Rockhampton was a parrot’s paradise. You see, Rockhampton is home to a particular tree that holds the sweetest nectar in its bright red and yellow flower. The nectar is totally addictive to the Blue Mountain Lorikeet and the all green parrot we only knew as the greenie. These birds infested the trees – all screeching, parting and squabbling over that intoxicating juice. Now Rockhampton being so hot and all, and the nectar being so highly sugared meant, you guessed it, fermentation. It was not uncommon in those days to see these birds staggering around on the ground like Viet Vets outside an old pub on any Anzac Day. This tree was truly their local watering hole. One day as David and I were walking past this drunken rabble, David noticed that one of the birds on the ground had a damaged wing and could not fly. So, David picked up the bird and took it home to see what he could do to nurse it back to good health. This took a few weeks of daily care and so we had to take it with us when we went on our holidays to the beach at Yeppoon. The bird had been kept in a cage throughout the rehabilitation period and it was becoming apparent that the agitated flapping of the wings signalled to all, that it was time for the bird to be released back into the wild. David decided to take the bird to the beach and asked me to come along. Now our house was separated from the beach by a road which we carefully crossed with the bird tightly wrapped in a towel. We then had to climb down a steep 2 meter sandy bank which opened onto the long stretch of hard, flat sand leading right down to the water line. Once there David turned around and faced the house. This was that moment that all nature loving environmentalists will hold as dear the release back into the wild of a creature made well by the compassionate intervention of mankind. After a moment or two, reflecting on this special occasion, David released the bird high into the air and set it free. The instincts took over. The programmed flapping of the wings was an instant response to being airborne once more. Now I have never been a bird, but as I watched I came to the conclusion that it was not sufficient to just maintain a height I meter above the hard sand. Surly lift was important to! I could see that David had figured the same, because he started running following the direction of the bird’s flight back towards the house. Now I know that, as a caring member of the human species, I should not have laughed – but the sight of that bird with its head buried deep into the 2 meter sand bank with wings still flapping furiously, will stay with me forever.
