by Krista | Feb 25, 2016 | Summer
I’m sitting on the back veranda this morning, cozy in a flannel shirt and blanket as I watch the sun come up over our farm. Our lamb, Kebab, hears me moving and bleats his disapproval that he’s not allowed to join me up here. I wouldn’t mind his cute little self hanging out with me, but if he thinks it’s OK now, he’ll think it’s OK when he’s a full grown ram and that, luvs, would be pure mayhem.
I can feel harbingers of Autumn on mornings like this, when mist snakes across the fields and sunlight shimmers through leaves starting to crisp and change color. I can see it in my gardens as flowers that wilt in the summer heat come into their full glory, standing tall and straight, their blossoms jeweled with dew drops. I see it in the orchards as our grapes plump and the apples take on rosy hues.
And I feel it in myself as I look forward to packing away sundresses and hauling out my stash of sweaters and scarves and cute boots that make me feel sassy. I’m pining for campfires and creamy Stilton soup and hot apple cider fragrant with star anise, cardamom, and cinnamon.
I’ve set out books on home preserving and cheese-making and ham-curing, ear-marking recipes that sound especially marvelous for making as cold Autumn winds blow. And stacked up other books that I want to read once I finally have my gardens harvested from Summer and planted for Winter.
We’ve got some hot Summer days to come, but it’s fun to dream in the meantime.
I’ve been going out to my gardens every morning at this time, reveling in magical light and the quietness of a world just starting to waken.
I’ve been pulling out spent tomato plants and harvesting chilies, mustard greens, Red Russian kale, rainbow chard, scarlet snake beans, and even asparagus. I’ve never know asparagus to grow as long as it does here, and I love it!
I shuffle through my seed collection over and over again, somehow finding treasures I missed the day before. I’ve dug 15 new small garden plots, bordering them with the rocks I pull out of the soil, and have been planting all sorts of marvelous things: watermelon radishes (they’re fuchsia inside and white outside!), coriander and dill, crimson carrots, purple topped turnips, yellow and striped beetroot, more kale, mustard greens, and Swiss chard, red cabbages and Brussels sprouts, leeks and garlic chives, and tomatoes, bell peppers, chilies, and cucumbers to winter over in my greenhouse.
Soon it will be butchering time on our farm as we fill our freezers with good meat for Autumn and Winter, and make room in our paddocks and pens for all the baby goats, ducks, and chickens born this year. We also hope to get turkeys within the next few weeks, a couple more lambs, two hives of bees, and, if we’re lucky, a pig or two.
Until then Bear and I will continue to work steadily building pens, mending fences, covering our orchards and vineyard, adding a new water tank, bottling the apple and plum wines we made this summer, and planning little adventures so we don’t get too tired and run down.
Now it’s time to put my hair up, find my hat, start up the tractor, and get to work. xo
by Krista | Feb 19, 2016 | Summer
When life tosses new responsibilities my way, I need to sit with them awhile, figure out how life looks and feels with them in it, and find a way to shuffle and shift to make room for them in a way that doesn’t leave me frazzled and overwhelmed.
So I’ve been hibernating a bit this week, slipping into the role of Observer Of My Own Life, and finding it rather fun. When you’re an observer, you aren’t a judge or a jury or an executioner. You’re simply there to watch and report the facts. No condemnation is allowed, no shame or lavish helpings of guilt, just observations.
At the end of each day I went through my discoveries and made adjustments and changes and improvements, then put them into practice the next day and observed some more.
It’s been so interesting.
I really do love learning about how I tick, what I’m good at, what I’m rotten at, what things I’m afraid of or intimidated by, what makes me happy or excited, what sets off triggers, what makes me feel instantly comfy. I like to do what I can to help myself be my best self so I can walk through this life in peace with a full heart and a settled mind.
Here are some of the things I’ve learned or been reminded of this week, things I can do to help me thrive and navigate life in a healthy way:
- Sleep. Such a simple thing but wow, it makes all the difference in the world for me. I went to bed an hour earlier and my 1:40 a.m. alarm was so much easier to rise to. It’s nice to not be a zombie.
- Exercise. My non-farm work involves copious amounts of sitting as I do my law firm work and my writing work. So hoofing it on the treadmill keeps my back and neck from getting stiff and keeps me limber and alert.
