Th-th-th-that’s all folks

Pure pie

I was sitting in a pie shop on my work lunch break as I started to write this last Murrindindi farm blog post. Good old food as a psychological crutch – and the excellent Port Melbourne fare near my new job fits this bill nicely. Still I was halfway to crying into my free range chicken, mushroom, white wine and thyme number like a little power suited yuppie sad sack. Now I am sitting on a Melbourne tram, which often make me fairly sad, finishing this up and blubbering again something embarrassing  (Controversially for a newbie Victorian, I hate trams. Slow, dangerous excuses for a bus or a train IMO that rip motorbike and bicycle perilous trenches everywhere in the roads down here. I got my hand stuck in a tram door last night c/o an absent minded driver turning the power off before everyone got out, as but one small example of their menace.  Another almost mowed me over on a green light pedestrian crossing a few weeks back. Anyway I digress, as I tend to do and you would be used to if you’ve been reading this blog for a stint, fuck trams, back to the goodbye to the farm thing.).

Sunset on the farm, metaphor, metaphor

Sunset on the farm, metaphor, metaphor

Knowing how to even talk about wrapping up the last three years, to give due credit to the times we shared has stumped me a lot. Hence, it’s two weeks past D-day and I am only finishing penning this now, with many stops and starts.

D-day.  The idea kicked around the drawing boards for a long time before it really took on a definite decision, a form, a date: “we will be leaving Murrindindi now!”.  Then, once we had all settled on our exit time, again, the waiting and planning and interviewing for new work , (for me), and the selling off belongings, and the move prep and move prep and move prep (there was a lot of move prep).


We have left our farm. We are all moving on.

The words look so hard and final to write out, although coaxed out slowly and gently together through months of discussion, carefully laid plans and gradual adjustment.

It all started with Greg’s announcement, “I’m off to England!”, following the suit of his girlfriend, Zoe, who was set to start working for Contiki as a tour guide in March.

So, we all head scratched about whether or not we would seek a replacement housemate, and decided that our time together at the farm would reach an end.


One of our last farm suppers. Metaphor, metaphor

Enter a baby into the equation, and Zoe and Greg are now off for the much less exotic Wollongong to start a home and family together (well, the Harp Hotel can be pretty exotic at times, truth be told).

However, although the moving to England scheme didn’t stick, our resolve to wind up our farm project did.

After much deliberation, Tully and I decided to leave Sydney surrounds for the cheaper, student-friendlier, shinier and busier, and decent work prospect holding Melbourne and Chris and Amy are trying their luck with Sydney city, in one of the sweetest pockets, Alexandria (Salt Meats Cheese!!).

Just wow

Just wow

One of the first processes was re-homing the bees – source of a bit of friction and stings.

Then, selling a bunch of things on eBay, again, stress pocket.

Over time as we packed and prepped, the weight of things eased a lot and the stress wore away and quiet deliberation and cooperation replaced it.  Apart from perhaps the last few days but it was worn and tackled well. Chris and Amy in particular did a powerhouse effort of cleaning and shedding our unwanted bits and pieces. Greg of tip wrangling, and Tully all sorts of two person’s worth of grunt work while this little black duck was off scoping out a new town.

We had a lovely farewell party, with a bunch of our favourite farm folks bidding us goodbye, and a beautiful celebratory photo wall crafternoon us farmies took part in, c/o Amy’s nostalgic smarts.

Amy's beautiful photo wall - collecting three years of farm times.

Amy’s beautiful photo wall – collecting three years of sweet farm times.

We set out to tick off the rest of the boxes of the fun things we wanted to do together. Boggle (Tully is a Boggle fiend). One last night out for dinner in Camden. Home grown beef heart tacos (my weird obsession – freaking delicious incidentally though). Check, check, check.


We unravelled the last three years of weaving ourselves into a home and a community, an alternative, liberal, intellectual pocket of a chiefly Liberal voting, conservative fundamentalist Christian town.  An oasis of oases.

This sign was sitting just pointing at the exit to Camden off Burragorang Road for a year and a half and I always wanted to incorporate it into a blog

This sign was sitting just pointing at the exit to Camden off Burragorang Road for a year and a half and I always wanted to incorporate it into a blog

Ah, gush, I’m choking up.  But like the old cliché says, a picture can sometimes carry as much weight as many words. Here is one the last ones that Tully took, in the early evening light on his last farm night.

