Dear Old Autumn

Dear Old Autumn

“Autumn carries more gold in its pocket than all the other seasons.”
J. Bishop

The sun is down and the temperature is dropping quickly so I’ve tucked a blanket around my legs to keep me warm as I write.

It’s quiet on the farm tonight. The rain has stopped, the wind has stilled, and the only sound is a gentle tap-tap and occasional peep from the guinea fowl keets in their box in the kitchen. I had to move them into a taller, non-jump-out-able box this week after one made a daring escape and found himself trapped behind a bookshelf. I managed to retrieve the trickster with a prodigiously long set of barbecue tongs, and he’s now back safe and sound with his mates.

pink autumn flowers

It’s well and truly autumn now and the vineyards, orchards, and gardens of the region are in that lovely stage of decline where everything is nodding off before winter, but not quite asleep.

There are still gorgeous flowers blooming amongst rusted petals, curling leaves, and papery husks, and I’ve been taking every possible opportunity to write garden-based stories for the newspaper so I can wander at my leisure through russet and gold beauty.

This week I got to amble through the gardens of the Hokstead Plantation just before they tore out the last of the summer plantings. They were busy finishing up a stunning bouquet of native flowers and greenery, so they let me stroll about to my heart’s content.

It was dark, drizzly, and cool, my favourite kind of autumn weather, and I loved the sculptural beauty of plants losing their leaves and petals and the amazing transition of colours from vibrant pink, red, and yellow to softly burnished rose, burgundy, and bronze.

sculptural garden

I explored the nursery, trailing my fingers over the smooth leaves of lemon myrtle, sighing happily at the vibrant puffs of fairy floss flowers high up in the treetops, smiling at the occasional lush blooms putting on one final burst of beauty before the frost arrives.

fading pink flowers

Autumn gardens always make me feel peaceful because the work is coming to an end and things are ready to be buried under thick layers of compost and mulch and sleep soundly through the winter.

They remind me that not every season is for productivity, some are for sleep, quietness, getting fed, nourished, and rested.

Dear old autumn. I needed that reminder.

dying pink flower

This weekend has been a cosy one of good projects balanced with rest, books, art, and reflection.

I made three jars of pear ginger jam and a big pot of ham lentil soup and organised my seeds and art supplies.

I scrubbed floors, installed a new toilet seat, and read “Nicholas St North and the Battle of the Nightmare King” and Darra Goldstein’s Scandinavian cookbook, “Fire + Ice”.

I wood-burned nine wooden spoons, coloured a picture of mushrooms, and bought myself a set of screwdrivers for my toolbox.

purple sculptural plant

As I enter a new week, I look forward to embracing the slower, more peaceful days of autumn, making the most of every opportunity to get outside and bask in the wonders of this most glorious season.

“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings.
Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees.
The winds will blow their own freshness into you,
and the storms their energy,
while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.”
John Muir

Waiting for Baby: Finding Autumnal Calm

Waiting for Baby: Finding Autumnal Calm

Earlier this year I was honoured to share my friend Katy’s story of the loss of her baby girl, Alma (read her story here). Today I’m equally honoured, and thrilled, to share her thoughts as she waits the final few days of pregnancy before the birth of her first child.

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I love Autumn. The encroaching darkness may be a little hard to accept after summer’s long, halcyon days, but there is something so comforting and cosy about the burnished colours of falling leaves, the warming aromas of spices and apples on the stove, the steam of hot cocoa on a crisp, chilly day.

Autumn leaves in England

Autumn – and October in particular – is a significant time for my husband and me. It’s the month we first met, three years ago. On our second date, we hiked up to a rugged swathe of moorland where stags were rutting. We unpacked a picnic and watched, breathless, as the stags locked antlers amid the russet-hued grasses and swirling mist. A downpour swiftly ensued, and as we laughed and stumbled our way back down the sodden hillsides, dripping wet and shivering, I knew I’d found my soulmate. The following October, we got engaged at Whitby Abbey, on the wild and windswept coast of North Yorkshire. Or, more accurately, we got engaged on the steps down from the abbey, after I apparently messed things up when he tried to propose at the top. Last October, we got married in our beloved Peak District. And this October, we’re expecting our first baby, due any day now.

