by Krista | Aug 14, 2017 | Winter
It’s still winter in Australia, but you’d never know it with these gorgeously warm days that are so balmy I’m barefoot and in sundresses from morn until night.
Our sheep and goats have been giving birth to the cutest little bubs. Lillypilly is a sturdy little lamb, already starting to kick and leap and munch on grass beside her mama, Emma.
Jemima is a gorgeous little kid who is snuggly and sweet and has a stalwart babysitter in the form of our Maremma, Apollo. He faithfully licks her clean and keeps her safe while her mum is off feeding with the other goats.
It’s been a busy week on the farm as we work hard to get the gardens and orchards ready for spring.
I’ve been hauling armloads of soybean hay to mulch garden pathways, and finished pruning the last orchard and used the good cuttings to start new trees and the measly cuttings for the smoker where we’ll soon be hanging the eight hams that are currently curing in a brown sugar and molasses brine.
I’ve been spending hours each day in the gardens, harvesting rhubarb, golden beets, chioggia beets, celeriac, rainbow chard, peas, leeks, and purple carrots. I love seeing all the different colors of these gorgeous vegetables, and coming up with scrumptious ways to use them.
I made a moist rhubarb cake with crumble topping, and roasted the rest of the rhubarb with honey and cinnamon to stuff in crepes. The beets were luscious roasted, and the carrots and celeriac were lovely mashed with potatoes and olive oil. Rainbow chard is beautiful sauteed with garlic, raisins, and pine nuts.
Today I harvested these oh-so-cheerful watermelon radishes. I am utterly charmed by their lime green rims and fuchsia middles.
They have quite a kick at the end, so I decided to slice them thinly and quick pickle them with cumin seeds and pink peppercorns. The sugar in the brine offsets the heat of the radishes and the cumin pairs well with the intense flavor. They’re so nice and refreshing, just what we need as we face a coming heatwave.
Today I’m taking more cuttings of elderflowers, hoping to be able to plant a gorgeous new hedge that will provide us with elderflowers and elderberries for many years to come. They’re such nourishing, healing, and delicious things to have in the pantry to make herbal tea, elderberry syrup, and elderflower cordial.
Quick Pickled Watermelon Radishes
4-5 watermelon radishes, washed and trimmed
1/2 cup vinegar
1/2 cup water
1/4 cup white sugar
1/2 tsp salt
6 pink peppercorns
1/4 tsp cumin seeds
Directions:
- Using mandolin, thinly slice radishes and pack loosely into a small, clean, sterilized jar. Set aside.
- In medium saucepan combine remaining ingredients and bring to boil over medium high heat, stirring until sugar dissolves.
- Remove from heat and let cool. When cool, pour over radishes to cover by 1/2 inch, gently tapping jar on counter to release air bubbles.
- Cover and refrigerate 2-3 days until ready to eat.
by Krista | Aug 13, 2017 | Winter
The sun is just inching over distant hills as I snuggle deeper under my blanket and sip my coffee. I like the dark quiet of early morning, but it’s always a thrill to see the sky brighten and know that our shivery little world will soon be filled with light and warmth.
Bear and I like to listen to audio books while we drive. There’s something about sharing a story that builds bridges and strengthens bonds, providing a shared point of reference for future conversations. Usually we just pick up stories from the library – stories we’ve never heard of – and give them a whirl. But sometimes I share the stories of my childhood (or adult childhood) with Bear, the ones I grew up with, ones that shaped so much of who I am. Narnia, Harry Potter, Brambly Hedge, Little House on the Prairie, Lord of the Rings, Anne of Green Gables, Miss Fisher Mysteries, Agatha Christie, anything and everything by John Buchan. The list is endless, for books have always been my lifeline, my solace and escape, my inspiration and guiding light.
Recently we listened to “The Secret Garden” – one of my most cherished stories. Bear had never read it before, and when it was over he looked at me and said, “This story means a lot to you, doesn’t it? What is your secret garden?”
