Until You’re You Again

Until You’re You Again

“Keep taking time for yourself until you’re you again.” Lalah Delia

For a long time after my Bear died last year, I didn’t think I’d ever be me again. The day he died, I went into shock. The following days, weeks, and months are a blur to me now, a hazy memory of trying to breathe, making myself eat, and doing the farm chores with tears streaming down my face as I told Bear over and over, “I can’t do this, babe, I can’t”.

My brain couldn’t accept the fact that my love was gone, that the creak I heard on the back steps wasn’t him coming up from the shed for a cuppa and chat, the ring of my phone wasn’t him calling to see how my day was going, that his side of the bed was empty when I’d reach for him in the night. It felt like nothing would ever be OK again.

And for a while, nothing was. Things got worse. Much worse.

spring harvest

Drought ravaged the farm creating cracks so big in the soil that I could slide my arm into them. Dogs and a fox got into my paddocks and killed half my herd and I spent days burning bodies. “Shiny, Happy People”, a documentary of the cult I was raised in, came out, triggering horrible dreams, PTSD, and severe flashbacks. Bushfires raged, I was hospitalised twice, and a nightmare litigation ensued.

I told Bear, “I can’t do this, babe, I can’t.” And felt him say in return, “I know, darlin’, it’s too much, but you will.”

So, I hung on. And when I couldn’t hang on, dear friends propped me up and gave me the love and support I needed to take another step forward. I went to therapy, read everything I could about grief, and sat with my shadows until I could see them for what they really were – my greatest strengths and the very things I needed to get through this life.

My neighbour helped me repair the irrigation so my plants and trees could have a fighting chance in the drought, I rebuilt fences and gates and made them dog and fox-proof, and I took ownership of my situation and studied Queensland law so I could navigate the litigation to the best of my ability.

summer harvest

In time, things got better. Rain came at last, putting out fires, filling in the cracks, and turning the whole region a dazzling green. Wounded animals recovered, rebuilt fences have done their job, and I’m no longer afraid of or intimidated by lawyers and litigation.

Even more precious is discovering that even though grief doesn’t go away, the soul/heart/spirit, whatever you want to call it, expands and stretches and makes room for peace and joy and love too. They’ve squeezed in alongside my loneliness and heartbreak and despair until they’re all nestled together quite cosily, enabling me somehow to live again. The pain of Bear’s death will always be with me, but as I care well for myself and stay close to my steadfastly loving people, I find that it gets cushioned, its sharp edges softened.

summer vegetables

I understand now that I’ll never be me again, not the old me. She is gone. But I can be the new me, the now me, the ever-changing, never-give-up, plant-seeds-in-drought me.

I know bushfires will flare up again, drought will return, and I will lose people I love. Unkind people will need to be stood up to, animals will die, and life will go all sorts of wonky, but I will be OK. Now I know to my very bones that no matter what happens, even when I can’t do it, I will.

What I Can and Homemade Mustard

What I Can and Homemade Mustard

Wind continues to howl through the tree tops for the third day in a row, scattering leaves and branches around the farm yard and keeping us nice and cool. Since we’re only one month away from the blistering heat of summer, I’m overjoyed by every cool day we get.

We had luscious rain last week, truly glorious. It sank deep into our parched soil, washed dust off every leaf and limb, and sent newly-planted seeds shooting up into seedlings faster than I’ve ever seen. It is absolutely amazing to look outside and see green grass where we haven’t seen any in years. We still need more rain to fill up our tanks and help the land heal, but we sure are grateful for what came.

raindrops on fennel

Post Viral Fatigue Syndrome (PVFS) continues to dog my footsteps, stealing my voice, waking me in the night with a wheezing, rattling chest, and sending me to bed for days at a time in agony of head and body. We don’t know how long this will last. Some have it for a few months, some a few years, and some never fully recover. I’ve had my weepy and discouraged moments, that’s for sure. And in those times Bear gives me big hugs, urges me to have a good ol’ weep, and reminds me that no matter what the future holds, we’ll face it as we always have, together. Such things are deep comfort to me. It is a dreadful thing to feel inside like you’re a disappointment and a burden, and inestimable relief to hear the people you love banish those lies and assure you that you’re loved for yourself, not for your health or energy or strength, just for you.

blueberry tomatoes

So, I have my down moments, my weeps, my woe-is-me’s, and then I take a deep breath and get back to what has become my superpower: finding joy in the midst of it all.

I try to find or create something good every day. Every. Day. Each morning I get out my pen and paper and write down a list of good things, things that will bring joy or comfort or healing or support, and then I do what I can.

