The last full day in Australia for my brother and his family was going to be a busy one.  They were planning on going to a wildlife park right in Darling Harbor.  I had seen hundreds of wild Australian animals (all at once at one point in the Grampians…kangaroos, wallabies, and emus…another story…), so fearing the cost and not anxious to see more wildlife, especially in the heart of the city, I was going to join them later at St. Mary’s Cathedral. 

I got to work a little, wander a little, and read a little.  A pleasant morning.

All went well.  Wandering the streets, enjoying the day.  Strolling the streets, enjoying the parks, and ending up at a café outside of St. Mary’s, enjoying a meat pie, then entering the Cathedral to pray and reflect while I waited.

Tom, Mary and the girls entered about an our hour later.  Awed by the majesty of St. Mary’s (though they all agreed St. Patrick’s in Melbourne was more impressive….Sarah gave her reasoning with great reasoning….”They have seat warmers at St. Patrick’s Uncle Mark.”)

We stayed for Mass, than got an impressive tour of the crypt beneath the church.  The history of Sydney, and indeed Melbourne, lies under the church it seems, from the stories of the first priests that ministered to the Irish convicts in secret (banned by the government) to the first priests and bishops to set foot and start to build the faith.

The huge Celtic Cross, carefully built into the tiles of the floor, speak to the strong links that the culture and the people have with Ireland.  In the United States, we speak of Georgia being settled by convicts, mainly people that were thrown into debtors prison or thieves.  Here, in addition to pure criminals, there are the stories of the people thrown in jail for stealing a loaf of bread…and given a seven year sentence with a one way ticket to Australia.  Perhaps most telling, the large number of political prisoners set to Australia from the Irish uprisings.  The settlement of Australia is intricately linked with the story of England.

Sorry, I digress.

After the tour, we I hoofed it down to Circular Quay while Tom, Mary, Abby and Sarah followed in a taxi (taxi for four easy to find…for five, not so much).  We were going to catch the Manly Ferry to see the famous Manly Beach.

I didn’t explain it that well, the purpose of our trip out to Manly Beach.  I think that Tom, Mary, Abby and Sarah thought that the beach was the destination, that the impressive part of it was the beach. 

That wasn’t the case at all.

The beach itself is nice, the little town of Manly is impressive, the beach is nice, but like so much in life, it is less about the beach, and more about the journey.

While they sat inside the main hold of the cabin, I stood outside, taking in some of the most impressive views of Australia, the Harbour Bridge with the Opera House front and center, the old fort, the lighthouse, the Jackson Harbor Heads.  The ferry ticket costs about $14, but the sights that you get to see make this one of the best bargains in Australia.

We disembarked off the ferry and headed for the beach…about the same time that the rain came up.  The cold wind and rain pelted us as we walked the beach, watching the surfers come in and out of the water, seemingly unfazed by the pelting rain (wetsuits and the fact that they were fighting waves probably meant the rain didn’t bother them all that much).

The girls snapped pictures, and as we did at every beach we visited, wrote the beach name in the sand and made sure that they had a picture taken with it.

We wandered back to the ferry landing after a little souvenir shopping, and this time, I think that they understood the allure of the fairy.  We sat outside in the cold and wind in the twilight, as we passed the sights of Sydney, and as impressive as they are by daylight, in the twilight, they are even more so.

We disembarked from the Manly ferry and caught the next one to Darling Harbour.  For our last night in Sydney, and their last night in Australia, we ate at an old Manly Ferry tethered in Darling Harbour, turned into a fine eating establishment.

Despite being a little cold (they weren’t insulated all that well), the place was impressive, it was like eating in a museum, and the food was top notch.  We laughed, we joked, we talked about the trip.  It was a great family dinner.

