Looking out the windows this morning, you’d have sworn we were holidaying deep in a valley surrounded by mountains. That’s how thick the mist was over the sea – the water had vanished and all that remained were the tips of the bay’s mirrored headlands.
And it didn’t clear. We ate porridge, drank tea, put on an extra layer of warmth, and did what we Boots do really well – pottered around at home :-) We read, we stitched, we chattered, we dreamed and planned … and then we did it all again.
By tonight, the sky was still thick and subdued with rain, the air was chilly, and the curtains were drawn closed. One of us had finished another feltie in the Abigail Alice collection, and another had started Sarah’s amazing single star quilt. Two of us had planned a baby quilt for an expecting cousin in Canada, and the very cleverest of us had drafted a pattern from my favourite ever sunhat. The boy of us had researched and planned and replanned and dreamed and plotted how he was going to begin his new close-to-the-heart project, and one of us, whilst cosy in the living room with a gorgeous girl, a beloved mum and the nutty folk of Midsomer, continued to stitch round and round and round and round and round.
We mightn’t have swum or soaked up any sun – tomorrow has declared that it will be 28 and sunny (woot!) and we intend to hold it to its word – but we certainly made the most of what was offered and it was good.
How do you make the most of a rainy day holiday?
With the summer holidays dwindling, we’ve trekked back up the coast to Mum’s. Here we are – looking out at the ocean, the water twinkling in as many shades of blue as we can think up names for it. The sun is warm but the breeze stiff. As the afternoon deepens, small, flecky white horses appear across the blue of the bay, tossing their heads as the parasurfers race wildly from one side to the other. The water – well it’s freezing! Not like the warm waters of Queensland and northern NSW we lily-livered folk are used to :-) But we head to the beach nevertheless. It is a beautiful place to be – and so very lovely to have Mum so much closer.
And yet, something I look forward to just as much as being here, is the journey. I do so love a good journey. We’ve made this particular trek several times now – across the farmlands of Gippsland, through the deep forests of the southern Wilderness Coast and voila! We pop out at the Pacific Ocean – the remote wild melding back into the lush dairyland of the Bega Valley and the small fishing communities of Southern New South Wales.
It’s beginning to feel like “our journey”. The first hour and a half is a bit of a drag – it’s just the freeway – but then we arrive in Traralgon and know that now we have truly left the city behind. We know all the wee towns we will pass through and in the right order, we have our favourite farmhouses, the prettiest copse of trees and the happiest cows. We’ve found the yummiest bakeries and the worthwhile thrift shops. We always ooh and aah over the the beautiful architecture in Sale (the rich red brick of the Catholic church and school are my favourites). We always stop at the huge and lovely park in Orbost – but we don’t drive in, we park beside the road, spread out our picnic quilt and lay in the shade of the magnificent old trees that line the road. We always giggle (in that ewww way) at the roadstop where Fu vomitted up a 5 inch tapeworm on her first journey (you’re glad I shared that aren’t you!).
I love this feeling. I love gathering these places in my heart and mind and holding them there as part of our journey.
Our absolute favourite spot is the old railroad just outside of Bruthen. There’s almost nothing left of it but the name and an incredibly rickety wooden railbridge that stops in mid air. Now it’s a horse riding and walking trail. One day we might complete it. For now, we love the huge thicket of plum trees that gather a few hundred metres in from the road. Just above a field where the sweetest, inquisitive cows live ( I do so love cows).
The very first time we found this spot – on our journey from Brisbane to Melbourne 2 years ago – Julian and I hung out with the cows awhile, took lots of photos and ate a few plums. Last year, we missed it – we came home a stupid way – following the Snowy River along 90 kilometres of hairpin bendy dirt road - never, ever again – and plums were the last thing on my mind as we limped, carsick, through Bruthen.
This year, as we returned home after New Years, we collected 6 kilos of plums! Oh my – they were so delicious. Tart and wild and sweet all at once. They nestled in a bag at my feet for the rest of the journey home and I did eat a few. But three kilos were made into jam the next day, and the rest into spicy plum sauce soon after. Wild Bruthen Jam & Sauce for our pantry. Part of our journey spread on our toast and eaten with cheese.
