by Krista | Nov 1, 2020 | Spring
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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:
- 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.
- 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:
- 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.
- 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.
- Blend in salt and pepper to taste.
- Pour into sterilized glass jar and seal until ready to use.
by Krista | Aug 31, 2020 | Winter
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
by Krista | May 20, 2020 | Autumn
It was cloudy and dark today with the finest of sprinkles falling now and then, just enough to make a little puff in the dust and fill the air with that lovely scent of damp earth. We are hoping for rain, proper rain, a farmer’s rain, but we’ll give thanks for even the tiniest drop that cleans the air.
Bear and I are celebrating today for the last of my blood tests came through and my doctor excitedly announced that they are clear and I am officially in recovery. I am deeply grateful. I’ve been very ill since December, but the past 6 weeks have been particularly heinous. I’m feeling quite emotional tonight with the hope of being able to breathe easily on my own, to move without agony, and have the energy I need to do things I love with people who mean the world to me.
Recovery will be slow for my dear, battered body has been through hell, but it will happen through patience, love, and much gentleness.
Last week I could barely move without assistance, couldn’t breathe unless I was on all fours, couldn’t function without pain killers. This week I’m walking and bending unaided, able to work without mind-numbing migraines, and I finally have my voice back.
I must continue resting a lot so I don’t relapse, but I’ve been able to start going for short walks and I’m pottering in my beloved gardens again, watering unruly beds of lemongrass, burdock, motherwort, comfrey, and elderflower. I love being out there listening to the cold winds in the gum trees and watching our local fairy-wrens and double-bar finches flitting and swooping through the misty spray of the drip hoses.
When I get tired I sit with Bear and our dogs in the warm Autumn sunshine and rest. We watch the goats and sheep grazing in the paddock, listen to the geese as they splash in their pond, and check out the trees to see which wild birds we can spot. Our lives have become so quiet and peaceful since my illness, and we can feel the good of it in our very bones. Gentleness has been our guiding light, leading us into a tranquil cadence of living that we treasure.
Our routine is simple: sleep as much as possible, eat healthy things, drink lots of water, rest, and, when I have energy, make a little progress at something.
I’m normally a bit of a whirling dervish with eight projects on the go at once, my brain whirring constantly to stay on top of everything. This past year showed me that this isn’t a character trait but a coping mechanism, a detrimental habit developed in an old life that made me believe my worth was in working non-stop and accomplishing as much as possible.
I didn’t know how to break this habit until a chance conversation with Bear when I heard him say, “make a little progress.” Not finish a project or achieve a goal or cross something off the to-do list, but simply make a little progress.
His words meant nothing to him, he didn’t even remember saying them, but to me, they were a revelation, a light to guide me out of a lifetime of being a workaholic. The change in how I engage with life and work has been astounding to me. Instead of thinking, “I need to do All These Things today,” I ask myself, “How can I make a little progress today.” My ever-active brain has quieted and calmed, my anxiety has shrunk, and I’m actually able to really enjoy and focus on what I’m doing. What a gift. I’m so glad I’m never too old to learn new things and move into greater freedom and peace.
Now it’s time for bed. Time to wind the cuckoo clock, take my medicine, and climb under warm covers to read a bit before sleep. xo
by Krista | Nov 20, 2019 | Spring
With bushfires 30 km away and the drought continuing unabated, I have found much comfort and happiness in creating an oasis on our farm. Everywhere around us is crumbling dirt, dead grass, and air filled with dust and smoke, but here, in my gardens, it is shady, cool, and green.
It’s especially wonderful before sunrise when all is dark, the drip hoses send a fine mist over the plants, and for a few precious moments, I can linger in a wonderland of thriving plants, scurrying lizards, and singing birds.
This morning I was out at 4 a.m., the dogs galloping happily around me as they dashed from one end of the farmyard to the other to check on the chooks, annoy the geese, and make sure the goats and sheep were in their yards. I didn’t mean to get up that early, but I woke myself yelling from a particularly bad nightmare. The experience left me rather wobbly, so I went out to water and wander in the gardens knowing that such things never fail to soothe rumpled spirits.
It was so beautiful and quiet. The rest of the world was sound asleep and I got to bask in the novelty of cloudy skies and no sun as I picked asparagus and cherry tomatoes and eyed the artichokes that I will harvest for lunch.
I found baby pumpkins with bright yellow flower hats, large ears of corn with gossamer tassels, red okra, purple beans, and leeks getting tall and sturdy again after the goats munched off their tops in a lightning raid they launched when I accidentally left the garden gate open earlier this week.
I refilled the water troughs for the goslings and before I was even finished they were in there splashing about and making a ruckus.
I returned to the gardens and smiled so big to find flocks of tiny fairy wrens swooping and dancing in the spray from the drip hoses and scurrying about under the beans, tomatoes, and capsicum looking for bugs to nosh on for breakfast. By putting out bowls and pots of water each day, our farm has become a haven for birdlife. Bear and I love sitting on the back veranda and watching so many different varieties stop by for drinks: pink galahs, vibrant rosellas and grass parrots, bright blue, lime green, and double bar fairy-wrens, willy wagtails (our favourites), magpies, crows, tawny frogmouths, kookaburras, and big white cockatoos. It is amazing.
Soon the sun began to rise, eerie yet stunning as it slipped between layers of smoke and clouds. The plants glistened and shimmered, the dirt smelled wonderfully rich and mulchy, and the dogs were ready for their morning naps. I prepared the drip hoses for their mid-day duties, cuddled the dogs, then went inside to put the kettle on.
It’s going to be a good day. xo
by Krista | Jul 31, 2018 | Autumn
I’ve loved walled gardens ever since I lost myself in the mists and moors and magic of “The Secret Garden.”
The idea of having a private place of beauty and wonder hidden away from the world was, to me, the most amazing thing.
I’ve seen posh walled gardens in Versailles where asparagus could be grown year-round for the king, this tidy canal house walled garden in Amsterdam with plants that look straight out of a Dr. Seuss book and, this year, a charming walled country garden outside Launceston, Tasmania, the Brickendon Estate Gardens.
I arrived at the end of the day, and had the entire place to myself. For that afternoon, it was my own secret garden.
Built in the 1830’s by original settler William Archer, the gardens were designed to be more natural and wild-looking, avoiding the stark, manicured lawns and prim garden beds of previous gardening fashions.
The gardens grow around the lovely Georgian homestead that is still home to the 5th, 6th, and 7th generations of the Archer family.
It’s a rather wonderful old place, both elegant and comfortable, with walled gardens on either side and a sweeping carriage drive out front.
The Brickendon Estate gardens sprawl over 5 hectares and are dotted with myriad trees that range from exotic species brought in from India, Portugal, and Africa, to simple fruit and nut trees that provide the owners with rich harvests of mulberries, chestnuts, pears, and hazelnuts.
The lone Australian contribution to the gardens is the massive Bunya Bunya that towers over the property.
Isn’t it a beauty?
Shady pathways twist and turn around flower beds filled with frothy blooms, tangled vines, and feathery bushes.
My favourite bit of all was this delightfully dilapidated potting shed. The aged bricks and wonky roof line made me smile.
My solitary wander here was a lovely way to end my Launceston adventures, and I went to bed that night thoroughly inspired to create more beauty in my own gardens at home.
Do you like to visit gardens? If yes, what are some of your favourites? xo
