icelandpenny asked me a while back about the signs of autumn in my part of Australia. I passed the question on to J, who is closer to nature than I am. He began compiling a list. Sawfly larvae and processionary caterpillars (aka hairy grubs) cross the road in a huddle. Birds reappear after moulting: Eastern Yellow, Lewin’s Honeyeater, Grey Fantail, Eastern Spinebill; occasional families of young Lorikeets and Crimson Rosellas – they won’t hang round; and Thornbills, Butcherbirds and Bowerbirds, who never really went away. Lyrebirds in the gulleys become more vocal in the misty mornings. Crops of mushrooms pop out of the dirt road.
And burrawangs fruit, although not many this year. They need fire for seed cones to form and luckily (for us) that wasn’t provided this year.
Just above J’s house, glossy green fronds arch gracefully around seed cones with reddish brown nuts just beginning to peep out from their spiky leaflet-cover. The cones take their colour from the background: vivid green against the fronds; a duller sage against the dry orangey leaf litter.
A few kilometres up Bullocky’s Hut Road, on a track off Big Rock Road, a burrawang has spilt some of its fruit onto the ground, but there are still lozenges in the green cone, leaflets curved over them like helmets with pointed nose covers.
Burrawangs are members of the Cycad family, a group of plants closely related to conifers with a fossil record going back more than 150 million years. Judith Wright, in her 1947 poem The cycads captures something of their antiquity.
For a previous post about burrawangs see here.
snippetsandsnaps 
Thank you for the burrawangs. Thank you for taking my question to heart, and causing something so wonderful to result.
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Thank J. He’s like a terrier: won’t let something go till he’s had his way with it. He even drove me to the burrawangs, because he thought I mightn’t do it under my own steam.
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Oh my goodness, that makes it even better! I think we all need a terrier-friend (though one with the sensitivity to know when, instead, on occasion, he should just fold his little terrier paws, close his terrier jaws, and leave us in peace).
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Amen!!!
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I like the helmet analogy. Your words often speak to me louder than the photos, Meg. I often think it’s a strange world you inhabit. 🙂 🙂
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I meant to work harder at the description – but I was pleased with the helmet.
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I think there’s a type of burrawang in my front garden!
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It’s ancient! Beware! Photo?
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Like you I have been thinking about autumn in the Australian bush and will be posting my ideas later today.
I really like your photos of the burrawang and the way you have used one for the background to Wright’s poem. They are utterly curious plants and, as far as I know, unique to your part of Australia.
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They certainly are alien-looking creatures, but not so dissimilar to a pineapple.
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Vaguely alike, although the burrawang fronds are more graceful – and pineapples aren’t conifers. However, you aren’t the first to note the similarity. The word “pineapple” in English was first recorded to describe the reproductive organs of conifer trees (now termed pine cones). If Wikipedia is right.
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I hadn’t planned Easter Sunday as a study day, your post has taught me a lot and given me much to think about. And your photographs are, as always, a delight.
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As Tish has commented, you do have the most fascinating life forms in your part of the world, Meg! I think I would be blown away by it if I ever came to Australia!
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I was going to ask if you can eat them, but I see from the other post that they take a lot of preparation.
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Astonishing cone and magic name to go with it. So much fascinating life forms in your part of the world. I feel quite bereft here. I love the English countryside, but it does often tend towards the bland. Too much cultivation, I’m guessing.
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