This morning was crispy with frost, and my white iris are blooming. I found these old fashioned iris flowering along the roadside in Piggoreet, and brought a couple of corms home. It has taken two years for them to settle in and flower. Maybe they like this colder spring. My deep purple and my amber-gold bearded iris haven't a bud on them yet.
A hundred years ago Piggoreet was a thriving township of several hundred families, with schools, pubs, churches and shops. There is nothing left now, just paddocks and here and there some scattered old fruit trees and remnants of old gardens.
Near the town is a water race built of rocks by Chinese miners, snaking like a stone dragon along the creek valley.
A hundred years or so ago, someone brought these snowy flowers to the new mining town and planted them and loved them. Now they are flowering for me.
I live in Ballarat, an old goldfields town, in the central west of Victoria, but southerly in relation to the world. I love Chinese architecture, the post-goldfields towns and countryside of central Victoria, and I love the practice and the art of history. This year I'm beginning a research project on Ballarat in the 1870s.