One

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Beren Argyle, our little bear,
now you are one –

I was so glad to write your big brother a birthday letter, and even though I struggle to find time to document in words and images life with a little you (as I did with your brother) – I am thankful to have this moment to do so. Life with a little you is so very good, so very full – every day we see more of your personality emerge. Your likes for exploring the kitchen cupboards, eating eggs, yoghurt, sweet potato, strawberries (and any fruit really) and your dislikes for having your nose wiped, your nappy changed or a curiosity (clump of dirt / grasshopper / miscellaneous plastic thing) taken away from reach. You love your brother and follow him wherever he goes, he is beginning to play with you more – albeit sometimes too roughly, wanting to rumble on the floor!

You wave goodbye to dadda once he’s left for chores, and you wave hello to your reflection in the mirror and windows. You point and although no words spoken yet, you can tell us a need or want or grievance or exclamation with your voice. You stand up at every opportunity and scale furniture with speed – you have taken one wobbly step and will no doubt be walking around in no time. You try to stack blocks on top of each other and love to put things in shoes and boxes and cups. I once stepped into my gumboot only to find a hard boiled egg at the bottom!

You adore the outdoors and take every opportunity to catch the back door as it closes so you can escape outside. You inspect ants and blades of grass and scrunch clumps of sand in your chubby hands. You chatter with delight at the sight of the cats prowling around, and so very timidly stoke their back if they come close enough.

Your first birthday was a very simple affair, you accompanied mama on egg deliveries, you napped, you played in the sunshine. Your gifts from us were simple – a hand knit vest, a spotty birthday crown and bib, and a handful of big crayons. You also received some beautiful books and clothes and cards from family. We made a carrot and walnut cake with cream cheese and honey icing. You licked the spoons and seemed very approving. You went to bed early, and you woke through the night with teething pain – we pat your back and kissed your forehead.

Beren, you are a calm and wise soul – I felt that the moment you were born with that dark crop of hair (now significantly lighter) and big eyes that could fix on my face. I feel an enormous blessing and privilege to be your mama and to watch you grow. May you know many happy tree climbs, barefoot adventures and red dusk skies, always feel loved, know the goodness of meaningful work and nourishing rest, always care about the world around you, and above all carry hope in you heart.

Happy birthday little one,
With love and hugs, always
xx

in the garden

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It is now March, and the garden is still persevering… Hurray!

It has been scorching hot and we’ve had barely a smatter of rain. We do our very best with hand-watering ALL the plants and trees as the cool of evening rolls around… it is tiring, but we are rewarded with plump tomatoes, herbs, squash, zucchini, potatoes, eggplant, lettuce and yes, even the odd sweet watermelon. Summer produce is so very wonderful.

I had a first attempt at planting out the winter vegetables – cabbages, broccoli and kale but all were swiftly eaten to the stump by grasshoppers (yep, still around), then what remained was scorched by the sun on these 35’c days. I have however, sown direct carrots and beetroots and peas with some success, and have more cuciferous seeds raising indoors for later sowing…

It’s a mystery, this garden growing business – last year basil and parsley and pumpkins did famously well, this year we’ve had barely of any. But the chillies and tomatoes are coming in each day, and for that we are thankful!

There’s always jobs to do – more seeds to raise and plant direct, weeds to pull, grass to mow down, mulch to go out on everything; chicken-poo + sawdust from the brooders, compost, sugar cane and straw, excluding + resting parts of the polytunnel that housed (unsuccessful) corn and cucumbers, prolific spaghetti squash and potatoes, beds to build up for the next season…

So here’s to the cool of Autumn,
that she might come soon
and bring a steady patter of rain…
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p.s. yes, the polytunnel bathtub has been upgraded to a cast-iron claw foot and also doubles as a wonderful play pen for baby while mama potters!

ode to summer

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IMG_9154IMG_9144last day of summer,
leaves drooping in the heat
the garden tank that’s dry (again)
nights spent hand watering
cold bathwater, dusting eggs,
spiders on the wall,
a dead snake in the yard,
and grasshoppers everywhere
(even in the toilet bowl)
you are the speedy crawls
and cheeky smiles of a baby
the fantastical stories of a small boy
sea caves in bed,
kittens asleep by the door,
sheep bleating in the paddock,
happy visits from kin –

you are the time two weeks ago
after we put the boys to bed,
my sister and I headed for the hills
(my closest neighbours, in granite and grass strewn garb)
I captured with lens
that afternoon golden light
her beautiful face in the breeze –
we feel the silk soft seeds
of nettles,
the smell – so sweet,
of a patch of red clover,
we walked the narrow trails the cows made,
over rocks decorated in lichen –
sage, lime green, slate grey, tin roof red
at the highest point up we can see out
for miles in every direction –
forest, pasture, winding road,
I come up here, I say,
to feel small,
to listen and pray
and be blown by the wind –

this last day of summer
is a mystery that comes around
every four years,
is a thin copper line on the horizon,
moths around the light bulb,
spiders spinning,
early morning light,
dry hands and heels,
wind howling at night,
the cracked earth around the dam,
chickens resting in the shade –
seven yellow squash on the table,
a bowl of tomatoes –

I don’t feel it now,
but I know we’ll miss you
once you’re gone.