The ferry ride is extraordinary.  There is no city on earth quite like city, and while I live and work in Melbourne, and am glad that I do so - it is a great city to live in, for the visitor, no city quite matches Sydney.  That feeling is amplified when taken in from Sydney Harbor.  The sight of the Harbor Bridge, the Opera House, and the sky line of the city rank right up there with Paris, London, Moscow, or New York, and when seen gleaming from the harbour, little else comes close.We docked at Circular Quay and headed towards the shining edifice at the end of the peninsula, the Sydney Opera House.  We read the name of some of the famous authors and poets that had graced the Sydney shoreline (two of my favorites, Mark Twain and Jack London included) before stopping for a little lunch.  Over sandwiches, salads, and sausage rolls, we took in the skyline.

There was a debate about going through the Opera House or not.  It wasn’t cheap.  “It is worth it.” I said quietly to Tom.

They bought tickets, while me, who had already been through, passed and chose instead to walk through the neighboring park and check out Mrs Macquarie’s Chair, a chair, or bench really, carved into the rock face of the neighboring peninsula’s by early convicts so that Governor Macquarie’s wife could watch the ships come into the harbour in comfort.

It was a fine day for a walk, and the park was impressive.  From Mrs Macquarie’s chair, you could see a good chunk of the Australian navy being serviced in the neighboring cove, being pushed and prodded by tugboats as they worked them into and out of berths.

Walking back, I went through the elaborate gardens in the Royal Domain.  One of the things that I had been hoping to show the girls were the great flocks of cockatoos.  And sure enough, here was a flock, probably a hundred of them.  You could get almost close enough to touch them.

Where were the girls when you wanted them to see something!

After snapping some pictures, with time running shore, I took off through the gardens.  Thinking maybe I’d bring them back to see them.  Taking the main path through a big stand of oaks, I saw the ladies in front of me start to duck, run, and scream - all at once.

Strange.

Looking up I realized that it wasn’t so strange.  The trees were coming alive as twilight started to hit, they were covered in tropical bats.  I mean hundreds and thousands of bats.  They were waking, stretching and coming to life.

They were pretty cool.

But I knew that meant that the girls wouldn’t want to come anywhere close to this place.

Making it back to the Opera House before the tour ended, I waited for them where I knew that the tour ended.  Sure enough, they wandered out, wide eyed.

“How was it?” I asked.

“That.  Was.  Awesome.” Sarah said as if in a trance.

“Couldn’t imagine not doing that.” Said Mary.

“It was really neat.” Replied Tom.  “A highlight.”

Walking back to Circular Quay, we were all tired.  We grabbed a ferry and headed back to our apartment where we feasted on fresh scallops, prawns, bread, cheese, and a little wine.  Celebrating the day behind us, and the last day that lay before us.

Harbour Bridge From A Harbour Ferry

Opera House from Sydney Ferry

 Opera House Close Up

 Opera House and Bridge

 Cockatoos

 Bats.

Sydney Opera House

 What happened to you, Captain Kangaroo…friend of my youth, greeter of the day.

As a kid, I’d get up with the older boys and find my way downstairs in front of the old RCA counsel television set and wait for the montage of celebrities and quasi-celebrities wish the good captain a hearty good morning.

And Captain Kangaroo never disappointed.  With his signature red blazer with the oversized pockets (hence the name, kangaroo…from the pouch like pockets on the blazer), he would reassure thousands of young people out there in the television audience that yes it was morning and it was going to be good.

Whew.

That out of the way, he would get down to the serious business.  He and Mr. Greenjeans would usually get up to some hijinx with Mr. Moose (perhaps where my joking nature orginated…though Mr. Moose would inevitably shower the Captain with thousands of ping pong balls, a habit I’ve thankfully not picked up) and Mr. Bunny Rabbit (always managed to trick the Captain into giving him a carrot).

