Miscellaneous Collection by Gretchen Bernet-Ward
From Brisbane, we head inland to Gatton where we stop for lunch before crossing the fertile vegetable-growing plains of the Lockyer Valley. Our goal is the garden city of Toowoomba, situated in the Darling Downs region of southern Queensland on Australia’s Great Dividing Range.
The gradient is steep and it’s a slow climb up the mountain before we crest the plateau and turn left to Picnic Point lookout. It’s a traditional spot for travellers to stretch their legs and take in the magnificent views which seem to stretch forever into a blue-grey smudge.
After checking into our boutique hotel, we take a short walk into town, passing old homes with steep corrugated iron roofs and interesting turrets and chimneys.
A charming old building in Margaret Street, once a grand home with circular driveway, is available for business lease.
In the city centre, shops and offices are still housed in quaint older-style buildings which seem to go on forever when you are inside.
The Book Tree bookshop is an Aladdin’s cave of books and accessories and a friendly salesperson. The haberdashery store Lincraft is on three levels, basement, middle and top (with creaky wooden floorboards) crammed full of craft-creating supplies and good customer service.
Friendly staff seem to be the theme throughout Toowoomba including the upmarket shopping precinct Grand Central which contains everything the modern shopper has come to expect—plus a book swap library.
The seminar, the reason for our visit, isn’t until next day so we decide to walk through Queens Park Botanic Gardens, bypassing an old steamroller, to visit Cobb & Co Museum. Originally a coach museum in honour of Cobb & Co horse-drawn coaches which ran the length and breadth of Queensland in ye olde days, the museum has been rehoused and now contains a myriad of local and culturally significant items.
We are lucky enough to get a personal guided tour—thank you, Sharon—and learn the ins and outs of the exhibits from coaches to goat carts, blacksmith forge to wooden clothing (photos below) and local Indigenous heritage.
The museum interior meanders like an old country trail with something different around every bend.
I discover that even though male passengers paid full fare, in the olden days they were expected to assist with river crossings, fallen logs, opening and closing stock gates, and to ‘lighten the load’ by walking up hills. What a hardy bunch! We need survivor TV shows to see that level of guts and determination today.
Images below show Chris Mills-Kelly’s delicately carved wooden bonnet, dress and shoes for the Artisans Challenge 2012. It is both fascinating and moving; these small articles represent the clothing Indigenous children were made to wear for photo opportunities, adoption interviews and to impress important visitors, in contrast to their natural birthright.
After a delicious museum lunch with a huge lamington for dessert (below) we wind our way back to the hotel through misty rain.
My brochure reads “Although the famous coaches and tenacious horse teams and drivers are now long gone, Cobb & Co continues to live on in Australian history as the country’s greatest coaching company.”
The Cobb & Co Museum conducts workshops and various events and activities throughout the year. Our museum guide told us the workshops book out quickly. The specialist trades of yesteryear are back in fashion, wheelwright, silversmith, leadlighting, etc. One day I wouldn’t mind trying my hand at kangaroo leather plaiting. It’s a three-day course to make a belt or a whip, so watch this space. Yippee aye yay!
We walked by this gracious old residence, Harris House, every day. At leisure, I explored parks, galleries and cafes. Everybody was ready for a chat. Of course, I checked out the fashion clothing stores. Toowoomba is colder in winter than Brisbane so I ended up buying several long sleeved t-shirts which I wore in layers under my jacket.
So nice to have a change of scene and a change of season.
♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward
♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward
Delighted to be Drabbled! Love the accompanying photo, just wish I was as glamorous as this young woman ♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward.
It’s nauseating. I usually don’t read on public transport. Sentences sway like a line of melting ants. I look out the bus window, watching cars whoosh along one level, trains on another. Soon train tracks swoop down, crossing the road. Ding, ding, ding, shrills the signal. A teenager ducks under the falling boom gate and sprints across the tracks. Impatient, foolish. Two seconds between life and resembling dog vomit. Platform security guards move in. The teenager projects nonchalance then slumps onto a metal seat. The bus moves off and my eyes fall to the formicine words.
