by Krista | Jul 28, 2018 | Winter
It’s incredibly still this morning as I sit on the back veranda, bundled up in my red, wool, medieval cloak, watching the magical eclipse and waiting for the sky to lighten in the east. There’s no wind, no birds calling, and the dogs are sound asleep after a night of vigilance.
So much has happened in recent months, good things, hard things, things that have healed me in new and lovely ways. I will tell you more in the months to come, but for now I’ll focus on the most recent.
Abbey Medieval Festival.
This place, this event, is really special to me. Bear and I go a week early and spend Sunday with our Blackwolf members getting every tent erected and as much done as we can before sunset and everyone else has to go home.
Then it’s just us for 5 days. We work hard during the days, getting all the little bits and pieces of our medieval encampment in place, but early mornings are all mine.
I slip out of bed before Bear wakes, brew a big mug of coffee, and hunker down in our Gathering Tent surrounded by books and notebooks, markers and pens, and a cozy blanket to keep me warm. I write and draw, read and think, write some more, draw some more, then tell Bear all about it when he gets up.
It’s the one time of my year when I don’t have any demands on me. There are no animals to feed, no gardens to water, no articles to write or photo shoots to set up, no clients to meet, no phone calls to return, no emails to answer, and no meetings to attend.
I get to just be. And that’s a precious thing.
It’s always a bit weird in the beginning. I feel fidgety and distracted, my body certain that there must be something I should be doing and looking after. But soon the silence and morning light, the smell of gum trees and damp earth, the sound of fires crackling and cows lowing, they calm and settle me and I begin to truly relax.
Abbey is always a time of healing and growing for me. As I mix my medieval remedies and hang fresh herbs above the market stall, cook over the fire and sit by the dancing flames at night with a glass of wine, visit with dear friends who stop by and slowly transition from modern to medieval life, my brain calms and spirits settle and I’m able to focus and work through things.
I make time to be alone, to heal the things that need to be healed, and spend happy hours planning and dreaming and clarifying what’s important to me.
I make time to hang out with Bear and talk or read together, sharing our latest medieval research, figuring out ways to support our people and make our group stronger and better.
I make time to connect with others, old friends and new ones, never failing to find kindred spirits among enactors and public alike.
We had a wonderful time.
I loved doing my demonstrations on medieval folk medicine and medieval Bedouin food, and made some great connections with people who want me to do workshops in the Brisbane area. I loved wandering through everyone’s camps and seeing their amazing tents, garb, food, and crafts, and I loved learning about basket-weaving and medieval farming practices and the history of henna.
My favourite memories are those shared with my loves.
Early mornings around the campfire frying bacon, eggs, and sausages, everyone huddled in their cloaks, hands clasped around steaming mugs of coffee as we visited and laughed and told stories from the day before.
Dessert and cold beer in the afternoons, talking for ages about everything from history and our daily lives to genealogies and gardening.
One of the best moments was at our feast Saturday night, 18 of us gathered around long tables aglow with candlelight, sipping wine and clapping along to live Celtic and medieval music provided by our neighbours. I loved looking around at the light flickering on so many dear faces, hearing the whoops and hollers, clapping until our hands hurt. It was a great night.
We returned home sore and tired, so excited for hot showers and our electric blanket, full of great memories with the best of people.
I kept lists and sketches of all the things I was inspired by at Abbey, and I’ve been making them happen one by one.
I redesigned my gardens, making more room for the healing herbs I love so much, completely cleaned and organized one end of one shed, and brewed big vats of elderberry cordial spiced with black pepper, cinnamon, and star anise and elderflower tea with yarrow, spearmint, hibiscus, and peppermint.
It’s lovely to get away and restore our spirits and invigorate our zest for life, and it’s equally lovely to come home again and add in the things that make life here even more special.
Where is your favourite place to restore your spirits? xo
by Krista | Jul 3, 2018 | Winter
It’s dark and quiet this winter morning. Roosters just started crowing, heralding the imminent arrival of the sun. Soon sheep and goats will gather at their gates to be let out to the fields to eat, Fergus and Merida will start bleating for their first bottle of the morning, and Fezzik will be galloping around the farm yard, getting the wiggles out after a good night’s sleep.