His questions made me teary, because six years ago, Bear brought me home, broken, shattered in body and spirit, and asked me to close my eyes as he walked me through the farm yard. He guided me in the gate, through fallen leaves and past his work sheds, until he stopped and said, “Open your eyes.”
He’d built me gardens. Two of them. They had sturdy fences to keep the goats out, lovely big terracotta pots full of potting soil, plots dug up and ready for planting, iron bark planks to walk on, and even a worm farm so I could feed the soil. He hugged me tight and said, “They’re yours. Do whatever you want with them.”
Bear hoped he was giving me something that would be meaningful, but he had no idea how precious that gift was. He hoped the gardens would be something that would help me heal, that would provide a place just for me where I could work through what needed working through, and figure out who I was, what I believed, thought, felt, and loved.
They did.
We laugh about them now, because, in the beginning, those gardens were the bane of my life. You see, when I arrived in Australia, when my body knew I was safe, loved, and cared for, it decided to let go. To stop hanging on for dear life, to stop living in fight or flight, and to just go ahead and crumple. I crashed. Oh how I crashed. Depression and PTSD hit me like a freight train, I was sick – so sick, I packed on weight, every night was an agony of nightmares, and the thought of interacting with other human beings was so terrifying I could barely function. I wanted to stay safe and quiet in the house with Bear and the rest of the world could go to buggery.
But those bloody gardens had to be watered. And weeded. And looked after. Bear had put so much effort and love into those dratted gardens, that I just couldn’t let them wither away.
So every day I dragged my depression-fogged self out of the house and sprayed water on plants I didn’t care about and pulled weeds – at least I thought they were weeds – and tried to keep things alive. I was a horrible gardener. Somehow the inate gardening skills that brightened the lives of my brother, mother, aunts, and grandparents had failed to illuminate mine. I killed more things than I harvested. I couldn’t tell the difference between weeds and actual plants. I didn’t know fruit trees went dormant each winter, so every year I pulled up the “dead” fruit trees and grape vines and threw them away.
But I kept going and Bear never intervened. Not once. Bear and I love working together. We build fences and drench goats and make hams and brew wine, but to him my gardens were sacred spaces, and he never entered unless invited. He’s a brilliant gardener and knows all about soil and compost and mulching and pruning, but he let me muddle through and make a spectacular mess of things and figure it out for myself.
It was the best thing he could’ve done, and slowly but surely things changed. As my soul and mind healed, I started caring about the gardens. Instead of looking after them out of duty, I began to genuinely be interested. I wanted to understand plants and learn what helped them thrive. I started composting and making comfrey nettle tea to build up the soil and make it healthy. I began mulching so the plants could endure the harsh heat of summer. I stopped pulling out “dead” fruit trees, and, lo and behold, those dry sticks were covered in buds and leaves in spring.
I love my gardens now. Truly. And I thank them often for bearing with me when I was such a horrible caretaker. I’m grateful gardens are such forgiving things, waiting patiently, soldiering on through drought and neglect until we’re ready to love them. How they flourish when we love them.
As we listened to “The Secret Garden”, a sentence leaped out at me that I hadn’t noticed before. It was about Archibald Craven who was trekking through the Alps in a place so beautiful “it would lift any man’s soul out of shadow.”
Out of shadow.
How I love that.
I’m not in shadow anymore. Now and then I have shadow days or shadow moments, but that enveloping darkness is gone. I still have the occasional nightmare, but I can wake myself up now and speak truth to dissipate the fear. I’m still overweight, but I’m strong and active and healthy, and I know the weight will come off when it’s ready. I still have bouts of anxiety, but I have good people and thriving gardens I can turn to for solace and strength. I am grateful.
What beauties in your life help lift your soul out of shadow? xo
by Krista | Jul 31, 2017 | Winter
Our house smells of lemon zest and beeswax this morning as I make a big vat of lemon beer and render beeswax to make it a pure, rich, yellow for candles.
