My body has decided that in these hot months, getting up at 4 am is the best idea yet. And, to be honest, I think she may be right.

There is something quite magical about waking well before sunrise when our little world is dark and quiet and lusciously cool. At first all is still, nothing moving, and then, suddenly, as if with a deep, swelling breath, the wind begins to blow bringing in cold air from the fields and bush, rousing the birds from their slumber, whispering in the ears of sleeping animals, “It’s time to wake up!”

The goats and sheep ease themselves awake, working out the kinks from a night on the hard ground. The babies are the last to get moving, quite miffed that their hot water bottle mothers are no longer nestled beside them and keeping them warm from the brisk morning breezes.

The dogs are pure energy, leaping and galloping, barking in sheer delight at anything that moves, hurtling themselves at my legs for snuggles and pats.

I love watering my gardens in the dark, breathing in the scent of wet mulch and damp earth. I’m just able to make out the shapes of artichokes, purple beans, and fat green tomatoes and can see well enough to know that the hose I’m grabbing is indeed a hose and not a wriggling snake out hunting for mice. Although my main watering comes with the mid-day drip-hosing, truly the best innovation of the year for me, I like to give my plants a quick shower in the early morning, washing off all the dust and grime of the day before.

This morning we let the goslings out in the farmyard for the first time. In years past we let them out too soon only to have them picked off one by one by tawny frogmouths and other predatory birds. This year we put them in a big, secure pen with a swimming pool, feed, and loads of greens from my gardens until they were tall teenagers. Confident they were large enough to fend for themselves, I swung the gate open wide to the patch of grass I’ve been faithfully watering in preparation for this moment.

They loved it. The adult geese kept vigilant watch while the youngsters devoured tender green shoots of grass. When marauding magpies thought they’d join the party, they were chased off first by the grown-ups and then, when the younguns saw what was happening, all five of them too. I laughed heartily to see the bully magpies chased back to their nest by an irate gang of geese.

Once they were done feeding, the parents took them on a march around the farmyard, introducing the babies to the various water-troughs and reminding the dogs that if they even think of approaching the goslings, they will most certainly be pecked vigorously.

Once everyone is fed and watered and the herds put out to pasture, it’s coffee break time. We sit on the back veranda or the back steps, favourite mugs in hand, watching the finches, magpies, and galahs swoop and scour the ground for grubs.

This morning we discussed more ways to make our farm a haven for native birdlife. Bear has started building nesting boxes and special feeders while I set up birdbaths and water small patches of soil so they have somewhere to feed. While we are exceedingly mindful of using as little water as possible, we are equally mindful of the needs of the land and the wildlife.

Without patches of grass, there are no insects. Without insects, the birds have nothing to eat and they die. Without water troughs set out for the kangaroos, wallabies, wombats, and koalas, they die. Without keeping some trees and grass alive, the soil withers up completely and blows away and the land dies.

There must be life to keep life going. 

Even when the rains do come, and they will come, I believe we must have restoration points to make the most of them. Areas of life and growth where the restoration of our land and animals can make a new start.

So we do what we can. It is so little in the grand scheme of things, but it brings us much joy and gives us something to focus on.

We’ve found the same to be true of ourselves. This year depleted us, body and soul. The drought and bushfires reflected the stress, anxiety, and pain we were facing each day. And as we learned how to thrive in the physical drought, it gave us lovely ideas for helping our inner selves thrive, regardless of the circumstances around us.

I also need restoration points. Areas of life and hope and growth that I nurture and protect so that as my health and strength return, I get to move forward from a place of established life.

Bear has been incredibly supportive in making these restoration points happen, from driving me to town to get drip hoses and drought-hardy plants to bringing home birdbaths and old tubs to fill with water.

One day he announced that he’d been secretly saving up for years to turn the back veranda into my very own office. A place where I could work and create and read and rest and recover surrounded by the things that bring me joy. He put in sliding glass doors so I could look out on our trees and animals and gardens. He put in air-conditioning so my Canadian self would no longer have to melt in unabashed misery 5 months of the year. And he scoured thrift stores and antique shops to find lovely old furniture with cubby holes to store all my treasures.

To say it means the world to me doesn’t begin to express how I feel. It still makes me cry when I see it. I can hardly believe it’s mine.

I love it out here so much. I cosy in here each morning to read and write, host my clients for afternoon meetings, and share it with Bear for breakfasts and lunches together every day. This past Sunday when it was wicked hot, we closed all the doors, turned on the aircon, and spent a gloriously lazy day reading, chatting, and treating ourselves to cold mango juice and After Eight chocolates. It has become a haven for us, a small oasis where we can just be.

Now we’re planning a similar place for Bear, turning one of the sheds into a man cave where he can have all of his beloved medieval gear on display, set up a desk to write the book he started, and have a cosy hangout for when our friends come over and they want a comfy place to work on chain maille, do medieval research, or relax with cold beers.

Restoration points. I love them. Places where we can restore ourselves well so we can face the world well and love our people well.

I especially love that we can make them anywhere. For the first time in the 44 years of my life, I have a space all my own, but before that, my restoration points were an old chair on the veranda, a straw bale in the hay shed, and a fallen log in the bush. I will always treasure them.

Where do you restore yourself? xo