A number of years ago I lived with my sons in a house in an older suburb of Canberra which was directly under the flight path of the balloonists. I loved this aspect of living in this house as the balloons drifting by were not an unattractive sight. All the colours and designs make it quite spectacular. I remember the first time I heard the balloons going overhead I got such a fright I nearly fell down the stairs - I thought the Martians had landed!

Now this particular house was quite old and came with a huge back garden - I often had parties there and we often referred to this as my garden park! With a huge weeping tree in the centre of the garden it really came into it's own in the summer and most evenings we enjoyed eating outdoors; under it's weeping boughs it felt just like being inside a shady cloister. At Christmastime I used to put long trestle tables under the tree all dressed up with white banquet cloths, tall red candles and large emerald green glasses, and of course there was also lots of gorgeous food with great bins of ice for the wine . We all really loved Christmas in this particular garden.

At the very end of the garden was a walnut tree, quite old and gnarled it always provided lots of great nuts. But there was a problem with these nuts - we never got to eat them because the sulphur crested cockatoos always beat us to them. It seems that cockatoos have some type of hereditary map memory for where all the good walnut trees grow throughout the city and each year they swarm into each tree and completely denude them of their nuts. I tried everything to dissuade these wretched birds from taking our nuts. I really tried to convince them that we would also like to have some to eat - but my efforts were fruitless. I put milk bottle tops into the trees, hosed them when they tried to land, put up a scarecrow. Somewhat enthusiastically, I even decided that I would become the scarecrow myself and to this end I placed a very old mop just inside the back door and whenever I heard that most familiar noise of the birds coming in to feast, I would rush out and wave the mop vigorously at them and they would fly away. No harm done and everyone happy - well me anyway!

Time marched on, the walnuts were nearly ripe and I felt I was doing a great job keeping guard against all comers. One very early, extremely hot January morning, at about 6.00am, I heard the screech of the birds as they landed on my tree, I leapt out of bed still in my barely there nightdress, raced to the back door, wrenched it open, grabbed the mop as I passed and shot down to the walnut tree madly waving it at the birds. It worked and they flew away screeching at me for intruding on their feasting; it was then that I heard another noise right above me.

It was the sound of wolf whistling and clapping and cheering. I had had an audience to my capers, the balloon full of sight see'ers, had just taken off from the park up the road and had I am sure, witnessed much more than was planned. Just out of bed my hair stood up on end, my nightdress was somewhat flimsy, I know I looked a sight but not one for sore eyes! I was so embarrassed and with nowhere to go I just had to stay put under the walnut tree, until a gust of wind blew them along to their next point of call.

The next year I didn't even bother fighting the cockies - I just let them feast to their greedy little heart's delight!

copyright: a.a.gallagher 2008