Tully goodbye 5

I thank Murrindindi, and Amy who brought us there with all of my heart. I will carry a lot my time there away with me and hope to keep growing in connection with the land throughout my life.

Also, thank you for reading the blog over the years. I hope it’s motivated you to feel like growing your own food and building a closer connection to nature is more accessible. If five unexperienced people in a share house on a farm (not a religious sex cult, to clear the air!) can pull off what we did as a part time hobby activity, it’s something pretty much anyone can achieve.  If you want it, go for it.

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Murrindindi Beef

About a year back you may remember the sheepish admission that take 1 at producing our own home grown beef had failed.  Not all was lost – the cattle we’d raised with this in mind were sold at the stockyards instead of butchered. But we missed our chance to take our meat consumption from paddock to plate because of a mad fulcrum of bad timing – personal tragedy, the end point of three university degrees (we’re an astute bunch, us Murrindindi-ites) and loss of employment meant that our eyes weren’t on the ball, and we missed the pre-Christmas butcher time boat. This was an important track for us to move on, as laid out in a previous blog, so we took a second shot.

Old cows

Fast forward 12 months and we have had our first batch of home raised meat since early November. We’ve been eating the cows we’ve known, raised and loved.

Chest freezer full of our home grown beef, cuts like rump, corned beef, sausages

“What kind of fresh hell is that?” some might ask.

“Are you heartless?”

Well, no.

It’s with a high degree of gravity and respect that we consider the meat that we eat. We make the best attempt we can to buy organic, or free range, or pasture fed meat that comes from a sound, environmentally friendly and ethical source.

Various ethical certification schemes for meat

So many options

Doing this is a minefield. There are so many factors, so many options, so many not so scrupulous purveyors. You often find yourselves impersonating these folk:

It’s also remote. It’s disengaged. Disassociated.

It’s really the only path for most of us, and a legitimate maze to wade through and industry to participate in. However, given the fact that we have the opportunity to do so, we have decided to raise a significant proportion of the meat we eat ourselves.

We have the land. We have the grass, which only keeps on coming. And we have the capacity to face the full cycle of producing a food product we eat on a regular basis, honestly.


In a manner in which we know it’s origins for certain. We know what they’ve eaten, how they’ve been treated, and how they were dispatched.

And by not removing ourselves from the reality of what our meat is – i.e. the flesh of a cow, we’re able to better honour that cow. To allow ourselves to feel the natural mix of love, grief, sadness, nourishment, enjoyment and recognition of the cycle of growth, consumption, decay that we are participating in. More on our decision making process here.

It’s not an entirely new path to be treading, 12 roosters later, but it feels healthy and real to be moving into a more direct relationship with the meat that we eat in this way. Besides which, it is also good to keep walking our talk.

What else is happening farmward?



The first wee tomatoes of the season are a starter.

Pumpkin vine just getting started to grow

Don’t mind if I do…

Pumpkins are getting ready to go crazy.

Dill plant going to seed

Some things are passing on, setting seed. We’re letting them in parts – keeping a good chunk of the garden go to “care and maintenance” mode while we travel and rest a bit over the hottest parts of summer. Covering up the earth and turning it under, fallowing for the next season.

(But first we’ll get stuck into dill pickles)

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Stuff’s in late bloom. It’s quite pretty around the farm. Bees will be coming good with a honey delivery shortly.


We have a small stock o’ grapes we’ll be turning into experimental wine again.

Rainy view from the porch


It’s been raining. A lot. Amazing pre-summer dam and tank filling timing. Not so ideal for the motorcycle touring, but you can’t win them all.


And, the next generation of cattle enter the equation again.

Col, a big mother cow

Seasons, and cycles a turning.

Love, Murrindindi.

Murrindindi view past the back veggie patches towards the front dam

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New life

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With frost laid mornings and farm-side night time temperatures of less degrees than fingers on a hand, it seems a tad strange that the cherry blossoms are going for it.

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Might be all the bees. And birds. You know what they say about them. Nod nod. Wink wink. It’s almost time for spring.

Bzzzz! The jar thing you can see at the front is a sugar water feeder. It keeps the bees in sweet sweet sustenance over the winter, with the relatively low flower population. Especially with a newly transplanted hive, which sadly suffered many casualties this has been the secret to keeping our little guys healthy and building their numbers.

Bzzzz! The jar thing you can see at the front is a sugar water feeder. It keeps the bees in sweet sweet sustenance over the winter, with the relatively low flower population. Especially with a newly transplanted hive, which sadly suffered many casualties this has been the secret to keeping our little guys healthy and building their numbers.