Yesterday – it was hot and bright. Our ears were filled with the screeching of insects and the white dust of the path simply hung in the air where we kicked it up, it was so still. The plum trees were still laden with fruit but so high up (I told you we would need a ladder Julian!) and frankly, they were a little over ripe. Good for eating on the spot – which we did with the few we could reach – but no good for preserving. In amongst the plum trees are a couple of apple trees – unripe of course and a wee bit manky – we’ll have to try them at Easter. And this time – heading into late summer – we noticed the blackberry brambles. Abby half filled my hat but disappointingly, we needed our rock climbing equipment to reach the masses of ripe berries.
Yes, I do love the journey just as much as the holiday. Travelling along familiar roads, feasting our eyes on familiar sights, stopping to enjoy a small bit of what each town has to offer, remembering the different experiences we’ve had in familiar places.
Eeach time, making it that little bit more “our journey”.
Oh it was so hot yesterday – another dry, sizzling scorcher. It was so stifling at home we decided eating out for lunch – in airconditioning – was the the most sensible option. We ate beautiful food down Balaclava way (poached peaches, chocolate brioche, vietnamese coleslaw and other yummies) but wouldn’t you know – the cafe’s air conditioning was on the blink. So we sat stifling there too.
The afternoon – hot! - each of us sprawled out in front of a fan, sucked on frozen juice pops, drank lots of iced water and tried not to move to much. But by 6pm, the heat dissipated and we were left with a long, soft, mellow, sweetly lit twilight. Ahhhh … out into the garden!
After a few chores, I finished off the painted frame I showed you yesterday – with mouse mesh! I’ve been looking for such a frame amongst local hard rubbish for a few months and this one, found last week with Abby and Sacha (they just love cruising the suburb for hard rubbish – ha!) was the perfect size.
It is now a cross stitch canvas. I’m working my new header (have you seen it?) “Bootville” onto it and we shall hang it on our front porch.
Instead of wool or cotton thread, I’m using 1 inch strips of fabric and a very large needle. Rules were established very quickly – no more than 55 centimetres long – otherwise it frays atrociously. Nothing thicker than cotton patchwork fabric – thicker and it just will NOT pull through. You cannot carry the “thread” any distance at all – because everything shows up through the mesh. And taking care to not split the thread takes on a whole new meaning.
As a way to spend a long summer eve in the garden, this meshy cross stitch was just lovely. I sat out there until the light was almost gone and the mosquitoes were gathering upon my arms.
By the way – I have all these scratches on my arms from my feathered girls -
They rush up to me, hunker down at my feet and beat their wings for me to pick them up. They then have a lovely relaxed cuddle (one at a time) – I keep their wings tucked in firmly and have one hand under their belly with my fingers spread apart for their legs – they seem very comfy and are happy to be stroked for as long as I want to. But when it comes time to put them down, no matter how careful I am, they always flap about and scratch me as they throw themselves back to the ground! Silly girls! Any ideas on how best to gently lower ones’ chickens to the ground?!
This is what I have been doing …
This is what I should be doing …
:: folding the washing – which is on my unmade bed
:: making my bed – an unmade bed makes me feel SOOooooo hot and lazy
:: tidying the sewing chaos that is currently squatting in the corner of my bedroom – I can see it from my pillow – not good!
:: dusting my dressing table – I know it’s a blurry photo – but dang! This dust’s too good not to share!
:: ironing and re-hanging the bathroom curtain I took down to wash – over two weeks ago.
:: omg … taking down the christmas tree – and putting away ALL the christmas decorations – I was telling myself we were away for so long that it was nice to enjoy it a bit longer, but now I think I’ve suffering from avoidance.
:: working a miracle in the atrocious looking spare ‘oom – makes me want to shut the door so as not to notice when we walk down the hall, but that would make the hall dark. Hmmm ….
:: at least creating a path to the sewing table – eek! it’s so awful in here I’m sewing on the dining room table so it looks crook too …
:: building the chicken coop door – we’re currently using a sheet of corrugated iron with a heavy pallet to weight it
:: and finishing something! this little half done beauty is sitting right outside the back door – makes for a classy outdoor feature huh!