The Captain himself was a favorite.  His style, his class, and his red blazer.  His thrill of seeing us every morning (I swear that man always seemed happy to see us) and the mix of people that were willing to get up so early in the morning just to say hello to him (who knew that they were taped messages…)

Mr. Greenjeans seemed to be a farmer through and through.  And as a kid on a dairy farm, that was inspiring.  If Mr. Greenjeans could make it on television, it meant that any farm kid could (I didn’t know at the time that Johnny Carson was from Nebraska).  And aside from the fact that his overalls were green (which, because one of the color tubes in our television had burned out long ago, would have escaped us, as most of the blue things (like smurfs) were actually green on our television…though the name ‘Greenjeans’ probably should have been a dead giveaway…) he could have been anyone of the local neighborhood farmers, who after the time on the set, would stop at the Red Apple, then get back to work on the farm.

Then there were the great segments.  My first introduction to Bill Cosby was with Picture Pages, where his comedy, love of children, and child-like artwork (note: backhanded compliment) always thrilled me as a pre-schooler.

Then there were the oddities (as if a mustached older man wearing a red blazer with giant pockets, a farmer type character wearing green overalls and a green jean jacket, a moose and a rabbit hand puppet were not strange enough) like Slim Goodbody and The Banana Man (where did he keep all of those bananas?).

Good Captain Kangaroo embodied a simpler time in my life, as well as our nations.  A time when kids could still be kids and did have to worry about adult problems.  A time when a man in a red blazer with big pockets could say ‘good morning’ and mean it.  A time when imagination and make believe were a sign of innocents, as well as a valuable and encouraged trait.

Good morning Captain, where ever you are!

Grabbing a taxi van with luggage, contraband camera, and Crispie Crème donuts in tow, we made our day to Sydney, our waiting hotel.  And waited.  We were too early.  The family clearly exasperated, we made our way to Darling Harbour, where I thought for sure that sights and sounds would overcome their malice towards me for the early morning flight and the hotel room not ready yet.In the end, it took a good lunch to placate them.

Our stomachs full, we made our way back to our hotel, ok, apartments really, and checked in.  The hotel was located in an old wool warehouse.  At one point, Australia produced more wool then anywhere else in the world.  Times two to any place else in the world.  Wool was king, and it showed.  Intricate tile work in the entrance to the warehouse showed what must have been the grandeur of the place, even when it was merely a warehouse.  Getting our key, we proceeded to the elevator.

The place was huge.  Rooms had been created on either side of the old warehouse, in the middle were walkways, seven stories of them, that looked down through the old building.  It was massive.  The size of the beams in our rooms too was impressive.  The bolts just needed to hold this place together were massive.  The room itself was two stories with two bedrooms, a kitchen, laundry, large living and dining room, and a winding staircase.

It would suit us just fine.

Once we were settled in, we got out and about again, walking back along Darling Harbour to the water ferry station.  We were going to The Rocks section of Sydney, to one of my favorite restaurants, the Lowenbrau Keller.  This is a classic German resturuant, complete with wandering musicians playing the accordion and tuba and some classic German beer.

Oh, and German food.

I’m not sure that the girls appreciated it, but Tom and I enjoyed both the beer (is good ya!) and the food…we got the full German platter, saurbratten, pork knuckles, bratwurst, potato dumplings, and sauerkraut.  All of the good stuff.

It took us a while to catch a cab back to our hotel, but we were well fed, and while I can’t speak for Tom, as for me, I was well watered…

We slept in the next morning again.  Rest felt good.  Once we were all up and at’em, we headed to the fish market.

Behind the scenes of the fish market is supposedly a wonder.  As one of the main places for the Australian and Asian market to buy fish, there is an auction every morning where people buy tons of fish and seafood.

For us mere shoppers, we have our choice of about ten different seafood places. Most of them with the animals either alive, or as close as you can get to them being alive.  Most of it is relatively fresh off the boat.

We wandered the stalls and shops - from the liquor (we needed wine for supper) to the bread (for supper) to the fruit and vegetables (for supper) to the dozen or so seafood places (for supper…and as tourists!).

We saw fish - big ones, small ones, and ones that could bit your head off.  All manner of crustaceans, crabs, and prawns.  There were scallops by the wheelbarrow full.  It was a fish lover’s paradise…and it smelled like it.

