It is May 29th – a sparkling autumn morning. I have just come inside from my early morning walk. The Eastern Whipbirds are calling from somewhere through the forest, cutting through the silence like a knife; the Grey Shrike Thrush is declaring its exuberance with a call that never fails to exhilarate; the pardalotes’ repeating call from a muddy bank somewhere assures me that they are alright. The Southern Boobook is not roosting in the carport today, but I know it will be back. It always is. I hope it is busy breeding somewhere safe. This is who I am, who I have been for 45 years.

I am gulping in these sounds more intensely than ever, because now I know I will have to leave. It is not what I had planned, even less what I would have wanted or hoped, but my hand has been forced.

My late husband, Win and I found our 10 acres of forest at Greenbank in December, 1977. Fresh from years overseas, and having lived and worked in remote Equatorial Africa, we could not face living in suburbia. We wanted forest, we craved an ongoing relationship with wildlife. It had to be possible. The block had never been settled before. It was without power, water or sewerage, but the moment we saw it we knew we had found home. It was bisected by a creek that flows into Oxley Creek. The evidence of old logging lay strewn around the ground. The forest rang with bird calls, and a Swamp Wallaby propped and looked at us from the creek bank. A surge of excitement and almost disbelief punched through me: could this really become ours?

Tawny Frogmouth

We moved in to our partly finished first home Win had spent almost a year building from recycled materials in May 1980. At night we would hear dingoes calling from the CSR timber concession up on Spring Mountain.  There were only four other dwellings in the road we fronted, and the Army Base at Greenbank apparently still had not twigged to the fact that this was now private property, as patrols of soldiers, fully armed and in combat fatigues played jungle games around the creek.

From the outset, Win had a vision. We would keep as much of the forest as we possibly could, only clearing enough for a fire break and the house site. “We have to keep the forest for the wildlife”, he said. “Where else will they have to go?”  I was new to all this, but I had a wonderful teacher.

Although the forest had been logged in the decades prior, it had never been destroyed. On the riparian zone, rainforest species were abundant and large. Platypus played in the creek. Away from the creek, open eucalypt woodland consisted of a dazzling array of species; abundant understorey vegetation provided perfect habitat for birds, insects and small reptiles. And in the far back corner, a patch of old growth paperbark forest on swampy ground was home to roosting Boobook Owls.

As a keen amateur photographer, I was captivated by the small and exquisite treasures that grew in open areas: fringed violets, ground orchids, dozens of types of fungi, and the tiny succulents that devoured flies. It was a wonderland, and it was ours to care for and protect.

I cut out David Fleay’s weekly wildlife articles from the Courier-Mail and put them in a scrapbook. What he wrote about would never form a part of the lives of people in suburbia, but we were living it.  I was in a perpetual state of excitement – what would we see or hear next?

Powerful Owl

It did not take long for that question to be answered. One night after dinner, we heard a call we had never heard before: a deep sonorous ‘Woo-Hoo’, close to the house and moving around through the forest.  Win quickly got out the bird book, turned to the section on owls, and made the announcement: “That’s a Powerful Owl! Look, here’s the photo. It’s enormous!” We sat at the dining room table and a little breathlessly read all about it. It was a defining moment. Could we really be living with this majestic bird whose numbers were critically declining due to habitat loss and felling of old growth trees that provided nest sites? I knew from David Fleay’s article about them that he had been the first person in the world to breed them in captivity at his sanctuary at Currumbin.

The days, weeks and years passed. In time, Win built a second house, tucked away in the middle of the back seven acres, and we sold the first one on three acres.

Win’s vision for the property never wavered. We lived in a private sanctuary others could only dream of. It became part of me, not just as an add on to everything else I was doing, but resided at my very core. This was who we both were. It was what we talked about between us, to others, and anyone who was interested. The presence of the Powerful Owls was something we eagerly awaited every year – they did not nest here, but they roosted and hunted and called. I photographed them, I proudly took visiting friends and family to see one if it happened to be roosting with the remains of a meal in its talons, and I wrote about them and had my articles and photos published.

Win’s passion led him to become President of the West Logan Environment Group for several years in the 1990s. He lobbied developers to keep trees, he campaigned for the retention of the creek that once ran under what is now the Grand Plaza at Browns Plains, and he took children from Greenbank State School for walks along Oxley Creek, teaching them about the wildlife and the forest. He lived to 91. Then I had to adjust to being here by myself and trying with all I had to honour his legacy. That was six years ago. With help, I have done alright, little has changed, until that is, on the night of 3rd April, 2024, it did.

Southern Boobook

At 8pm on that night, the torrential rain started. It continued until around 10.15pm. I had no idea what was happening until I took a torch and went out on the balcony. Swirling, fast-flowing muddy water was all around. I looked down the 14 internal stairs to see it pouring through the downstairs level of the house, and the lights on my car parked in the carport were flashing continually. 135mls of rain fell in that time. The next morning the tragic news was broadcast of the drowning of an elderly local resident right opposite my next door neighbour’s front fence. At 10.45pm I rang the SES, but they were not able to do anything unless I faced a life-threatening situation. I phoned family and friends, waking them up with the news.

I was thankfully insured adequately. But possessions were of a lower order of importance. Love, help, support and transport have been showered on me since then, and I am alright. But in my late 70s and living alone, it is time to go. The inevitable grief at this departure, whenever it happens, will be profound. But the forest remains, the wildlife remain. This event has been dubbed ‘catastrophic’ by the Insurance Council of Australia. I guess it is some comfort to reflect that it took an event of this magnitude to separate me from this place that has nurtured me for two-thirds of my life. Win’s vision and his legacy remain intact. I just hope and pray that whoever comes after me will protect this paradise as we have.

Article and photos by Annette Henderson
Land for Wildlife member
Greenbank, Logan

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One response on “Love, Loss and Legacy

  1. What a wonderful article by Annette Henderson on her patch of paradise. I think all Land for Wildlifers would identify with her situation and the painful decision she’s had to make. I was wondering if there is any potential for Annette to put a covenant (VCA) on her property to ensure it’s future protection? That would go a long way, I would think, to easing her concerns and make leaving her paradise a bit easier.

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