I love mornings like this when winter sunshine streams through the kitchen windows, animals snooze happily outside, and Bear and I potter away at projects with breaks for chats and cuppas.
The last couple of weeks have been intense for me with huge writing projects that had me tapping away on my keyboard until the wee hours of the morning to meet deadlines. By the time Saturday morning arrived, I was relieved but knackered, and in dire need of being outside.
So Bear whisked me off to town for the morning, and we looked at the amazing trees around Warwick that were garbed in vivid jumpers and scarves and all sorts of knitted, crocheted, and handmade items for Jumpers and Jazz. We looked at plants and picked up food for the animals and got lunch at the bakery. It was lovely.
Then we came home and I spent the rest of the day outside, basking in glorious sunshine as I shifted the geese and chooks into new pens and got them all settled in with water, feed, and armloads of greens from my gardens. I felt like my old self again as I clambered into bed that night, sun-tanned and wind-ruffled and deliciously tired.
Yesterday we had errands to run in Brisbane, so we decided to make a day of it and have fun together. We took a twisting back road past towering cliffs and meandering stream beds, basking in the utter gorgeousness of the bush coming to life again as spring inches ever closer.
After an early lunch, we drove around until we found a park we’d never been to before, and pulled into Oxley Creek Common. Bear settled in for a snooze and I grabbed my camera and went exploring.
I had the place to myself, save for a bush turkey rummaging about in the underbrush, and I descended leaf strewn steps to the creek. I just stood for awhile, watching the creek flow past nearly silently, sunlight dancing across ripples that formed as it eddied around tree roots and branches that trailed in the water. It’s a lovely thing to experience such places in utter solitude.
Finally I got back to the trail and strolled past sun-dappled bush land, admiring clusters of golden flowers and edible vines and huge leaves that showed every vein when the sun shone behind them. I do love the variety of gum trees in Australia, and the pale, papery bark of this one just might make it my favorite so far.
I made my way back to the car, ready for a snooze myself, when I spotted this sunny glade not far from the car, awash in golden, afternoon light, with fresh, green grass underfoot.
So I lay down there instead, letting the sun warm me as I listened to birds twittering all around me and watched the brilliant blue sky through the lacy branches of the gum trees.
All the pressures of the previous weeks dissipated in that little oasis of light and warmth.
It was just what we needed to perk us up for the next leg of our journey, visiting our dear friends, James and Farina.
They welcomed us with hugs and gin and tonics and we spent a wonderful afternoon and evening on the veranda, visiting for hours and feasting on tender meatballs and broad beans served over incredible Persian-style rice mixed with rose petals, chopped pistachios, and toasted almonds. Delicious. I can’t think of anything that cheers my soul more than gorgeous nature, scrumptious food, and the company of loved friends.
Now we’re home again, and I’m spending the whole day getting home in order after sorely neglecting it whilst meeting my writing deadlines. There’s honey to bottle and bread to bake, animals to feed and gardens to water, laundry to fold and more laundry to wash. It’s good to be home.
What restores your spirits after a busy week? xo
by Krista | Jul 24, 2017 | Winter
You know it’s cold when you can see your breath in the house. Brrr! Thank goodness for warm woollies and hot cups of tea and luscious winter sunshine streaming into the kitchen.
On Saturday, our lovely Canadian friends, Sallie and Marshal, came over to help us rob our remaining beehives. It is always way more fun doing big projects with good friends. We had a splendid time visiting as we cut caps off the bee frames, spun them in the spinner to get all the honey out, then tucked them back in the beehive so our bees could get back to building again.
We ended up with heaps of honey and mounds of honeycomb. It’s so cold that it’s taking ages for the honey to filter through cheesecloth, but it’s going to be gorgeous when it’s done. I love filling clear glass jars with our honey, lining them up on the counter, and watching the late morning sunshine turn them into luminous, rich gold.