Abby and Sarah insisted on grabbing a bit at the fancy restaurant upstairs in the fish market…not realizing that it was a very fancy Chinese restaurant.  They like their seafood fresh, but not raw.  So getting out of there (the food looked good, the service was excellent, but the girls too squimish), we headed back to the apartment to ditch out treasures from the fish market and hit the pier and the ferries again.

We were going to the Opera House!

Floor of Our Hotel….Old Wool Warehouse

Replicate of the Endeavor, Captian Cook’s Ship when Discovering Australia

Tom and I at the Lowenbrau

Scene From the Sydney Fishmarket

Another Scene From Sydney Fishmarket

The Ferry Coming to Take us to the Opera House

To say that the Beach Shack looked like a hole in the wall would have been too kind.  It really didn’t look like much at all.  It had a gate in a walled compound with a covered center that had a bar in it.  A sand covered floor had tables scattered around.  A small pond greeted you as you walked through the gate and you were forced to walk over a small bridge.Quite frankly, it looked pretty simple…and didn’t look like much at all…

But with many things in Port Douglas, looks can be deceiving.

“Can we get a table for five?” I asked the first day we walked in.

“What day?” The waiter asked.

Yup, doesn’t look like much, but that is a sign that the food must be good.  So we came back, and we were not disappointed.

The sand on the floor was a novelty.  The beer that we ordered was very good.  The appetizers were amazing.  The food…well, how can I put it…the food was so good that even Abby at all of hers….and she ordered the calamari….

Dropping the family off under the safety of the flaming tiki torches of our hotel, I went out to put a little gas in the minibus.  Full, exhausted, tired, I paid the man behind the counter and proceeded to turn onto the lonely highway right into the wrong lane….

I think it was time to get some rest.

Especially since we had another 4am wake up call the next morning.

It was an uneventful trip to the Cairns Airport the next day.  Thankfully.  The family dozed as I sucked on my bottles of overpriced Diet Coke.  The airport went off without a hitch.  We made it to our flight and were soon winging our way to our final destination - Sydney.

Because the terminal was under construction in Cairns, we had to board in the international terminal, which is no big deal, except it meant that we got to go through customs on both sides.  Which should be easy.

And it was.  In Cairns, there was no dramas.  In Sydney, also no drama’s (though there was some heated debate over whether we should ditch a banana in our bag…it was thrown.  We got the all clear from the customs officials and security guards and made our way to freedom next to a big picture of the Opera House and Tower Bridge and a big sign that said, “Welcome to Sydney,” so of course we stopped for pictures.

I took a few pictures of the family before taking off to inquire about transportation.

I was gone less than five minutes.  Really!  When I came back, they were out of breath, ashen colored, clearly disturbed.

“What happened?” I inquired.

“We almost got arrested!” exclaimed little Sarah.

“WHAT?” I replied.

“No taking pictures in the customs area.” Tom said.  “After you left, about five of them came running over, they might have even had their guns drawn.  I thought they were going to confiscate the camera!”

“Why but a sign that says ‘Welcome to Sydney’ right there if you aren’t going to let people take a picture by it?” I asked to no one imparticular.

Needless to say, the family were ready to bail, sorry, fly the coop, you know - get the heck out of there - before the security guards changed their mind.

Random Photo of Hotel Lobby….

Picture at the Beach Shack

Picture that almost landed family in Australian prison cell…..

 I woke up with the sun that next morning.  Quietly dressing, I headed out the door and out onto the beach, only a short walk from our hotel. The sunrise over the Coral Sea is a sight to see, the sun slowly coming up over the blue ocean, mixing with the clouds.

There were dozens of people out enjoying the birth of morning on the beach, most of them a couple of decades older than me.  The ocean, though cooler at this time of day, was still pleasant in its freshness.  I waded into the water up to my knees and slowly walked through the falling surf.

For the next hour or two, it was just me and the surf and about a hundred or so…more mature…beach walkers.  They didn’t bother me, I didn’t bother them.  We were alone with our thoughts as the sun came up.  It was peaceful.

