big days out

Steve, Jill and I actually went out together today.  We went to Stapleton Beach,

some more hurriedly than others.

Jill PD is not a swimmer and has only recently taken to getting wet to fetch the stick,

sometimes more confidently

than others.

It never hurts to ask nicely for more throws.

But finally the time comes when the sea claims the stick and it's time to go home.

Our Stapleton Beach day was Thursday.  Friday I had another big day:  yoga, then Tai Chi, then School Association, then a soiree at Anne's groovy shed.  I love that I can walk to just about all the things I want to do.  I wore my new boots and felt slightly Demelza-ish striding along with my red longish dress.  Sometime ago Whispering Pearl gave me a pair of green ankle socks with a brown fur trim.  They amused me because they melted into my winter pelted legs but this was not a look I wanted to share too widely so I've been waiting for the right time.  Mel has given me some green tights in exchange for some cat and chook care so now I can pair tights, socks and boots - the fur trim stands atop the boots making them look fur-lined.  Possibly I looked more Maid Marion-ish then Demelza.  There are, of course, other possiblities...

Today the weather is glorious despite yesterday's predicition from the librarian that it would be cold and wet and perfect for reading.  I have planted radish and cornflower seeds and daffodil bulbs.

catching my breath

We may not have a lot of big events in Bunna but we have plenty of small delights.  Weekend before last I did the clifftop walk again with Her Majesty and Mrs Omniscient Henry.  Walking towards us was a woman we had met at the meditation sessions whose name is Cheryl.  We all got so excited I forgot to ask what her dog's name is.  We learned that Cheryl is one of the hardy souls who swims each day at Spring Beach.  She can walk from her house at East Shelly, along the cliff path to Spring Beach.  Rather idyllic, though a long way to the shops.  Cheryl had been keen for the meditation sessions to continue after the 4 week course, and Mrs OH has been wanting to do Tai Chi so they decided 'to look into it'.  Next thing we know, Tai Chi is on at the Community Health Centre on Fridays at 10.30am which means we can stroll leisurely from yoga.  Like Zumba, we don't 'have a live one' but follow a DVD, fortunately an easy to follow one.
On the Sunday I went 'Wedgie Watching' with Ingrid and Graeme.  This may sound like the sort of thing you do hanging out of a car window cruising a small town but is in fact a Citizen Science project looking out for Wedge Tail Eagles and other birds of prey.  We didn't see any Wedgies but watched an engaging encounter of two Sea Eagles.
On Tuesday I checked my phone to discover His and Her Majesty had invited Mrs OH and me to lunch at the Coal River Farm after zumba.  I had a delicious slow-cooked beef and gnocchi dish with a lovely Coal River Cabernet Sauvignon.

Her Majesty, who is also our local Judi Dench, gave the place high commendation even without sampling the wine.  As you can see, the building is sleek and minimalist and not at all what I was expecting as a 'farmhouse'.

In other foodie news:

the pub on the highway has extended its bakery items.

Steve and I are very partial to their ciabatta, shown here with the teapot trivet I indulged in from The Rusty Devil because it reminded me of the face Sarah etched in the new honey some time ago.
Apart from the usual gym, zumba, yoga and now Tai Chi, and at least an hour in the garden each day, I'm reading.

Here's The Floosie's review of this book:

Hi

I thought you might like to read the review I wrote about Robert MacFarlane's book. I read it a year or so ago but I noticed in your blog that he was involved in the book The Lost Words.

That too sounded utterly captivating.  Here's to more books like these!!!!    FF

'The Old Ways' by Robert Macfarlane was a poetic exploration of the diverse walking paths in the British Isles with forays into Spain and the Himalayas. With lyrical and at times heartbreakingly beautiful prose, the reader follows Macfarlane as he walks ancient neolithic ways, Roman paths, coffin trails, ley lines, pilgrim paths, and many others, some on his own and others accompanied by old and new friends. As an urban Australian it was difficult for me to imagine the depth of history embedded in these walking tracks that spiderweb their way across the English landscape ( although Macfarlane does mention the Australian Aborigines and their songlines that connect features of the landscape). I especially enjoyed the path known as the 'deadliest' in Britain: It's on the Essex coastline and there are few markers. It heads straight out into the sea before veering back to the shore, to be walked only at certain times when the tide is out. It was an eerie landscape made immediate by Macfarlane's writing. The author also pops in bits of linguistic history dealing with the meaning of words associated with walking, and acknowledges the feats of other famous walkers. An engrossing book that conveys a powerful sense of ancient landscapes, and makes you want to put on your walking boots.