Sometimes the “what I can” isn’t much at all: look out the window and watch the birds, listen to part of a really good audio book, have a cuppa with Bear while I prop my head up on his shoulder.

raindrops on peas

Other times, I can do more. I love those days. Days spent in my gardens harvesting herbs to dry and veggies and berries to eat, hours spent in my kitchen blending herbal teas that help me breathe well, sleep well, and not catch flus and colds on top of this PVFS yuck.

Making things is my favorite good day activity. Homemade cheese, fresh bread, quick Scandinavian-style pickles, that sort of thing. There’s something deeply satisfying about seeing bottles and jars of goodness lined up on the counter that gives me courage to wait out the really bad days.

In my good moments this past week I made Black Bean Pumpkin soup, Cheesy Dill Scones, and Hazelnut Cacao Nib cookies with a generous splash of homemade whiskey.

blueberry bush

Sometimes my good things are solitary, and others I get to do with Bear. A few weeks ago we decided on two projects that make us smile: building a model train set and building a Scandinavian dollhouse. These are things that can inspire and delight us on the very worst of days, and we are having so much fun sketching plans, writing lists of parts and supplies, and dreaming up the looks that will thrill us most.

The train set will be mostly Australian with sections for Central, Western, and Eastern Australia that feature desert, rainforest, and coastline. In a nod to my Canadian heritage, we’re having a snow-covered mountain with an alpine village and a Canadian Pacific train chugging along. We grin every time we think of it.

My dollhouse will actually be a mouse-house, a cozy, log home to felted mice with Scandinavian design, furniture, and implements. I can’t wait to see it come together.

This weekend I made a beautiful little pot of mustard using garlic scape vinegar I made last year. Mustard is so easy to make and, if you’re anything like me, makes you feel downright happy to be alive. I like my mustard hearty and strong so I used whole brown mustard seeds to give it a mighty punch. If you prefer yours more mild, feel free to use white mustard seeds or yellow mustard powder. It is scrumptious on a toasted ham and cheese sandwich or a fresh one using leftover roast beef or pork. I love it in homemade mayonnaise and it gives tuna salad and potato salad a zingy bite that is marvelous.

homemade mustard

Today, writing this post is the good thing I can do, so it’s time for a lie down with a cup of tea and the Christmas issue of Victoria magazine that just arrived in the mail.

What good things cheer your heart each day? I’d love to hear your ideas. xo

Homemade Mustard with Garlic Scape Vinegar

Vinegar Ingredients:

  • Handful of fresh garlic scapes
  • Apple cider vinegar

Vinegar Directions:

  1. Finely chop garlic scapes and place in clean glass jar. Cover with apple cider vinegar and seal. Place in dark cupboard or pantry and leave for 2-3 weeks. Shake once a day to ensure scapes remain covered by vinegar.
  2. Strain vinegar and bottle. (Reserve the scapes and as a pickle.)

Mustard Ingredients:

  • 1/2 cup brown mustard seeds (use white mustard seeds if you prefer a mild mustard)
  • 3/4 cup garlic scape vinegar
  • 1/2 tsp fine sea salt
  • 1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper

Mustard Directions:

  1. Place mustard seeds in clean glass jar and cover with garlic scape vinegar, stirring to ensure there are no air pockets. Cover and set aside for 12-24 hours.
  2. Pour jar contents into food processor and pulse until smooth. If mustard is too runny, add more seeds or mustard powder and pulse until desired consistency is reached. If mustard is too thick, add a little vinegar and pulse until desired consistency is reached.
  3. Blend in salt and pepper to taste.
  4. Pour into sterilized glass jar and seal until ready to use.

 

Good for Me

Good for Me

We’re having the most spectacular weather at the moment with endless sunshine and wonderfully cool breezes sending the gum trees dancing. The drought continues unabated as we return to severe water restrictions and hope, hope, hope for rain, but outside my office is a stretch of green, my green patch that I water faithfully when the wind turns the windmill and fills our bore water tanks.

This green patch kept our geese, chickens, and the wild birds healthy and strong through last year’s hellish season of drought and bushfires, so I’m determined to keep it going again this year. While everything dries up around us after a brief flush of green from a couple of winter rains, this oasis cheers us no end. We love sitting on the back verandah and watching the life that is drawn like a magnet to this verdant patch. From tiny finches and fairy wrens to magpies, cockatoos, grass parrots, and rainbow lorikeets, they all take turns foraging through the grass to find food for themselves and their babies.

We keep troughs of water filled around our property so there is always water available for our animals, our neighbors’ sheep and horses, and the kangaroos, wallabies, wombats, echidnas, goannas, and other species that call our farm home. We can’t do much about growing the wild grasses, flowers, and herbs they need to thrive until the rains come, but at least they won’t go thirsty.

apple blossom pink

While we hope for rain, we prepare for drought and the brutal summer heat. I’ve been working hard making our gardens and orchards as resilient as possible by installing drip water systems, thick layers of mulch, and covering the fences with shade cloth to protect them from wind and heat.