I quietly walked into our darkened apartment, not wanting to wake the girls who were bunked out on the couches, and not realizing that Tom was up doing his morning prayers and didn’t even notice me coming in.

Taking care of the S’s (showering, shaving, and….well, taking care of some paperwork…) and came out to Tom reading and the girls groggily coming to their senses.

“It is a BEAUTIFUL morning!” I sang out.

“Shove it Uncle Mark.” I believe was little Sarah’s response.

“Mrumpfesses.” Said Abby.

“Hey, they are up!” Said Tom.

With a little breakfast, we hit the beach again, walking in the surf, taking in the sights and sounds of the beach…now with the sun firmly planted into the sky.  It was a great day and a great day to spend on the beach.

We had debated having another day of touring the countryside.  Daintree National Forest, one of the most spectacular rainforests in the country was only miles up the road.  But we passed, all of us needing a day or rest and just a little time on the beach.

Before lunch, we made another trek into town.  I’ll admit, there were a few things that I wanted too, so I wasn’t disappointed.  Our first stop was the Quicksilver Tour’s shop, where Abby and Sarah, after their exhilarating experience on their boat the day before, decided that they wanted a t-shirt.  I bought the shirt that I wanted, and waited for the girls to make up their mind…then I walked down one wing of the shopping mall…while I waited for the girls to make up their mind…then I walked down the other end of the shopping mall…while I waited for the girls to make up their mind…then I bought a handful of gifts for people back home…while the girls still tried to decide on a t-shirt….then I sat on the pier…while the girls tried to decide on a t-shirt…then I sat inside, scowling, while the girls tried to decide on a t-shirt….

They found one that they liked, though they didn’t like the color.  There was drama.

Finally, the t-shirts bought, they wanted to walk the mall.  I cried.  Then went out and got the minibus.

We walked the streets of Port Douglas one more time, then back to the apartment for a little lunch.  Then, once again, the beach.

For the rest of the day, we fought the waves.  It was fun.  Quality time with my nieces in the fun of the surf.  Quite frankly, it doesn’t get much better then that.  Exhausted, we made our way to the apartment, but we couldn’t rest yet, we had dinner reservations at one of the hottest places in town, the Beach Shack!

As we were driving up the road in the Port Douglas twilight, brother Tom looked out the window and noticed the hundreds of things flying up through the tree tops.  Hundreds of large, black birdlike things with the four to five foot wingspans…

“Hey!  Look at all of those birds up there!” Tom said.

“Those aren’t birds.” I said nervously.

“Man, there must be hundreds of those things.  Maybe thousands!  I wonder what kind of birds those are?” He replied.

“Those aren’t birds.” I said with a little authority.

“Well if they aren’t birds, what are they.” Said a Abby.

“My God, are those bats?” Tom asked as they swopped ever closer to our van.

Yes, yes they were…I said to myself, as we turned off the main road and down the quiet little bat free street where sat the Beach Shack.

Sunrise At Four Mile Beach

View Looking South On Four Mile Beach

Tom, Mary, Abby and Sarah Walking the Beach

Bats

With a little fuss, we found flippers, mask, and safety vest and were soon suited up and ready to roll.  With a photographer swarming around us (yes, just what we wanted as we were nervous, excited, and slightly embarrassed…someone snapping dozens of pictures per minute as we fought trying to get our gear on or struggled to breath as we hit the water….).But looking down into the water at the reef with its fantastic animal life was breathtaking.  No other words for it.  Words can’t describe the colors, the animal life, the fish, the coral.  The hues, the brightness, the beauty of it all was, was, was….well, words do escape me….

But to try a few….Magnificent.  Wonderful.  Spectacular.  Incredible.  Awesome.  Amazing.  Awe-inspiring.  Striking.  Fabulous.  Stunning.  Splendid.  Gorgeous.  Delicate.  Superb.  .  Breathtaking….

You get the picture….

