For the past couple of days I’ve been preoccupied with preparations for my residency at Lake St. Clair. I head there later this morning, courtesy of Peter Grant who will drive me. I’ll be staying in what I’m told is called “the single person’s house” and that I’ll be warm when the wood-fired heater is going. The point is taken—this morning dawned in Hobart with heavy rain, cloud swallowing the Mountain. Perhaps there will be fresh snow in the Park.
But I also know the house contains a washer and dryer, as well as an equipped kitchen, and Kevin and Irene have outfitted me with sleeping bag, wool blanket, sheets, and towels. I’ve gathered what now looks like an enormous mound of groceries, possibly even enough to last the full three weeks I’ve been there. Except for bread and milk, which are available. Or perhaps not … in which case I’ll have to ask the Park staff to shop for me on their occasional runs into a town.
I’ve filled my tote-on-wheels with books, including Margaret Avison’s just-published autobiography that Porcupine’s Quill kindly sent to me this week. It will be lovely to have Margaret’s presence as part of this adventure. I’ve also packed the field guides I have and a book about walking and writing that I found on Irene’s shelf, several collections of poetry—a couple of books on silence and withdrawal … More books than I reckon I can actually read in the three weeks I’ll be there, even if I do nothing else but read.
Of course I want to do other things. Last night I talked to Evie, a young woman who works at Fullers Bookshop, a botanist by training, if I remember correctly. I asked her about buttongrass, a plant I’ve read about, and her face lit up as she told me it was one of her favourite plants. I’ll see it—it turns a wonderful pale gold colour and grows quite tall, spraying out long stalks at the end of which are blossoms. They look like large snow flakes hanging in the air, Evie said. But it’s not easy to walk through, growing in boggy conditions and spreading out as it does. In fact, it’s not really a grass … but now I forget the Latin name she told me. Evie also recommended I spend some time with beautiful snow gums that are on one of the park walks.
Walking is part of my intention for the Park, but also (if the weather permits) I hope to spend time sitting in various places, listening and looking. One of the slides from the tayenebe show, perhaps the opening one from the presentation we saw, shows the backs of a group of women walking across a gold-coloured meadow towards a row of trees at the back. The trees are bare-trunked, with ragged crowns, and behind them is blue sky. That image sat on the screen for quite a long time and I was able to stare at it, wondering what it would be like to walk there, what sounds of wind or birds I might hear. I’ve bought a mic for my iPod—but don’t know how to work it yet. If I can figure it out I’ll be recording the soundscapes where I walk and sit … if not, I’ll have to try and capture them in words.
Getting ready has also meant shopping: groceries, an extra blank book in case I fill my current one, the mic for my iPod, and various electronic bits: extra camera batteries, rechargeable batteries and charger for the digital camera, and so forth. Yesterday was more or less swallowed by these errands, but in the late afternoon I met Bill Forsyth from WildCare at Fullers café. It was a pleasure to talk with him about WildCare and about places I should visit while I’m here. He is off later this fall to Melaleuca (perhaps that’s spelled correctly …) to monitor the orange-bellied parrots. He said that when you finally get your supplies into the dinghy and head upstream to the old hut where you stay it’s exactly like the African Queen.
I won't have internet access at hand in the park, so this blog may proceed even more slowly than it has been.
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