February 13, 2023

Rosella rescue

It seems to be the season for wildlife rescues. The rescued green and gold frog is doing nicely and remains happily ensconced in his new bathtub home with his larger companion. We assume he must be much more relaxed and comfortable with life as he no longer jumps into the water the moment we walk by. All good there.


The latest rescue was an eastern rosella who made me jump when it crashed into my office window a few days ago. Birds have a habit of doing this, at certain times of the year especially, but I can’t ever remember a rosella doing so before. The windows weren’t even that clean! Plus most are adorned with discreet but rather attractive butterfly transfers – possibly placed there by previous owners as an optimistic deterrent to just this situation. If so it hasn’t worked too well!


Over the years several birds have either suicided flying into some of the windows in this house, or given themselves a very nasty headache before apparently recovering and flying off. The rosella was still alive, but undoubtedly suffering when I rushed out to check. He was on his back and very distressed even after I righted him. He was in no hurry to fly off either poor fellow but it was impossible to tell if he had injured himself internally.


I picked him up and sat outside on the deck with him perched on my knees while he panted and shook from shock and fright. Even so he was content to sit placidly and thankfully made no attempt to peck me with his small but powerful beak. It was rather a privilege to be so close to such a magnificently plumed bird and to study him quietly while he recovered. So light and so fragile and yet so graceful when in the air.


Thankfully Ross the rosella did eventually recover but it took the best part of 30 minutes during which time he did make rather a mess of my clothes. I took this as a good sign and that he was getting over the shock, and what the heck, they were due to be washed anyway.


He followed up by pooing in the water container I eventually brought out, thinking he might welcome a drink. He declined though, then declined any further contact with me. A good sign I thought and totally fine by me as it indicated he really was going to be OK. Sure enough he soon hopped to the edge of the deck and then half flew onto the driveway and then rather unsteadily into the magnolia tree.


I followed just to make sure he wasn’t still a bit wobbly, but no he had his confidence back and soon flew to another tree at the end of the driveway and then off. Hopefully he’s learned a lesson and won’t fly into windows again.

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Fiona's gift

By Anne Layton-Bennett • June 14, 2026
It’s taken far too many months for this marvellous model to grace the dedicated desk space in my office. When Fiona comes to visit next she will be very surprised, and hopefully gratified, that her amazing creative talent is finally on display. We’ve known each other for a very long time, and during the insanely busy time when I was helping to run the flower farm, working part-time in a school library, doing a spot of journalism on the side, and fighting the proposed pulp mill that is the subject of the manuscript I’m hoping to get published, Fiona cleaned my house each week. There’s only so much a person can do after all, and it has to be said cleaning our house during those manic years was fairly low down on the list of my priorities. But Fiona is a woman of many talents and she certainly possesses one that I so don’t have: sewing and dressmaking. So over the years she’s also made a few garments based on the pattern of a favourite garment that I was particularly fond of, and she’s also done some clothing alterations for both of us. My skills with needles and thread are limited to sewing on buttons, and taking up hems on John’s too-long pairs of jeans. Anything else is beyond me. But this fabulous model is the pièce de résistance – along with the beautiful crocheted knee warmer she gave me last year. This was when winter was approaching and so determined was I to finish writing the book, I decided to get out of bed at the insane hour of 5am and get in a solid hour’s writing in before dog walking and the demands of the day took over. Fiona was also one of many Tasmanians who needed to be circumspect about her opinion of the pulp mill. It was a project that polarised people, including families and friendships. She was one of several who passed on snippets of useful information, but on the basis of anonymity so it couldn’t be sheeted home to her.  Needless to say Fiona will be one of those whose contribution will be acknowledged – when this book is finally accepted by a publisher.

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