Oh dear! I think these long summery days have taken their toll on any degree of organisation or routine we’ve ever had here in Bootville. There’s some serious action needed – and, worse luck, it doesn’t involve a needle :-(
I meant to post this last night … but fell asleep watching a film with Julian and Hannah … so we can pretend it’s still Sunday can’t we. I’m sure it is somewhere in the world :-)
Lots of kitchen time … stocks for the freezer made with the sun parched herbs from our garden …
homemade sausages – Jules is fixated with perfecting the pork & herb sausage – I wanted a wee bit of apple too – but no, first we have to get the fat vs. meat vs. meal blend just right – apparently herbs don’t contribute to this …
our second bread and butter pudding for the week – stale challah, home laid eggs (sigh of admiration for my dear little feathered girls), and homemade wild plum jam (hopefully pick more on Tuesday!) …
the nailing and digging and layering on top of more chicken wire (actually using mouse mesh – much stronger, more durable and neater to work with) – we dug it down about 15 centimetres, laid it out flat about 15 centimetres, then heaped the dirt back on and packed it down with rocks – think perhaps the site of our chook run was once a rockery, we keep digging up more and more rocks!
visiting cousins – sitting in the late afternoon shade, lots of playing with Fu, silliness, laughing …
and very dirty feet – does the dirt accumulated on one’s feet = the amount of effort put in? Oh please say it does :-)
Where the light falls, its colour, its warmth and its strength is something I strongly connect with. It was one of the things I missed most when we left Brisbane. It didn’t matter that I was in Melbourne – I knew where the light would be on a weekday afternoon in August whilst waiting in the gardens at school for Abby to finish her cello lesson. I knew how warm, direct and strong that light was when we waited as teenagers for the 163 bus on Ann Street on a summer’s day.
I was always relieved to find the soft river light waiting for me, when I left the University late in the afternoon, and walked down to the river ferry to home after a long day’s work. I was thrilled to find a decided lack of light when I entered our tumbledown home in Norman Park – it almost felt airconditioned on a blistering February scorcher. I adored that rich, honeyed subtropical light illuminating Shakespeare’s stained glass heroines in the vestibule at Somerville. I loved looking in the rear view mirror as I drove home from West End – the narrow ribbon of Vulture Street disappearing into the forests of Mount Cootha, all ablaze with the setting sun.
I will never, ever forget the light as I strolled from town through Southbank to my Mum’s house, my arms weighted down with Christmas presents my first year of full time work. It was so intense and filled with good cheer and excitement. Brisbane has so much light and so much of it is enmeshed with who I am and how I have spent my days. It will never leave and sometimes it is sorely missed.
In contrast, Melbourne seemed to be seriously lacking in the light department. After all, this southern capital is famous for its dreary grey weather. But I’m pleased to say, having now been here for two years, I am beginning to find the light … I know it will be many more years before I will know what to expect from the light in the different parts of our Melbourne, at the different times of year, before I have created new Melbourne memories that will be imbued with the light. But here, in my summer garden, I’m becoming happily acquainted with this softer, braver light … it’s a good start.
This beats all. This evening, I sewed on buttons and trimmed away gathering thread – at the airport. With 25 minute to go before Sacha needed to board her plane. We cut it fine, but it was all good and cheerful and, hands down, the best way to avoid becoming sad when someone you love dearly is leaving.
You just need a batty mother, armed with pincushion, thread and scissors, sewing cheaty buttons (only time for one buttonhole so the rest are pretend :-) on to a promised – and delivered! – pretty, old fashioned nightie for Abby’s bestest friend ever and my second daughter, and there’s no time for tears.
Oh dear, it was one of those things. Every day, I thought, must get to Sacha’s nightie today (she chose a handmade nightie for her Christmas present) and then, the day would melt away into lots of other busyness and fun and it wouldn’t get done again.
:: clearly needed a tape measure as well as a pincushion! ::
Today, I truly thought I had it sorted. Until the girls reminded me they wanted to go to check out a Sweet Lolita dress shop in Fitzroy followed by a last day lunch out … Hmmm … ate into the nightie making time somewhat.