Our home is fairly high in bees at the moment, care of our farm family’s (fairly) recent additions, brought to us by the lovely Gavin Smith you may remember from a previous episode.

It’s also conveniently correspondingly high in borage.

On the right hand side of frame, megaborage. Happily taking over this part of the world.

On the right hand side of frame, megaborage. Happily taking over this part of the world.

The blue-flowered gangly beauties, willful and determined have popped up only when and where they want to (resisting previous attempts to plant them in evidently non-favoured places for many years) taken over a big swathe of beds with the force of a hundred babies, and thumbed their noses at the frost all winter (alleged to kill them in the books but seemingly no match for megaborage).

I’m not sure if it’s the frost that’s brought our shivering little cluckers together, but something has. At long long last, our now all girl chook troupe has found happiness and harmony in their assortment and numbers. Even our pet chicken misfit Ranga’s having a good time, when she’s not blindly wandering into the stinging nettle (life can be a bit of a peril for the boof headed).

Check out Rangalang, front and centre!

Check out Rangalang, front and centre! Big moves for a previous scaredy chicken-cat

We’ve got some cute new microchickens you can faintly make out to the right hand side of the mix, all paint gun splattered looking, with extremely tiny little bird-like eggs which hit us for six with surprise.

So teeny!

So teeny!

And on the big end of town, we have two new cows to munch the paddocks.

Introducing La Roux and Black Douglas

Introducing La Roux and Black Douglas

Yes we will eat them. Yes we will love them. Yes it will be hard, and it probably should be. In the scheme of things, vs the ethical vagaries of commercially produced meat, this way of moving towards more active and mindful engagement in this darker side of living and eating comes up trumps for us. Figuring out the ways of doing and dealing with it in an honest and conscious fashion is the path we’re slowly walking on, with some good resources to help us on the way.

Brekky farm style

Brekky farm style

We’ve also been having some sweet times with visitors, holding a lovely farm bonfire shindig the other week.

And lately some much belated rain, keeping us snuggled up inside, filling our dwindling dams and tanks and incidentally also slightly flooding our chookyard.

Doesn’t make the chickens too crash hot happy but the ducks up here are loving it.

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Til next time, farmereenos.

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Winter is coming

Says every other billboard, web ad, or Facebook post. And while I can’t for the life of me begin to get into a fantasy TV series, regardless of the clever wisecracks, raunch or gore involved, I am happy it is finally getting cold.

May sees us stoking the fires.

Tully lighting up the fireplace with some garden harvest of banana chillies and tomatoes on the kitchen table behind him

Saying a final goodbye to matos and chillis (sheesh they put their backs into it this season).

The final few tomatoes growing in our garden this season

Last stragglers

Lots of chillies on our bush, purple stained from the cold

Just a tiny sub-set of the amazing boon we had this chilli season – these guys a tad purple stained from the cold

Getting ready to prune old scraggly wine grape vine – overdue by a good few months.


And although the chill is settling, frost still seems a long way off.

Cold days taking their sweet time to come on for the second year since I’ve been paying proper attention to the cycles of vegie growing is quite concerning. Last year’s April ripening melons and never ending jalapenos were wonderful boons for our kitchen. This year’s eggplants that are still a cranking are more than welcome for us. But as a canary for the state of our climate, they ring a personally, immediately real and tangible concern – an echo of the scientific harks that call out “Emergency!” so far and wide. A piece of self-held evidence to shake at the chorus of nay-sayers. Although perhaps not the most compelling one for those who love tomatoes and chillies and aren’t yet able to think much further about the less savoury consequences of a warming world.

New beds are beginning.


Beautiful glossy autumn silverbeets, crunchy red cabbages and fat fanning tatsoi are back for another year’s run.

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Bees are on the way – which is a really exciting new prospect for us in expanding our domain more into the permaculture zone 2 of the things that give us a yield. Also, exciting because bees!

Once hanging precariously from a Marrickville Casuarina tree, now re-homed in a lovely big Kenyan hive, these fellers above will soon be Murrindindi dwellers. The inimitable Gavin Smith, industrial designer and Sydney permie demonstrator legend and an elite crew of grassroots bee pros managed to retrieve them and relocate them. They are now recovering from an infestation of wax moth maggots which have been cleaned off and sterilised, being set up with a sugar water feeder and hey presto we will have some bee mates.

