Playing Catch-up With Myself: October Arrives With a Whimper

 

October. What can you say about the first half it it? The weather was enough to make you weep, and we stayed closed to home. I was juuust starting to throw off the virus, and hoping to get out, get moving, but what you don't want to do is be halfway well and head out into sheets of freezing rain! 

So we didn't do much of anything for the first couple of weeks. I slogged around the house, walking aimlessly to get the legs moving, lifting embarrassing flea-weights, doing Qigong, when and if my body would allow it; and sometimes it wouldn't. 

Still, by the mid-point of the month we were able to brave the conditions and head south for a blustery afternoon. This, above, is Second Valley. Looks like the dead of winter, but in fact, we were six weeks since the beginning of spring, and I'd started to fret that the summer heat would hit us without warning, with no appreciable spring to speak of. (It sorta, kinda did, but not quite as suddenly or as hard as I'd worried).

The high point of that afternoon was the Singing Honey Eater who came to check out the picnic bags we'd put on the mosaiced concrete table near the jetty. And just to prove it was spring ... the pink version of the Raging Fumitory was in full bloom. The pink one seems to bloom well after the white one ... oh yes, this was spring -- though you wouldn't have known it at the time!

Still, onward and upward. Time to make plans to go somewhere, do something. And what we had in mind was a daytrip over to Yorke Peninsula. Now, BC (Before Covid), we'd have done it over two days and stayed overnight at a nice cabin in a caravan park somewhere on the south tip of the Yorke --

After Covid? Nope. How can you know for sure that the last people staying there weren't riddled with Covid, coughing and sneezing all over the cabin, then vacating it and handing it to you?! You can't. And since we know the virus can live for 72 hours on fabrics, and it's transmitted via touch, Dave and I long ago made the decision to stay out of accommodations until/unless a proper vaccine comes along that cures this thing. I mean CURES it, not just lessens the effect while your brain turns to glue wi8th repeated infections.

So -- the Yorke Peninsula daytrip was on, and planned, and we did it on October 20. This will be the next of my Catching-Up With Myself journal entries, and I'll get into it tomorrow. 

Yes, you could be assured that it was spring, grey skies notwithstanding, because --

I'm going to congratulate myself on this last photo: Yay! I managed to rescue "Fire and Ice," which I'd once thought was so dead, it was due to be transferred to the bin. Let this be a lesson: never give up, not if there's one spark of life left. Fire and Ice is now one of the most beautiful bushes in the garden!

Catching up with myself: mid-late September: The Covid Experience

 

Covid-19 is weird. Don't let anybody tell you it's not, because this thing plays mind games, as well as knocking you flat with symptoms that can oscillate back and forth from a heavy cold to something that feels like full-on pleurisy or pneumonia, inside the same day. One day you think you're getting better; the next, you feel like death is imminent. 

The only thing you can do is play it by ear, take each day as it comes, handle it on its own terms. When you feel bloody awful, take it easy ... when you feel a bit better, try try try to get some exercise and fresh air, because as for getting over this thing in 7 - 14 days and putting it behind you? Ha! That's a lousy joke.

So, as things warmed up, and/or brightened up, while I was in the throes of ploughing through this, I would grab the camera and stagger out into the backyard, where everything was in bloom and the birds, bees and butterflies were a-frolicking among the flowers and plum blossom. This is all you can do: get out there, sit on the bench or on the top step leading down into what Dave calls "the plum pit," sit with the camera on your lap and wait for a bird to come, or for inspiration to strike. 

As it happens, they both came along.

If you miss the garden at this time of year, it's such a loss, because by Christmas it'll be bare, right down to woodchips and sand. Scorched earth. As I write this, it's February 1 (I still have four months to catch up), and almost nothing is blooming, there's just ... woodchips. It's all been weeded, pruned, cut back. The occasional flower here and there is not enough to woo the eye or lure the birds back, so ...

In retrospect, I'm so glad I got these photos. Checking through the archive, I see dates corresponding with the time when I almost headed for the ER on a couple of occasions! Hard to think, this was happening thirty yards away, and outside, while I would be huddled in a blanket, struggling for the next breath, and worrying that those pains in my chest needed professional help. At the same time, one knew what was going on at the hospital -- 

I told Doctor Tim, the GP, the story a few months later, and said how I hadn't wanted to "die in a car park." He didn't pooh-pooh the concept, contradict or admonish. There is is. And at least I got into the fresh air often enough to have something pretty to look back on from these days. Miss them, and you won't see them again for a year --

Playing Catch-up With Myself: September. BC (Before Covid) -- Magnolias in the Rain

 A not-so-perfect winter's day at Mount Lofty Botanic Gardens, very early in September...

Before the pandemic became utterly real and unavoidable for us -- in other words, Dave caught the virus at work, brought it home, and we all got it -- we managed to do a few very nice trips. Each September and October, Mount Lofty Botanic Gardens comes alive with the scores of Magnolias ... but this year I thought we wouldn't get anything, photo-wise, because the weather was horrible. That's too mild a word. The third consecutive La Nina winter was so grey, cold, meh, I came down with a terrible case of SAD even before I had the vaccine that made me so ill, in August. 

