick Greiner took time off from closing public schools to open Fagan Park, "the crown jewel of Hornsby Shire's parks".  The latter was probably written by some aspiring PR consultant from the council or even an actual councillor seeking immortality as some do.  I may attach an addendum of Hornsby Shire councillors who fit this category.

To our great shame Peter and I had only visited Fagan Park once before and then just the southern end where the old farmhouse and outbuildings are located.  Given our commitment to holiday within the Shire of Hornsby this seemed like a perfect place to begin and explore some other parts of this very large park.  Besides, my good friend Dawnie had been on my back to get out and move my fat arse so move it I did.

Those of you who remember the Masturbation of a Nation will recall it was a bit like the Sydney Olympics only it went for a full 12 months.  It was the Olympics of steroids which of course the actual Olympics largely were back in those days.  We congratulated ourselves for just about everything apart from Indigenous health, education, housing and stealing the continent off them in the first place.  But never mind that, let's all sing...  "Masturbation of a Nation, give us a hand... "

There were a few good outcomes though, especially for people who made brass plaques because there are more of them scattered around the country than in the crematorium grounds at Rookwood Cemetery.  One is attached to a rock somewhere in Fagan Park which was clearly the result of a very grand 1980s plan which has languished a little over the decades.

Don't get me wrong here, the park is well maintained but some of the vision has been lost.  The international themed gardens have form but their content has thinned over the years as plantings have failed and management has taken a more minimalist approach which is disappointing.  The Japanese Garden has probably fared best of all with hardy plantings of blossoming trees, camellias and azaleas which are all hard to kill.

The Dutch Garden was a bit of a mystery until we spotted the faux canal complete with little bridge which looks like it may have been designed to be raised.  But there's not a tulip to be seen and certainly no cannabis cafes.  Ditto with the English Garden which I think was just a couple of shrubs tacked onto the side of the Dutch Garden.

The North American Garden features a neat little white New England style house with skillfully bricked paths and garden edges which once probably contained an actual garden but now there are just four large succulents borrowed from the nearby South American Garden.

South America, Africa and the Mediterranean have all been stocked with extremely hardy plants, many of them succulents which you'd be hard pressed to kill with a bushfire.  Each garden contains some kind of structure which is indicative of its region and that's all a bit of fun.  I was reminded of the pixie houses I enjoyed so much during Sunday School picnics at the Fairyland Pleasure Grounds by the Lane Cove River only these are much slicker.

There are several ponds, on one of which my mind's eye saw paddle boats which were another childhood joy of mine.  But there are no paddle boats, just ducks and coots who are probably very glad of the absence of water craft.

We left the Australian Garden for when we return in a few weeks to see the blossom trees in the Chinese and Japanese Gardens.  Given that every other garden has a themed structure of some sort be it the terraces and fountain in the Mediterranean Garden or the circular Ndebele hut in the African Garden my money's on a dunny in the Australian Garden.

Tales from the Bushland Shire - Part 1 - The Rationale

 

This here's the wattle, the emblem of our land...

There was a time when I could break a drought simply by erecting a tent.  Now it seems I can shut down a local government area or even a whole chunk of a state simply by planning to go there.  We were headed to Queensland today, 12 August 2021, the plan being to spend five nights at our long favoured Gemini Resort in Caloundra and travel down to Bongaree on the southern end of Bribie Island several times to visit our lovely Aunty Joan.

The booking was made months ago but then Sydney went into lockdown again and we aren't to leave the Shire of Hornsby although there is a sliver of The Hills Shire within our 10km radius which thankfully includes both Bunnings and Flower Power at Dural and Glenhaven respectively.  The only other places I need access to are a supermarket and a grog shop - Coles and Liquorland at Asquith or Woolies and Dan Murphy's in Hornsby, it didn't matter which.

 

When the initial two week lockdown extended to four weeks then six and eventually Easter, I rang the Gemini and cancelled.  They were fabulous - full refund, no problem.  We'd planned three nights in Armidale on the way up and wouldn't you know it, that went into lockdown as well.  Of course by this time all of South-Eastern Queensland had shut up shop as had every LGA in the Northern Rivers Region of Northern NSW where we were staying on the way home.

 

Then there was some truly unfortunate value adding when our lovely Aunty Joan passed away quite suddenly the week before we were due to head north, not that we could anyway.  That was Universal Reality Check #879 and Zoom funeral #2 in just three weeks so it was a case of count your blessings and where to from here?

 

I did think of blogging the trip regardless as I did with Return of the Native 2.1 to Wales, Ireland, England and Singapore last year but despite an explanation in the first post, numerous hints in the others and some clearly unlikely encounters along the way a number of you actually believed we were there which is entirely to my credit.  I should have gone into politics!  

 

My long-ago ex even rang to see if we were staying in the apartment he recommended in Soho.  "Fabulous!" I told him, "Thanks for the tip.  It's close to everything and right opposite The King's Arms and you won't believe who we met there last night!  Philip Jamieson's Aunty Eulene's late husband Ray's sister's son Barry and his partner Trevor, the Christmas tree farmers from Te Kuiti.  We're catching up with them again tonight for dinner."

 

Vera Vindaloo was never known for his attentiveness all those years ago or since for that matter but that was just bloody ridiculous!

 

So here's the new plan, we're having a holiday within a 10km radius of home which I'll blog instead so look out for Tales from the Bushland Shire which will be hitting the interweb and email quite soon.  And by the way, Bruce is loving himself sick with both his Dads home almost 24/7.  He wasn’t looking at all forward to us being away for twelve days but that's no longer a problem.  Don't get me wrong here, Bruce quite likes Uncle Tony but sadly poor Aunty Jan just doesn't cut the mustard.