A remarkable 10 inches of rain splashed down on us in just three weeks washing debris accumulated over several seasons down the river and dropping trees that had expired during the dry period. All around, the forest was full of the tympani of crashing trees. But the younger, stronger saplings were bursting upwards with quieter sounds.
Our raspberries joined the party and flourished. They couldn’t really complain because the water had always been provided right through the drought. Maybe they had been embarrassed showing off their wares when less fortunate native plants nearby were struggling, but whatever the reason, they had performed poorly in the drought. They now produced 600 kg of excellent fruit which in picking terms means 150,000 individuals had to be held, removed, and placed in a container hanging around the picker’s neck; that neck was mine. RSI is an understatement. The old freezers were cranked up after removing the Huntsman spiders, the round parcels left by Cunningham skinks that lived in the walls of the freezer shed, and the dried up rusty stains of ancient water. A new freezer was also bought and we were into business again.
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