A wild hive of honeybees in a tree

Our guys in their previous habitat – wowzers

As well as our general farmie enthusiasm we have a pretty sizeable welcome wagon of borage to greet them with – providing loads of pollen and nectar for months, even well into winter.


What else? We are having a tad more luck with carrots – harvesting this knobbly and weird but pretty huge number and more. We’ll be planting a lot more soon – one thing we always buy a lot more of than we would prefer.


We’ve learned that the lucerne seeds we sowed in spring last year were not in vain – we have loads of them coming up in our front paddock – which should make for richer, healthier soils and better meat on cows.


We’re planning a gentle expansion into a little cash crop – growing an experimental trial of horseradish we may consider expanding into our front paddock. Tully and I (Alicia) are pretty excited and MacBoyd brand spicy treats will hopefully be coming to a fancy restaurant or snazzy provedore near you soon. I am especially stoked to have the opportunity to grow one of my much loved grandfather’s favourite plants straight from the offspring of his own horseradish crop – which we inherited via my wonderful uncle Paul and aunty Danuta.


These 50+ babes (which will soon become hundreds) are the direct descendants of the plants he tended, harvested, blended (much to the sinus aching wailings of my Nan, way way out in the backyard away from her) and crafted into the properly hot and delicious relishes of his Polish homeland. What an opportunity for us to press repeat on this time held tradition.

Otherwise, our fire circle is getting prepped for colder gatherings. They are coming, so say tuned for some good times farm fans!


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Friends, festivities, far away places and farm fringe foraging

Is a lot of alliteration and the past two months in a nutshell.

We had a swathe of lovely visits, full of stories, top notch company and the farm got decked in some festive trim.

Chrissy tree

A Chrissy brunch replete with our own celeriac mash, home grown Coq au vin and chocolate prune and ginger spice cake. Hipster Santa would approve (don’t get me started on that one, fuel for another blog entirely!).

Ugly but so bloody lovely

Our inaugural celeriac – ugly but so bloody lovely

Chris and Amy’s adventurous trip to Bhutan over the summer, to visit Chris’ brother Matt and his wife Lucy who are eking out a very fine frontier living in a villiage called Thimphu (more on this here).

Amy and Chris in beautiful Bhutan

Snow decked Chris and Amy in beautiful Bhutan

Paro Taktshang monastery otherwise known as the Tigers Nest - because if you're going to meditate for 10 hours a day you might as well have something nice to look at

Paro Taktshang monastery otherwise known as the Tigers Nest – because if you’re going to meditate for 10 hours a day you might as well have something nice to look at

A rollicking 5 day farm “festival” with cinema and jamming tents and a wonderfully mad volume of visiting mates led nicely up to the ringing in of the new year.

Greg playing electro drum

Greg banging out some colours and shapes on the psychedelic drum

And some great walks on the farm’s top edge – the beautiful mountain.

The venturers

The venturers

Ahoy there!

Permaculture design considers the different kinds of zones that a human settlement should include for ease of management, balance and sustainability, arranged in concentric circles.

Permaculture zones

Permaculture zones

Zone 0 incorporates the home and living arrangements.

Zone 1 is the circle that rings this, incorporating the most commonly used and tended elements of a homestead – vegie patches, smaller compost heaps, sensitive plants, etc.

Zone 2 includes all of the elements feeding the homestead that are a little further flung – like bigger compost heaps, chickens, bee hives, etc.

Zone 3 gets into commercial or community scale food production – where larger productive crops requiring less maintenance are grown.

Zone 4 is the semi-wild fringe of a property, a space for foraging and wood collecting; a bridge between the cultivated and the natural world.

Zone 5 is a wild space. One you leave right alone. That you visit and relish the freedom to abandon human control, allowing the space to be steered and replenished by natural order.

The wild

Well, we’ve climbed, tumbled, bush bashed, sat, and picked around in these zones 4- 5 over the past few weeks.  A welcome entry back into the less kempt world for the routine laden city bound folk amongst us.

Two such big town dwellers, me and our lovely mate Anthony, Wollongongian turned San Francisco tech startup boffin took to some foraging.

African olives are rampant in these parts.  Native to  many parts of Africa, the Middle East, Pakistan, India to China, this subspecies of the well known Olea europea (plain old olives) was introduced by our grandfather of agriculture, John Macarthur. Much loved and spread by birdlife around these parts, they now more or less own the place.  They are also eaten by humans to a lesser extent, but by all reports they are cured in the same way and quite delicious.