Quiet moments have been precious and rare lately, stolen between meetings and classes, projects and feeding, gardening and writing. I treasure every one, for they are the moments that nourish me for the next thing, whatever that happens to be.
Growing up in Canada and the northern US, winter was always down time. Gardens slept under the snow, people hunkered indoors around roaring fires for long evenings of games and reading and movies, heading outside only to skate, sled, or go to work or school.
Things are different here.
Summer is now my down time, when it’s too blazing hot to be outside save for early mornings and late afternoons, and winter is the busiest time of my year. I practically live outside, loving the absence of flies and mosquitoes, using these cold but beautiful days to tackle all the farm projects that get set aside when outside feels like an oven.
We had an extra long growing season this year, so I just finished harvesting the last of the capsicums and leeks, and there are still mountains of chillies waiting to be picked. Bear and I fried up the capsicums and turned them into luscious pasta sauce, and yesterday the leeks joined a pile of onions in the frying pan and became a huge batch of French Onion Soup that freezes beautifully.
The kitchen is covered with jars and bottles filled with all manner of concoctions we’ve been making: honey from our bees, multiple batches of apple cider vinegar, port wine steeping with cherries and sherry steeping with peaches, plum wine vinegar, date wine vinegar, demijohns of apple wine, rosella syrup, mulberry liqueur. The list of deliciousness goes on and on.
There are also jars of medieval and herbal medicines that look like something out of a mad scientist’s laboratory. Tinctures of hawthorn and yarrow, pastilles of rose leaf, rosehip, and mint, and bottles of oxymel, an ancient Greek preparation of vinegar, honey, and herb of choice. At the moment I have thyme oxymel and rosemary oxymel brewing, thyme for sore throats and coughs, rosemary as a lovely tonic for strengthening the immune system and protecting from bacterial infections. These and others will be in my display and demonstrations on medieval folk medicine at Abbey Medieval Festival. I love making these things, using them, and experiencing their positive effects on our health and well-being.
Last week the sheep broke into one of my gardens and devoured nearly all my carrots, beets, radishes, silverbeet, calendula, and lemon balm. Sigh. So I salvaged what I could, then decided it was a good time to redesign all the gardens.
I wrote a list of the veggies, flowers, and herbs I love most, then started digging. And digging. And digging. I created borders with hardwood planks and the innumerable rocks I unearth in my digging, and started filling each section in. Elderflower hedges, a massive asparagus bed, and plenty of room for huge artichokes. I planted sugar snap peas, shelling peas, and sweet peas, golden beetroot and striped beetroot, black radishes, and nasturtiums. I divided and transplanted all sorts of things: spearmint and peppermint, feverfew and sorrel, borage and fennel and coriander and hollyhocks.
Bit by bit, everything is coming together, and I love it. I’ve left several garden beds open to fill with tomatoes, capsicum, cucumbers, beans, and other things this spring, but for now, the gardens are done.
This week is all about medieval preparation and finishing up work projects so we can turn our farm over to our caretakers and spend a week of pure fun at the Abbey Medieval Festival. There are articles to write and garb to sew, food to make and pictures to edit, animal feed to stockpile and the house to clean. There is wood-burning to finish and book orders to ship, laundry to do and wine to bottle, and it makes me laugh just to look at my to-do list, let alone imagine completing it, but we’ll get there, we always do.
And in the meantime, we’ll take these quiet moments and sip our cuppas while watching the sunrise, or sneak in a nap mid-afternoon, or have lunch on the veranda and watch the birds.
It’s a crazy life sometimes, but a good one. xo
by Krista | Jun 16, 2018 | Winter
Winter is here, and I feel it in the crunch of dry grass underfoot, the billows of fog blanketing the farm in early mornings, the plunging of temperatures just before sunrise.
I love winter in Australia. Yes, mornings are frigid, but once the sun comes out, it’s like a scrumptious Autumn day, cold, crisp, and utterly refreshing.
There are no bugs or sweltering heat, sunrise arrives at a more humane hour, and the early afternoon darkness is such a lovely excuse to head indoors for cozy evenings of books and movies and multiple hot cuppas.
Winter is also hard.
We’ve had no rain and our paddocks are dry and barren with little for the animals to forage. The cold temperatures mean newborn goats need to be housed indoors, and our tiny home echoes with the bleats of hungry kids and the pattering of their little hooves tap-tapping along the kitchen floor.