In seemingly no time, we were up and out of the water - some because their masks didn’t fit right, some because they had a drowning sensation as their snorkel kept on taking in water, some because they were hungry, some of us just following along.

Taking off our gear and setting up on a picnic table in a far corner, we headed for the catamaran to grab some grub.  It was a veritable smorgasbord.

And it was all good.

Salads, meats, vegetables, fruits, and deserts, all with a decided tropical and seafood theme, from the calamari in the salad to the prawns with the meat and the assortment of tropical fruit in with the apples and oranges in the fruit salad.

It was good.

Eating our last bites (some more squeamish about eating a mini squid then others), we headed for the submersible.  A small submarine where you could sit with twenty other people and view the beauty of the reef safely behind glass.

We saw massive schools of fish.  We saw delicate coral.  We saw big lumbering fish.  We saw sea turtles.

It was all the glory of the sea!

Sure we had to push a family out of the way to get on (the kids couldn’t make up their minds until after we were on board and we had taken the last seats, so then they were mad at us but the crew told us to come aboard that they couldn’t wait anymore and while I shouldn’t feel guilty I feel like I was the one that pushed those little monsters out of the way even though I didn’t touch them….sorry…guilt…I was born with it) but I’m ok with that….and it was so worth it.

We still had time for one more snorkelling encounter,  after fighting with the people clogging up the place where we were to enter the water (people, it is for snorkelers entering and exiting the water, not to float around while hanging onto the stairs), we made our way into the water again.

I must admit, my $80 underwater camera didn’t get very good pictures, but I sure snapped away anyway.  I shot hundreds of pictures.  Most of them really bad.  But boy, was I still glad that I had it, because even though I didn’t capture the beauty, I don’t know if I would have left if I hadn’t of thought that I had.

All too soon, we were hustled out of the water as the mad dash to the catamaran started again for the trip home.  With a few more pictures taken, we made our way to our seats, the four hours on the water on the Great Barrier Reef going by much too quickly.

I think we all slept a little on the ride home, with the swaying of the boat in the tropical wind.  It was a good ride to end an amazing adventure.

We slogged back to the car…sorry, minibus, and made our way back to our hotel.  We were exhausted. 

Needless to say, we slept very good that night.  Ready to face another day of sitting on the beach and shopping in the big town of Port Douglas.

Neice Under the Sea

No Fish Out of Water

Fish and Coral

Different Fish, Different Coral

Squid, attacking Pasta

View of the Dive Platform, From the Water

Me and My Neices

 We were up early on Sunday.  Nervousness, excitement, anticipation are some of the words that could describe our mood.

Today, we were hitting the Great Barrier Reef.  Though for Sarah, those same words could describe her feeling about hitting the Port Douglas Market….

Yes, our first stop of the day was the Port Douglas Market, an every Sunday craft and farmers market that sets up shop on the waterfront.

We got to the market as it was opening.  It was quite the mix.  Wooden bowls, leather goods, ceramics, paintings, bronze work, silver smiths, necklaces, bracelets, wall hangings, furniture, t-shirts, tea towels - literally hundreds of different crafts.  All interspersed with various food and beverage vendors.  There were fresh breads and cookies.  There was a stand where they were squeezing sugar and juice right out of sugar cane using a bike fixed to a press with a spout underneath.  Tom, Mary, and the girls bought trinkets and knick-knacks.

I bought a cup of coffee.

Soon we were hustling off to the Port Douglas pier (ok, shopping mall with a pier attached) to catch the catamaran out to the Great Barrier Reef.

The Great Barrier Reef means many things to many people.  For some, the Great Barrier Reef is a symbol of symbiotic life in the oceans, of many organisms living together in harmony to build an environment where all can thrive.  For others, it is a bell weather for the health and wellbeing of the planet, where if the reef is happy and healthy, so too must be mother nature.  Still others see the Great Barrier Reef as a living fossil, slowly growing over the millennia into a vast underwater cornucopia of modern and ancient life.  Others see it as a great place to catch a fish.