fishy four

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Today is our firstborn Reuben’s fourth birthday. It seems like only yesterday he was born, and now he’s no longer a babe or a toddler but a little boy – so full of questions and articulate phrases, so much storytelling, curiosity and intense feeling! Truly we are blessed to have in him a warm and caring soul, a willing helper and companion on farm and house chores, a protective big brother, an outdoor explorer and avid reader…

And so on the weekend we held a very fishy themed birthday brunch (Reu’s favourite meal) to mark his four glorious years. A dear friend of mine came to stay for the week and we set about cleaning the house, making fish and other sea creatures out of old drawings and paper scraps, seaweed garlands, balloon jellyfish and good food to eat. A “red and blue” fish cake was requested – lemon and poppyseed yoghurt cake with cream cheese and berries – it was a hit with young and old. We had starfish shapes of watermelon and grape fish “eggs”, cheese and crackers, buckwheat and kefir pancakes with jam and cream, baked sweet potato chips, cornflake + honey “shell grit” and other delicious treats. The little people bounced on the trampoline, coloured in fishy shapes and ran about the house, while the big people mingled and ate and drank cups of tea. A happy morning to befit our happy fish-loving boy!
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boys

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IMG_8886I am blessed to be a mama to two boys,
three years, two months and five days between them
these curious, adventurous and oft-smiling brothers –

I want to remember them as they are right now,
no baby book milestones, but those everyday graces
the no-longer-napping child falling asleep on his bed,
the slap slap of hands and knees crawling about the house
with increasing speed,
yes this –
the questions why,
the head shaking and crook of my neck snuggling,
the car-ride storytelling, the careful observations
the mispronunciations –
mish-chef-fous-sis (mischevious)
and announcements –
“I think only big men can climb on the roof”
“I am embarrassed when Beren keeps looking at me”
“I think those ants are laying eggs on that box”
“These bananas are getting crazy”

Oh, and when my baby giggles as he hides in pillows
when my boy climbs the fence to “check” on storm clouds,
and later he wraps his arms around me
and says, I love you mama –

There are hard days too,
and long wakeful nights
unsettled, restless, grumpiness –
when we loose our tempers, melt down,
kick something, knock a block tower over,
push a little brother back –

but I don’t really want to remember all that
except to say, it passes,
we got through –
and we spent a lot more time smiling.

in the garden

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I was hesitant to write this blog post – to capture the same angles of my garden that I did in my post from October last year. To pause and reflect on how much a garden changes in two and half months – when your tank runs dry, and you have one the hottest, driest and shortest Spring’s on record, when a plague of grasshoppers descends and consumes most green in sight! But then I thought, no, I want this record made – it is real life trying to grow a garden, trying to work out the seasons, to live on land. You just have to keep going as best you can…
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And remarkably our garden is not all dried and brown. There are patches of green, petunia blooms and tomatoes forming. There are a little herbs (that the grasshoppers are not eating) like chives and mint we can pick and toss through our salad. There are lettuce leaves to be picked from a pot, zucchinis and dainty green squashes that mysteriously appear overnight.

There was a point when we just had to choose which plants we wanted to survive the most – and spend our scant and precious rain and household “grey” water on them. So it’s become our nighttime ritual, after we put the boys to bed and it’s still light – we cart out the cold water from our showers, baby bath and kitchen sink – we fill up watering cans from the garden tank – to pour out on the infant trees, vegetables and flowers we planted here.

This summer we are learning the absolute joy a spot of living green brings…  we are also taking note of which plants are truly hardy, how an organic soap-based spray is fairly effective deterrent for grasshoppers, what difference enough mulch makes.
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I am especially amazed that some plants have survived in the heat of the polytunnel – that these grasshoppers just don’t seem keen on eating my tomatoes, eggplant, cucumbers, squash or watermelons (but the corn and sunflowers, oh my, they are devouring that) and they are actually thriving and producing good things for us to eat.

Last week we had an idea to install one of our many farmyard bath tubs into the polytunnel so I could finally have a much wished-for soak every now and again. And a day or two later I filled it with pots of rain water heated on the stove, adding epsom salts and a few drops of lavender and bergamot oil and lay there luxuriating as night fell, with our cats padding around and grasshoppers jumping, I listening to rustling trees and the crow of birds, and looking up spied a faint sparkle of stars… the next day I scooped out the water onto the plants. Bliss indeed.

ode to 2015

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to a year, so nearly spent
so much to say and
yet left unsaid –
you have held in your days
immeasurable joy
and grief too heavy to bear,

you have been the hardest year
so much newness, unknowns
in the darkness of the night
we lay wondering
why and if only,
for what –

we learnt  so much about ourselves
our limitations, our gifts
we wrestled with hopes,
projections, beginnings –

and moments like

holding that just-born baby boy in my arms,
filling a basket of freshly laid eggs, still warm,
saying goodbye to my beloved grandmother,
the crunch of thick frost and the drought that keeps on,
the smell of bush fires that swept out of control near us,
walks up the hills behind our house with my sister, my mother,
with friends and alone,
kin moving to the town nearby,
running out of power for two days
(and running out of water for three)
rising early to set up a market stalls,
plucking your own chicken,
the golden yolk of a good egg and buzz of a busy hive –
the kindness of neighbours, the sheep on the road
and so so many funny phrases of our three year old,

I cannot help but close my eyes
and whisper, in all this
we are so blessed,
truly,
we are held and hounded
loved and enfolded –

we accept because we must –
that most of life is slow, steady work
and we are only just started.