(Note to self: I should have blogged all this as it was happening. What's a blog, if not a journal? Dang. Insert eye roll emoji.)

So, when the weather halfway cleared right at the beginning of September, since I was mostly recovered from the vaccination, we thought ... why not? Pack up the cameras and head for the hills. By that time, even Mike was fed up enough of the weather to come along. 

It was actually raining when many of these images were captured. I've learned to carry wads of kitchen paper in the coat pockets, and thoroughly dry the zoom barrel before letting it retract back into the camera -- which keeps the inside of the camera dry and preserves your lens. Duh. You only get caught that way once.

So -- magnolias, rain, cockatoos, a good walk (though I was soooo breathless on the hills: the vaccine had already done a number on me before I got Covid proper). One survives...

Playing Catch-up With Myself: September, BC (Before Covid) ... Cherry Blossom Time

 

To be fair, Covid didn't invade the family home till about September 10th, and before that -- yes, we did get out a couple of times, mostly to Belair, but once or twice -- it was "cherry blossom time," and for several years it's been out pleasure to photography the trees in this locality.

Nothing must happened in those early weeks of September ... the images we captured are so pretty, but they would be the last till October, when we headed for Upper Waterfall, not expecting to find any orchids because it was supposed to be too late in the year ... and wouldn't you know it? The La Nina spring was so late, so wet and chill, the orchids were still ion full bloom. 

That belongs to another post -- my Catch-up for October; for now -- Cherry Blossom Time

Playing Catch-up with myself: September 2022 ... Covid pays a visit

 

Covid Pays A Visit

There isn't an image to head off September, 2022. There aren't many images at all for that month, which can be blamed on a tiny thread of RNA which gets into the human body and wreaks bloody havoc. Covid-19. SARS Cov-2. The plague. Call it what you want. I called it the nuisance to end them all ... and that was before one learned of the long-term effects of the virus. Hmm.

We were fully vaccinated. The second booster, we'd had three weeks earlier, in August; and that made me ill too. It was like having a nasty case of flu for about a week, but to be fair, I did throw off the effects, and we went into September believing we were covered, protected --

Uh huh. Protected against serious illness. Protected against death. Being under 70 and in reasonable health, we were protected against the probability of needing to head for the emergency room. Which was a good thing, because this was the height of the third (or fourth?) wave of the pandemic, when people were dying in car parks, waiting to see the inside of the emergency department.

But as we discovered, the vaccine doesn't prevent you from getting pretty bloody ill ... the kind of ill where you're still struggling to recover a month later, and three months later, the fatigue and brain fog remain major obstacles. Oh, joy. Dave threw is off fast; Mike, almost as fast. Me?

In typical fashion, it took me about a month to say that the worst of it was over, and in the first week, I was very close indeed to going to the ER. Breathing difficulties, chest pain ... similar to the pain of pneumonia and pleurisy, which I've had several times. The only problem was, the ER facilities were stretched to the limit; you had 90-year-olds lying on the ground for two hours in freezing conditions. Sooo...

I toughed it out, and (knock on wood), I'm still young and strong enough to get over it, and be here to  tell the tale -- it's January 28, 2023, as I write this.

But, but, but ... I've read a great deal about this, enough to know that repeated Covid infections will "eat your heart and destroy your brain." (Quoting an epidemiologist there, from a recent article on ABC News.) So, for us, it's masks every time we go anywhere near people, and social distancing; never go into a café or stay in a motel; take no risks. 

Which makes it all the more odd when you go (masked) to the shops and see no one, no one at all, wearing a mask in the supermarket, even though the statistics suggest that 20% of them have the virus. 

In the long run -- if you listen to the scientists; and I do -- the general population is soon going to be halfway brain dead, and sudden death due to cardiac and pulmonary issues before the age of 60 will be commonplace. We don't want to be part of that picture! I suspect that the population is being thoroughly culled, as surely as if the Wraith were hitting this planet: lifespan will be starting to shorten noticeably if this goes on much longer, and the fact is, there's nothing to stop it at this time. Our current vaccines only, basically, insulate people who still have a modicum of youth and/or strength on their side. 

However, I've read that research is underway to produce a vaccine that will finish Covid-19 off completely, amputate it at the knees. Those developments are maybe three to five years away, so we just need to sit tight and be patient ... and careful. Don't get it again --

Which is a tough ask, when the way it got into this house in the first place was via Dave, who brought it home from work. As I write this, there's a couple of cases in a unit close to the one(s) where he works. Carers and nurses are in full PPE again, to contain it, and we can hope. 

So life really has changed. For us, September was about home and garden, and getting well; and since then, we've been ultra-careful. Outdoor café settings, on the few occasions when we've gone for coffee; national parks, gardens ... don't even think about the cinema, although Avatar is on the big screen, and I'd really wanted to see that. Sigh. 

