What or Who caused the financial crises of the 1920's?

The following story came to me via a source whose details I cannot divulge. If you've ever wondered about the origins of the financial collapse of the 1920's, here is one theory. Hope you enjoy it.

 "That man is the cause of the present economic depression--at least he is the one who started it in America."

Mr. Laramee, the chief engineer of the American Steel Corporation pointed to one of the shop foremen, an old Bohemian peasant type. I know for a certainty that my chin dropped and for several seconds I looked alternately at Mr. Laramee and the foreman.

Beware the Aliens

Fox shit! How interesting is that? Why am I wandering around Mt Tarrangower and examining the faeces of Vulpes vulpes, the Red Fox? Well, it's all part of understanding the distribution of the Wheel Cactus, Opuntia robusta, a difficult to eradicate, introduced species threatening our bushland and farms.

Mid-winter and there is still fruit on the Wheel Cactus. This impressive foreigner with its obvious round grey-green wheels, its bright yellow flowers and then the dark red fruit, is now firmly established on the mountain and many properties close by. Classified as a noxious weed, the cactus is proving difficult to control and for the most part this is due to a lack of manpower coupled with some landholder inertia.

Autumn Abuzz

I always think that autumn should be a quiet time, a time when nature winds down from its frantic spring and summer activities and readies itself for the solitude of winter. But that doesn't seem to have happened this year. But then it didn't happen last year either.

The insect world is abuzz. European Wasps are about in plague proportions sending outdoor eateries into disarray and a new native Paper Wasp nest appeared suddenly under the neighbour's front porch eave this week, the wasps already busy raising a brood. Incidentally, the sting from this wasp, while painful, last only a short time. Immediate swabbing with vinegar is one suggestion to alleviate pain.

The Not So Common Koel 

During a conversation with a visitor from Canberra recently I mentioned our lone Common Koel. 

For those of you who don't know, the Common Koel is native to the wetter coastal areas of New South Wales. It is particularly common in Sydney where it can be observed close-up in garden and street trees. A male bird arrived in Maldon late last December and its strong distinctive call, starting at around 4.30 am has been noticed by many residents. 

If you are confronted by a shiny blue-black bird around the size of a magpie and with bright ruby-red eyes, you are looking at our avian visitor.

JACK

“Find Jack and he’ll have what you want,” said Andy Gorrie, stooped and peering through the open car window. 

William thanked him for the map and Olive for the tea, then eased the panel van gently forward, reminding himself of the trailer behind. 

As he drove through the gate, he glanced in the mirror to see Olive still standing and waving goodbye and Andy already back staring under the bonnet of one of his cattle trucks.

Andy had commented a month or so earlier, while loading stock from William’s farm in the pre-dawn light, “That wagon propping up the iron shed beside your stockyards is in really good condition and it wouldn’t take a lot to restore it and get it working again.”

“The offside back wheel can’t be rebuilt,” William replied. He too had thought about bringing the wagon back to life. “Sheet of roofing iron must have come off long before I bought the place. Half the felloes are rotted and so are the spokes–and the hub is not usable. The iron tyre is good but not much use without a wheel.”

There was silence but for an occasional far-off cow calling her offspring, now securely penned on Andy’s truck. 

A thin ribbon of light was starting to silhouette the tops of the Mountain ash on the distant ridge high above the farm, and further up the valley kookaburras called joyfully to the new day.

“Go and see Jack Jones.”

“Who and where is Jack Jones?” shouted William.

PIZZA

The motor gave a couple of unhealthy grunts when Rod switched off the ignition of the old Land Cruiser, reminding him he must buy oil soon.

Tonight’s campsite was much like those of the past week, though the landscape here was not so dry or sparse. A wide expanse of good grass beside the narrow ribbon of road, and a nearby creek would provide grazing and water for the horse.

Rod let down the back of the float and backed Betty out onto the soft grass. The fine animal threw up her head and shook her strong neck, then pawed the ground in front of her in anticipation. She was happy to be let out, and keen to move her large and muscular body. 

“Easy girl,” Rod murmured.

Betty snorted and threw up her head again, pleased to be free of the confinement and those long hours in the float.

Rod led her down to a cleared spot beside the creek where drovers watered their stock. The Warmblood mare stood quite still at the edge of the water and moved her head one way then the other, her ears pricked and forward to catch any sounds, while her nostrils flared and twitched as she sampled the fresh new smells. In her whole life, she had never experienced danger when drinking, but her primeval instinct demanded she check thoroughly before drawing in the clear water now cooling her front hooves. 

Leaving the creek, Rod walked and trotted the horse along the roadside for a kilometre before tethering her for the night. He would ride her for half an hour at sun-up before moving on. Betty again stood motionless, listening and smelling the air. Then she walked away from Rod, head down, looking for just that right spot in the sweet grass to begin the night’s grazing.