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.
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!!!
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.
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!
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!).
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.
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.
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.
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. 😉