And I’ve been planting. So much. It may sound silly to plant things during a drought, but if there’s one major thing I’ve learned through this drought, it’s this: the land thrives longer and bounces back quicker if it has things growing in it.

So I’ve filled my gardens with a mix of trees, bushes, leafy plants, vines, and root vegetables and herbs. The trees provide shelter for the smaller plants, while the leafy plants work as mulch to keep the roots of the trees cool and damp. The deep rooted plants keep the soil loose and friable and herbs like comfrey and yarrow provide endless fodder for the compost bin and compost tea so I can keep feeding the soil. And they all provide food for us, our animals, local wildlife, and bees while making the land stronger, healthier, and more resilient.

It’s hard work but good work and I love it so much.

blue bowl of fresh veggies

Over the past couple of weeks I’ve planted lilly pilly bushes that are already starting to produce the purple and magenta fruits that I’ll turn into cordials, liqueurs, teas, and preserves, blueberry bushes that are covered with pale green berries, and elderberry bushes that are festooned with frothy white blooms. The apple, pomegranate, and citrus trees are flowering beautifully and we’re so hopeful that we’ll get a good harvest this year. The mulberry trees have new black berries for us every day and the feijoas, jaboticabas, and plum trees are sprouting vibrant new leaves and getting taller and stronger.

My friend Stacey and I have been studying about native bush tucker foods this past year, and we’re planting as many varieties as we can source. This week I put in a native currant bush, a native apple tree, several sea asparagus, and warrigal greens. Next up are native capers, Tasmanian mountain pepper, and native elderberry that produces bright yellow berries instead of the dark purple variety. I love learning about these plants and the ways they are used in food and medicine by the Aboriginal tribes that have managed this land for millennia.

quail eggs in a basket

My other great joy these days is my medieval herb garden. I love seeing the bare earth dotted with seedlings of motherwort, tansy, mugwort, rue, tulsi, calendula, chamomile, horseradish, galangal, turmeric, rose geranium, spearmint, marshmallow, burdock, peppermint, wormwood, lemon balm, yarrow, comfrey, and so many others. It’s even more fun harvesting them, drying them, and using them in all sorts of foods and herbal medicines. This week I’ve been making herbal tea mixtures, stirring together various combinations in big bowls before storing them in glass jars to use as the need arises. Yesterday I made one that relieves allergy and headache symptoms, one that strengthens the heart, and another that soothes the nervous system. In winter I like them hot, but in spring and summer, Bear and I prefer them iced and sweetened with honey or maple syrup.

herbal tea mixes

I’ve been thinking a lot about the choices I make each day. Choices that either support the things I value or distract from them. I’ve been learning to get up each day, evaluate how I’m doing in mind, body, and spirit, and plan my day accordingly, doing what is good for me and the people and things I care about. It has really become that simple, just asking myself, “What is good for me today?”

My life doesn’t look like most lives, and that’s OK. It is good for me, good for Bear, good for the life we are building together. I’m finding new freedom and peace in making my good choices whether others understand or approve of them or not. I love that we can all have different passions, different cares, different things that drive, delight, and fulfill us. We need these differences to make the world a more balanced and loving and interesting place. It is comforting to know I can cheer on the passions of my loves without embracing them myself, to fully support their right to engage in what matters to them without taking it on and distracting myself from the life I am building. I read a phrase this week that thrilled me: “breathe in your trueness“. I love the picture those words create. I clarify my values, confirm my next good steps, then close my eyes, hang onto those thoughts and breathe them in, deep and sure, letting them filter down into my whole being so my path is clear. It makes it so much easier to say no and yes when opportunities present themselves because I’m not responding out of guilt or shame, but out of clarity of purpose. I love it.

What good things are you doing these days? xo

The Last Day of Winter and a Spring Breakfast

The Last Day of Winter and a Spring Breakfast

It’s quiet on the farm just now. Bear has run to town after working on a medieval project all morning, the dogs are snoozing after their morning exploration of the farmyard, and the goats and sheep are meandering peacefully through the paddock after filling up on the greens I threw over the fence. A pot of roasted garlic tomato sauce is simmering on the stove, almost ready to be bottled, and outside the sun is shining beautifully with lusciously cool breezes billowing gently through the trees and through the open doors of our farmhouse.

It’s almost spring.

Although winter is my favourite season in Queensland, spring is a close second with its verdant life and warm days and cool nights. With my symptoms from a 9 month bout of Post Viral Fatigue Syndrome steadily lessening, I’m overjoyed to finally have strength and energy to be outside in the gardens, orchards, and fields, getting our land ready for spring.