 In the end, it is a place to make a buck.  Quicksilver Tours does a great job of making sure that they protect the environment, their customers, as well as the reef…and make a buck in the process.

We were one of the first on the catamaran that Sunday morning.  There was a good wind blowing off the ocean, and everyone was slightly nervous.  Each for different reasons.  Tom and Mary were fearful for their girls - would they be ok?  Would a shark bit them?  Would a jellyfish sting them?  I was nervous for my family - would they enjoy it?  Would mother nature perform in all her glory?  Would I find a way to make an ass of myself?  My nieces were nervous - would they barf all over the boat?

Luckily, none of that happened (thank goodness for some sea sickness pills…).

In the end, the boat ride out there was a fast and entertaining ride across the waves, slightly bumpy, but good none-the-less.  The girls were thankful for the sea sickness pills.  I was happy for the view from the back of the boat, which first started with the coastline of beautiful far north Queensland, and ended with the vast blue of the Coral Sea, punctuated only by the occasional sand islands and bits of coral that stuck up out of the ocean.

After watching what seemed like countless movies (sea life, safety, etc), we spotted a dot on the horizon…which grew bigger.  Excitement mounted.

This was the floating platform, the big pontoon platform moored out on the reef where our big catamaran would dock and the two would become one.  The catamaran becoming a floating kitchen, buffet, and bathroom, the floating platform would become, well, a floating platform.

The platform is where the diving, snorkelling, sunbathing, eating, and submersible would depart from.

That’s right, this thing had a fleet of submersible vehicles…arm them with torpedo’s and this little floating island would match the fire power of the Luxemburg navy.

We plotted our course.  Snorkelling first, followed by lunch, then a ride in the submersible, then a little more snorkelling.

Now, decision time - to get the wet suits or not to get the wet suits.  Quite frankly, us adults do not have bodies that look good either in or out of wetsuits.  For me, the pain of jellyfish bites is only slightly more painful then the embarrassment of wearing a wetsuit, with the assurance that the threat of jellyfish being small, we opted out of wearing them…the girls didn’t have a choice, they, with their cousins were the future of this family. 

Plus, they kinda looked like ninja’s in them, which was pretty cool.

View of Port Douglas Market

Making Cane Juice

Tom, Mary, Abby and Sarah in Front of our Quicksilver Catamaran

Old Port Douglas Wharf

Ninja Neice….

 September 20^th of every year was a defining moment on the farm.  It was typically the first frost date of the season.  Depending upon the state of the garden and the long term forecast meant that we had to have all hands on deck.

Every night, Mom and Dad would watch the forecast, usually Dewey Bergquist, not only because he gave the forecast with confidence and ease, but he had a sense of humor and usually had vegetables that resembled celebrities….but I digress…

Mom and Dad would watch the forecast and watch for that first day where the temperatures would approach that magic frost point.  At 35 degree’s Fahrenheit, the garden, located in a hollow at the bottom the hill where the house and barn sat, might be at risk of a frost.  Even a hint of white on the leaves of the tomatoes would kill the plants and miss any chance of the green tomatoes turning a natural shade of red.

Sure, Mom would take some of the green ones and let them ripen up on the window sill in the kitchen, but it just wasn’t the same.

If it looked like we were going to have one day of cold followed by a string of warmer weather, if the frost came early in the season, or if the garden were abnormally late, and a frost was coming,  Mom and Dad would throw us into action.

The garden must be saved.

Plastic sheeting would be gathered from the shed, from the granary, from the barn, or the shop -where ever we happened to have it stored.  Depending upon how much of the garden we wanted to save meant the more plastic we needed to haul into action.  There was even some rare occurrences when we would pull blankets out of the entry way closet to protect the fragile plants from the killing frost.

The frost normally occurred during clear nights, when a blanket of clouds would not keep the heat of the day insulated close to the ground, so usually as the sun went down against the western horizon, we were scrambling.