Normally, the start of Autumn is the time when I love being out of the house, picking blackberries and going on long, blustery walks with my husband in the Peaks. We wrap up warm, pull on our hiking boots, fill up the thermos with hot coffee, and set out on rambles through the hills before ending up in a country pub with a roaring fire.

Autumn in the Peak District

 

But this year, due to a pregnancy dominated by a pelvic condition which makes walking far difficult, I’ve had to make my peace with staying home. In these last days of pregnancy, I’ve been nesting: cleaning, upcycling furniture, decorating the nursery and batch cooking meals to store in the freezer ready for the early, crazy days of parenthood.

I’m now at the point in pregnancy considered full-term, the point at which the baby can come any time. Yet I still have up to three weeks before he will definitely arrive, one way or another. It’s the paradox of the ‘due date’ – somewhat arbitrary, given that only 5% of babies arrive on that date, but it’s been the measure of my life for almost 40 weeks, the arbiter of midwife appointments, scans and milestones; the day I’ve been counting down to. Yet I know that for first-time mothers, a 41 or 42-week pregnancy is actually pretty normal and an ‘on-time’ arrival not so common.

So this is a time which can be full of stress and anxiety: googling natural induction methods with highly questionable scientific bases, over-analysing every twinge and cramp, worrying about the possibilities of medical induction and forceps and c-sections. At home on your own, it’s easy to let your mind be filled with all of this while you drink raspberry-leaf tea, bounce on a gym ball, and mull over the benefits of evening primrose oil for helping the dilation process.

It’s a strange limbo, being on the precipice of something so fundamentally life-changing that I can’t quite imagine it yet, but I’m impatient for it to happen, already! After 9 months of weathering every pregnancy discomfort, from the early days of morning sickness to this late-stage elephantine condition, the desire for things to get a move on is overwhelming. One of my friends, a new mother, joked that these last few weeks are part of evolutionary design so that when labour does finally start, you don’t care about the prospect of intense pain anymore – you just want the baby out!

At the same time there is ongoing fear of the unknown. For me, it really isn’t a fear of labour: this is my rainbow baby, the first my body has brought to term after two miscarriages. Because of that, I know without a doubt that I can cope with the pain of labour, as long as he is ok. But everything from this point on is completely unknown territory.

In the midst of these whirling thoughts, I am trying my best to find an Autumnal calm – to savour these last days of solitude and little projects, reading books that have been sitting on my bookshelf gathering dust, binge-watching boxsets without guilt (something I am finding surprisingly hard!), enjoying brief forays into the October sunshine, going on brunch and dinner dates with my husband, meeting other pregnant and new-mum friends for lazy coffees and camaraderie.

moss on rocks

My wardrobe is covered in colourful affirmative cards, given to me by a friend, which remind me daily that my baby will come when he is ready, that I am prepared for labour, and that I will be a good mother. If nothing else, sitting on the end of the bed for a few minutes each morning and reading a few of the cards offers a quiet bonding moment with the baby.

 

I’m hoping that he’ll come while the leaves are still turning, while there is still warmth in the sun, before the nights draw in further. But this really is one decision left to my baby and my body, that I really have no choice in. He is currently snuggled inside me, kicking his little legs and using my bladder as a pillow, apparently in no particular hurry to come out. I know that watching and feeling him move inside me right now is something I will look back on as a fleeting memory that passed too quickly, and is something to treasure.

This will be a life-changing Autumn, but for now, it is a season in which I’m learning patience and calm, waiting for the day when I can hold my baby in my arms.

Take Good Care

Take Good Care

It’s a quiet and sunshiny morning on our farm. Our resident tawny frogmouths have gone back to bed after hunting through the night, perched just outside the hollow where their clutch of eggs is hiding. They blend in so perfectly with the branches of the huge gum tree, that it’s a game for Bear and me to find them every day.

pepperina tree

I’ve learned that life on a farm is a mix of inspiring beauty, simple pleasures, and gutting loss. Newborns and fresh produce and breathtaking sunsets go arm in arm with devastating hail storms, flooding, and death. This week a fox, or two, dug a hole under the chicken yard fence and went on a rampage, killing everything in sight. Only one turkey and four chickens survived. We were so sad, yet also thankful for the plucky survivors, including our favourite hen who hid for two days before showing up at the gate ready for some lunch. We were so happy to see her alive and well.

