A tablelands grazier summed up the mood of the world when he commented to me that everyone is "restless" and thus explained the pandemic of mental illness consuming some sectors of society.
That comment came in the wake of lock-downs and remains just as relevant today.
Certainly these holidays will be marked by war - growing in another part of the globe - while opposite ideologies threaten to tear apart the "world's greatest democracy".
Meanwhile, here among a "strayan arvo", I hear a coel bird call-in the summer rains, and come dusk the tribe of black cockatoos scraw overhead on their way to a night roost.
Should I blunder into a political fight, much like the crows denouncing a cuckoo, I can be thankful that the pub accepts all faiths. Here in this country the layers of education can be teased out over a beer on the wood.
Such diversity lining the public bar - from ringers and stockmen to district court judges and budding politicians - ensures the conversation is loud and sometimes raucous, not unlike the chorus of birdsong in the bush behind my house.
Other countries like to call themselves democracies, but I think you'll find the Australian form particularly well versed in this intellectual debate. Through conversation our differences can be moderated.
Nature calls this sort of thing blending, like the middle path. Aristotle called this the golden mean; Buddha advocated for the middle-way.
All these philosophers learned their lines from nature, through observation.
The regenerative agriculture mob tell us that diversity is the key to sustainable success and they point to the sun's rays as the best example of economic growth.
Photosynthesis knows no racial boundaries and plants will live one on top of the other if you let them. Where there's an empty space, or an opportunity, that gap will be filled - usually by a colourful new Australian.
They are everywhere in our diverse landscape - from the South African bitou to English lantana.
Cats claw vines are taking over creek banks in an absence of competition.
My favourite is a South American version of the wattle - the legume Easter cassia - which adorns her branches with sunflower yellow flowers come autumn. As part of the Fabaceae family it readily fixes nitrogen while adding to the texture and vibrancy of what it is to be a modern Australian.
Historic reports describing Australian landscapes "like Hyde Park" in those earliest colonial days made glowing reference to mature trees sparsely and widely spaced apart, to allow plenty of room for grassland.
While the scene lends apparent support for grazing practice in this brittle country, it doesn't answer the question how such an ageing population of forest, with little to no recruitment from young stock, is able to continue. The depiction to my mind suggests this "parkland" was in fact a mature to dying ecosystem.
Nature would have it another way and so she has, allowing a flourish of vegetation from every corner of the earth to boost the soil carbon and nutrient holding capacity of Australia's ancient soils.
These "weeds" and all the others that are proliferating because of our bountiful nature have been - still are - rubbished for their effort in diversifying undergrowth and adding to the complexity we are just analysing again, which is soil biology.
The peak of humus knowledge pinnacled before World War One and was consigned to the back book room of the library when the Haber-Bosch technique changed agriculture.
In the meantime, the era of native regeneration was well meaning, but powerless to stop an avalanche of new propagation. The hillsides of camphor Laurel on former dairy paddocks continue to choke out all else bar a few clumps of hoop pine.
It seems to me that as our atmosphere increases in carbon dioxide there will become an ecosystem perfect for plants which when flourishing will dominate our attempts to slow them down.
I see signs of this frenetic growth and blossoming of colour all over the local landscape which, being sub-tropical, provides an ideal haven for these colourful new Australians.
They propagate easily with leaf and root diversity that is good for our poor soils. The natives survive the hardships, to come back first but the colourful new Australians fill the gap, bringing an ability to absorb excess nutrient when times are good.
It seems to me that as their insistent presence is unavoidable, and unwavering, that we might as well embrace their offerings and garden with nature - just like Masanobu Fukuoka and his gentle premise outlined in the One Straw Revolution.
This suggests a new form of landscape management is begging.
Fire alone is not the answer, as it kills the soft plants, the ones that can repel a fire front rather than spur it along. But they always die in the fight - think figs, avocados, palm trees. By removing that generation of soil fixers nature has to start again and each time with more compromised assets.
If we are to allow nature to build soil capable of gobbling up all of mankind's emissions, then allow her access of care.
I propose to limit human involvement to one with a blade in hand.
The Amazon was cleared with a machete, as were the rainforests of South East Asia. Of course a knife doesn't have to yield whole-scale destruction. It is best used in a subtle way - like lopping the flower off a thistle.
One could even do that from the confines of a puttering side-by-side.
You know, our new colourful Australians extend well out from the back-blocks and yet in every remote corner of the nation there are smiling faces and lilting speech that heralds the knowledge that another bloody foreigner has weeded their way into our front yards.
I can say this because I, too, am an immigrant and remain so pleased to be here. Ask any immigrant what they think of Australia and you will hear some stories.
My old mate who re-structured a portion of the fruit and vegetable markets back in the 1960s recalls one Italian grocer saying how he "prayed to the Captain Cook every night!".
Along our coastlines another race of new people are painting the landscape verdant - these are the islanders who gather to sing lustily along the shores of our bays.
In the cities where the melting pot is extreme, one can see Chinese and Indians holding hands, surely a sign of a new beginning in peaceful Australia?
Burka-wearing women laugh at the surf's edge while their grand-daughters, proud of their faith and lineage, come to the Royal Show in Aussie beachwear.
They all agree that to live in Australia is free - and invigorating. The plants nod in consensus and bloom to prove their point.
And yet there are those among us who wish to decry the success of this lucky country. Alas, the nay-sayers and poppy-cutters will always be among us, just as the noisy Lorikeet protests the kite's path.
This is nature, after all. So live and let live, I say.