But the sunny days are glorious, and once those first rays of light hit the farmyard, we bundle up our armloads of babies and take them out to the sun-drenched goat playpen where they can nibble on grass and take long, luxurious naps in the sunshine.
During this barren time, my gardens are a haven. With no rain to keep them thriving, I’ve cut back to a few essentials, rainbow silverbeet, root veggies, and loads of herbs.
It’s so lovely to open the gates and wander along the straw-covered pathways, breathing in fragrant lavender, thyme, and rosemary, delighting in the daisies and feverfew that manage to blossom even in the dead of winter, and resting my eyes on green, glorious green.
With icy winds blowing in and freezing temperatures in the forecast, it’s a lovely weekend for hunkering in with hot soup and cozy sweaters, old movies and baking, writing for my luvs at Plum Deluxe, and reading beloved favourites from John Buchan, L.M. Montgomery, and Enid Blyton.
Mostly I’m looking forward to medieval mates arriving for a weekend of medieval projects and good visits over hot bread rolls and hotter coffee. They do my heart so much good, and their hugs are the best.
What are you looking forward to this weekend? xo
by Krista | Jun 14, 2018 | Winter
The sky is just starting to lighten. Roosters are crowing, the cuckoo clock is ticking, and Fezzik is snoozing happily beside me. We have two wee goats in the house too, brother and sister twins whose mama died giving birth to a third. I hear the patter of their little hooves and small cooing noises as they wake and decide it’s high time I give them another bottle.
I love early mornings at home. They are sacred to me. No matter how crazy the day ahead is, these moments keep me grounded and peaceful and able to handle the day better. They’re especially nice during winter, when lamplight and a heater beckon me to sit awhile longer before donning warm clothes and heading outside into the frosty air to feed sheep, goats, chickens, geese, dogs, and a turkey.
We arrived home a couple of days ago from our medieval week, exhausted but happy. Bear and I have been working very hard the past few months, so this week we took a much-needed rest.
I wake up each morning and ask myself, “What do I need today?”
Sometimes it was extra sleep, others a good walk outside. I’ve made soup, stopped work and watched movies with Bear, crawled in bed early with the electric blanket, an audio book, and solitaire on my phone.
The best part has been waking early every day to spend time alone with my journal and a pen that works, a cuppa and the heater, a dog snoozing beside me as I write and draw and write some more, getting all the thoughts and feelings out so they can be sifted through.
There have been huge changes in me the past few months, and I’m still sitting quietly with them, letting them sink down to fill in the cracks and do their work of making me whole and strong and thriving.
I saw a dear friend over the weekend who looked me in the face and said thoughtfully, “You’ve changed. You look…happy. No, that’s not it, you’re always a cheerful soul, but you look…content. That’s it. Content.”
And I feel it. Down to my bones. I feel comfy in my own soul. I feel safe and loved and understood and accepted in my own self. Life is still as crazy as it ever was, the same old stresses and sadnesses and pain, but my insides are different. I am my own safe place, and that is so precious to me for it’s not something anyone can take away.
In the past I’ve heard of self-love, but didn’t understand it. I was raised in a world where self-love was evil, selfish, contemptible. Instead, self-hatred was prized above all things. We were constantly reminded how evil our hearts were, how deceitful, dirty, and utterly without goodness we were.
They’re such despicable lies.
Lies designed to manipulate and control, for when you hate your own self, it makes you dependent on people and deities for your peace and security. Bad people love to have that control over others.
I’ve spent the last year rebuilding a relationship of trust with myself, trust that was shattered so long ago I didn’t even know what it looked or felt like. I started by proving to myself that I am here for me, always. That I will do whatever it takes to heal, protect, look after, delight in, forgive, cheer for, and grow myself. No matter what.
I am on my side.
And rebuilding that trust has been the most strange yet wondrous thing. It has broken my dependence on others and given me glorious freedom to figure out my own weird little self and embrace her with a whole lot of love and compassion and patience.
It has been a Great Undoing, a dismantling of lies and shoring up of truth, of facing each little choice and decision and figuring out what is me and what is programming. Each bit of understanding and clarity leads to a bit more, with grieving along the way for missed chances and lost moments, and gratitude too, for fresh, new days to live and choices to make from a soul that is getting stronger and braver and wiser and grateful-er by the day.