We mourned the loss, then took a deep breath and moved on, making the most of a bad situation. We’ve been wanting to shift the birds into new pens so we could plant the old ones with all sorts of greens they love to eat, then cover with specially made elevated grates Bear designed which will allow the birds to have access to fresh grasses and plants without being able to scratch out the roots. Now we don’t need to shift the birds, and can plant nearly all the pens right away. They will be lush and green when it’s time to rebuild our flock, providing them with a constant source of nutritious foraging.

We also get to plan our new flock, choosing the varieties we want most, and bringing them home as we find them. I’m so excited about that. I love going to farms and acreages, choosing the birds to join our little family.

sunset through autumn leaves

Amidst the loss there is much good. I took the last week to spend more time looking after us. Making sure we’re getting enough rest and relaxation, ensuring “we” don’t get lost amidst projects and tasks. It’s been lovely. We’ve been watching French cooking dvds while we eat breakfast, getting thoroughly inspired with delectable ways to use the foods we grow and raise. We’ve turned errands into dates, making an animal feed run an excuse for lunch at a bakery and a gorgeous drive in the country. We’ve taken naps and sat around the campfire with dear friends, getting our bodies and hearts revived and restored.

Personally it’s been good too. Getting in bed early each night so I can read a bit before sleep has done wonders for cutting down on nightmares. Choosing light-hearted fare – Amelia Peabody, Phryne Fisher, Enid Blyton – gives my brain happy things to focus on and ensures a much better sleep. There’s something about feisty heroines and adventurous children that put my heart and mind in a good place.

sunset through fall leaves

My gardens continue to bring me much joy. This incredibly warm Autumn has plants and fruit trees all mixed up. I’ve been harvesting peas for weeks and our apple trees are flowering. Tomato plants are popping up everywhere and my elderflower hedge is getting blossoms again. Winter is only a week away, but you’d never know it with all the Spring growth everywhere.

Yesterday I spent an entire afternoon outside. Pure bliss. I dug new garden beds and transplanted rainbow chard and Red Russian kale, and planted caraway and meadowsweet. The radishes, coriander, red onion, purple carrots, and leeks I planted earlier are all sprouting beautifully. Striped eggplants, capsicums, and chilies continue to produce, and I’ve been harvesting purple-topped turnips, sugar snap peas, and snow peas nearly every day. Beetroots and red carrots are nearly ready to harvest, and romaine, mustard greens, and silverbeet are getting bigger and bigger.

My herbs are thriving after the good rain we had last week. I’ve started making borage tea and will be adding it to our apple wine to see if it really does give courage like medieval people believed. I made a huge vat of comfrey tea yesterday, and will let it ferment for the next while until it’s ready to pour over my gardens and give everything a good feed. I’ve been shoveling manure and hauling straw for mulch, lugging bags of feed and picking up trash a naughty dog scattered hither and yon. It feels so good to be outside, sun on my shoulders, wind in my hair, geese, dogs, and goats coming to see what I’m up to.

Today is a writing day and I’m looking forward to it. I’m tucked up in bed with a view of trees and blue sky, ready to spin sentences and string together paragraphs, edit photos and submit articles. It’s going to be good.

How are you taking care of yourself this week? xo

An Autumn Campfire and Homemade Hungarian Sausages

An Autumn Campfire and Homemade Hungarian Sausages

It was a jolly and exhausting weekend with our good friends, Sue and Vincent, as we worked hard and played hard in preparation for our first medieval event of the season.

There was new garb to model with whoops and catcalls from cheeky onlookers, menus to plan, and a new tent to set up in the face of fearsome winds that threatened to send Sue and I sailing off over the trees like Mary Poppins as we clung for dear life to tottering tent poles.