“The written word has been a big part of my work-life, never for personal fulfillment. The birth of my blog activated the joyous freedom of self-expression. I use public transport and, oh, the things I’ve seen …” – the author
The world’s best loved insects – butterflies. As soon as I walked into the Bribie Island Butterfly House, a sense of calm enveloped me. Founder Ray Archer says “Butterflies are beautiful and very peaceful insects” and I can attest to that.
This tranquil not-for-profit organisation was founded by Ray and Delphine Archer who sold their business Olive Products Australia and moved to beautiful Bribie Island, off the south-east coast of Queensland, so Ray could devote time to his passion for breeding and raising butterflies.
I’d like to take you on a stroll through the butterflies domain. But first we will learn a few facts from the Nursery before entering their airy, sun-filled, flower-perfumed enclosure.
Ready to go inside? You have to go slow because butterflies don’t dive-bomb you like mosquitoes. Silent wings flutter by, difficult to photograph, I marvel at their fragility.
Photos left to right—Plant-filled entry; a vine chock-full of happy butterflies; misty air rises from a vaporizer; a Common Crow, why that name?; a Swamp Tiger against the blue sky; newly hatched Monarch; oops, there’s two Orchard Swallowtails mating, best move on . . .
Hanging pot planters and gumboots stuffed with plants.
A rather clandestine bubbler and a secret butterfly door.
Inspirational quote and landing pad stocked with nutritious butterfly food.
This lady (below) had to make sure she was butterfly-free before leaving. The butterflies landed on hair and hats. Interestingly, they stayed well clear of the heavy black plastic doors, perhaps because their focus is on light, bright colours.
Before departing I visited the plant section where butterfly-friendly plants (see chart) were available for purchase. There is no cafe and no merchandising, and nobody telling visitors The Rules. The only suggestion is to leave your worries in a bin at the door. Quite a refreshing visit in more ways than one!
The Bribie Island Butterfly House exists to provide a sense of purpose and lasting friendships among their volunteers, to offer visitors an enjoyable and educational visit in a peaceful environment and to help the disadvantaged via donations to charities.
Grow a patch of dandelions! Check out Lyn’s wonderful UK Butterflies And Garden blog. Pledge to stop using manufactured pesticides! Around my area, the green tree frog and butterfly populations have severely decreased due to the rise in toxic garden herbicides and pesticides. Think natural, not noxious!
And, of course, my avatar is a hand-drawn butterfly.
♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward
Blabbing about three topics based on READING LOOKING THINKING. This time a poetry collection, real live butterflies and overrating books. One post in three parts, a neat idea started by blogger Paula Bardell-Hedley of Book Jotter. Jump in! 😃 GBW.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bruce_Dawe
READING: The dust-jacket image of a wooden paling fence on Bruce Dawe’s outstanding 1969 poetry collection ‘Beyond the Subdivisions’ will be familiar to anyone who lived in Australia in the middle decades of the 20th century. Timber mills must have worked overtime because everyone had a six-foot fence enclosing three sides of their quarter acre suburban block of land. A subdivision was formed by building identical weatherboard or brick veneer homes. Now called a housing estate or residential development but probably just as uniform.
‘Run-of-the-mill’, you well might call this town
—A place where many go, but few remain,
Where you’d be mad to want to settle down,
Off the main road, too far from bus or train,
Neither backblocks enough to suit the likes
Of most of us, nor moderately supplied
With urban comforts, good for mystery hikes,
But not the place to take the happy bride.
Population : 750, the guide-books say . . .
After a week or two the hills close in,
And what you came to find here moves away
(If it was ever here . . .)
‘So what’s your sin?’
The barman says, with a wink, and the blowfly drone
Of justification starts, for him alone.
This slim grey poetry book with orange lining was purchased for one dollar at UQ Alumni Book Fair 2019. The original 1969 price sticker on the front reads $1.95 which is confirmed on the inside flyleaf. In fifty years it had never been opened.
Back to the paling fence—as a child, I remember thinking the fence was insurmountable. Tall and ominous, it forbade me from seeing what was on the other side. As I grew older, I tried to climb the cross struts (usually only on one side of the fence) and couldn’t get a toe-hold. Splinters searing through my fingers, I fell back to ground. However, this didn’t stop me. Growing taller and bolder, one day I wrenched myself up and peeked over the top of the fence to see what our elderly nextdoor neighbour’s backyard looked like. Pretty ordinary as I recall. By this time, her children had moved away, the pets had passed away and I was way more interested in pop singers.
