We’re big fans of trees, and in parallel to our attempts to restore habitat with indigenous plants, we’ve also worked to establish a number of woodland plantings managed for firewood, timber and other uses. In the spirit of permaculture, these woodlots are designed to serve a number of functions.Continue reading
As anyone who lives on the Fleurieu would have observed, our seasons do not really match the classic four seasons of the European calendar. Our hot “Summer” weather lasts well into mid-Autumn, our “Winters” are mild and snow-free, our “Spring” flowers often blossom in August, and prevailing winds change direction at different times of the year.
It makes sense that bioregions need their own calendar, and in our region, the Kaurna seasonal calendar provides an insight into the patterns of our landscape. In contrast to the fixed three-month quarters of the European calendar, the Kaurna calendar instead is responsive to a critical mass of natural phenomena being reached: the life stage of certain plants, the movements of animals, as well as the prevailing winds and weather patterns. Some seasons may not occur at all in some years. Such a calendar indicates a breathtaking depth of landscape knowledge. The Kaurna seasons are described by Scott Heyes in his thesis, with versions also published in Adelaide: Nature of a City, and Adelaide: Water of a City, available at your local library! Artist James Tylor has also written a fantastic summary of the seasons and associated wild foods. The calendar is also documented in the Bureau of Meteorology’s Indigenous Weather Knowledge project.
The four main Kaurna seasons are:
Warltati – approx Jan-March – Hot season
Parnati – approx April-June – Windy season
Kudlila – approx July-September – Wet season
Wirltuti – approx October-December – Mild warm season
The complexity and depth of Kaurna knowledge of landscape and seasons is astonishing. As recalled by one colonial observer “WGR” on the Fleurieu, during the gold rush, many white men on the Fleurieu left for the gold rush in Victoria. This saw a period when Aboriginal people assumed much of the work on settler properties throughout the region. WGR describes how, “The youngsters went hunting and fishing with the natives, and learnt a lot of things unknown to the average white about birds, animals and fish. Shoals of mullet visited the coast at times. Dick [an Aboriginal worker] promised to let us know when they were coming. One night he roused me up … Off we went, and sure enough there were great numbers passing along the sandy beach going south. Asked how he knew it, he pointed to a particular star in the south-east. “Yes, but how about this?” “Well, my father tell me.” It is remarkable that more than 60 years afterwards an aboriginal gave the same reply regarding the movements of another variety of fish.”
Inspired by the depth of Aboriginal seasonal knowledge, we came across the ‘Seasonal Signpost Calendar’ concept by artist Sofia Sabbagh. She describes it as “a means to track and cultivate the noticing of our environment; native and non-native species, and to link our personal lives with the cycles of our environment”. To support this, Sofia suggests a series of questions:
- What is changing in my local environment?
- How is the soil?
- How is the creek?
- Which birds are appearing?
- How might this environmental change affect another plant or animal? What is the flow on effect?
- Which plants/animals do I notice?
- Which plants/animals appear in significant times of my life?
- Which plants/animals do I most obviously affect?
- Which plants/animals most obviously affect me?
Inspired by Sofia’s calendar, for the past 12 months we have been observing and recording all the changes we notice in soil, moisture, weather conditions, fungi, plant and animal life.
Now we are into our second year of the calendar, patterns are starting to emerge. For example, it turns out that the pair of Adelaide Rosellas which we thought we saw sporadically actually consistently stay on the property from May-August and we see them every visit, and then they go somewhere else. And we start worrying about the Wedge-tailed Eagles when we don’t see them for awhile, but it turns out that summer is more commonly when they soar above us, whereas the Nankeen Kestrel is year round. And all our various species of Acacia/wattle started flowering in the same week this year as they did last year, despite the fact that we had a wetter year.
We are really interested to see where this calendar takes us, especially as we start to get an understanding of what environmental phenomena trigger other environmental phenomena. This will help us plan when we need to do work tasks (planting at the best possible time, slashing turnip weed before seed set, collecting native seed, making sure our bees have enough pollen and nectar options etc), but more importantly help us develop that deeper connection with the land. We really want to know how the ecosystem all fits together and how everything is synchronised so we can work with the land not against it.
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In March 2020, Joel was invited to present to the Yankalilla & District Historical Society on our research into how the landscape of the Fleurieu has changed over the last few centuries. Below is an edited version of the talk. If you’re interested in knowing more, we can also send you some links to interesting historical images from the colonial period. Any errors are our own – let us know if you have any questions or comments.
In 2012, my wife Sophie and I, with our children Asher and Annika purchased Yarnauwi, just outside of Second Valley. Our property is just under 50 acres, running between South Road and the Wirrina golf course, and over the last seven years with the generous support of our friends, neighbours and family we’ve worked to regenerate this patch of the landscape.
Our property is intended to remain at least partly agricultural. We’re not seeking to return it to a prior state of imagined ecological perfection. As we’ve discovered through our research and through our experience of working with the land over the last seven years, too much has changed and is still changing to return what was there before colonisation.
Instead, we’re working to restore its health and function as a landscape, and to build its resilience in a changing climate. I’m neither an historian or a scientist, however we have spent a lot of time contemplating both history and science, and tonight I wanted to share with you some of what my wife Sophie and I have discovered in our process of working to regenerate Yarnauwi. Continue reading
There’s been so much growth and change at the farm over the last year that we really wanted to share with our team of volunteers and supporters. However, with everyone staying in their postcode this holiday weekend and farm tours suspended for the foreseeable future, we thought we’d put together a little video so you can still enjoy the big skies of the Fleurieu! Take care, and we hope to see you back under the trees soon!
