Author: admin

An excerpt from Fallen Wood, Andy’s latest novel.

People will tell you about the light, about the long tunnel they glide up, on their way to the brightest, warmest, most dazzling incandescence you could imagine. They’ll tell you about making it almost all the way to the light, then being sucked back into the world and waking up in hospital, or at the side of the road, or with some lifesaver blowing air into their mouth. For me, not so. For me, death was the tall tree that I had climbed as a kid, when I’d wagged school every Wednesday afternoon rather than humiliate myself in sports class. Death was the gnarled, sap-sticky branch on which I sat, eating the neighbour’s passionfruit while I waited for the right time to show up at home. Death was the cool wind that caressed my face, turning my lips numb and making my throat and the back of my nostrils burn. Death was the voice of my father, deep, gravelly, rising up from below and calmly telling me to climb down from the tree and meet him in the kitchen. Death was the dread that filled me as my sweat-slicked hands slid down the trunk, as my leather shod feet whispered through the long grass, picking up a hundred sticky green seeds on their way. Death was me, pushing through the door and seeing him sitting at the table, his face an unreadable mask, his eyes slicing right into my head.

Make your mark.

It seems to be one of the strongest drivers in human nature. The desire to leave the world changed in some way, as a result of our presence. By making a change in our surroundings, maybe it makes us feel like at least a part of us is going to live on, a kind of immortality.

And there are a number of ways that we leave our mark. In the hearts and minds of people we love, we leave behind us every emotion they feel, every memory of us that they have. By the works we create – be they music, art, literature or things that we build, like houses or furniture – we are attempting to leave the world a more interesting or attractive place than it was before we came along.

But what mark do we make that will last much, much longer than all of those things? What mark are we going to leave behind after we are gone that is going to make an impact, not only on our children and grandchildren, but on all living things that might inhabit the world long into the future?

Answer?

Our environment. Or the lack of it.

I’m not sure if anyone else has noticed an odd example of human behaviour. It happens when a new home owner moves onto his (and I’ll use the masculine here, because they seem to do it more than women) property. First order of business is to unpack those pesky cardboard boxes, hammer in a few picture hooks and make sure the fridge is well stocked. This is closely followed by what I call‘The Clear’. The Clear involves the new home owner, desperate to make a mark that will claim his territory, rushing out into the yard and immediately hacking into the nearest tree or shrub, savaging the foliage and leaving behind a large gap for the neighbours to look through. The homeowner then experiences a rush of well-being, satisfied that a mark has well and truly been made on his surroundings. He stands back and smiles with pleasure for a few minutes. But soon, he begins to scratch his head and wonder why the joy is starting to wear off. He looks around him and spies a second tree that is just … not quite right.

This same phenomenon is occurring on a much grander scale, all over the world, as developers bulldoze thousands of hectares of valuable habitat in order to make their (admittedly more impressive) mark on the land.

But let’s consider the other more creative, less lazy alternative. What if every time we moved onto a new slice of land, we planted a dozen trees rather than removing them? Sure, it would take around a year before that rush of well-being would be experienced, a delay that the new homeowner would have to be brave and endure. But what a payoff at the end of that year! The happy resident would be able to look out the window and see the wildlife enjoying their new homes. He would experience the warm, satisfying feeling of having left the property just that little bit more capable of sustaining its future human residents. And he would bask in the immense satisfaction of having contributed, in a small way, to the worldwide effort to save the planet from almost sure desolation.

And now imagine what would happen if that scenario were repeated around the world, if every new home owner planted a dozen or more trees. And then imagine what will happen if they don’t.

The word of the month – Desertification. Look it up. Then look around you, and perhaps you might feel, as I do, a little inspired to get out in the dirt, dig a hole and put a lovely native Australian tree in it.

A tree change without trees is just a change. But with them, it might just save us.

We are surrounded by an incredible variety of native animals. Over 80 species of birds regularly visit, and of course, our friendly wallabies are often here to welcome the sunrise with us.

We put together this short introductory video, featuring an instrumental track from Vospar Gem, as well as some images and video from the SeaCrow Studios’ gardens, and some lovely places in the world. Please enjoy.