We didn’t get home until 3.30pm. By the time I’d set up the machines, found the pattern and thread, and cut out the nightie it was 4pm. Then 5pm. Then 5.25pm – all good stretches of sewing in between. Then – BANG! – it was 7 minutes past 6 and we had to leave at 6.20 at the very latest. The skirt was only just gathered. There was no hem. No buttonholes. Thank goodness the neckline was bound.
:: next time she visits, I’m going to hold that lace down with some sweet little pale pink french knots ::
On with the skirt! Up with the hem! The girls packed Sacha’s belongings into the car, put the dog out, closed the windows, found the car keys. One buttonhole – forget the rest, they aren’t needed anyway. And we hit the road at 18 minutes past 6. As we boinged out the driveway Sacha remembered – her bottle of cherry jam! No time to run back in dear girl – I’ll have to post it.
I did think I would sit at the departure gate with the girls whilst Sacha waited to board and sew on the buttons. Alas – I wasn’t allowed to take my embroidery scissors or pincushion through the security gate. Dang! Plans for taking control of the east coast of Australia one stitch at a time foiled again!
:: we had to wodge it into her handbag – already checked on the luggage! ::
So we sat next to the check ins and bag drop and stitch, snip, stitch, snip … When it was done, Sacha cheerfully “modelled” it – the fabric is a gorgeous Alexander Henry that came out in 2008 – “The Sprites of Tillbrook” – I loved it so much, I bought 6 metres when it arrived at the Quilters’ Store – isn’t she a sweetheart – holding up a nightie in the middle of a busy airport. She truly is – her mum and dad should be very proud – they have raised a lovely, lovely girl.
And then, they were off – mama at the security gate, basket on arm, glasses slipped down to the end of her nose calling out – “remember! walk down to your left, down the stairs, then turn right and walk up the sloping walkway and you’ll come to Gate 8! Got that?!”
They did. Before long, Abby was back. We linked arms and walked slowly back to the car. Ten days. They went so fast. And were so good.
As for stitching at the airport? Highly recommended :-) And another one of those times I’m so glad I keep this here blog, ’cause this is yet another silly story in our lives that we will love looking back on.
Today was simply too gloriously summery to stay inside and sew. That’s one lovely thing I’m adapting to as I become more and more of a Melbourne girl – relishing the summer and wanting to be outside as much as possible. In Brisbane, you’d just melt if you sat outside towards the end of January. Here, we are so mindful that before we know it, the leaves will change and vanish, the days will shorten, the skies will be grey and dreary and we shall be cold. Until October at the least. Goodness – here in Melbourne, that could all happen tomorrow! So outside it is.
And I couldn’t get into my sewing shed – it has become so atrociously untidy and cluttered – I don’t know where all the stuff came from! Right in the doorway was this basket filled with the crocheted granny rug that I started FOUR years ago. And some other bits and bobs too. Unfinished scarves, an unfinished penny rug (SIX years old, that one). Ridiculous!
Now, I had been thinking about the granny rug over Christmas – not at all happy with it. The squares had become too big and had lost all their sweet appeal. So I decided to unravel half of the rows and use that wool to crochet up smaller squares and instead of having 36 giant squares, have 144 smaller squares and a couple of coloured borders. And the colours had gone a bit wacky – stopped looking warm and rich. Hmmm …
I told myself, that tackling this rug would almost be tantamount to tidying the sewing shed. And I could do it outside.
:: hard rubbish chair, rather rickety, softened with quilt and pillow ::
:: offending basket at my feet ::
:: dorky rug ready for ripping ::
:: greedy guineas behind, chattering away as they devour my weekly veggie shoppings – how many times have I gone to prepare dinner only to find that THEY have been dining on it instead ::
:: Sweetpea (actually, we call her Fu – it’s a long story) stretched out in front -
she prefers the sun and is always so thrilled when we choose outside over inside ::
:: Benny in her nest, laying her THIRD egg. She likes to let us know when she’s at it ::
:: ahhhh! liking it more already! but hook too big -
must go back inside and find smaller one ::
:: lunch with hugh – he’s my ideal man – oh be still my racing heart! and a fresh tomato, zingy feta and drippy, sweet peach. Perfect summer fare ::
:: making a bit of a mess with the ripped out wool – shall have to get Abby onto this with the wool winder ::
:: a popcorn break for the girls (the two legged variety who are INSIDE watching Princess Bride – how could they!) – and look at that, the feathered girls like it too ::
:: crocheting them together as I go::
:: that late afternoon western sun a bit hot now – and it’s time to cook dinner.
