2020 Hindsight

January, Sydney. Smoky orange-red skies, day after day. Health authorities recommend ‘don’t go outside’. Learning about PM 2.5 and PM 10, we Sydneysiders fine-tune our knowledge of airborne particles which harm lungs. (One of 2020’s many science lessons.)

The bushfire loss, of so many animals, national park habitat, and bush communities, is felt keenly here and throughout the world.

Sometimes the sky varies: instead of smoke we get voluminous dust which blows over from the dry inlands and blocks out the sun. The ‘Dust Bowl’ experience which America had in the 1930s, is here. I think about what I can do to thwart climate change and its increase in droughts … I can invest in groups who support solar power, and could limit my air travel.

26th of January

On Jan. 26, alongside Australia Day and Yabun celebrations, the traditional Invasion Day march goes ahead. ‘Sovereignty, never ceded’ is a rallying cry. ‘Too many coppers, not enough justice’, is another. The late Tane Chatfield, a young Aboriginal man who died in custody, is solemnly remembered; in Sydney’s Hyde Park I listen to his parents speak about their loss.

February’s Lunar New Year brings installations of large zodiac animals at Circular Quay, celebrating Year of the Rat. Through raindrops I look closely at the Rat sculpture – my ‘sign’. Although the creatures look a little scary, I hope this could be a good year ahead (rats signalling ‘intelligence, wealth and plenty’). Rains have returned; the Gospers Mountain fire is officially extinguished. The future could be bright.

But the wily rat follows its own path.

In March I take no pictures. I write copiously in my diary, noting numbers, facts, dates where things go wrong. I shed tears for Italy. So much heartache there, where many families lose members of the older generation.

New York also starts experiencing heavy losses.

In April I accept the stillness that falls after most people stop commuting; venues close and social functions are cancelled. I get a bicycle and enjoy riding the now-safe streets. The quiet is intense, as the usual flight paths over the Inner West stop. Birds sound louder, and across the world there’s a resurgence of wildlife. 

Eastern or Golden Water Skink takes up residence under the couch on the porch

In May I continue filling my diary with rule changes and news updates, looking for turning points and a way out. I am grateful to the Australian Government who take advantage of our island circumstances and mainly keep the virus away.

On May 15 I note #IrunwithMaud, a campaign in memory of Ahmaud Arbery killed in Virginia for “running while black”. Two weeks later things get worse. George Floyd’s callous murder by Minnesota police sparks the biggest protest movement ever in America. The power of numerous voices sows seeds of change, to end racial inequality and mistreatment. Several protests take place in Australian cities.

Twitter starts tagging fact-check alerts on some Tweets from the US president. Yay, finally! after years of him getting away with lies and misinformation. I don’t use Twitter but I’ve been upset since 2016 at the way news outlets often present his Tweets as if they are news. Without presenting opposing points of view, or fact-checking things themselves, they leave it to the Washington Post to keep track of the 1000s of lies told. (I know times are hard; many journalists have been sacked, and good papers struggle to make a dollar. But.)

Melbourne's Covid outbreak grows during July (and a smaller cluster spreads in New South Wales). My sympathy goes out to people affected, especially those in aged care, who cannot have their families beside them. I watch Daniel Andrews, Victoria’s Premier, on tv day after day.

Anxiety starts to grip me. A reduction in air travel is taking place, not to help the environment (although that is a side effect), but enforced by national and state rules to stop Covid-19. Australians, especially New South Wales citizens, are in a kind of prison. 

In August I join an online Zoom support group which improves my mental health. I continue meeting online with my book group too, and have video calls with faraway family. Rescue cats make life better too, as I discover at the home of relatives.

In September I’m still looking at screens too much, sometimes for news and sometimes fun. The Tour de France is on; then in October-November, the tour of Spain (Vuelta a Espana). SBS brings many hours of entertainment with stunning pictures of magical mountains, fields, and castles, and oh yeah, of course the cyclists. I discover a fondness for Julian Alaphilippe, a French rider bringing hope to France, who wins the World Championship. He rides with panache but also inconsistency, showing he is human and not a machine who wins everything.

By October I’m aware that my U.S. friends and relatives are suffering over the upcoming presidential election, with a kind of post-traumatic stress induced by Covid mismanagement and California bushfires. I am alarmed to receive this text message from a loved one: “I don’t know how much more I can take”. I admire their perseverance, as they handwrite hundreds of letters urging strangers to vote. (Thank heaven Australia has mandatory voting – it solves a lot of problems.)

Australia’s Covid wave tails off in November. That and the US election result ignites an urge to celebrate. This is tempered somewhat with fear at the president’s unwillingness to accept democracy. 

As state after state certifies their results, in my diary I note that finally the ABC News (Australian Broadcasting Corp) has stopped talking about “battleground” states. (In other years, and currently, some news organisations prefer the term "swing states”). Prior to the US election I found the daily use of the battleground label bothersome. Yes, there’s talk that the US “could” have another Civil War, but it isn’t here now, and invoking such violent imagery doesn't feel useful. There’s enough real violence that we don’t need extra, through our use of language.

