My Aunt Daisy is a lady well into her eighties who refers to herself as being well seasoned. She’ll never concede that she is old and I have to admit she has seen a few seasons.
Every so often she rings me to come and collect her and take her for a drive. It sounds simple, doesn’t it? But Aunt Daisy always has in her mind a destination she’d like to go to.
She’s a real nature lover and as I discovered on this particular day she had a place she wanted to visit.
“Take me up the Watagans,” she said, settling herself into my car. “Good time of year to be going up there.”
So off we drove, with Aunt Daisy talking pretty much non-stop. As we drew close to the National Park, she called out. “Stop! Stop! Here now.”
So, I pull over to the side of the road and Aunt Daisy is out of the car in a flash. She always carries her camera with her and once out of the car she made a beeline for the edge of the forest.
“Look there, see it?” she said with overwhelming enthusiasm.
“What am I looking at Aunt Daisy?” I replied unsure which piece of vegetation I was looking at.
“The tree fern, what a beauty.” And away she went clicking her camera taking, I was sure, far more photos than was necessary.
I should point out that Aunt daisy has a thing for tree ferns. She has one growing in her garden which she assured me was acquired by legitimate means.
She had been at our local Bunnings and wandering through the plant nursery had come upon a section where plants had been placed which were either dying or about to. On this particular day, there was tree fern sitting there. It had one frond and was looking particularly forlorn, quoting Aunt Daisy. So, for the $8.00 it was marked down to she took it home and planted it. Today that same forlorn tree fern as grown into an impressive twelve-foot-high plant.
So, Aunt Daisy finally finished photographing the tree fern, and we climbed back into the car. She was excited and said she’s hoping to see something special when we get into the Watagans.
We pulled into the parking area and grabbed the picnic rugs and the lunch Aunt Daisy had brought along. She settled herself into a fold up chair she packed for herself and began to go through the photos she had taken earlier.
I was taking in the quiet of the place; it was mid-week so there were no other people around, unlike on the weekends when hundreds turn up there.
“Look,” I said to her, as a huge goanna came ambling out of the scrub, his long tongue flicking out to get a good feel of the area.
Aunt Daisy had her camera up, adjusted her lens at it and was clicking away.
“Told you there’d be something good up here to photograph.”
Later on, the way home she told me about a blog she has started posting her photos to. Aunt Daisy never ceases to surprise me.