We’ve been talking a bit recently about when a woodland becomes a woodland. Asher suggested 500 years of growth, but was willing to settle for 50. Perhaps it’s a woodland when the birds think so, when the firetails and blue wrens jump the boundary fence from neigbouring scrub and decide they’re safe flitting from branch to branch. As our earliest plantings grow taller than humans, and the canopies thicken and throw shade, we started noticing an increasing diversity of tiny life. Insects for whom a gum or wattle tree is their universe are finding their way across the paddocks to settle in the emerging plantings. Despite the heat and dry of summer, the trees are heaving with insect life. We recently saw the documentary The Biggest Little Farm about an idealistic (and evidently well-funded!) couple who start a diverse 200 acre farming project outside of Los Angeles. One of the messages of the film is that when you create the right conditions, nature finds a balance. As we walked through the saplings, on one, the new growth and leaves were being systematically devoured by small copper coloured beetles. We walked to the next tree, the copper beetles were present, but as we watched, were body slammed by wasps and carried away. At the next, the beetles had been busy, but now a spider had arrived, and was meticulously wrapping the beetle population in silk. Perhaps these tiny communities are beginning to find the balance too.
Here’s a tour of some of the life on the trees – we’d love your help with identification!
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2019 began and ended in fire. In early January, some errant fireworks set off by passers-by landed in one of our front paddocks, burning across a couple of hectares of our property. We were lucky. There was little wind, and it was quickly noticed and contained by our amazing neighbours and the CFS. Meanwhile, in Tasmania, fires ripped through the forests, and by spring and early summer, vast tracts of the east coast and Kangaroo Island were catastrophically aflame once again. While we’ve escaped the drought and bushfires that have gripped so much of the continent, these phenomena have served to focus our goals and aspirations in 2019. It’s been a year of learning as we work towards a more regenerative approach: ultimately building soil and harvesting water and carbon in the landscape.
Our regenerative aspirations have been focused by some outstanding events this year. In June, we attended the Deep Winter Agrarian Gathering in Willunga, drawing together 150 aspiring and established regenerative farmers from around Australia to share skills and ideas. Former CSIRO microbiologist and climate scientist Walter Jehne set the tone with a rousing and inspirational keynote on restoring natural processes through agriculture to cool the climate.
Some of the challenges of our landscape regeneration efforts have been both working to restore eroded badlands in some parts of the property, as well as to arrest continuing erosion. To make matters more complex, some sections of the property have “dispersive” subsoil. While the topsoil is relatively stable, when the subsoil becomes saturated it dissolves and begins to move, hollowing out tunnels beneath the surface that ultimately collapse into sinkholes, and eventually gullies. Of course, because it’s all happening underground, tracking or predicting which areas are vulnerable, or already cavernous is tricky.
Over the last seven years, we’ve been gradually working our way around the property installing erosion control structures, based on the work of permaculture-based landscape restoration folk like Craig Sponholtz and Bill Zeedyk. Hailing from the dry southwest of North America, Sponholtz and Zeedyk advocate applying small and slow interventions that use local materials to slow water flows and gradually heal erosion. In the permaculture spirit of viewing problems as solutions, our junk-filled erosion gullies have provided a seemingly inexhaustible supply of demolition rubble, concrete chunks and segments of brick walls that are ideal material for these structures.
One of the sections that we’ve avoided is a notorious headcut that our DIY soil tests showed us boasted slaking soil that disintegrates when moist and subsoil that was also more saline than other locations around the farm. With saline subsoil, most plants wanted to avoid getting their stabilising roots down. Tree-planting was also fraught, survival rates in the saline subsoil and cracking grey topsoil were low and the very process of digging a small hole for a seedling can be enough to expose the subsoil so that next time there was a downpour, a sinkhole would open and swallow the seedling, tree guard and all. With the headcut moving about a metre a year and also widening, we thought it was time to get stuck in. At the very least, we’ve discovered that doing something is better than doing nothing and the act of getting in there and digging around allows for more accurate monitoring and effective intervention. Continue reading
Each winter since 2015, aspiring and established small-scale and regenerative farmers and their supporters and allies have gathered somewhere in Australia as part of the Deep Winter Agrarian Gathering to share ideas and inspiration for their projects and enterprises. In June 2019, this convergence drifted westwards to be held in Willunga, South Australia, and we were delighted to participate.
The tone for the convergence was set with a keynote from former CSIRO microbiologist and climate scientist Walter Jehne, who spoke on the role and responsibility of rebuilding soil carbon and water cycles through agriculture and land management. Through his inspiring presentation, Jehne drew on indigenous land management as described in the work of Bill Gammage and Bruce Pascoe to also establish a precedent for the capacity of Australian soils to hold significant amounts of carbon and water.
A couple of days before this year’s tree planting, I rang our friend and regular tree-planter Jeremy, and told him that three out of four family members were sick with the flu and we were thinking of cancelling this year’s planting weekend. He didn’t accept that proposal, effectively telling us that tree planting would happen regardless of our involvement, that between his family and another they would take care of catering, rally the volunteers and get the trees in the ground.
It has always been an aspiration of ours that the farm might offer a place for people to be able to develop connection with the landscape through collaboration on land-based projects – “where people and the landscape can restore each other”. I hope that Jeremy’s response, and the support of our friends and community over the last seven years of tree-planting is an indication of this aspiration in development. In this spirit, this year we were also delighted to host regenerative side projects such as Steven Hoepfner’s seed ball regeneration experiment, and provide a waterway for Sue and David Speck’s sedges, and a forever home for Greg Wood’s trees.