In November, news media start saying that the President "claims without evidence" that he won the election. I wonder if Twitter's flags enable these media to finally present such caveats themselves, that they were reticent to use during the last four years.

For the holiday season, I prepare to roast a turkey to share with family. Haven’t cooked one for years. Am horrified to read “it is no longer considered food safe to cook stuffing in the turkey”. Pardon me? As far as I’m concerned, a turkey is basically a vehicle for the cooking of delicious home-made stuffing. I ignore the advice and proceed the old-fashioned way. (Perhaps professional chefs may need extra caution.)

In spring I take a few road trips outside of Sydney, over the Blue Mountains, witnessing green growth on blackened tree trunks. Travel opportunities are limited but it’s good to see landscapes healing.

In December I acknowledge the passing of dear friends, from illnesses which took them too soon. My thoughts are with their families in these hard times.

Goodbye 2020. Andra tutto bene.

Hello, soon, to 2021.

Case of the Mysterious Insect

 

On the morning of December 24^th I saw something in the backyard that looked like the biggest Stick Insect ever. It was on top of some containers that stood in a bucket of water. My first impression was: there's a Stick Insect drinking. But on looking closer, I thought: maybe it isn’t a stick insect. It had the general shape of one: an elongated midsection topped by a roundish ‘head’, and a trailing ‘tail’ or ‘legs’. But I wasn’t sure. It looked more like actual wood (not fauna mimicking flora) -- with no apparent eyes, nor proper legs. I touched it slightly and it did seem to move, kind of freaking me out. Wanting a second opinion I went and called to my partner to have a look.

My partner thought the same as me, a stick insect-but not a stick insect. He touched it gently and it didn’t seem to move. I then picked it up and examined it. While it wasn’t exactly an insect, it wasn’t a pure stick either. Its ‘body’ was made of tiny twigs almost like pine needles, sort of cemented together with a kind of mud. The ‘head’ was of fluffy, woolly material. Something had ‘constructed’ this thing. Did it come from a bird’s nest? I left it on the table and went out.

I walked along Hawthorne Canal looking for wrens and Willie Wagtails (saw some). Was also pleased to see a lot of butterflies, several kinds. Vibrant blue ones with black edges, and a huge, mostly-black one that flew fast and could be mistaken for a bird flying past; some had orange-with-black lined wings, reminding me of Monarch butterflies. I was happy that Insect Armageddon, which people talked about last year, was maybe slowing this year, with our increased rain possibly restoring some habitat.

Recently I’d seen four different types of dragonfly at Whites Creek wetland. Smallish dragonflies with pale blue bodies; a bright, chili-red bodied one; ones that were dull brown except their ‘faces’/ front of their heads which were electric turquoise; and lastly, big, double-sized brownish-gold dragonflies.

It’s also been a bumper year for crickets and cicadas, lots of people in various neighbourhoods and places have remarked. To me the cicadas sound like they’re all playing the banjo, except for the ones that are playing kazoos – cacophony but the vibrations can really fill your head and heart like ‘Om’.

When I got home from the butterfly walk, I went to check on the mystery ‘stick’. I’d begun thinking it might be a butterfly chrysalis and I should put it into the garden or in a tree, from where it had maybe blown down. I looked at the table, but the stick was gone – where now? It was vertically perched on the wall, with a kind of caterpillar sticking out the ‘head’ end. Wow. And it was climbing up.

I studied it for a while. The caterpillar was a dark orange colour with black rings. Its little head was moving around, and I could see three pairs of legs. This caterpillar-front was pulling the back, stick section, along. It seemed to be climbing the wall, but wasn’t making much progress. I started to worry about it. The moving head and mouth seemed like they were demonstrating hunger. After a while I gently tried to move it, thinking I could put it in a tree, where I thought it would be happier and could eat. But it wouldn’t come off the wall! Its little hands/legs seemed to be kind of stuck to the wall.

I took some pictures then went inside to get a ruler to show some scale, and to see how big it was. When I came back it had vanished completely.

I googled a description of it and found it’s called a Case Moth or Saunders Moth. It is a creature that carries its ‘mobile home’ with it. I read that the female, which can live for two years, doesn’t leave the case, and only the male grows wings. The creatures spin a sort of ‘silk’ which explained the woolly-looking top of the case. The caterpillars can go back inside the case if they feel they need to, and can re-close the opening. The sticky silk they can make was probably how its legs were sticking to the wall. Case moths are around 15 cm long. Even though I hadn’t been able to put a ruler next to it, me and my partner estimated the one we saw was 15 cm exactly (approx. 6 inches).

The short amount of information I found didn’t really explain it for me. It was the weirdest, most prehistoric looking insect I’ve ever seen. I never saw one before and doubt I’ll see one again. When it left I felt like it could have easily vanished into outer space, or returned to 3000 years in the past where it came from.

Some people tell a story that on Christmas Eve, animals can talk. On this day it seemed true, but I couldn't be sure what the creature was saying.