Well, we’re not really sorted in the flood pants department, but things are starting to really bust out of the ground in a big way. Our mad crispy frosts are easing up.
Waves of blossoms breaking bud, bursting, falling, fleshing out with leaves.
Wattles going through the same old dance like yellow fluff machines, brightening our gardens and parklands and stuffing up our noses like no tomorrow.
Small things are cracking and peeking up out of the earth.
Waves of no dig building and seedlings are in motion. Amy and Chris built two big old beds for our kitchen garden last weekend.
Greg and Alex have been pumping out the next round of seedlings – beetroots, fennel, rocket, lettuces, silverbeets, a swathe of other leafy greens and lots more tasty things.
A whiz bang technomological seed blocker has been ordered and is on it’s way and we are bound to become obsessives with it soon.
Plus we’re getting lots of love from our old weedy faithfuls.
Looking forward to being home tonight for a good week or so at the end of another big stint of conferences, before choofing off to the wonderful madness that is Burning Man Australia, running a kitchen as part of my favourite tribute to hedonism.
This weekend will see us a flurry of responsible collective on farm action. Planting plans, farm meetings, bank accounts, retaining walls. Oh my!