African olive - Olea europea subsp. cuspidata

African olive – Olea europea subsp. cuspidata

Given the birds’ big tick of approval we figured they must be fairly tasty. Curiously we decided to hunt down and gather some.  We had to walk all of about 4 metres to find a suitable tree (they are everywhere!) and then got to it. We picked and we picked, then pockets stuffed and hands suitably purpled we brought them home to cure.

Anthony getting stuck into the harves

Anthony getting stuck into the harves


The haul

There’s at least 50 ways to cook an egg, so we found ourselves grappling with quite a few curing options.  Naturally we chose one of the fastest and laziest – curing these small olive berries in a simple salt brine (1 part salt to 10 parts of water, covered all he way up to the top in a jar) and draining this and changing the brine every day to drain off the bitter and slightly toxic alkaloids that exist in all olives.

Olives in their salt and water bath

Olives in their salt and water bath

7 days later, hey presto!  Juicy, delicious and very olive flavoured fruits of our edging forest.

Ta da

Ta da

We have a lot of love for our wild fringes and they bring our lives a lot of richness. The interchange of the native and the new, the natural cycles of growth through the year, the providence of berries, rosehips, herbs and old wild australian bush herbs and barks.  The odd excitement of a kangaroo, wallaby, neighbours roving cow to wrangle back into a paddock like a kinda cowherd or goat! (terrible on the erosion front but still a little exciting for this barely country cut suburb slicker).

Another sweet vista

It’s a beautiful place, this Earth we call home.

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Summer loving

It’s been a long time between drinks for this blogger care of this year of mad research/event production mode (hey kids don’t try this at home!).  Happily my first soil science postgrad degree has come to a finish, the year’s events have wound up, a new stable job has entered into the arena and farm time is on the rise.

Up here at Murrindindi spring’s past full spring and we’re now into summer, by gosh.


Our cows grew fat a lazing in warm wet paddocks and went off to market.


Green manure’s flourished and replenished soil, prepped for potatoes, tomatoes and eggplants  and chillies galore (we use a mix of millet, oat, peas, rye and assorted herbs and spices fyi).

The artichoke half dead and almost ready to be pulled out

Old scraggly, nigh on ready for the compost

The artichokes have taken to space flight and launched, ready to be turned into summer beans and compost.

And and and most excitingly indeed, our fave red headed hen (who naturally goes by the name of Ranga) has hatched herself a super cute spring brood.

Ranga, our silky chicken with her babies

What a lovely bunch of coconuts

And so too has one of our beaut paisley babes.

Paisley sussex hen mama with little chook babes

Pretty mama

The motley crew of bubs, stock from several mums and one black stallion are growing up like gangbusters and we can’t wait to see how they turn out.

The big black daddy rooster

Who’s your daddy?

Given the size of some of the eggs in the roost and the juvenile patterning we suspect our clucky mum 2, one of our slightly psychedelic looking Sussex bantams got in on the mix, so there’ll be some damn fine hybrid chookie lalas.

We had a lot of baby chooks in our last brood but it was poorly timed and most of the few bubs that survived the winter were boys.

The scientist in me says hmm…interesting, but overall it has been quite sad, especially given we can only keep one male at the moment and the four boys we raised all had to go under the knife.

The kind of territorial scrapping and fighting that stems from having more than one rooster around means that the quality of life for any of the newcomers would have been horrible, and they were starting to bear the battle scars. And as meat eaters who are trying to make an active shift towards taking responsibility for the ethical production of the food we eat, it became a real opportunity for learning. For true ownership and experience of where our meat comes from.

It’s not one you can candy coat. It’s  emotionally wracking and hard to take the life of an animal you’ve raised to then eat them.

Even if you’ve been eating said animal casually, matter of factly and with convenient detachment for years, care of the services working behind the scenes to raise, process, cling wrap and ship the creatures as shadow-less food.

Feathers from the kill

Feathers from the kill

To face this shadow head on takes a maturity, an honesty, a sensitivity to the life past and an awareness of the fact that slaughter is necessary when we eat meat. Chopping, feathering, processing. All the muck.

We’ve been spared our expected direct encounter with this – as with the side tracks of postgrad degrees to finish (three in a house of five people, dynamos!), work to do, illness to weather and family funerals our cows reached the later edge of their age of ideal consumption as the local butchers ran into Christmas. With the next available appointments in mid January, and a hot and possibly dry summer ahead of us, we made the difficult decision to sell this load of cattle at the meat market.