Don’t seem to have achieved that much, but certainly have just enjoyed
the perfect summer’s day ::
The chair may be thrifted and rickety, the garden not ours (we rent – will hopefully have our own little place one day – with a fireplace) and the thought of all those back to school and university bills are nagging at me morning, noon and night, but sitting here today with my crochet, I felt so very privileged and perfectly happy. I couldn’t have wanted any more.
Well, maybe a bigger sewing shed. And tidy.
We found some ridiculously cheap but very sweet spotty stripes yesterday and bought half a metre of each colour they had. Almost a lovely rainbow – just missing the yellow. The intent for this fabric was a summery quilt – Chinese Coin style with almost white sashing, and a very sweet fox fabric Abby picked for the top and bottom borders as well as a little sleeveless nightie. There was only 1.6 metres of the fox fabric – it will be such a little nightie, I think there will need to be some shorts to accompany it.
After an exceptionally hot and uncomfortable evening – oh our double brick home – it stays lovely and cool most of summer but more than 2 days of excessive temperatures (over 35) and those bricks have stored so much heat that they radiate all night – I was in need of a slow day. The kitchen, at the back of the house, was filled with a lovely fresh, summery breeze so it was here I set up. The last of the cherry jam bubbling away on the stove, a summer bread and butter pud with cherry jam and blackberries, finely chopped prawn shells for the chooks, roasting sweet potatoes and beetroots for dinner’s salad, and … the cutting board and spotty stripes.
Only I was quickly sidetracked. After whacking off the required five strips of 3 and 1/2 for the coins, I was left with pieces between 2 and 1/2 and 3 inches. Out came the dresden plate ruler and chop, chop, chop. The coins were stacked on the kitchen sofa and before I knew it, I had spent THREE hours fiddling with background combinations.
Hm? Should it be a very subtle pink check?
Quite nice but, it turned out, not enough fabric. Bum. Onto option 2 – strong mustard?
Yeah … I like it – but it’s too intense – doesn’t have that light breezy summery look – looks more a meltingly hot day upon which the car is so scalding the cd player doesn’t work. Oh, and I added the pizza tray to better create a circle :-)
Definitely like the mustard – it’s very me – but definitely not singing the song I had been humming in my head.
How ’bout this wishy washy stripy voiley nonsense … had it for years, no idea why I bought it (not enough to do anything useful!) and have never managed to incorporate it into anything …
Nope. Definitely not. The spotty stripes have quite forgotten what it is they’re supposed to be doing. Though I must say, it’s very interesting looking at the different effects through the eye of the camera – always creates such a different impression to that conjured up by my naked eye. When I was looking at the beams on the voile, the spotty stripes had practically vanished and just looked mushy – and yet look here, quite respectable. Does this happen to you?
In desperation, I tried an Anne Maria flannel – bit daft really. Flannel?! For a summer rainbow quilt? It was nicer in real life – the yellow is much creamier than it is showing up here. But still – no breeze.
Finally I found a piece of good old plain white that was big enough for the pizza tray and rainbow beams …
Mmmm … like it lots as soon as the orange anchors are in.
White definitely has those beams singing clear and true.
With a yellow centre? Maybe. LOVE the white – it has a woven stripe in it. Not sold on the yellow centre. Have since tried a yellow cotton centre. Not bad – but maybe it needs a really pale colour – pink, I think. Not sure.
Tomorrow, I shall vlisifix the beams in place and play around a bit more with the centre. What do you think? What is your favourite background? What would you put in the middle?
I’m really itching to get onto quilting it – by hand, concentric circles, in perle cotton. In between sewing up lengths of Chinese coins :-)
Well. That’s a big “well” followed by a big deep sigh. And a bit of a shudder. You see, this post – that I’ve been composing in my head since we began building in August, was going to be one of absolute delight and excitement …
… and there still is an element of that. But there’s also been a lot of forehead slapping, cringing, amazement, horror, tears. And a good dose of shame. I do believe this last one is a valuable emotion to experience because it makes me do better next time.
