Nature Does Christmas

It’s hot. Thirty degrees when I got up at seven this morning and windy. Everyone has been telling me that I should go and see the Christmas lights on The Boulevard, seeing as it is just around the corner. Last night then we headed out after dark hoping it might have cooled down a fraction but unfortunately not and joined the throng on the Christmas twinkle trail.

There were not as many houses lit up as on Franklin Road in Auckland but those that entered the spirit were definitely visible from space. I swear that it must have been a degree hotter on this stretch of road than elsewhere in Melbourne due to the radiation of millions of tiny twinkle lights and the greenhouse gases spewing from the snake of cars inching along the street.

“Are the lights worth it?” someone leaned out of a car going nowhere in the jam to ask me.

“Well yes they are worth a walk.”

And I thought people might be having an eco-Christmas this year but no they still went for the showy lights and tacky themes that I half expected to see the Virgin birth in animated lights watched by Rudolph the Red Nosed Pug dog and the three wise possums – “ooh a star, let’s follow the light.”

To me though, nature won the prize last night for being the most festive. A lone cicada serenaded the gathering buzzing a monotonous Christmas song and the brown moths illuminated fluttering in the light of the streetlamps took the prize over the twinkling Las Vegas lights.

Have I mentioned it’s hot? Thoughts of snow, sleigh bells and chestnuts roasting couldn’t be further from my mind. Apparently the fish shops are doing a roaring trade today. Shrimps to throw on the barbie will be heard sizzling tomorrow no doubt and that crack you hear is not a Christmas cracker but the spine of a tasty crustacean. This is Christmas in Australia.

A Batswing and Bottlebrush Christmas

Last night, in the balmy glow of a twilight warmed by a day of cloudless blue, I witnessed an incredible sight. Hundreds of black shapes took to the sky's fading light in elegant leisurely wing. I watched in awe as they soared above the trees on the banks of the Yarra River. The Yarra Boulevard is a popular drive the road twisting and wending its way up hill through a bushy park. It boasts some of the city's biggest mansions, overlooking stunning views and yet these millionaires share their park with the humble darkness creatures of black nightmares. Bats. The captivating display of winged symphony I was watching was hundreds of bats, trained to relocate their home from the Botanic Gardens where they were stripping trees bare, to the Yarra Parklands. And they are quite simply beautiful in flight. I'm not saying that I'm keen to meet one close up but then I dare say that they think the same was about me, freaky human that I am. In the sky however, sweeping overhead, I can appreciate how exotically awesome they are.

This has become my new reality adapting to life in a strange land with insects, creatures and weather phenomena my sheltered previous existence has only read about and promptly blocked out in terror. A storm in Melbourne is not done by half measures either. The other day the temperature climbed with the promised liquid blessing predicted to follow and eagerly anticipated. It held off till nightfall when sitting in the living room with the door open letting in the evening cool the atmospheric tension broke and the deluge descended.

Through the screen door I watched the air crackle with electricity cutting the night like a knife. With so much usual dry a storm sweeps through with spectacular display of sheet lightning and long, low rumbles of thunder. The rain hits at the end of the light show, hard and heavy for just a few minutes. The next moment it is all over and the temperature has cooled, the air is light and smells of fragrant tropical flowers. This is a bacteria I am told, triggered by the rain into releasing a lovely floral scent.

And speaking of flowers, the Bottlebrush and Wattle bush are in bloom as I hanker for the brilliant red of the Pohutukawa, in season at home for a Kiwi Christmas. The Aussie Christmas decorations are up in Melbourne City though not many houses around town have outdoor themed light displays, a sign maybe of people concerned about conservation. Even the big tree in Cathedral Square is not ostentatiously lit and the stars across the main streets are designed to reflect light rather than requiring power to shine. We are having a subdued eco-Christmas this year. The splash of red on the Bottlebrush reminds me that Christmas is this Friday and it will be the first I spend away from the traditions I have known. It is time for me to make new traditions and I look forward to the opportunity. The holiday season also is approaching and I am looking forward to a few days break. But despite all that, I do miss the Pohutukawa among other things.

The incense of Eucalytpus leaves drying in the sun infusing the warm air with a pervasive healing fragrance has infiltrated my new Christmas memories as has the eardrum piercing drone of giant green cicadas. I know which one I prefer. The birds in the trees are making themselves more known as the summer warms up. Pink Galahs and Crimson Rosellas sing their own carols overhead as they gather to roost while the sun goes down. Wattlebirds are not as pretty or colourful but they have a familiar song. The northern hemisphere images of snow on fir trees and heavy winter dinners of plum pudding and turkey seem even more incongruous in the Australian dry, dust bowl heat. A cold picnic of refreshing sparkling mineral water or a glass of wine, french bread smeared with creamy brie, pear and crisp celery with blue cheese on a blanket under a tree features in my plan for a new tradition. Whatever I do, I will finally this year get to achieve my dream of having a quiet, peaceful Christmas with no rushing about, no over-eating, just a restful holiday from the usual busyness of life and a true sense of goodwill to all man. Merry Christmas everyone.