It’s been a blustery old week in Perth, but between the squalls, grey skies and showers, a few hours of winter sunshine warmed our rain-soaked garden. We have planted native West Australian trees and shrubs to attract insects and birds to our plot of suburbia, so it was a thrill to observe the buzzing activity around our pin-cushion hakeas and grevilleas.
Our lovely neighbours are keen home beekeepers, and whenever I sample their delicious honey, I can almost taste the native flowers their bees have collected pollen from our garden. The bees, butterflies and insects that are now pollinating these blossoms, also attract New Holland honeyeaters, wattlebirds, silvereyes and Australian ringneck parrots to our native and non-native shrubbery.
Hopefully, one day soon, when the native plants have produced their delicious nuts, we will enjoy regular visits from the beautiful Carnaby’s cockatoo, one of Western Australia’s most endangered native bird species.
A flock of Carnaby’s cockatoos captured my heart on the day I first set foot on Australian soil. It was a steamy Christmas Day morning, and as I wound down the car window on route to my first Aussie barbecue, an enormous flock of yodeling birds blackened the cloudless skyscape. I was 10 years old at the time, and my heart raced at the wondrous sight and melodious sound of the birds above me. I remember asking our friendly host if the birds were crows, and was astonished to discover they were black cockatoos. The only cockatoos I had encountered as a child in Scotland, were the white cockatoos that nipped at my fingers as I scratched their rascally heads through the rungs of confining zoo cages.
My maternal grandmother was an Australian, and she was preceded by several generations of Australian women, an ancestry tracing right back to my g-g-g-grandmother Abby Desmond, an Irish convict woman who was transported to the Antipodes for the “robbery of a person.”
In a special kind of way, my arrival in Western Australia really felt like a homecoming, and the wonder of seeing a flock of black cockatoos for the first time has never left me. So, it comes as no surprise that Carnaby’s cockatoos often appear in my dreams and imaginative musings, and yodel their haunting songs onto the pages and lines of the novels and poems I love creating.