We sorted and packed, unpacked and planned,  debated and decided, filled out paperwork, and finally collapsed in relieved, happy exhaustion, ready for some ginger wine and fire-roasted dinner as the sun set through the trees.

ginger wine

I lit a fire in our cute little pot-bellied stove and put sausages on to cook. They are the Hungarian sausages I told you about last time, flavored richly with garlic and paprika, salt and black pepper, and they were absolutely beautiful charred and smoky from the campfire.

sausages on outdoor grill

Sue brought corn on the cob and first we cooked it in the husks, then set it right over the fire to get a wee bit charred. Pure bliss smeared with butter and dusted with salt.

roasted corn on the cob

We toasted Turkish bread and poured more wine and finally collapsed into our chairs in the last rays of the setting sun.

toasting bread over fire

With a chink of wine glasses and hearty toasts we dug into our feast and rested our weary bones.

bread and wine

We visited amiably as the sun disappeared and the winds died down, sipped our wine, laughed at funny stories and thought how there aren’t many things better than good food with good friends on a gorgeous night in the country.

dusk through trees

This week we’re back to bustling, working hard to finish last minute projects and arrange caretakers for the farm while we’re gone. Bear finished our 12th century bed, I completed my Bedouin garb save for the silk ribbon trim that just arrived in the mail this morning from England. We made linen sheets and pillowcases and hauled medieval gear in to get packed away in wooden boxes for the trip. Today I’m at last starting a medieval quilt for our bed. It’s a lot of work but so much fun. We’re both excited to get to camp and have a good ol’ visit with our friends.

What are you looking forward to this week? xo

Autumn Mornings

Autumn Mornings

“I cannot endure to waste anything so precious as autumnal sunshine by staying in the house.”
Nathaniel Hawthorne

The storms have passed and Autumn is here in full, golden glory. The world seems rich, as if everything has been dipped in shimmering amber. Especially in the morning as the sun rises over yellowed fields glistening with dew.

It’s been wonderful to be out in it each day, strolling through my gardens to see what’s happening, utterly delighted to find asparagus growing again!!! I have the friendliest asparagus that seems to grow when I need it, not when it’s supposed to, as if its sole mission in life is to make me smile.

handful of asparagus

I was able to get out and plant things this weekend – sugar snap peas, Brussels sprouts, golden beetroot, carrots, kale, lettuces, purple-topped turnips, and, my nemesis, leeks. I love leeks. I’d have an entire garden just for leeks if only they would grow for me. But they flatly refuse. I try different varieties, different soils, full sun, partial shade, lots of water, little water, nothing seems to work. Still I keep trying with firm hope that one day they will give up their stubborn ways and flourish.

In the meantime I take heart in the things that do love to grow – colorful chilies and my favorite yellow pear tomatoes, fat purple eggplants, tender string beans, and elder berries.

little Autumn harvest

On Saturday morning Bear and I took full advantage of the gorgeous Autumn morning and picked another harvest of olives. It’s so nice that our friend’s trees are ripening in stages so we can do little harvests instead of one massive one that would thoroughly tucker me out. It was wonderful out there, breezy and beautiful, and we chatted away as we picked.

Our friend Gary brought me a whole stack of olive recipes that he’s used over the past 30 years, and as I leafed through the hand-written notes I read snippets aloud to Bear. I had no idea there were so many different ways to cure olives. You can slit each one with a knife and soak in fresh water for a short period of time or leave them whole and soak them for a couple of weeks. You can also cure them in wood ashes, an ancient method utilized by people who didn’t have access to salt/salt water. I’m excited to try that.

olive branch

We welcomed six ducklings to our farm family over the weekend. Aren’t they cute as can be? I love how the morning sun illuminates their downy feathers.

yellow ducklings

I also like the Autumn sun rising on my favorite tree. It’s a massive gum outside our bedroom window with a lovely twisty trunk with a hollow that is the favorite nesting spot for all sorts of birds. Sometimes wood ducks are in there. One morning we were thrilled to look out the window just in time to see the parents call for their babies. One by one the tiny tots launched themselves out of the nest, plummeted to the ground, bounced once or twice, shook themselves, then toddled off as if they hadn’t just fallen 3o feet. Amazing.

old gum tree

Now it’s time for a cuppa with Bear. It’s getting close to the start of medieval season for us, so we’re working hard on lists and plans and projects. He’s building a medieval bed, I’m making a medieval quilt, and soon we’ll be ready for our first event of the season. We’re excited!!!

What good things did you see and do over the weekend? xo