With five gardens and three orchards to manage, there’s always something to do, and after being terribly sick for 18 months, the to-do list to catch up on things is rather monstrous and totally overwhelming. So I break it down into tiny, manageable chunks and celebrate each bit of progress.

Over the past two months I’ve worked through four gardens, digging up beds, spreading and digging in compost, pruning existing plants that need it, setting up my worm farm and compost pile, and planting seeds and seedlings. Today I start on the last one, the hardest one where the beautiful natural black soil ends and the gravelly brown stuff begins. The weeds cling tightly to rocks wedged in earth so dry and packed that each bit requires a thorough soaking before anything will budge. It’s slow, tedious work, but I’ve come to love it. It slows me down, putting me into a gentle cadence of soak, dig, pull, soak, dig, pull until suddenly I look up and instead of a rock hard weed patch there is lovely, soft soil ready for bags and bags of compost to be worked in so it becomes productive land.

It is healing work for me. Some people write or paint or cook or exercise. I garden. I cannot stay anxious or fearful or sad in my gardens, for they drag me away from the news and the pandemic and the myriad sad and horrible things in the world, and connect me to that which is steadfast, beautiful, and something in which I can actually do something to make things better. The slow gentleness of the work also slows my thoughts down, clarifies what I need to do next and what I need to let go of, provides a safe place for my anger, grief, and frustration to be expressed. It reminds me to breathe, deeply, and to rest, often, and to always take time to delight in what I’ve done and learned. Bear grins when I burst into the house with a fistful of asparagus or a bowlful of peas. He knows how much it means to me to have a place that is just for me to grow and learn and create and fail and try again and succeed and forget and remember and learn some more. It has been the greatest classroom for letting go of perfectionism, for even though there is always something wonderful in a garden, it is never, ever, ever perfect. And how I love that.

This morning we decided to celebrate the end of winter with a spring breakfast. Bear went out and collected eggs and I headed to the gardens to collect the veggies of spring: baby carrots, sugar snap peas, spring onions, and asparagus.

I gently fried the carrots and spring onions in ghee until they were soft and lightly caramelised, then added the asparagus and peas just until they were glossy and warmed through. I scrambled the eggs with a bit of curry and topped them with the veggies and some homemade fresh cheese. Delicious. It makes us smile so big when we eat a whole meal from our farm.

Now it’s time for a cuppa and a rest with a good book. Soon enough chores will beckon and sauce will need to be bottled and wood-burned items will need to be finished, but just now, I get to read in the almost-spring sunshine and celebrate this beautiful last day of winter. xo

Wintry Goodness

Wintry Goodness

Winter is here, and I feel it in the crunch of dry grass underfoot, the billows of fog blanketing the farm in early mornings, the plunging of temperatures just before sunrise.

I love winter in Australia. Yes, mornings are frigid, but once the sun comes out, it’s like a scrumptious Autumn day, cold, crisp, and utterly refreshing.

There are no bugs or sweltering heat, sunrise arrives at a more humane hour, and the early afternoon darkness is such a lovely excuse to head indoors for cozy evenings of books and movies and multiple hot cuppas.

morning light through autumn leaves

Winter is also hard.

We’ve had no rain and our paddocks are dry and barren with little for the animals to forage. The cold temperatures mean newborn goats need to be housed indoors, and our tiny home echoes with the bleats of hungry kids and the pattering of their little hooves tap-tapping along the kitchen floor.

But the sunny days are glorious, and once those first rays of light hit the farmyard, we bundle up our armloads of babies and take them out to the sun-drenched goat playpen where they can nibble on grass and take long, luxurious naps in the sunshine.

daisy at sunrise

During this barren time, my gardens are a haven. With no rain to keep them thriving, I’ve cut back to a few essentials, rainbow silverbeet, root veggies, and loads of herbs.

It’s so lovely to open the gates and wander along the straw-covered pathways, breathing in fragrant lavender, thyme, and rosemary, delighting in the daisies and feverfew that manage to blossom even in the dead of winter, and resting my eyes on green, glorious green.

feverfew at sunrise

With icy winds blowing in and freezing temperatures in the forecast, it’s a lovely weekend for hunkering in with hot soup and cozy sweaters, old movies and baking, writing for my luvs at Plum Deluxe, and reading beloved favourites from John Buchan, L.M. Montgomery, and Enid Blyton.

lavender at sunrise

Mostly I’m looking forward to medieval mates arriving for a weekend of medieval projects and good visits over hot bread rolls and hotter coffee. They do my heart so much good, and their hugs are the best.

What are you looking forward to this weekend? xo