So this morning I ask again, “What do I need today?”
Connection with a kindred spirit or two, a bowl of hot soup, time to write and draw, and perhaps a few moments in warm, winter sunshine, soaking up light and comfort.
What do you need today? xo
by Krista | May 16, 2018 | Autumn
After a beautiful early morning walk at Cataract Gorge, Launceston, my friend Shirley and I headed south through brilliant Autumn sunshine to check out a World Heritage site we’d seen a sign for on our way up from Hobart.
We took our time, stopping to take pictures, keeping a weather eye open for market stalls selling new season apples. If we accomplished nothing else on our Tasmanian adventure, we were determined to eat our fill of crisp Tasmanian apples.
As we drove, we spotted an unusual tower poking out above the trees to our left, and decided to investigate. We headed along a deeply rutted gravel road that meandered up the hillside, and emerged to find this beauty of an old church looking out over the surrounding countryside.
I love stone buildings, and this one is a stunner with its red roof, arched windows, and intricate woodwork.
Not far away we spotted a graveyard, and decided to visit.
I’ve liked graveyards since I was a child. I’d cycle out to the cemetery in Three Hills, Alberta with my cousins, and wander the aisles reading headstones, imagining the lives and adventures of those who’d gone before us. I found it comforting somehow, to connect with their stories, to be reminded that we are bound together by shared human experiences.
This graveyard was also comforting to me. It doesn’t matter if anyone remembers us after we’re gone, all that matters is now, loving and being loved. That is a life well-lived.
Soon we were on our way again, heading for Brickendon Historic Farm and Convict Village.
Built in 1824, it is one of the oldest farms in Tasmania and has been run by the Archer family for 7 generations.
It is a lovely spot set along the river, dotted with historic buildings and stunning heritage gardens, and surrounded by verdant hedgerows filled with edibles.
The berries below are haws from the hawthorn, and the herbalist in me was aching to harvest every single one of them for drying. Haws are amazing, used for centuries to heal and support the heart. They have a lovely citrusy flavour that makes for beautiful teas and syrups.
The hedgerows at Brickendon also have towering elderberry bushes heavily laden with ripe elderberries. I wanted to harvest them too, and turn them into elderberry cordial, tea, wine, and liqueur (so good for sore throats, colds, and supporting the immune system).
Brickendon is such a great place to explore. Before you begin the heritage walk, you get to watch a fascinating documentary about the history of the family and the property. Unlike many heritage properties, this one is run by the owners, and Mrs. Archer was the one to greet us at the massive barn door, offer us crisp apples she’d just picked from one of their trees, and bustle about the place feeding ducks and chickens.
I loved the old barns best of all, with their blackened exteriors and cavernous interiors perfect for dances and weddings and jolly parties.
Brickendon was home to many convicts in its early days.
Convicts arrived in Tasmania, known as Van Diemen’s Land, by boat, and were assigned a master or mistress who would oversee their sentence.
Brickendon acquired convicts skilled in farm labor, blacksmithing, carpentry, and domestic duties.
Many of the buildings available for touring were where the convicts lived, cooked, and worshiped during their sentence at Brickendon.
The farm is still a working farm, and it was so nice to wander around and be followed by inquisitive chooks, or turn a corner and find horses blinking at me.
This is inside a convict cookhouse, where many a hearty meal was prepared to sustain the men working hard in the fields.
This is the massive fireplace that covered one entire wall of the building. Tasmanian winters are bitterly cold, so I can imagine the roaring fires here would have been a haven to convicts warming numb fingers and toes after laboring in the frigid wind and freezing temperatures.
This is the chook shed, and a more posh chook shed I have yet to see. Even in the dead of winter those thick stone walls would keep the straw-strewn interior snow-free and warm.
The Archers have done an amazing job of preserving their family heritage in a way that educates and delights the public, while enabling them to continue with a way of life that has been going continuously for nearly 200 years.
I find it so inspiring to see how other people have lived and worked over the centuries. I returned home with great ideas to incorporate in our own farm, and have had fun implementing them a bit at a time.
I’ve started with flowers. Lots and lots of flowers.
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