After a warming lunch of Sallie’s grandmother’s famous soup, we headed out to the orchards armed with 6-foot crowbars and shovels and dug 24 holes and planted 24 trees. Phew! We laughed how we all sink our teeth into a project and don’t let go until it’s done – even when we should! We hobbled our way back to the farmhouse wondering how on earth we were going to move for the next two days. We’ve been nursing bee stings (Marshal seriously looks like a Klingon after a particularly nasty sting on his forehead) and monster blisters (me, good heavens, my right hand looks like it’s been through the wars) and aching muscles (every last one of us), but boy are we happy with the completed orchards.
In years to come we’ll harvest pears and quinces, plums and peaches, apricots and olives, pomegranates and apples and figs, and all sorts of citrus varieties. When that happens, all our aches and pains will be distant memories.
In a couple of weeks, we’ll head to Sallie and Marshal’s to help them build a sauna and put in their spring garden. Life is so much better when you can share the workload and support each other in achieving dreams and goals that are much more feasible with many hands pitching in to help.
Yesterday morning I went out and watered all the trees, making sure they had a good soaking in as they established roots in their new home. Then I checked on our established trees. I was astounded to see the apricots already in bud, ready to flower any day now. Winter is flying by, and before I know it, spring will be here.
After all that hard work, we were ready for a rest, so yesterday was spent in comfy chairs watching movies, in bed taking naps, and tucked under a warm blanket reading the next few chapters of a good book.
This week is all about writing – travel pieces, picnics and tea parties, magazine features, my weekly self-sufficiency column, and putting together the outline for my next book. It feels great to tackle each project then send it off to my editors, done and dusted.
What are you working on this week? xo
by Krista | Jul 20, 2017 | Winter
After weeks of mild weather, winter returned with a howling fury this week, sending temperatures plummeting and frigid winds sneaking down collars and up pant legs to chill us to our bones. Brrr. We’ve been wrapping numb fingers around cuppas each morning before bundling up and heading outside to work on the farm.
In spite of the cold, it’s a great time for working outside. Hauling fruit trees, digging holes, and pruning trees are splendid ways to get the blood moving and warm us from head to toe.
And the early morning light is pure magic.
I love walking over the farm before starting work. Watching the sun rise over golden fields, illuminating each petal and leaf as it inches higher, is balm to my soul. My thoughts settle, breathing slows, and whatever the day holds is much easier to navigate.
The last 5-6 months have been intense, and I’ve had little to no time to focus on farm projects. I missed it dreadfully and am so glad to be in a new season where I can focus on our home and farm again.
This week I’ve been in the orchards and my tree nursery getting over 30 fruit, flowering, and palm trees ready for planting.
Palms, magnolias, and Virginia Creeper are going in around the chook palace to provide both beauty and shade. Later I’ll under plant with mint and lavender to deter mice and rats.
I planted elderflowers in an old duck pen with a lovely fig tree, a bush lemon in another, and a Green Horse Perry Pear, Granny Smith, and a crabapple in the Chook Orchard.
Today I went to the nursery and weeded all the trees that were waiting in pots and bags to be planted. I hauled them to the Chook Orchard and Big Orchard and got them set out on the spots where they’ll be planted. There are sugar plums, red blood plums, and mystery plums, peaches and snow apples and Old World breed apples, cider pears and cider apples. I’m so excited to see them in a few years covered with gorgeous fruit ready to be turned into delicious preserves, ciders, wines, and desserts.
This afternoon I grabbed our big branch cutters and shears and started the massive task of pruning all the fruit trees. After several devastating hail storms earlier this year, there was a lot of damage to be pruned away. They’re looking rather pitiful at the moment, but after pruning for a couple of years now, I know that a good pruning will result in better growth for the tree and better fruit production. They’ll be back to their dignified selves in no time.
Tomorrow I’ll be back to digging holes, armed with a 6-foot crowbar, sturdy shovel, and muscles that are feeling much better after a day off from digging. I can’t wait to get the last of the trees planted, watered, and ready to flourish this spring.
Now it’s time for a hot shower, a glass of cherry liqueur to warm my bones, and a book to read while Bear watches footy. 🙂