- Quiet. I thrive with moments of quiet throughout the day, especially first thing in the morning. Bear and I have renewed our practice of having breakfast together on the back veranda. Even if it’s chilly, we just pull blankets over our laps and do it anyway. It is bliss to be out there, watching the various animals wake up, listening to the wind in the trees, talking about whatever comes into our heads or just sitting quietly and companionably together.
- Reading. I need books. Need them. The stories and experiences and thoughts written within their pages never, ever fail to enliven my brain and renew my love of life.
- Writing. Setting aside time each morning to write in my journal, no matter how rambling or disjointed, helps me settle my whirring brain and work through any issues that may be niggling at me.
- Food. I grew up in a world where women were pressured to do everything from scratch. Everything. All. The. Time. Anything tinned or premade was looked down upon as not-good-enough, or a sign that this-woman-doesn’t-really-love-her-family. Such hogwash! I didn’t even realize I’d carried that expectation with me until recently, and when it hit me I thought, “Oh bugger!” Since then I’ve rebuilt my relationship with food and it has been glorious. Taking away the expectations and pressure has made food fun again. How lovely to know I can cook/eat whatever I want. Seriously. It’s like someone gave me Christmas presents all over again and I’m delighted. Food has become such fun. If I’ve got the energy, I love doing fiddly stuff with 18 ingredients and 12 steps, but if I don’t, it’s baked potatoes, or pasta with premade sauce, or even a big bowl of cold cereal. And the best part, it’s all OK. Premade, homemade, it doesn’t matter, we’re just so lucky to have food to eat and people to share it with.
- Nature. Being outside is pure happiness to me and when I let myself get stuck inside for too long, I suffer for it. So I’ve been carving out nature time every day, even if it’s just walking through my gardens or standing barefoot in the grass or picking weeds in the orchard. It contributes greatly to my well-being.
- Friends. I know we all go through lonely times when we move away or our loves move away, or things get busy or people get sick or money gets tight and we can’t afford drives or coffees or lunches. The last couple of months I’ve been much more intentional about friend time, whether it’s chatting on WhatsApp or meeting for tea and cookies on the veranda or stealing 30 minutes to sit down and talk on the phone. What a difference it makes to have those connections, to listen and be listened to, to share and laugh and cry and laugh some more. I’m going to keep doing this, maintaining the connections that make my life so rich.
How about you? Have you made changes in your life recently to help you thrive? I’d love to hear about them. xo
by Krista | Feb 16, 2016 | Summer
It’s lovely how sometimes healing sneaks up on you when you least expect it. Moments that previously would trigger panic attacks are now ones of genuine happiness, and you can’t help but smile knowing you are stronger, braver, healthier than you were before.
That happened to me this weekend when I welcomed people I barely know into my safe place, our farm.
When I first started healing from C-PTSD, the thought of having people in my safe place was cause for full blown panic attacks. Real Me wanted to have my friends and loved ones around me, but C-PTSD Me just couldn’t take it. It made me very sad and I felt much shame about it until I realized that C-PTSD is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s simply something that happened to me that I get to learn through and heal from. Removing shame makes healing so much easier.
As our guests arrived and we gathered around the table to eat and visit, it struck me that I wasn’t afraid anymore. I felt perfectly safe and, more than that, I felt happy, peaceful, delighted to have the chance to get to know such lovely people better. I was genuinely glad they were there, and I’m overjoyed about that.
Needless to say, such a revelation made a great day even better.
Bear and I had fun bustling about setting up tables and chairs under the gum trees. I added cheery tablecloths and mismatched dishes to brighten things up, and scattered cushions so everyone could have a comfy place to sit.
I caught myself smiling as we set up our picnic by the woodpile, celebrating that I’d also healed from the perfectionism that has long plagued me. It’s lovely to know now that connecting with good people and making memories is what’s important, not having a woodpile-free yard or chairs that don’t wobble or a farm that isn’t dotted with projects waiting to be completed.
I raided my gardens for flowers and herbs to decorate the tables, collecting elderflowers, geraniums, and vinca, petunias, yarrow, and mint. Flower shop perfection they are not, but they make me happy with their whimsical free spiritedness.
We set the tables, chilled the beer, started the bread, set out the wine, and then, phew, we were ready.
A chorus of barking from our four dogs meant our fabulous guests had arrived. Hailing from England, Australia, and New Zealand, they brought a delightful array of accents and stories with them, and we had a marvelous time.
There’s something pretty wonderful about sitting under the trees on a hot summer day, wind blowing through the trees, cold drinks in hand, having great conversation with interesting and kind people.