What has this got to do with Bruce Dawe, Australian poet extraordinaire? Nothing really, except I love his gritty poetry about what goes on beyond those wooden fences. Such insight, such lyrical, satirical prose. His words may appear nostalgic, yet not, because human nature never really changes. GBW.
https://www.bribieislandbutterflyhouse.org/
LOOKING: The Bribie Island Butterfly House, north of Brisbane, is a community organisation run by volunteers. It is an incredibly tranquil experience to walk into a huge enclosure filled with beautiful flowers and thousands of butterflies. There is not a sound. Around a corner are small bubblers yet nothing detracts from the calm, delicate atmosphere. I was lucky to visit on a sunny day because apparently this makes the butterflies more active—but as my photographs below will demonstrate, it was hard to get a still image.
Six blurry shots of a Lesser Wanderer butterfly, fluttering its wings so fast and furious I gave up trying to focus. It was enjoying the nectar from the daisy-like flower and nothing was going to distract it. I thought perhaps it would stop for a quick rest but it didn’t. That flower must have been delicious!
As I was reading the information brochure, a Swamp Tiger butterfly landed on it. They like light, bright colours and often landed on the visitors sunhats. The spotted Monarch butterfly on the right was newly hatched and getting its bearings.
The next photo I took was of two butterflies mating . . . sorry, folks, but this post is only a trailer. I have heaps more to tell you so please visit my full report with photos on Bribie Island Butterfly House Visit. GBW.
Dangers Of Hyping Books
https://madamewriterblog.com/2019/05/27/dangers-of-hyping-books/
Discussion: To Read Or Not To Read Reviews
https://thoughtsstainedwithink.com/2019/01/28/discussion-to-read-or-not-to-read-reviews/
The Most Nonsensical Terms Used In Book Blurbs
https://litreactor.com/columns/the-most-nonsensical-terms-used-in-book-blurbs
THINKING: First, I would like to thank Madame Writer and Thoughts Stained With Ink and Peter Derk of LitReactor for voicing several bookish Thoughts on subjects which I have mused over but never put into Words. They raised some valid questions, none I can satisfactorily answer but I would like to respond—
We all know book publicity takes many forms. It’s a big leap from when William Shakespeare saw his posters printed off a hand-blocked press. Currently we have literary journals, author talks, Facebook, dedicated websites, bloggers, online bookshops, the list goes on, all reviewing with a positive spin. More on that further down.
I follow trusted book reviewers (you know who you are!) and receive publishers e-newsletters. I don’t read backcover book blurb unless my mind is filled with a healthy dose of scepticism. I don’t read a book review unless it’s from my independent sources or I am already halfway through the story. Likewise I won’t read book hype, particularly on social media, until I’ve formed my own opinion. When I finish a book, I read blurb, reviews and hype just to see if I agree with everyone. Not always, but that’s the beauty of personal opinion.
Then there’s snappily worded book bolstering, raking through the coals of already formed opinions, to generate a spark in book sales and sway the undecided reader. I don’t review most of the books I read but after reading I make a mental note of the merits of each one. And the Choose-Your-Own process works for me. I’ve read some great books which I originally knew nothing about. Stubborn, yes, belief in book hype, no.
Which brings me to the reviewers, particularly those who receive an ARC in return for an honest review. Are their reviews strictly honest? Do they leave out the bits they don’t like? Fudge the wording? I’ve yet to read a scathing review for a publisher’s complimentary copy. Someone out there must have written an unhappy book review, one where it genuinely states ‘This book is rubbish’ and not because they don’t like the genre.
Fear holds us back; fear of no longer receiving free copies; fear of being pilloried by other readers; fear of ridicule from fans; fear of not sounding smart enough; fear of being the kid in the classroom who stands out for all the wrong reasons. We shouldn’t have any fear about expressing ourselves honestly but we do. Be nice, be fair but does that mean be honest? Rather than admit they don’t like a book, reviewers have been known NOT to write a review. Almost misinformation for both reader and author.
