Cockatoos, A Hot Air Balloon, and A Walnut Tree.

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 balloonists. I loved this aspect of living in this house as the hot air balloons drifting by are not an unattractive sight.

All the wild colours and designs make them quite spectacular. I remember the very first time I heard balloons going overhead I got such a fright I nearly fell down the stairs — I really thought the Martians had landed!

Now our house was quite old and came with a huge back garden — I often had parties there and we would refer to this space as my garden park! With a huge weeping tree in the centre of the garden it really came into its own in the summer and most evenings we enjoyed eating outdoors in the shade under the weeping boughs — it felt just like being inside a shady cloister.

At Christmas 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 would be lots of gorgeous food with great bins of ice for the wine. Indeed, we loved our Summer Christmases in this particular garden.

At the very end of the garden was a large walnut tree, quite old and gnarled it always provided lots of great nuts. But there was a problem with these nuts and that was 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 memory map 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 nutty cargo. 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 or maybe I should say nutless! I put milk bottle tops into the trees, hosed them when they tried to land, even put up a scarecrow.

Somewhat enthusiastically, I decided that I would become the scarecrow myself and to this end I placed an 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 and enthusiastically at them and they would fly away. No harm done and everyone happy — well me anyway!

Time marched on, the walnuts had nearly ripened, and I felt I was doing a great job keeping guard against all comers. But then, quite early one extremely hot January morning, at about 6.00am, I heard the familiar 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. A Hot Air Balloon full of laughing champagne-sipping sight-see’ers, had just taken off from the park up the road and had I am sure, witnessed much more than should have been visible.

No privacy here. Just out of bed, hair on end, and my nightdress more than somewhat flimsy I had certainly played my scarecrow impersonation beautifully.

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 where I was under the walnut tree, until the wind blew them along to their next point of call.

The following year I did not even bother fighting the cockies — I just let them feast to their greedy little heart’s delight!

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