Even though dawn services will not be held this year, and the Australian War Memorial is closed, there are other ways to celebrate ANZAC Day. One idea is to go on a sculpture hunt on the Memorial’s grounds to remember that animals have also served in wars.
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The Australian War Memorial Sculpture Garden, found on the west side of the Memorial, opened in 1999. Included among its many commemorative works and memorials are those that honor different animals.

​The newest arrival is the Military Working Dogs Memorial, which commemorates all military working dogs and their handlers. The sculpture, called Circling into Sleep, by Steven Holland, is a series of 37 bronze paw prints arranged to represent a dog circling before lying down to sleep. 

The remains of Aussie, a Labrador in the Explosive Detection Dog Team, were interred here. Aussie was deployed four times to Afghanistan and then retired. He died in 2017 at 16 years old.

​​In the same area is a plaque that commemorates the many thousands of Australian pigeons and their handlers in the Australian Corps of Signals. They helped to maintain communications during the Second World War.

Nearest the main entrance to the Memorial is Peter Corlett’s sculpture Simpson and his Donkey, 1915. John Simpson Kirkpatrick may be Australia’s most famous soldier. A stretcher bearer at Gallipoli, he and his donkey carried water up Shrapnel Gully and brought the wounded back down to the beach on Anzac Cove. A book  by Jackie French tells the full story about the donkey who carried the wounded.

​Outside the Sculpture Garden, at the entrance to Poppy’s Café, is my favorite sculpture. Elevation of the Senses, by Ewan Coates, honors the contributions made by Explosive Detection Dogs and their handlers. The tunnel at the sculpture’s base symbolizes the dogs’ rigorous training, and the rocky outcrops represent deployments to foreign lands. The dog is elevated, making eye contact with the handler, emphasizing the bond the two share.  

​​Looking to the right, I spotted a low-key reminder that dogs are welcome here too. 

Other ideas for remembering ANZAC Day include walking along ANZAC Parade or exploring the Memorial without going anywhere through their innovative Museum at Home program. 

These strange times provoke anxiety, and I’ve discovered that nature—even if it’s just what I can see from my front veranda—is indeed calming. The view forces me to slow down and appreciate the infinite leisure that Thoreau found.
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The view from my veranda encompasses the trees around us, a quiet street, the endless sky, and mountains out in the distance.

​The sky is ever-changing.

​And the birds keep me company.

I’m not the only avid bird watcher in the family.​

I revel in the splashes of color from the native bottlebrush, autumn leaves, and flowering rosemary far below.

As I wrote in a previous post, when my world narrowed to my home and its surroundings, my view became deeper rather than broader.

The world’s museums may be closed, but that doesn’t mean I can’t experience art.
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On the north side of Canberra is Haig Park, a lovely bit of underutilized green space. The park was named to honor Earl Haig, the Commander-in-Chief of the British Expeditionary Forces during the First World War.

As part of an ongoing program to make the park more appealing to Canberrans, the call went out for more Silver Sprayers to create street art. The Silver Sprayers are a group of older Canberrans, aged 55 and over, who train with professional street artists in workshops and then paint their own public designs. They started in 2018 as part of the ACT government’s Streetwise community art program, and their art has brightened public spaces in southern suburbs like Woden.
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In late September, they painted an old depot, the entrance to public toilets, and various utility boxes. 

The results are colorful and captivating, a welcome excuse in the middle of some essential trip to stop and linger in the park for just a moment on a sunny morning. 

Along with everyone else, we’re staying at home to “flatten the curve” in this strange beginning of 2020. When my horizon shrank to my house and the little patch of ground on which it rests, I became a close observer of what surrounds me. My backyard became my Walden Pond.

My backyard is sheltered and private, an appealing facsimile of rambling nature. The previous owners enjoyed all kinds of plants and popped into a bare space anything they found eye-catching. They created a pleasing jumble of green.

They loved succulents, and so do I, all those weird and wonderful shapes. This one looks like a miniature alien from Little Shop of Horrors. 

​I retreat to the backyard, escaping from the daily news to savor the last colors of autumn. 

Or to watch the birds forage and the bees busy at work. 

Sometimes I’ll spot the occasional skink, but I’m never fast enough to catch a photo.
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The backyard also includes a decaying bird bath the birds never use and something that looks like the skeletal remains of an umbrella pulled inside-out by the wind. It’s for drying clothes outside— which everyone does here—but I haven’t the knack of it yet. My American addiction to a clothes dryer persists.

I have never been a gardener—I have a black thumb rather than a green one—so I never know what anything is called. Some things I recognize though, like a geranium, rosemary, and a lemon tree. And we may have a bay tree.