We’ve been dreaming of our own chickens for years. Back in August, we decided that if we waited until we had plenty of money to build the perfect chicken coop, we would be waiting for ever. So we decided to do what folk used to do – use what we could find. I had my copy of Storey’s Guide to Chickens open every night. I had read hours of information on the different Australian Department of Primary Industries websites, local government ordinances, RSPCA and backyard chicken keeping forums. I had contacted so many chicken breeders. We had talked about why we wanted to keep chickens and what was important to us. I felt informed.
So, I spent a few weeks gathering useful and appropriate hard rubbish (it’s amazing what builders throw out) and one sunny winter morning we laid it all out, Julian stared at it for a very long time, to sort out what was useful and what he could do with the curious assortment of materials before him, and we started building our chicken coop.
Meanwhile, I scoured the listings for chickens for sale and as mentioned, spoke to lots of breeders. Friends had spoken lovingly about their Isa Browns (specially bred layers) that were cheerful and gentle family chooks that laid plenty of eggs and were easy to source and inexpensive. Aunty Cate even suggested we adopt Isa Browns from a rescue organisation that gets them from battery farms. But I had my heart set on Orpingtons. We even put in orders that never arrived. Pure breed chooks were hard to find. Wee little chickens -much easier – but we didn’t have the set up for raising them. We needed bigger girls. Things ground to a halt and with Christmas holidays coming up, we put our chicken plans on the back burner.
Fast forward to last week’s cherry picking adventure. On our way to the cherry farm we noted a sign that said “Local Honey” – I love real honey – so told Abby and Sacha to look out for it on our way home. They did, we pulled in to a lovely farm driveway, bounced along the potholes and when we pulled up, not only was there honey, there were chickens. Beautiful toasty red Isa Browns strutting about all over the place – peering out at us from old corrugated sheds, standing on old ploughs, gathered next to an old tractor – it was picturesque. As was the farmer – an elderly gentleman who when he appeared, the chickens came running and plonked down at his feet to be picked up. Which he did.
I’ve since hung the feeder and waterer – so as to reduce the amount of dirt the girls chuck in!
And guess what – he had point of lay hens for sale. Well – my Orpington dreams flapped out of my head quicker than you could say omlette and with my honey tucked under my arm, I wandered the farm with him, meeting his girls and listening and taking careful note of his 50 years of experience raising chickens for eggs. He reminded me so much of my grandad, with his gentleness, cheerful nattering and stories of long ago.
Just last week, we listened to Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall opine on the importance of getting acquainted with real farming folk when you start your small holding – people in the know who can lend a hand and tell you how it is. I thought I’d found the chicken version.
And he is – well sort of. Abby, Sacha and I were back on Saturday. We’d bought our feed, feeding and watering troughs, bedding, and Julian was at home putting the finishing touches on our chicken coop. Following the farmer’s advice on what to look for, I picked out our four chickens. We popped them in the big Christmas tree box in the back of the car and brought them home.
Julian was just about done. I helped finish the fence – star pickets and steel compost heap panels and as the sun vanished, we gently lifted each of our girls out of the box and into their new yard with coop, complete with a lovely heavy branch – knotty and barky – screwed into each end of the coop for roosting. Plenty of room for all. Big old trees for shade. Two metre high fencing on two sides, with chicken wire dug in around the bottom. The sewing shed on the third side. Our picket and panel fence on the fourth.
At this moment, the bubble of joy burst. Julian looked closely at the hen in his arms. Then at each of her sisters. ”You’ve bought debeaked birds?” Open hole of horror, shame and stupidity and let me climb on in.
I was amazed. I hadn’t noticed. I’d been on the farm for the best part of two hours on two different occasions and hadn’t noticed. I’d talked with the farmer about their age, general health and prospects, and about their immunisations. I’d seen his set up. I’d read the books. Debeaking hadn’t even featured in my novice, city-slicker chicken world. I didn’t even remember that the practice existed.
