Up in the Trees

Dear Diary, As the sun shone brightly on a glorious day, and as Karen had risen early to help her mother prepare it was decided, whether I liked it or not, that we 'go exploring' directly after breakfast.

We rode onto the street in single file, cycle helmets perched perkily on our heads, and a selection of sandwiches and fruit in the basket on the front of my tricycle, which I have christened Esmeralda. Every tricycle deserves a name, especially a brilliant lime-green tricycle. We carried a water bottle each, a wide brimmed hat providing shade for the upper part of our bodies, and a liberal coating of sun block on exposed parts.

Cycling with a casual air we skirted the industrial edge of town, taking a wide country lane where trees grew leafy and green almost forming an arch, making the expedition a pleasure. This lane was gravelled; in places pieces of broken branches made it necessary to ride carefully, and the pot holes needed avoiding. Otherwise the path enchanted us. Fresh air, blue skies, and a feeling of unadulterated freedom lightened our spirits. Karen forgot to wonder how Jake was faring at home; after all prepared food had been left in the fridge, and the football was expected to keep him fully engaged for the duration of our absence.

Niece burst into song, warbling slightly off key a rendition of "Home on the Range"; her natural exuberance at the unexpected release from household chores. Karen shot a quick glance to me, her eyebrows raised in surprise, but I felt that this expedition provided an ideal opportunity for her to come to terms with the many shocks of the past weeks. As I had some experience in singing, in the school choir more years ago than I care to remember, I could see no harm in joining in the chorus. Karen knew the tune, and hummed along. Dear Diary we were a happy little group as we explored the outdoors.

The warmth of the sun made us thirsty. We stopped where a low log sprawled parallel with the pathway, passed the sandwiches around, and drank deeply from our water bottles. Karen, crunching on a crisp apple, threw her lightweight jacket on the ground and sat, as she said, to rest her legs. My legs were tired from the journey, but I assumed part of the problem was the tricycle ramble of the other day. Perhaps it was not!

Suddenly Karen let forth a strangled noise. Niece, ever vigilant, assumed she had thrown her jacket on an ant's nest. But no! Karen pointed skywards. There in the branches of the spreading gum tree we noticed two tawny frogmouths. They did not appear to have noticed us as they perched in the shelter of low-lying branches. We were spell bound Dear Diary.

These night birds sleep during the day, but are known to nest and raise their young in areas where people live. For once Niece carried her camera. Quietly she clicked a series of photos in quick succession; a record was made for future reference. We vowed to visit this spot frequently to check whether these birds used this tree all the time, or whether this was nothing more than a quick stopover.

Karen pulled from her jacket a small sketch book and with lightning strokes, made a pencil drawing of the tree, and its situation, to enable easy identification in the future.

Dear Diary, we rode home, admittedly with a degree of pain in our thighs and calves, determining to explore more of the countryside more often. The experiment proved to be one that bound our family ties tighter.