The ancestors of my Aboriginal friends understood that they belonged to the land, just as the land belonged to them. Everything they did was guided by the principle of sustainability. They knew that if the land died, they would soon follow.
I look around me and realise that we have lost track of that one, simple truth.
If the land dies. So do we.
Trees are the lungs of the land. Without them, it cannot breathe. Without them, we cannot breathe.
It think about that every time my back starts to complain from digging yet another hole in the ground. The 1600 holes that I have dug so far, and the 1600 trees that have gone into them, are just a drop in the ocean compared to the number that are removed to make way for one development.
Would it be too hard for developers to spare a few patches of native bush from the blades of their bulldozers? Perhaps a boycott of unsustainably developed real estate is needed? It would certainly be a good way to encourage them to think of the end of the story, rather than just the chapter in which they pad their wallets.
And yet, I am so happy to hear that we locals are trying to make a difference. And succeeding!
Hundreds and hundreds of trees have gone into the ground, and will soon be providing food for the possums and koalas, homes for the birds, and habitat for all the other animals. And they will be pumping oxygen into the air for our kids to breathe, for as long as we leave them alone.
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I could fill the entire page with that sentiment.
To all of you who are taking the time to do the right thing, for you, for me, for our kids. Thank you.
You have moved onto this land, and are taking care of it, just like those clever Aboriginal people did, for so many centuries.
Thanks.
Because, like I always say, a tree change without trees, is just a change. And not for the better.

At Preah Khan temple, near Siem Reap in Cambodia, we happened upon this young girl, who was standing quietly in a secluded corner of the ruins. The animal draped across her shoulder is a Civet, an animal that we had never seen before. I asked the girl if she would mind having her photo taken. She smiled shyly and nodded her head. Then she stood there for a few minutes looking incredibly fragile and beautiful, while I snapped a few pics. It occurred to me later that perhaps she had been waiting there for this very encounter, and that maybe this was her way of earning a few dollars to take home to her family. I felt bad that perhaps I had misunderstood the exchange, but grateful that we had had a chance to have our hearts opened by our brief contact with her. The Cambodian people are so very lovely!

Imagine this.
You are in the passenger seat of a car.
The car is hammering down the freeway at twice the speed limit.
Ahead, you see an LPG truck. It’s broken down and is parked right across your lane.
Within a second you will hit it. And you know that when you do, it will explode and take out the nearby primary school.
You panic. Your heart freezes in your chest as you suck in a deep breath and get ready to scream at the driver.
‘STOP!’
‘STOP THE CAR!’
You turn in your seat, astonished that the driver has not already stamped down on the brake pedal.
And then you realise why.
There is no driver.
You are sitting inside an unguided missile, careening toward certain destruction. And it’s too late to react.

‘So?’ We ask with a smug grin. ‘This isn’t happening to me, so why should I be scared?’

Oh, but it is, dear reader. It is.
Our little green planet is hurtling down an environmental highway. It’s going faster and faster, and it’s almost out of control. And just ahead of us, there is a hazard on the road. It’s called irreversible climate change. When we hit it, it’s going to be the end of the story. We can say goodbye to that nearby primary school. And the secondary school. And the rest of the suburb too.
The collision has already started.
And pretty soon we are all going to look over to the driver’s seat and see that there has been nobody at the wheel for a long, long time.
We thought our politicians were guiding us safely to our destination, but sadly, they stepped out at the last traffic light. They knew about the hazard up ahead. They knew it better than anyone. But they chose not to take us on the safer road. They figured they could step off at just the right moment, and the rest of us could take our chances with the LPG truck.

So who’s to blame?

We are. You. Me. All of us.
Because we voted them in. And we sat in the comfortable passenger’s seat and watched as they drove us into disaster.
How different it would have been if we had voted for someone who cared about the entire journey, and not just the first little part of it.

Misery loves company, so they say.
And as it turns out, so do trees.
When we first moved onto our property, we started planting trees without any real plan in mind. We simply wanted to get some of them in the ground, get them started, so that in a few years’ time we’d have some decent habitat around us. And four years on, it’s really starting to pay dividends. Better view. Better food for the wildlife. Better all round.
But what we’ve since realised, is that young trees seem to grow much better when they are surrounded by other young trees. A bit like when you are driving down the highway, and you go to overtake a slower car, only to have that driver speed up in competition with you. Okay, maybe that’s not the best analogy, but you get what I’m saying. One tree seems to egg the other tree on, causing it to grow more confidently.
In this case, it’s actually more about micro-climate. The grouping of trees, planted close together, somehow forms a little bubble of happiness that helps them get a good start in life. Like a security blanket. Cosy. Reassuring.
Of particular importance, is the planting of an understorey. The understorey is the layer of low growing shrubs, vines and grasses that fills up the space between the trees. It’s essential for a healthy habitat. For a number of reasons, including:
1. It helps stop the invasion of my old nemesis – weeds. (Do I need to go on again about those damned cobbler’s pegs? I think not.) The presence of the mid and lower storeys of native vegetation really does help with weed control, which means that you don’t have to spend every weekend whipper-snipping in between the trees. Leaves you more time to enjoy those million other chores that are on your list.
2. The understorey is where most of the animals live, eat or nest. Even my good friend lantana, while it’s not any kind of long-term solution, does at least give the bower-birds, finches, whip-birds and the like somewhere to hang out in relative safety. Understorey provides cover for them, so that they can move from place to place in their search for food.
3. The understorey helps to keep the ground moist during dry times – something we’ll have plenty of in coming years. By shading the ground, it slows evaporation of water from the soil, which is a good thing, especially when you have spent hours walking around with buckets, trying to keep your prize tree ferns alive. If you don’t want to live in a dust-bowl next summer, then planting is the way to go.
Have you seen the movie Avatar? In it, we learn that every tree on that planet is connected by a vast underground network, almost like a worldwide nervous system. Harm to one plant is felt and understood by every other plant – and indeed, every other living thing – on the planet.
It’s not just science fiction.
If you think you live apart and unaffected by what happens elsewhere in the world, you have some pretty hard lessons heading your way.
I read recently that 40 percent of native Australian forests have been removed in the last 200 years. I’ll paraphrase that for you.
Almost half the trees in Australia have been cut down since we colonised.
Half.
It’s predicted that three million hectares will be cleared on the east coast, within the next 15 years. Because, why stop at half? Scary.
Thankfully, 1600 new trees have been planted in the earth surrounding SeaCrow Studios, and I know that many other locals have been doing the same. It may sound inconsequential compared to what’s been and will be destroyed, but if we all do it, sometime soon the government might get on-board with the idea. Who knows?