I’ve seen Food Inc. I’ve watched documentaries on the horrors of industrialised chicken farming. I’ve read so*many*books. I’m sure the inhumanity and cruelty of debeaking has flashed before my eyes and I bet I’ve even nobly lamented its practice, but did I think of this last week. Nope. They looked such happy, healthy, free roaming chickens.
What a dolt. So thoughtless. Such a good lesson. Abby’s amazement was accompanied by “But we try so hard to do the right thing?!” Yep. But as Yoda would say, “Try not! Do!” And I didn’t.
Our poor wee girls. They have such stunted little beaks. I’ve since read terrible things about debeaking – both the acute pain and terror, as well as the lifelong chronic pain and difficulty feeding. Our girls seem to cope fine with their pellets, but only Benny and Letty can catch bugs – poor old Souffie and Nog’s beaks are especially short. They haven’t been able to eat the corn cobs I gave them this morning as a treat – they even struggle with greens.
However, they do seem to enjoy pecking about the ground and display all kinds of good chicken behaviour. They’ve even laid us four eggs already. One on Sunday, a teeny wee one yesterday (I imagine it was the very first egg for one of them) and two today. Today’s first egg was Benny’s – Abby and I were in the run with the other three – having a cuddle with Letty who’s very snuggly – and we saw Benny sitting on the nest, squawking away in the most operatic fashion. After she hopped off and we checked – yup! An egg.
How extraordinary. We treat them so harshly and with such little respect and yet continue to take advantage of the richness they offer us in return. We take those eggs and bake them, fry them, poach them, turn them into cakes and custards and pies and quiches. Without them, our kitchen is rather barren. And yet, in return, we chop off their beaks. I don’t think we’re particularly deserving of the livestock (note the first part of that word … LIVE) that sustain us.
I was so sad Julian suggested taking our girls back to the farmer. But I can’t do that – in fact, how dare I! Mum will nod knowingly at this point. I’m famous in my family for being the passionate advocate for the unfortunate. We brought our girls home – and we have a lovely home for them. We named them – carefully noting their individual features … Nog has the smallest comb, Souffie is the tallest by far, Benny has the darkest collar, and Letty’s collar is speckled with white. We accepted responsibility for their wellbeing – for their very lives. When the weather cools down a little, I will make them warm mash with milk and veggies all squashed up. We will love them, care for them and be grateful for their eggs.
I have learnt a very valuable lesson. Things are not always as they seem. So keep notes ON PAPER (not just in head which has a tendency to be a bit sieve-like at times). Be extra cautious. Don’t just trust that people will do the right thing and support what you support just because they are nice and friendly.
We’ve started a noticeboard of all the things we need to remember about our chickens – little notes with important reminders. We’re hopeful this knowledge will become part of who we are.
:: yet another deep sigh ::
So that’s our chicken story. An unfortunate introduction, but I am hopeful it will grow to be a rich and merry story. That’s all we can do, isn’t it. Hope and learn.
p.s. there’s a few finishing touches to put on the coop – some weighted waterproof canvas to flap over the top (that closest panel of laser light lifts up) to keep out the rain but still let us open that part of the roof. And I want to paint it red :-) That will be lovely and cheery – and definitely bunting. Special chicken bunting!
Now that mum’s retired and all and living by the sea where it can be *very* *very* chilly, it was time to stitch her a beachy picnic quilt of her own. Naturally, Christmas was the perfect time.
Most of the fabrics came from the stash but I did succumb to a few lovelies from Amitie – the dala horses, the amazing pink Anna Maria Horner fabric, and that bluey green right in the corner there – it has the most wonderful toile like turtles on it. Very beachy.
The four floral centrepieces are liberated from a thrifted table cloth that had a churlish mustard background (bleh!) and I still have five more to play with (hmmmm …)
In beachy quilty tradition, I simply quilted round and round and round in straight lines …
… onto a pure wool Laconia blanket that was in an outside bin at the thrift store, marked $2 Dog Rug. Oy! Woollen blankets just do not receive their due respect here in Australia! And yet we used to be known as the country whose wealth came “from the sheep’s back” and every second country town had it’s own wool mill – let alone all the blanket mills. :: sigh :: Now all we do is dig dirt out of the ground and send it off in monstrous ships. What on earth shall we be left with once the dirt has gone (or the rest of the world moves further and further towards sustainable, renewable energy – hmm?!?!?!?) Not much, that’s what! Meanwhile, we buy cheap (or very overpriced) crappy doonas and acrylic “throws” from China. And put our pure wool blankets out for dog rugs! Bah! Rant! Rant! Rant! Rant! Rant!