Each sheet of plastic was spread out over the fragile plants.  The brother and I, usually with some pushing and shoving, folding and untangling the plastic, usually taken from some other purpose on the farm.  Each corner of the plastic and blankets would need to be weighted down, usually some concrete blocks from near the grain bins by the slough would be placed on each corner.

Once the garden was safe and the sun had sank, our job done, now all we had to do was wait to see how cold it would, or wouldn’t get.

The next morning would tell the tale.  Temperatures well under thirty, and the plastic sheeting was a joke to mother nature, that scoffed at our attempts.  Should the temperatures merely hover around freezing, all was well. If there wasn’t a frost - the work would have been unnecessary.

But we all slept a lot sounder…. 

I was on a platform looking over the falls when the train…the tourist train…pulled in directly below me.I had no idea that the train was actually going to stop.

Keeping a sharp eye out, I saw Tom, Mary and the girls get out and start snapping pictures.

“ABBY!” I shouted…to no impact.  “AAAABBBBYYYYYY!” She didn’t even look up.

SARAH!” I yelled, cupping my hands around my mouth for maximum effect.  “SAAAARRRAAAHHHH!”

Sarah looked around, confused…

“SARAH!” I said sharply.  Abby jerked her head up scanned the horizon - pointed at me and started to jump up and down like she needed to go to the bathroom, really, really bad.

Soon, I was waving at Tom and Mary, we were taking pictures of each other through the jungle underbrush.  Pointing, waving to each other to move right or left….neither of us getting good shots.

As the train whistle sounded, and the people made their way back to the train, I noticed the stairs…leading down.

I sprinted down the sometimes lizard covered steps and plank walkway, arriving at the bottom just as the train was picking up steam.  With camera in hand, I looked into each car, getting some people looking at me worriedly “Aren’t you going to get on the train?” someone shouted.

“No thanks, I’ll walk the rest of the way.” I said

Sure enough, I surprised them again “Smile” I said…but the train moving fast enough to fail to get a very good picture.

I walked through the jungle for a while, then made my way to the car, and drove down to Cairns.  Finding the Cathedral (where we would go to church later that evening), then the shopping mall (where the train would arrive back).

Once the train pulled in, we planned on grabbing a quick meal from a pub across the road.  While impressive (the bar was a massive carved log in the shape of a crocodile), the service was less then desirable and the clientele didn’t give us the greatest confidence that the place was ‘family friendly.’  So we went back into the mall and ate at McDonald’s (Macker’s).

Then it was on to Mass at St. Monica’s Cathedral.

From the outside, St. Monica’s didn’t look like much.  Just another brick building.  It didn’t have the spires, it didn’t have the look, it didn’t have the feel of most of what most people would say that a Cathedral must have.  It was a simple brick building, without a steeple, with a flat roof.

But oh, those windows.

Flanking the main door were two amazing stained glass windows that showed the carnage of war under the waves of the Coral Sea.  The Cathedral was built as a war memorial, and since the Battle of Coral Sea was fought directly east of this town in May 1942, it seems especially appropriate that these windows would depict the carnage of war, mixed with the symbolism of hope that comes from faith.

Inside too, the church is fairly stock standard, normal of any church that would have been built in the industrial era of the 1960’s and 70’s, but once again, the windows were stunning.

The stained glassed windows, high above congregation, depict create, with swarming matter of the heavens giving birth to the ancient world, which then transform into the landscape of the kangaroo’s, wallaby’s, platypi, and emu’s, then to the aborigines.

They are stunning.

Mass was simple, but the message of the day was one of hope and faith.  People of great faith and virtue, ‘devout children of worthy men,’ that waited, hoped, and trusted in the Lord and were rewarded for their faith in the end, beyond our comprehension in the life beyond.

Reflecting on our faith and our hope in things not seen, we made the trek back to Port Douglas for a good nights sleep as we prepared for the trip to the Great Barrier Reef.

Waterfall Outside of Kuranda

Mark, From the Train