I bought these boots over a month ago to wear while gardening but they look so beautiful
I keep them as a sculpture.

winsome, lose some

My cyclamen farm is coming on well.

But sadly I lost my crochet cardigan over Easter.

Previously I lost my Cruella Deville.
I loved them both, but they are a small price to pay for our indulgent Easters.

this bogan life

It's been a  livelier week.  Last week we had The Greatest Showman at The Orford Odeon.  I was a model of restraint and had a glass of bubbly and popcorn instead of my usual glass of red and a Mars Bar.

There was the market on Sunday where the lovely Puck weighed out Democrat apples by an ingenious device rigged up in the boot of his car.

You know I bought a bottle of the local gin at the previous market.  I am still searching for the perfect glasses from which to savour it.  I found this glass at the market and it's pretty close to what I have in mind.  Sadly there was only one so I'm doomed to drink alone for now.  I only have a thimble full and could probably get by with just smelling it.  The botanicals really come through.  One night when Steve was away, I had apple pie, cream and a glass of gin for dinner.  Divine.
I cooked the venison as a pot roast in the slow cooker with herbs from the garden, including myrtle leaves and berries in lieu of juniper.  I think it is delicious, though Steve deems it tasteless.  I have also slow cooked the quartered quinces and must get around to freezing them today.  I think they're delicious too.  I wish I was one of those people who don't enjoy their own cooking.
I had a suspicion that scallop pies were on the menu at The Fish Van so Jill and I trotted around to find out.

Yes indeed.  In case you think it is an inelegant way to lunch

I managed a small glass of white too.
The other exciting news, from my perspective, is that I just trimmed 6 bushes with the hedgetrimmer.  When I have undertaken this in the past, my wrists ache from the vibrations and my arms ache from the weight.  But today it was easy peasy, apart from throwing the ball for Jill at the same time.  The sessions at the gym must be working.

they also serve who only stand and wait

Not a lot to report in Tribes.  Snapped this little chap as I left the gym yesterday.  The rain has left the garden a joy to work in.  Weeds easy to pull out.  We've been given a haunch of venison to cook and I've decided to include some of our myrtle berries in lieu of juniper berries.  My googling doesn't indicate that the myrtle is poisonous but this could be the last post...

The Great Rains of 2018

At last we have had some rain.  The Gatehouse gardens had their own babbling brook thanks to the run-off from the school oval.

Last night I feared that the water may rise to flood the Gatehouse pavilion but it didn't quite get there.  Perhaps Venice has come to the Gatehouse.

The rain seems to be easing now.  Hopefully the wind won't persist long enough, or strong enough, to dry it all up.  The East Coast really needs a good soaking.

I spent yesterday curled up by the fire, reading Miss Read books and eating chocolate.  My friend The Queen of Hearts visited and, as we swapped stories, I realised that the appeal of country life had been re-woken in me back in 1974 when the cruel Education Department sent me to Bothwell for my teaching prac.  I stayed with the Goggins.  Mr Goggins drove the bus to Hobart and back each day.  Mrs Goggins introduced me to the rhythm of country life - fire and firewood rituals, vegies fresh from the garden, sheds smelling of stored apples.  I live a somewhat modified version of this, but I love it.
Wednesday night I went to the meeting of The Friends of Triabunna Reserves.  I took one of my newest treasures with me in case there was time for 'Show and Tell'.

Those of you who follow Jackie Morris' blog will know all about this book.  The Reservists were enchanted with its beauty.  As we turned the pages, we realised that nearly every plant and animal featured is a pest in Australia.  So many lessons.  Renouncing your country of birth is not always an easy decision.  I am very lucky to have Jackie Morris living my life in Wales.
And I think I will always love blackbirds.

Glad that I live am I

On Anzac Day I marched in the parade for the very first time.  This was not something I had ever expected to do given, to my knowledge, I have no personal connection to Gallipoli. But the Spring Bay Suicide Prevention Network marches every year and so I was invited.  I was given a book to place at the cenotaph in lieu of a wreath.  The books are then distributed to the schools.  I really want to read this one - and, Lady Jayne, I love the title.

Wilma placed flowers as she does each Anzac Day.  It was all very uplifting, still a bit jingoistic and macho for my taste, but it is heartening how the community turns out in force.  And then, walking home,

the pavement filled with children's chalk drawings.  I haven't seen that for years.  And as I walked home, I found myself singing 'Glad that I live am I...' a favourite hymn from my childhood.

Some time during the week I spotted this little beauty at the end of our street

and later it pulled up briefly outside the house.  Small pleasures.