Okay, I’ll hop off my soapbox now … back to quilts
There’s so much glowing warmth in this quilt – I know it will be perfect for the beach – summer days, stretched out atop with a floppy hat, comfy cushion and good book, and wintery days, wrapped up in it, watching for whales in the wild and stormy seas.
Mum, however, has it folded across the end of her bed where it does look beautiful against her white marcella bedspread. Oh dear, some mothers are so disobedient, aren’t they.
This is the last Alice post – well, Alice party that is, you should see the sweet “giant” Alice doll that is now standing on the front porch of the dollhouse and the plump white rabbit doll (currently headless) that is in progress. Me thinks my girlie is having an Alice obsession :-)
Naturally, an Alice party had to have croquet – and we were very fortunate that Mum offered to pay for two thirds of a beautiful croquet set (Abby’s birthday present, Julian’s Christmas present and my Christmas present). We had a few practice runs which were great fun and then, after an incredibly cloudy morning that tormented us with threats of rain, the skies cleared, sunshine poured into our back garden, Julian set up the croquet and the hilarity ensued.
We decorated the hoops with playing cards (a thrifted pack) so as to stand in for the Queen of Hearts’ playing card hoops. And for the croquet mallets – why, flamingo heads of course!
I frantically stuck them on with blue tack moments before the guests arrived. As we stood on the sidelines watching, Julian whacked me and hissed – “You stuck the flamingoes on the WRONG WAY!” ”I DID NOT!” I hissed and whacked back. ”Yes you did! You put them the right way up – they’re supposed to be upside down!”
Oh, yes, so they are – oops!
Instead of balloons (which I loathe – been terrified of them since I was a wee girl) and streamers, I made playing card bunting – well, the hearts, diamonds, clubs and spades. I freezer paper stencilled the icons onto rectangles cut from an old curtain …
… interspersed them with some pretty triangles I cut out for bunting 6 years ago but never sewed up and then used a quilt binding styled fold over to sew them together in long strands. We hung them from the ubiquitous clothesline that takes pride of place in the MIDDLE of our garden. I thought it looked lovely. Julian felt it glorified his arch enemy Mr. Hoist
Abby was in charge of the paper decorations (eg. flamingoes). She cut out lots and lots of little cheshire cats and flags for the sandwiches, which Zach (Hannah’s boyfriend) glued onto toothpicks …
… made a paper collage white rabbit for “Pin the fob on the rabbit!”
… and made a “Paint” label for an old kitchen tin which we sat on an old hard rubbish ladder that was propped against a tree decorated with fairy lights and red paper roses (also cut out by Abby and threaded on by Zach of which we have no photos!)
We had a caucus race …
… which delighted Sweetpea no end – she didn’t know who to chase first! – for which everybody was awarded a ribbon (see photo below), and a poetry recital. Each girl chose a poem from the text and read it aloud …
This was an awesome success. The English teacher in me was hopeful – everybody else in the family doubtful! – but all the girls (even the shyest) performed their poem with such zest and spirit. And the audience adored it – there was laughter and cheering galore. It was such a lovely affirmation that old fashioned party games are still marvellous fun.
We did not make up the usual lolly bags for guests to take upon their departure but instead had paper plates with a selection of left over party food, and teacup candles, their cups and sauces thrifted by Abby and I, and the candles made by Abby.
She melted grated organic palm wax in the deep fryer (we’ve never used it for deep frying – only candle making), scented it with different essential oils and poured it into the teacups. Each girl had one, with a “Drink Me” tag tied to it’s handle, at their place at the tea table.
The preparation and party were such fun I felt almost sad when it was over. The next morning, this was all that was left …
… well, apart from lovely memories that is :-) And Abby and Hannah are already plotting for the 15th Birthday, 2012. At the moment it’s looking like a Tim Burton party – they couldn’t settle on a particular film so decided a free for all would be the most fun. I’m sure it will be.
