James and Trish Parker live on the Tasman Peninsula. They have lived there so long that they are woven into the area's cultural and environmental fabric. In this gentle life, shaped by the patterns of the seasons, James Parker is no different from most residents of rural Tasmania – except for his great skill in writing about it.

Mid-October, 2023

Spring – whatever I say about vague Australian seasons – has definitely sprung. In fact its half-way through. The daffodils in my paddock are already fading and the tulips are starting to bloom. The jonquils are hanging on and the cherry-plums are in blossom. And the forget-me-nots are starting to cover the flower gardens, which is great by me as I may not have too much rye grass to pull out – cross fingers.

The birds seem to be mating as they should. Well, sort of. Ethel and Murgatroyd, our resident plovers (masked lapwings, if you will) don’t seem to have mated yet. They are very old. We still seem to have a pair of blue wrens – he should have a harem. They were like that last year and Trish thought it rather lovely. They just stayed together flitting about for months. Lovely, but did they breed?

The magpies are a concern, in that I’ve put out meat scraps which they usually love, especially when they’re feeding young, but they don’t seem to be around. I worry.

The swans are coming back into the bay and flying off to breed in the nearby dams. And, bless them, I’ve heard my first striated pardalotes of the season. These tiny birds have the loudest and most repetitive and annoying call in the whole of the bird world. Ee aw ee repeated interminably. A pair once manged to get into the ceiling above where I sleep, and then they bred and fed their very loud chicks. I suppose I could have blocked up the hole in the brickwork where they got in, but I just couldn’t do that, despite never having had such a bad summer for sleep.

But, I might be in for one worse. We have been invaded by a rogue rooster. Rodney (christened by Trish before she realised what a pest he’d become) is a large bird with a strangely small comb. Other than that, he is a big, handsome chap with a not particularly loud crow. But, when he comes down in to the courtyard at 7 in the morning, he is a pain.

Anyone need a rooster?

Other than that – life goes on on the Peninsula – and it’s not bad. We’ve got to have a meeting about the upcoming cricket season, and worry about arts festivals and concerts and so forth, and we’re still building a public garden at Premaydena.

You count your blessings.

Previous Down on the Peninsula columns: A ramble through the seasons

James Parker is a Tasmanian historian (but with deep connections to Sydney), who writes and talks on mainly colonial subjects – especially convicts, women and the Tasmanian Aboriginal people.