Tag Archives: Royal Botanic Gardens

From Woolloomooloo to the Mississippi

My last day in Australia.  This was the weather Woolloomooloo, the area in which the Botanic Gardens are located.  And next to that, the weather in St. Paul today.

I’m sorry to be one of those people who whines about weather.  But every other day I get one of these notices.

There have been six snow emergencies so far this year, and March is the snowiest month in Minnesota, so it ain’t over.

What these notices mean—for those of you who don’t live around here—is that I have to move my car by 9pm, then move it again by 8am the next morning so the plows can clear the roads.

Try moving your car when it’s a foot deep in heavy, wet snow (as opposed to light, fluffy snow) and the wheels are encased in ice.  Yesterday, hacking away at wheel-well ice on my knees, my heavy-duty scraper broke in half.  I sent it flying into a snow bank with a primal scream. I then employed an ice chopper, tears, a shovel, swearing, a hammer, grunts and howls of anguish, and cat litter.  It took 45 minutes and I think I blew out a knee, but I got my car moved.  Thank god I’ve got a manual transmission so I can rock it back and forth.

And I will likely have to do it again in a few days.

People say the snow is pretty.  I know I should try to appreciate it more. These are some photos from inside my snug, warm house during and after a selection of blizzards.

And here are some snaps from the snowshoeing I did with my cousin and friends last weekend.

The dogs had at least as much fun as the people.  I love how she is covered in snow balls.

I’m aware that I am procrastinating on wrapping up my writing about Australia.  As long as I am still writing about it, it feels like part of me is still there.

Another day in the Botanic Gardens.  Heidi was on a mission to see some of the Invictus Games, and I was happy to go along.  Prince Harry was rumored to be making a speech just outside the gardens. Rumored.  We stopped and asked five people, and no one knew, not even the volunteers or employees.

“Sorry, love, we ran out of programs ages ago and none of us even know the schedule,” was one volunteer’s response.

In case you’re wondering if there were any interesting plants in the Royal Botanic Gardens, there were.  I kept lollygagging to take photos.

I wanted to stop at the gift shop again.

“Aw, Annie, I’m afraid we’ll miss Harry’s speech,” Heidi said.

But I insisted. It would only take a minute.  There was a card I had seen that I hadn’t bought and now as long as we were passing by … but we both became mesmerized by the beautiful botanical-themed items and spent 20 minutes there.

We then raced across a broad lawn to find we had just missed Harry’s speech opening the bicycle races.

Heidi’s shoulders sagged and she let out a sigh.  This is a woman who lived in London for 18 years, who had gone to every celebration of the Queen’s birthday, the Golden Jubilee, any and all flag-waving, Hail Britannia, crowds-in-the-street type celebration that came with an extra day off work.

“I’m sorry!  I made you miss Harry’s speech!”

“No drama!” Heidi shrugged as we moved with the crowds to view the races.

There were competitors from 18 nations, all of them physically or emotionally handicapped.  I was impressed that as much weight was given to veterans’ mental trauma as physical.  It made sense, since Harry and his brother William support mental health charities at home because of the trauma they endured when their mother, Princess Diana, died.

That said, the cyclists with only one leg were the most impressive.

Visitors were wearing their national colors.

Some were more gung-ho about representing their countries than others.

We verbally edited the “Taco’s and burito’s” menu, then moved on to order kimchee chicken burgers for lunch.

Lastly, I added to my collection of photos of myself with large furry animals.

Posh Birds

After the cruise we walked along the river to the Royal Botanic Gardens.  I am a crazy plant lady.  Or am I normal?  At this time of year I make several runs to my local garden shop and spend loads of money to surround myself with doomed house plants. Is there something in the human spirit, our circadian rhythms, or our sensory organs that craves green in the winter?  I think this is one explanation for the origins of the Christmas tree.

Anyway, I was in my glory in Melbourne as we boarded a trolley and listened to the silver-tongued commentary of our driver.  She had one of those soft voices that lulls you into a trance.

Once again, my photos were subject to that particular effect of the Australian sun that makes them look like my lens was smeared with Vaseline.  I kind of like it.

The guide said, waving toward a tree, “And here are some of our famous elms. We get lots of Americans coming here to see them,” she looked meaningfully at me.

Hmm.  We have elm trees in America.  A lot of them were wiped out in the 70s by Dutch Elm Disease, but we still have plenty. I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but I kept my mouth shut because she was obviously proud of those trees.

These are banksia nuts; what I would call cones.

I bought some diffusers in the gift shop made out of polished banksia nuts.  Normally I don’t like anything scented but I have one of these by my bedside filled with Eucalyptus oil.

These are banksia flowers, one of 70 varieties.

And gum nuts. I don’t know why Eucalyptus trees are called gums, or why their flowers are called nuts.  It kind of looks like the nuts burst open and flower.  So are they really nuts?  Who cares, they’re fantastic.

I don’t know what this was; all I knew was that anything that appears to be a 20-foot-tall asparagus spear must be photographed.

I snapped this shaky photo of a banyan tree from the trolley.  I wonder if the guide found me an annoying American due to the many times I exclaimed, “Wow!”

“I could have stayed on that trolley all day,” I said to Heidi and Danielle after we reluctantly disembarked.  The driver had politely but firmly said no when we suggested going around a second time.

“I know,” said Heidi, “Our guide had such a posh Melbourne accent.”

“Is that what it was?” I asked.

“I think so.  It’s hard to tell if she was putting it on or if that was her real way of speaking.  There aren’t loads of different accents here, like in the UK.  Mainly, we have regular … ”

“Like us,” Danielle interjected.

“Country,” Heidi continued.

“Like Crocodile Dundee,” said Danielle.

“And posh,” finished Heidi.

“That guide was posh, obviously,” said Danielle.  “I don’t think Melbourne is any different from the rest of the country.”

Heidi replied, “I guess I was talking about the lilt she had, like a bird.  Hearing all the birds of Australia—I hardly notice them but Annie, you’ve been bringing them to my attention—I wonder if our accent was influenced by them.”

She glanced at her watch.  “Oh my gawd!  We’ve got to meet Andrew!”  Andrew, an old uni chum of Heidi’s.  We raced past the Victorian keeper’s house and children’s garden.

We got to Lygon Street in Little Italy where, once again, I had a moment of disorientation where wondered, “Where am I?” because all the restaurants were Italian and people were speaking Italian.

We found Andrew and settled down at a sidewalk table with wine and pasta.  Andrew works for a Member of Parliament and commutes to Canberra during the week—a seven- to eight-hour drive or one-hour flight. We talked more about language.

“The state south of yours is the Mexicans,” Heidi said.

Fair dinkum means, ‘You’ve got a point’,” said Danielle.

“What’s a slice?” I asked, and was informed it was another name for a bar-type dessert, like a brownie.

“And tucker?”

“That’s just food,” Andrew explained, as he twirled his spag bol.