We hope you enjoy this offering from Vospar Gem. This track was recorded using bowed electric guitar, Thai and Irish Flutes and Tibetan singing bowls, among other instruments. As with all tracks produced by SeaCrow Studios, this one is available for exclusive or shared use. Please contact us for more information and terms of license.

The SeaCrow Crew.

This Green Tree Snake was exploring one of the ponds this morning. These beautiful, harmless snakes have an amazing ability to suspend much of the length of their body out into thin air. This little one was, incredibly, able to traverse the entire pond by anchoring its rear end to pond plants, then skimming its front half over the lily pads. If you are wondering what it was up to, it was looking for frogs. The incredible variety of amphibians we find on the land surrounding SeaCrow Studios is a veritable smorgasbord for some of our reptilian and avian friends.

It’s rainy season up on the hill, and some of our regular visitors are beginning to look as if they have had enough. Sulfur crested Cockatoos have been popping in for a quick visit over the last six months. I was surprised during breakfast when I turned and saw one on the verandah next to me. Pretty soon we had as many as two dozen showing up to take a dip in the bird bath. This little guy decided on a shower instead.

Tree Change

High density dwellings
by Andy McLean

I’m constantly surprised by nature. By the variety. By the cleverness and beauty. By the amount of it. It’s everywhere.
I had to walk through my property at four a.m. a couple of weeks back. At a time when I’m normally counting sheep, I began counting the glow-in-the-dark mushrooms. Yes. We have fungi that glow in the dark. So brightly that you can see their blue light from quite a distance. Amazing. It reminded me of a scene from the movie Avatar.
When you take the time to really look, the amount and variety of life is astounding. And so many creatures make their homes right beside eachother, sharing the space in a carefully laid out town-plan, each of them eeking out their own little property.
Take a tree, for example.
You obviously have the birds, who perch on the branches, make their nests on and in the tree, feed from its flowers, fruits, nuts or bark. Then you have the nocturnal animals like possums, gliders and koalas, who munch on the leaves or drink the sap that oozes out of the trunk.
But look further.
There are hundreds, perhaps thousands of different types of bugs, beetles, spiders, native bees and borers that call the tree home too. And each of these creatures will, at some point, provide food for one or more of the birds, mammals or reptiles you see visiting. And that’s just the animals. There is also an immense collection of other plants that rely on the protection the tree gives to the surrounding land. Fungi (like my glow-in-the-dark friends), ferns, creepers, climbers and epyphitic plants such as staghorns. They all need the tree.
Our unique native gums also provide a very special place for our wildlife to breed. Many of our beloved birds and mammals rely on the hollow branches and trunks of our mature trees to make their nests. But they can only do it in mature trees, which only develop the hollows when they get to about a hundred years old. Without mature gum trees, many of our threatened species will die out. There is no question of that.
And yet, I go for a walk, even a short walk, and I see hundreds of mature trees being cut down. Most of them are taken out to make room for development. But some of them are just hacked out, removed for no good reason.
Many clever people have taken a look around and decided that they had better start planting trees, rather than removing them. And I encourage you all to do the same. Even if it’s only a few trees now and then. It all makes a difference.
And even though the trees that we are thoughfully planting now, will only be of use for hollow-nesting in the next century, they will still provide food for wildlife in the meantime, and oxygen for our children to breathe, as they grow up and start to question our custodianship of the land.
Let’s leave them something good.

A tree change without trees, is just a change.
And not for the better.

Perhaps one of the best places in the world to view the sunset, the Greek island of Santorini hides a charming heart under the veneer of tourism. Such lovely, hospitable, friendly people. These sunset pics were taken from the edge of the caldera at Firostefani.