I’m under no allusion that my Three Things #6 will make waves in the blogging community yet I still put myself out there, turning my Thoughts into Words, and trying not to be fearful of the result. GBW.
♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward
Readers of my blog often go straight to my current post which detours Photo Of The Week on my Home page. I’ve gathered together some of my favourite shots—just in case you’ve missed a couple!
♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward
James Dixon ‘Jimmy’ Barnes (né Swan) was born in Glasgow, Scotland on 28 April 1956 and raised in Elizabeth, South Australia. His career as the lead vocalist with the rock band Cold Chisel, and later as a solo performer, has made him one of the most popular and best-selling Australian music artists of all time.
From 1973–present, Barnes career has spanned singer-songwriter-musician with vocals, guitar, harmonica and flute and he has received tonnes of music awards (and two Australian Book Industry awards) been inducted twice into the ARIA Hall of Fame and presented with the Order Of Australia medal.
Underneath the gravelly vocals and rough exterior, Jimmy Barnes struggled with an inferiority complex which manifested itself in alcohol and drug addiction for many years. The question on everyone’s lips was ‘How did he survive?’ Barnes wrote two autobiographies ‘Working Class Boy’ and ‘Working Class Man’ to answer this question.
I doubt his first book ‘Working Class Boy’ (published 2016) was fully edited. Raw and basic, it is a litany of hope, fear, addiction and the search for acceptance. Acceptance from his violent father, his mates and his audience. He writes about childhood abuse, how he ran amok through the towns of Elizabeth and Adelaide and later the Australian east coast, singing, drinking, finding a dealer, finding a girl and not sleeping for 24 hours or more. A son, performer David Campbell, is the result of a fling in his teenage years. Barnes’ second father, the man whose name he adopted, was a mentor of sorts until rock music became the epicentre of his life.
Barnes second book, a sequel titled ‘Working Class Man’ (published 2017) chronicles his thoughts of suicide and his continuous drug-taking and excessive alcohol consumption to the point of tedium. A horrible thing to say when I think of the mental and physical torment he was trying to escape. Still, it didn’t stop him singing—albeit clutching a Vodka bottle on stage every night—nor did it stop him gaining more and more success and greater financial stability as his music career took off. He began to live the life of a rock star.
Then Jimmy Barnes body let him down. After surgery, he tried to calm down and write his life story. It’s not a pretty read, examining old memories, but it’s honest. There are plenty of photographs and name-dropping, and Barnes talks about his wife Jane Mahoney, their children and extended family. He is now a grandfather and this shocked me the most!
No rating because of the ‘chicken and egg’ situation, did his fame boost the books or did the books boost his fame?
♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward
Website https://www.jimmybarnes.com/
Biography https://www.jimmybarnes.com/biography/
Books https://www.jimmybarnes.com/books/
Press Interview and Movie Clip https://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/music/for-hyperactive-jimmy-barnes-new-album-and-tour-is-just-the-beginning-20190528-p51s26.html
My pictorial of the Brookfield Show 2019 is pretty much in the order of how I wandered around this country-style event. Although the local landowners are on acreage, the suburb of Brookfield, Queensland, is no longer strictly a farming district nor agricultural growing region.
Yet every year the Brookfield Show comes along and every year thousands of residents flock through the old wooden gates, keen to sample what is known as Brisbane’s Biggest Little Country Show.
I will loosely describe my photos by what they do and don’t feature:
Evening events included live music in the Members’ Bar (aka pub) and ringside nighttime spectaculars featured bucking broncos and fireworks.
The Brookfield Show was the forerunner of our State’s grandest show The Royal National Exhibition but this year I didn’t see (or couldn’t find) any farm animals on Sunday except showjumping horses and pig racing. Perhaps other contenders had already been judged and gone home, taking their ribbons with them.
Nowadays it’s difficult to take photos at events especially where there are children. I am mindful of safety and privacy standards. Usually I wait until everyone has gone out-of-frame before I snap an image. Sometimes this makes it look like the place is empty!
Brookfield Show is held over three days in May and, as the legend goes, it often rains but this year the autumn weather in Brookfield was delightfully warm and sunny.
♥ Gretchen Bernet-Ward
Thoughts Become Words 