Our friends – for they are friends now – are so interesting, each with a wealth of adventures, experiences, and insights that make for excellent conversation. We heard tales of cycling around the world, life in the Kimberley’s, and hilarious encounters in New Zealand. We talked of books and food, photography and politics, philosophy and Aboriginal medicine. I loved it.
And we ate. How we ate!! All Bear and I provided was cold beer, homemade wine, and fresh bread, they brought the rest. Bless them.
We started with hummus and veggies and a scrumptious cheese platter bearing spiced gouda, a gorgeous blue cheese, brie, and camembert.
There were sausages with caramelized onions, fresh beetroot, steamed broccoli and cauliflower, buttered bread, chunky potato salad with red onion and gherkins, and sweet apple salad with cashews.
Accompanied by glasses of homemade plum wine, it was a truly delectable meal.
Then we had dessert, Sue’s famous Spotted Dick and adorable profiteroles filled with chocolate cream.
Bliss.
Of course, the company was the best part, and we chatted companionably around the table and as we explored the farm, perched on fallen logs, or nestled into comfy chairs on the veranda. Even two days later my mind is still mulling over things we discussed. It was good.
The afternoon flew by and soon it was time for them to head for home. We hugged good-bye, sun-kissed, wind-blown, and happy, hoping that our next visit isn’t too far in the distant future.
Where is your favorite place to picnic? xo
by Krista | Feb 8, 2016 | Summer
Sue and I left the red cliffs of Cania Gorge and headed into the delightfully named Banana Shire in search of a mountain.
As we drove along the incredibly flat area, we wondered if perhaps we were in the wrong place. A 360 degree look around revealed nothing resembling a hillock let alone a mountain. But we soldiered on, motoring beside fields and through stands of trees and suddenly, there it was.
Dubbed Mount Scoria by the English mapmakers who named it, this mountain is called Dangama Mungar (Talking Mountain) by the Gangulu people.
It is an important meeting place for corroborees, an event for them to gather to dance together and discuss marriages, initiations, ceremonies, spiritual life, law and order, trade, and commerce. It’s a time to socialize and tell stories and discuss important matters.
The mountain was the site of an active volcano. Once the lava cooled it created unusual basalt columns with five to eight sides.
The Gangulu people believe that Dangama Mungar was created by the Wujanbara Bunna, Giant Man. It is believed that at the time of creation, Wujanbara Bunna walked across the land, pausing to lay down and sleep. He was so big that his nightly rest caused a ruckus in the land and created mountain ranges, hills, and gorges, Mount Scoria.
Dangama Mungar is a quiet and peaceful place of gentle trails that meander past meadows and through thick bush.
The Juri, or totem, for Gangulu country is Gujunara, the carpet snake. It is considered the spiritual brother of the Gangulu people, a sacred being, and they are forbidden to ever kill or eat it.
I wished I hadn’t read that before entering this area. The trail was cut through a tangle of vines and tree roots that twisted and turned underfoot like, you guessed it, snakes. Shudder. My imagination was on overdrive and I silently willed any marauding carpet snakes to hustle back home instead of introducing themselves to me.
Apart from keeping a weather eye open for carpet snakes, walking the trails around Dangama Mungar was so peaceful it was almost meditative. The silence, the hot late afternoon sun, and gentle cadence of our hiking lulled us into quietness.
As we approached the mountain itself, the trail became hazy, finally disappearing into rocks and trees. Although we ventured in, we soon realized that we’d have to reinvent ourselves as bushwhackers to proceed further. Since we’d neglected to bring our machetes we bid farewell and headed back down the mountain.
One of the lovely things about this trail is the presence of signs sharing stories and history from the Gangulu people.
My favorite was the story of how stars came to fill the heavens:
In the time of Creation, the Gangulu people were given the power over fire, and for a long time they used it wisely.
One day, two mischievous Windaru gada (Kookaburra brothers) watched as the people used fire to manage the bush. They saw how the Gangulu were able to control the fire and become very jealous.
At dusk one day, when the Gangulu were fire farming, the Windaru gada stole two sticks of fire. The Gangulu warriors saw the brothers steal the fire and began to chase them.
To escape the warriors, the Windaru gada took to flight, flying high amongst the trees, setting them alight with the fire sticks as they flew by. When this happened, a great fire started and tore through Gangulu country. The people became frightened since they had no place to hide, and called to their Creation Spirit, Munda Gara (Rainbow Serpent) to help them.
