living in the skirts of Mt Wellington

Life can be so full, and so rich, yet I long for more. I am trying to tear my heart from the red dunes, and remind myself over and over how hard life was out there! I am however still blown away with what an incredibly beautiful place Tasmania is. Despite the fact that there are way too many people buzzing around the streets like flies on a dead camel, I am in awe of my surrounds. The stunning convict built sandstone buildings that frame Salamanca Place seem suddenly miniscule as my eye is drawn up onto the beauty of Mount Wellington that looms undeniably behind the city. No matter how city life consumes me in the the trivia  of christmas shopping, it all goes into perspective when I get a glimpse of that Mountain. Our house huddles under its back skirts, and we are blessed with its protection from the worst of the howling winds, yet I can glance up now and admire the soft evening light shining on the dead stags of long ago forest giants, almost but not quite perched on the dolerite rich summit. The Aboriginal name for Mt Wellington is Unghbanyahletta or Poorawetter. Maybe it should be Poorawetterdude...(sorry, couldn't resist). Anyway, we are so lucky to live here, and give thanks to the Aboriginal spirits that still seem to dwell in this land. So, I will try to embrace the fortune that is ours. I dug up 110 garlic yesterday, crisp purple and white bulbs. Planted last April, they came up like buried treasure from the weed bed that is my garden. Two chickens are sitting patiently on clutches of eggs, and Dad who is visiting has made me a worm farm out of a fridge, which I can't wait to deposit some worker worms in. So, I may need to change the name of this story to tassiedwellers instead of desertdwellers, and my children will learn about socialising and hatching chickens rather than dodging rats and eating camels....