by Krista | Oct 25, 2017 | Summer
It’s a writerly day for me as I type up my weekly blog post for Harrow and Finch, a press release for a new client in California, and my weekly column on country living for the Warwick Daily News.
I like these days when I get to sequester myself in the granny flat, a cup of elderberry tea to my left, and one of coffee to my right, and the cheeriest hand-crocheted afghan I found at a thrift store keeping me toasty warm.
Bear is busy working on his medieval high-backed chair, popping in for a chat now and then to make sure I don’t disappear into a whirlwind of words and images.
On writing days, I make sure that I sprinkle other activities in between projects so I’m not sitting for hours on end. Sometimes I go watch chickens for a while, or pull weeds in the garden, or hurriedly plant a few more seeds.
Yesterday I went for a ramble through our orchards, delighted to find our apple, peach, and plum trees covered in tiny, delicate blossoms.
There’s something about apple blossoms that gives me a thrill every time I see them.
In Autumn we planted a few old world variety apples from France and England, and their blossoms look so different than the original apples we bought. They’re voluptuous and full, and look more like roses before they unfurl into the familiar apple blossom shape.
The citrus trees are flowering too, and smell positively glorious, though the lemonades and blood oranges already have tiny globe fruits hidden among the leaves.
The grape vines are covered with baby grape clusters, and give me hope that perhaps this year we’ll get to make wine, juice, and raisins.
Most of the plums flowered weeks ago, but this fellow is late to the party. He got badly damaged in hail storms last year, but a severe pruning gave him a fresh start, and I think he’s looking rather dashing covered with ethereal blossoms in palest pink.
I’m so thankful that most of our fruit trees survived the horrendous summer storms of last year. We lost about a dozen, but one day soon we’ll replace them with new varieties, perhaps some cherries and more figs, or maybe hazelnuts, chestnuts, walnuts, and almonds.
It’s time to close my computer for a bit, and go out to the garden to plant the long lost seeds I found while cleaning out the granny flat last week. I’ve got Bulgarian Leeks and red and purple carrots, white Celeriac and yellow pear tomatoes, magenta silverbeet and a whole lot of cucumbers for pickling. Can’t wait to start harvesting all this goodness in a few months.
What helps you refocus on work when you’ve been sitting too long? xo
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 | Apr 5, 2017 | Autumn
The howling winds that shrieked around the eaves and sent tree branches flying this week are gone at last. We happily bid them farewell and welcomed lovely gentle rain that cleaned the air and softened the earth and made our little world smell fresh and loamy.
It’s been a big few days on the farm tackling all sorts of projects.
Gardens were my focus this week, getting them back into shape after massive rains followed by ferocious winds. I’ve carted away numerous wheelbarrows mounded high with weeds, so pleased to see empty stretches of earth like blank canvases for my creativity to go to work on.
I dug new garden beds, added rock borders, and tamped down earth into wide pathways for me to navigate with ease. I planted all sorts of good things – more leeks, red cabbages, nasturtiums, peas, beetroot, and cosmos – added layers of compost and mulch to established plants, and wrote lists of plants I want to add in the weeks and months to come.
I harvested lemon balm, tarragon, and wormwood, and they’re dangling in great bunches all over the back veranda, drying thoroughly before I use them in various teas, spice mixes, and helpful remedies for our animals. Tomorrow I’ll add mint, yarrow, mugwort, rose geranium, and other herbs.
When the gardens were in good shape, I moved to the orchards where I’ll be for many days to come.
I cleaned and tidied chicken, duck, geese, and turkey pens, and pulled weeds in big circles around the pomegranate, olive, and fig trees in preparation for composting and mulching. Next up are the apricot, citrus, and quince trees, before I start digging holes to plant the apple, pear, and plum trees that are waiting in my nursery. Then I’ll move on to the Big Orchard and start doing the same thing for the grapes, blood oranges, bush lemons, Tahitian limes, China peaches, and myriad plum varieties that we planted in there. And then, finally, the Apple Orchard, where I’ll start pruning and transplanting and extending the orchard to make room for the cider apples and cider pears also waiting in the nursery.
