Sunday, visiting Murwillumbah Regional Art Gallery.

Art is life;

Mount Warning is dominating the beautiful rural area of  the Tweed Valley.

The name Murwillumbah derives from an Aboriginal word meaning "camping place" – from Murrie, meaning "aboriginal people", Wolli, "a camp"; and Bab, "the place of". Nearby Mount Warning and its attendant national park are known as Wollumbin, meaning "Cloud Catcher", in the Bundjalung language.

The day was a bit moody, but Mount Warning showed its best side.

Murwillumbah is a town in far north-eastern New South Wales, Australia, in the Tweed Shire, on the Tweed River, 848 km north-east of Sydney, 13 km south of the Queensland border and 132 km south of Brisbane.

Murwillumbah, a few snippets  from time passed.

Originally the area was home to the indigenous Bundjalung tribe.

European settlement came in the latter 19th century, with the name Murwillumbah  was the aboriginal name of the tribal lands between what is now the Tweed and Rous Rivers.

The first commercial maritime vessel navigated the Tweed River in 1868 and the cultivation of sugar cane and the surveying of the town soon followed.

Shortly before the turn of the century Murwillumbah became the terminus for the NSW North Coast railway line.

In 1907 most of the town’s business district was razed by a devastating fire.

But typical of the Australian country people’s resilience, the town was rebuilt with many fine buildings from that period still in evidence today.

Stormy weather - In 1954 Murwillumbah faced devastation once again as the worst flood in its history inundated the business district and low lying areas around the town.

Water levels reached the awnings of many businesses in Main Street. In 1956 the town was again awash with another major flood, a scene repeated in 1974. Since then levee walls and banks have been constructed to lessen nature’s onslaught.

Rocks as sculptures. Make you smile.

Having lived on a grazing property, rural countryside, grazing cattle, peaceful, as life should be, love  it.

Annexed to the gallery at the back is a neat small building where artists can sketch the country side.

Presume not that I am the thing I was.William Shakespeare

©Photos/Text TS

Saturday, oh wishes...

Wishes and hopes…  are part of  life… then comes the desire to put wishes and hopes into reality…then possibilities arise to act upon your dreams and hopes… are put to rest until next time…Ts

“I wish you all the joy that you can wish.” W. Shakespeare.

...people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones...

Hello and good bye, that is life in politics, it might be  nothing but a 4 year long term, good or bad after  a while all is  forgotten.

I am not impressed with this media made women’s movement against Mr. Trump,  President elect. It is not important if I like him or not, it is not the issue here. 

Women should be conciliatory, peacemakers, not harridans on a warpath. They are out for the kill just like their heroine Miss Clinton was. They should know, that democracy has spoken and all their tantrums won’t reverse it. They must be very ignorant of politics not to recognize the puppet masters behind  the scene.  Let these women do the dirty work for us, and they do.

If this march was for women’s  and earth's issues they should have marched a long time ago and every year. 

They did not march against all the miss deeds the outgoing politicians did. They did not march to stop the bullets and the bombs, they did not march for all the dead and destruction, for all the dead women and children,  all these wars have caused. They did not march for all the destruction of ancient cities and looted treasures. No, they march for their own hypocrisy, with little pink hats like they were performing on a stage. 

They are certainly not marching to better women’s life, they should have done that every year, no matter who holds the reigns in Government.

All these performers live in glasshouses and love to hear themselves speak. It seems they even believe their own drivel. Ts

Saturday; Macros are fun.

From my summer garden;

Penta.

Who loves a garden still his Eden keeps;
Perennial pleasures plants, and wholesome harvest reaps.

~A. Bronson Alcott, "The Garden," Tablets, 1868

Scented Geranium.

I am a sentimental gardener. 
The flowers, trees, shrubs they all hold my dreams my thoughts and sometimes my frustration, but mostly  my heart and soul is pleased. When the time comes to fold their petals the last time,  the softly,  withered flowers or leaves  have a lovely sentimental look about them. Ts

Withered Lotus leaf

Clarence river Baeckia.


To forget how to dig the earth and to tend the soil is to forget ourselves. ~Mahatma Gandhi

Nerine bulb.

The garden is the poor man's apothecary. ~German Proverb
I change this proverb to " The garden is the clever man’s apothecary." Ts





Lycoris aurea bulb.


With rake and seeds and sower,
And hoe and line and reel,
When the meadows shrill with "peeping"
And the old world wakes from sleeping,
Who wouldn't be a grower
That has any heart to feel?
~Frederick Frye Rockwell, "Invitation," Around the Year in the Garden, 1913



©Photos #mygarden  Ts