Morgan’s Lookout is an unlikely place, a pile of granite tors on top of a hill. It is named after the bushranger who camped out there in the nineteenth century, looking out for travellers to rob.
It commands a marvellous view of the country-side in all directions, especially if you brave the climb to the top of the rocks. I only went part way, up that near-vertical metal ladder…
We have driven past Morgan’s Lookout a couple of times before, but last month, despite being short of time, we turned of the main road and drove through paddocks to reach the hill. There is a picnic table, and a toilet block (presumably drop toilets, I didn’t look!). Alex and I scrambled up between the rocks, and he went all the way to the top. There was a massive deposit of tickle-grass lodged between some of the rocks, and even from halfway, the view out across the plains is impressive. I’m grateful to whoever decided to make the place available to the public, as it is the middle of farmland.
Sometimes including faces in the crowd, or the backs of heads, adds an interesting layer to an image, without detracting from whatever they are looking at, or doing.
Our Hall Committee have hosted two High Teas (so far!). They are a lot of work, as well as a lot of fun, and I’ve been trying to remember to document them as much as possible. I pulled the phone out yesterday to catch Peter and Neil hard at work washing up and putting away the many bits and pieces that are essential for a proper High Tea. I had taken several photos of the room set up but empty of people – full, it looks quite different.
Granpa, Tilly and a small horse (and another young lass) needs no explanation.
The other three images are from our Trip of a Lifetime (2011 – time flies).
I took a lot of photos with Bryan in them – some deliberate, some because he was in the way… The little boys were “in my way” when I was taking photos of the rainbow in the International Fountain at the Seattle Center, but the shot with them there is by far the best of the lot. The last one is from the ferry, crossing from Port Angeles to Victoria BC – our three day foray to Canadian soil – looking back across the backs of other passengers at lovely Hurricane Ridge.
I had two weeks, and still I’m late, but I’m not the only one ambushed by Christmas and New Year. I’ve been thinking about my favourites for the year, and of course that means grandkids.
Juniper, construction Queen
We started the year with two, and finished with three. We haven’t seen Juniper and her little brother for months (maybe not quite as long as it seems, though!), but thanks to social media, we get to see them and their antics almost every day on one screen or another. Young Tilly lives further away than she used to, too, but we’ll make the most of it whenever we see any of them.
And then we get to hand them back to Mum and Dad! Stirred up, if Grandpa has anything to do with it.
When I read this week’s challenge theme (a week that is nearly over…) there was only one bridge I was thinking of. I did take some photos while crossing a bridge over the Murray recently – only there was no card in the camera…we’ll have to go that way again sometime, and try again.
We have plans to visit Aberdeen, Washington again someday, and if we do, we will certainly visit the famous bridge again. It must have been a great private spot forty years ago, now not so much…it’s a place of pilgrimage instead. Someone had carved “KURT” in giant letters on the mud of the bank, and every accessible surface was embellished with graffiti – messages to Kurt, and quotes of Nirvana lyrics, mostly. All that will have changed by now.
Bryan insisted on taking a photo of me standing under it. I’m the photographer in our family, which means I don’t get in many photos. This was August 2011, and about halfway through our month in the Pacific North West.
This week’s challenge is about danger – I’m finding there’s a danger that the week will slip past on a banana peel of busy-ness, and I won’t have thought of what to post before the next challenge gets to my mailbox. However, Michelle’s story of disappointingly small, not-very-dangerous looking seed pods reminded me of this street tree in Mt Hawthorn, Perth, which I used to walk past every day when my grand daughter Juniper was a new baby. I never saw one of the cones, and wasn’t sorry, since I was aware of their fearsome and deserved reputation. My husband and son once camped where the Bunya Pine is endemic, and got to hear the sickening thud of a cone hitting the ground from a great height.
Last summer, we stopped for a break at a park in Central Victoria – and found a Bunya pine cone on the ground. Green and full of sap, it was heavy enough to do serious damage, and covered in sharp spines, just in case. The “leaves” are also well armoured, but that didn’t stop a cockatoo from chopping it off. It is now dry, much lighter and smaller, but I still wouldn’t like one to hit me…Why municipalities decided to plant them as street trees, or even in public parks, is a mystery to me, although I guess it was back in the days when playground equipment carried the added excitement of real and present danger to life and limb, and litigiousness was unheard of.
Every day, we take one road or another, and where we end up depends on the road taken. Most days it’s the same old road, and sometimes it’s an adventure. This adventure began last September, when I booked tickets to see Pixies play in Melbourne. The concert was the day before my birthday, which made it “meant to be”!
We live in country Victoria, so it was a longish trip by coach and train to the city, before a leisurely stroll along Southbank (via the food court for a burrito), then along the banks of the Yarra, and across a bridge to find the Margaret Court Arena among all the other sports venues. We sat outside for a while, watching other patrons arriving, because people-watching is half the fun.
Once inside, local band the Merlocs got things started, and I couldn’t resist the image of red light and moving shadows. If the floor had been full, as it was an hour later, it wouldn’t have looked like that! The Pixies were, of course, awesome, and ended the night with Into the White in a cloud of white smoke. After that, it was a brisk walk back to the city alongside dozens of other people, under the light of the moon.
What’s in a name? Well it helps if everyone agrees what it is, and this week it’s the subject for the Weekly Photography Challenge. Today we are on our way to Canberra to pick up our daughter and granddaughter for a little holiday and family time. We’ve had a few stops on the way for cups of tea, coffee and Hibiscus and Lime (it’s hot today). I’ve had my eye out for photogenic names –
We’ve been stopping at the little park in Tarnagulla for years , but it’s the first time I’ve seen a name for it- the sign looks new. The monument there is engraved with the names of the men who went from the area to fight in World Wars I and II – hence the name for the park. Elmore’s miniature train runs alongside our next picnic spot. We’ve taken Juniper there, but it’s hard to get away again! Another stop in Maroopna for a cold drink, and I snapped this picnic table – I’ve no idea what the name means. Another stop (It’s a long drive!) for coffee in Wangaratta, and another sign – not a name, but a fair warning to park visitors to watch their steps! The lady sitting reading didn’t seem very fussed by it.