Munda Gara saw there was danger int he land and called for rain to put out the raging fires. The rain came but by now the flames were so great and intense that as the rain hit the earth and the burning trees, a shower of sparks flew high into the night sky.
This is how all the stars were created in the heavens.
After reading that story, I liked wandering through this meadow and seeing these lovely weeds back lit by the sun, looking every bit like shooting stars.
I really enjoyed learning more about the Gangulu people and the delightful oral history of the world they’ve passed down through so many generations. xo
by Krista | Feb 7, 2016 | Summer
As Sue and I left Boondooma Homestead, we continued our trek north, rumbling along through acres of bush, in awe of the settlers who came to this land and battled bush fires, floods, and innumerable hardships to build their farms and villages.
We drove over many creeks, or, as I like to call them, “just kidding” creeks. We’d get all excited to see a babbling brook or crystal clear stream only to be greeted with dry beds filled with nothing but sand and rocks. It became a joke for us to see if they were real creeks or “just kidding” ones.
As we approached the Burnett River just outside Mundubbera, we craned our necks to peer over the bridge and were delighted to find that it was indeed a real river.
And a pretty one, to boot. We pulled over and found a shady spot for a rest, a snack of macadamia nuts and dried cranberries, and a marvelous view of the water.
I wandered along the banks, imagining how lovely it would be to canoe down this waterway, stopping for picnics on the sandy shore.
It was peaceful and quiet during our sojourn, but in 1942 Burnett River flooded to a depth of 23.6 metres (over 77 feet!!). I can’t even imagine what a terrifying yet awe-inspiring sight that must have been.
Once known for its butter factory, Mundubbera is now a hub of citrus production, and boasts a gigantic mandarin statue to celebrate its claim as the citrus capital of Queensland.
Past Mundubbera the landscape turns from dense bush to rolling hills. A pretty drive takes you from one village to another, but it was this fellow that made us stop in the tiny village of Mulgildie.
I’d heard tales of bunyips since my arrival in Australia four years ago, but this was the first time I’d seen one.
Aboriginals describe bunyips as fearsome monsters that inhabit swamps, billabongs, and waterholes, and lay in wait at night to devour any animal or person lurking nearby, particularly women and children. The legend also holds that the bunyip was an aggressive hairy animal with supernatural powers that warned its victims of their imminent doom with terrifying howls.
While some dismiss the stories as mythological, others believe the bunyip could be an undiscovered creature or one of two prehistoric animals, the diprotodon or the procoptodon, a giant kangaroo that weighed over 500 pounds.
Regardless, you can try to catch a glimpse of one by visiting the legendary Bunyip Hole just ten minutes from Mulgildie. Over the years, tales have emerged of strange noises, bubbling, churning water in the hole, and of cattle disappearing into the depths as they drank. Known as ‘Devil Devil’ country, drovers and Aboriginal tribes alike could not be persuaded to camp near the Bunyip Hole.
Some Aboriginal Elders believe the Bunyip Hole is connected to a vast network of underground caverns passing Tellebang Mountain and stretching as far as Ban Ban Springs. Perhaps the bunyips are still traversing their underground waterways.
Leaving behind tales of female-devouring monsters, we pressed ever northward then decided to veer off to Cania Gorge, a place we knew little about but hoped would be worth visiting.
Was it ever!
Cania Gorge National Park is 3000 hectares of sandstone cliffs, cool caves, and dry rainforest filled with orchids, figs, kangaroos, rock wallabies, and over 100 species of birds.
It’s also dotted with my favorite gum trees, those pale, sinewy ones that glow in the moonlight and are known as Ghost Gums. I think they look so lovely etched against the lush green of the gorge and vivid red of the cliffs.
It is rather warmish in the gorge in the middle of summer, so we donned our hats and stuck to the shade as much as possible as we went for a walk.
We spotted flowering vines and emerald green pools of water, heard birds chattering away in the tree tops and gazed up in awe at the craggy cliffs.
One day I’d love to return for a few days and explore the sandstone caves and take a dip in Lake Cania, but I was glad for even a short time spent in such a beautiful place.
We hopped back in the van, cranked up the air con, and continued on our way.
We couldn’t pass up a stop at this splendid little market stall in the quirky town of Moonford. Sue treated us to a big ol’ watermelon – the quintessential food of summer.
Thus equipped we continued north, getting closer to Dangama Mungar, the Talking Mountain.
Do you have legends of mythical creatures in your part of the world? xo