I started the mammoth project of weeding about half an acre of empty pens to turn into herb gardens that will be protected from our many animals who would be delighted to eat every last leaf and stalk. I’ll have a fruit tree in the middle and surround each one with beds of spearmint, pineapple sage, lemon balm, and other good herbs that I will later turn into herbal teas, tinctures, and remedies. I’m so excited to see them take shape.
I’ve also started prepping the empty pens in the Chook Palace where we’ll be planting all sorts of grasses for the birds to eat when fresh greens are sparse on the ground during winter.
Lots to do, but I sure love doing it. I may be covered with bruises and scrapes, cuts and more mud and dirt than I ever thought possible, but it still feels good. We love walking around the farm throughout the week, pointing out what we’ve done and what we’re planning on doing, taking stock of our small world and doing what we can to make it better.
When I’m not outside working on projects, I take downtime to bake and cook and complete wood-burning orders. This week we’ve focused on comfort food and happy food to fortify us for working outside in the gale.
Hot, buttered Buttermilk Raisin Scones were lovely weekend fare, either by themselves or served with a big mug of soup. To make them, use your favorite basic scone recipe, but substitute buttermilk for the milk, and add 2-3 tsp vanilla and a mounded cup of raisins. Serve hot with softened butter.
Our favourite soup this week, hands down, was oh-so-creamy Curried Carrot Ginger Soup. Such an easy soup to make, it warmed us through and through.
Simply dice an onion and finely chop a 2-inch piece of fresh ginger then fry in a bit of olive oil in a large soup pot until onion is translucent. Add 8 carrots, cut in chunks, 2 potatoes, cut in chunks, 1-2 Tbsp good curry powder, 1 tsp turmeric, and salt and pepper to taste, then cover with chicken stock and simmer until vegetables can be squished with a fork. Remove from heat, puree with immersion blender, add 1/4 cup cream, stir well, and serve.
Now it’s time to read a bit then head to sleep. Our friend Joe is coming over bright and early tomorrow morning to help us drench our goats, so we need to be well-rested to handle the inevitable goat-wrestling that such an endeavor demands.
Gnite xo
by Krista | Feb 23, 2017 | Summer
We’re easing in to my favourite time of year in Southern Queensland: Autumn.
I feel it in the mornings as I wake and reach for a pashmina to pull close around my shoulders until the sun comes up, and at night when I climb into bed and actually want the covers snug around me. It’s glorious.
I love going for walks on these pre-Autumn mornings when our world is aglow and everything shimmers and sparkles.
The geese have their morning ablutions in the water trough, splashing about making a right royal mess and having a marvelous time before they amble off to nibble new grass under the trees.
The goats take their time getting up, soaking in the warming rays of sunshine before getting to their feet and looking for sunny patches to graze in.
I let the dogs out for a run and they gallop across the farmyard, saying hello to everyone they meet, piddling happily on fence posts, car tires, and gates until they feel their territory is securely theirs once again.
Chooks and turkeys are out already, looking for bugs in the tall grass of the orchard, trying to pinch Freja’s dog food when she’s not looking.
My gardens are happiest this time of day, perky and alert after hours of cool darkness and good drink of water the night before.
I like brushing past the overgrown lavender and rosemary bushes, for their scent lingers on my skin and I catch whiffs of it throughout the day.
Yesterday I planted red carrots, creamy white parsnips, purple-topped turnips, leeks, and heaps of borage. Borage was used to make a restorative drink in medieval times, and knights would drink it before battle believing it gave them extra courage. I want to make my own brew for medieval events this year. I’ve tried growing borage in summer, but the days are simply too hot and they die quickly. I’m hoping Autumn might work better.
It’s lovely to see my winter garden taking shape even as my plucky summer one continues give out a steady harvest of eggplants, chilies, capsicum, asparagus, and a few beans. I was excited to find a few apples on our small apple trees, and look forward to the day when the trees are big and strong and covered with crisp, ripe apples for eating, making hard cider, wine, and vinegar, and plenty of spiced applesauce and apple butter.
Mmm, now it’s time for breakfast. Bear has been cooking away while I write, making a scrumptious hash of leftover potatoes, roast beef, slow-roasted carrots, caramelized leeks, and a few eggs. There’s nothing like a hearty breakfast to start the day off right.
What is your favourite hearty breakfast? xo
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