It’s been a very disappointing move, especially with all the anticipation we have been holding towards our shift to farm scale meat production.

But it’s a track that we’ve started and we’ll continue to follow, with some more mindful forward planning and clear timelines and processes for completing the process.

Meanwhile, we are nigh on the fuller sun of summer and the garden is in full bloom.  Tomatoes and chillis are in.

Eggplants and capsicums are coming along.  A record 6 garlic bulbs were harvested from our winter planting (we really need to ramp our act up, but still excited!!).

Gorgeous home grown garlic, yeew!

And zucchinis are going their usual gangbusters

Beautiful zucchini

Beaut zukes

Christmas, new years, and general festivity with friends and family are all on the imminent cards. This means the odd Chrissy pressie and holiday plan are coming together. Baked, dried and bottled preserves are at the fore of the brain, with some new experiments entering into the mix.


Might share a few of the best whip ups in the next few blogs.

Peace out, farm friends

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I tried to make this a recipe blog

Crab apple and lilly pilly jam


A documentation of a resourceful bit of toxicity safe urban foraging and the tasty crab apple,  and lilly pilly jam which ensued (a good idea, people of the internet!).  Written during one of the week on week on week on week spent away from the farm in the thick of the city lately.

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And whilst that is perhaps an interesting story and relevant to an urban permacultural crowd, I couldn’t do it just now.

Because what I really want to yell out is I’ve missed my country home!!!

Winter veggies busting out

Winter veggies busting out

Deep set, raw and yearning. Like a dog without it’s master. Or a bone. Or some other slightly hackneyed longing metaphor.

I love my work in the city. Collaborative ventures centered on bringing people together. Wonderful opportunities to sink the teeth into and very fine folk to chew beside.

I also truly love my study, when not feeling siderailed by methodological challenges, or the wildly erratic collaborating academic personalities one can have to contend with, or simply swamped by the immensity.

I adore Sydney really too, for all of her gloss and her increasingly hipsterish bear toting flanny clad glamour and incessantly opening slightly mediocre taco sellers and hotdog and slider merchants, and even forgiving the existence of David Koch.

Yeah yeah yeah

Yeah yeah yeah

And especially (!!!! with about another 50! for flourish) the “arm pinchingly am I dreamingly” wonderful community of friends and folk I share my city life with.

But with too many (2 many!) months of time apart from me and this space, arriving back this afternoon was an immediate lesson that the time apart was long!

New sugarloafs soaking up the sun

New sugarloafs soaking up the sun

I have missed Christoff’s sweet deadpan hilarity.  I have missed Greg’s endless Alan Watts inspired and DIY wisdom. I have missed Amy’s positivity, steady determination and sass.  I have missed Leon’s proud tales of building and learning and travel (and the odd eyebrow raising one about the fate of the odd farm wandering cat!).

The frost, late kicking in, finally bringing home the cycle of winter decay

The frost, late kicking in, finally bringing home the cycle of winter decay

Comfrey, still bravely kicking on before the long chills set in

Comfrey, still bravely kicking on before the long chills set in

Old faithful, silverbeet. He's irrepressible!

Old faithful, silverbeet. He’s irrepressible!

Stocking up our old wood fire on a freezing night, nurturing it into action, so many burnt spots of skin of a year past shifting to a stabler, more comfortable hand.

Embers of the farm fireplace dwindling down

At night I watch the ashes simmer gently down, and I feel their warmth around me, and the warmth of the fire that stokes the house and land around me too.

Of shared care, of presence in place, of a feeling of increasingly ineffable belonging.

Training it back into the smoke

Training it back into the smoke

Then in the week that approaches we move out into the city and it’s thrum and doings.

Now I’m off in my new urban home in Redfern, equally sweet in many ways, shared with wonderful friends and farm offsiders Mike and Andrea and my lovely Tully, beau of almost a year (past just like that).

Even away, Murrindindi rests deeply in my heart as it holds me off to sleep, as I wake, and as I pass the day it sits beside me with quiet reverence.

A misty morning shot of our beautiful mountain home

The mountain on the skirts of a towering, wandering city. Standing still in its age and grace, feeling the flow of time move around and past it and through it. Breathing into it with mindful presence, solid as a, well, rock.

A model for our lives lived in sweet part below it. And a space for us to climb, to ponder, to enjoy with relish!

Corn, tomato, mango or mustard.  I’ll share the recipes someday.  😉

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