The Patch
The Patch

Return December

by Peter Grant
02 May 2025

Among Elvis Presley’s many gifts, the articulation of lyrics wasn’t foremost ...

The Patch

The life recycle

by Peter Grant
06 Jul 2024

For a dead language, Latin still has a lot to say ...

The Patch

Climb that tree, Mr Darwin

by Peter Grant
28 Oct 2023

My sisters are chasing me. But I slip unseen around the corner of our house, and shinny up a gum tree ...

The Patch

Abundance

by Peter Grant
06 Mar 2022

From droughts to flooding rains ...

The Patch

Burning questions

by Peter Grant
24 Aug 2021

Peter Grant lives in the foothills of kunanyi with his wife. He worked with the Tasmania Parks and Wildlife Service for 24 years as manager of interpretation and education. His passion for the natural world led him to write Habitat Garden (ABC...

The Patch

The night shift

by Peter Grant
16 Apr 2021

In the not-quite dark, I stand still, allowing my eyes to adjust to the lack of light. I am spying on some of the night shift in The Patch, in this case a young Bennett’s wallaby (Macropus rufogriseus). As she grazes she bends low, radar ears flicking, muzzle moving rapidly back and forth across a patch of grass. She reminds me of a hairdresser moving clippers across a head. One sweep mows the grass flat, the return sweep combs upright any stalks that were missed. The wallaby snatches these between her lower jaw’s horizontal teeth and her upper jaw’s vertical teeth, and munches on the grass vigorously.

The Patch

You don’t see fat pardalotes

by Peter Grant
22 Feb 2021

I doubt that my thoughts are quite as elevated as Belloc’s as I huff my way up the hill behind our place. But at least I’m on my feet, working on a post-retirement fitness regime that sees me walking up, down and around The Patch most mornings.

The Patch

The orchid path

by Peter Grant
21 Jan 2021

Sometimes we learn about the world through a narrow lens. My impression of orchids, for instance, was shaped by my tropical plant-loving father. He spent his army service in Queensland, and so admired the epiphytic orchids there that he later grew some in his makeshift hothouse in Sydney. His patience in propagating these difficult-to-grow plants was rewarded in the form of exotic, showy and award-winning flowers – dendrobiums, if my memory serves me correctly.

The Patch

The Hobart Rivulet

by Peter Grant
19 Nov 2020

“It isn’t as if there was anything very wonderful about my little corner. Of course for people who like cold, wet, ugly bits it is something rather special.” — Eeyore

The Patch

The lessons of Leopold

by Peter Grant
16 Nov 2020

Peter Grant lives in the foothills of kunanyi with his wife. He worked with the Tasmania Parks and Wildlife Service for 24 years as manager of interpretation and education. His passion for the natural world led him to write Habitat Garden (ABC...

The Patch

The volcano’s edge

by Peter Grant
04 Aug 2020

“The cloud was rising from a mountain – at such a distance we couldn’t tell which. I can best describe its shape by likening it to a pine tree. It rose into the sky on a very long “trunk” from which spread some “branches.“ ... Some of the cloud was white, in other parts there were dark patches of dirt and ash. The sight of it made the scientist in my uncle determined to see it from closer at hand.”

The Patch

A tale of two tails

by Peter Grant
04 Aug 2020

It’s high season for birds in that bit of suburban bush we call The Patch. During summer walks we hear and see a dozen or more species. It’s hard to miss the forest ravens, clinking currawongs, native-hens and sulphur-crested cockatoos, all...

The Patch

I feel the Earth move

by Peter Grant
04 Aug 2020

Rain pounds on the roof and thunder shakes our house. A nearby tree is shattered by lightning. Just 100 metres away the Hobart Rivulet rages so powerfully that it will soon flood Hobart’s CBD. In just 24 hours we’re receiving a third of our...

The Patch

Alternative sunshines

by Peter Grant
04 Aug 2020

This morning’s walk through The Patch demands a little determination. As our part of the planet leans away from the sun, my feet are as leaden as the sky. Gone are the days of dancing with butterflies and dragonflies, of singing along with a hundred birds, of being teased and tanned by Tasmania’s summer sun. Instead a chill breeze blows, showers threaten, the track is muddy. And things are going to stay that way till spring. As if to reinforce this, a lone raven lets out a loud, forlorn yawn.

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