To quote the Irishman in the tall iron helmet, such is life.

~~ooOOooOOoo~~

But to be fair -- Covid didn't come along till a wee while into the month, and there were good times then. Dave and I went up to Lyndoch, and the birding was amazing. We took a walk through the gardens in the evening light, and literally as we were on out way back to the car for the long drive home, the Musk Lorikeets appeared! They were feasting on something on the rose bushes -- aphids, perhaps? -- not at all troubled by human visitors, and the performed circus tricks not two meters in front of us! With the sun at the right angle and not too much of a zoom needed, I got some lovely photos...

In fact, I came home with so many great Musk Lorikeet images, I'd need to upload about twenty to even halfway cover the experience ... so I'll settle for five, which are representational. Because there's more.

We also returned to Nangawooka, that botanic garden outside Victor Harbour, which is a joy in any season other than high summer, when everything shuts down for the heat. Once again, I took about 500 frames, and upwards of 100 are astonishing, so I'll settle for uploading a few that are representational of the lot...

...there was also a trip to Mout Lofty Gardens, to photograph Magnolias, and more. But this post is long enough for now, so let me close this and begin a fresh one. 

Playing Catch-Up With Myself: August 2022

 

August 1, 2022

It's that time of the year again ... I find myself missing Bagheera as ever. It's eight years since he scampered over that rainbow bridge that waits for us all. July 29, 2014. Eight years! Seems like only yesterday. Sleep well, little one ... until we meet again.

There really isn't anything to add to that. The whole album is posted here, and I often scroll through it, remembering times that were. Sigh.

August 5, 2022

And then, it was Welcome Home Zolie ... and I guess the rest is history. Eight years has gone by so fast, I can scarcely believe it. Knock on wood, she's fighting fit, never seems to skip a beat, and aside from needing to have her teeth cleaned every year or two, she's our basic princess...

ooOOOoooOOOoo

..and that was the last I posted for a very, very long time -- necessitating the catch-up for this blog, if I plan to pick up the threads and go on with it. This last post to facebook, in early August, marked the beginning of a period of the "moody blues," or "cabin fever," or SAD ... no matter what you call it, it was impossible to shake.

I didn't post. I didn't write. I did keep up with photography, with the effect that I ended up with over 6,000 photos backlogged and not even glanced at. As I write this in January '23, I till haven't caught up with those photos, but ... I'm trying.

So, August was a miasma of SAD as the third consecutive La Nina turned our world grey and murky. Too much for too long, was it, piled on top of the Covid? Could be. But for us, in August, Covid was still something that happened to other people. Then, in September, Dave brought it home from work with him. It came on a flying visit, and decided to outstay its welcome.

I'll cover September in a separate post...

So ends the July 2022 catchup...

 

End of July, 2022

...all of which catches me up with July 2022. This was still about six weeks or so before Covid came for a flying visit and seemed to invite itself to stay for a couple of months. At this point, Dave and I were still trying to plan ahead for a possible trip to the Limestone Coast. 'Twas not to be, of course: cancelled for the third year running. This time around, it was on account of Covid and heavy weather ... this is the third consecutive La Nina winter, and it's wreaking havoc. 

A few cancelled travel plans were the least of it -- and of course, I'm writing this in January, 2023, "playing catch up with myself" to full in the blanks in this blog, because I'd very much like to pick up the threads, and with the benefit of hindsight, complaining about the weather seems petty. People lost their homes, the livelihoods and their lives. So we lost a vacation: hunh. 

But by the end of July, even though Covid was some weeks off, I was feeing it -- "it" being SAD, or Seasonally Affected Disorder. Call it cabin fever, or winter blues. Call it anything you like, it's the same thing: a deep fit of the moody blues caused by being shut inside too much, for too long, because the weather sucks, your health is iffy and dodgy, and you seriously dread catching the plague! 

So we spent our days hiking in remote spots, well away from people, hoping to get some great photos to mark the passage of the seasons. Sometimes, though, you didn't have to go far from home:

This little beauty, above, was sitting on one of the succulent flowers about four meters from the front door as we walked out yesterday, for a drive down to Goolwa -- Dave and I again, making the most of low fuel prices while they last -- because they won't. I got about a dozen nice images, and it was sooo easy ... the rest of the day, I struggled with low light, uncooperative birds and frozen fingers! But we did the walk to the lookout above Mount Bold, hoping to see wildlife ... a deer, right on the trail before us! (And yeeees, I know they're feral, and have become a real pest in Tasmania and New Zealand, but they're beautiful, and I like them.)

Just a day or two later, this, below, is waaaay on the other side of Perry Bend Reserve, far closer to the dunes, but I'd tag it as Perry Bend, because I don't know what to call the location, otherwise! I mean ... you're in the middle of a marsh, looking at massive amounts of sky, river and saltbush, so ... Perry Bend it is. I got lots of pics of waterfowl, which I always intended to share, but never did because the SAD caught up with me, and before I shook it loose, Covid came knocking at the door. Argh.