Farewell Rowan Springs

Last weekend we visited my mother and stepfather at their farm in the northeast of Victoria. After a long, straight and boring drive up the Hume Highway, we turned off left near the mountains to an idyll with a wonderful garden and home which my mother has made hers over 19 years. 

It was a home also to thoroughbred racing horses, some sheep, and many cows, including some baby pet cows called variants of Daisy and April.    It is a hard life, running a large property, there is always something broken or leaking, something to fix, some cow giving birth in a back paddock, a phone line out due to a storm or hawks feasting on the hens which my mother has given up trying to keep.  The winters are long and cold, and the summers baking and bushfire prone.   It is all a bit much to manage at almost 70 years old, and as a result they have sold the farm and are moving to the nearby town of Benalla.

So this visit was a swan song of sorts.  And although I have not visited nearly as much as I should have over the years (or maybe that is why) I felt really sad over the weekend, at the thought that I will never see this vista again:

(sunset over the front paddock)

And of course, now having children at the correct age, I can see just how much they would have loved to come back here over and over again.   My daughter was quite upset when we left to come home, and I now wonder how I can fill the farm void which is left there.    The local park is not nearly as much fun.  And I loathe those places anyway. 

After all, is there anything better than running with no boundaries in the sunshine:

(if you look closely you can see a small Spiderman on the tennis court) 

Swinging on the swing:

Eating special blue and yellow desserts made by my mother:

(pineapple jelly, blueberries and meringue)

Or sitting on the stile and contemplating the wonder and magic of life at 3.5 years old?

My mother is a strong believer in pot, vase and bowl gatherings, they are just everywhere in the house:

And she loves buddhas just as much as I do:

She also loves a spot to sit, preferably, for her guests, with a Pimms and book:

And most satisfyingly for the children, the animal count was quite high: cockatoos and wedge tailed eagles in the sky, tiny lizards in the driveway, a pelican and many ducks on the lake, frogs at night, a dead sheep by the roadside (well that was not so nice especially when my son wanted to touch it badly), black and brown cows and bulls everywhere, hares jumping through the paddock and also some smaller rabbits, and Nellie my mother's little terrier dog running and yapping beside us all the way.

On the way back we were driving along the road above, when I saw a tortoise on the road.   Yes, a tortoise.  I didn't even know they were native to Australia.  But there it was, slowly crossing the road.  I stopped the car and reversed back, and went to pick the tortoise up as I was concerned about him getting squashed by the next car.  He had a 25 cm long shell, quite large, and a scaly long neck and clawed feet.  Just like a dinosaur.  The children loved him and peered intently at all his bits, neatly folded under his shell.

And when I picked him up again to carry him to the other side of the road, what did this tortoise do?  He weed on me.   All over my hands.     And that, dear reader, is something not many people can say has happened to them. 

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Pomegranates and Parrots

My mother has a pomegranate tree which fruits prolifically.  And each year, as the pomegranates blush pink, a horde of King parrots flies down from the north and spends a few days denuding the tree of its bounty.

This year to deceive the parrots my mother has picked the fruit before it ripens. 

But who has tricked who?   I couldn't eat them when she gave them to me as they were not yet fully ready.  So they have sat in this bowl for two weeks, slowly ripening.

(pomegranates from Benalla in a 17th century oak bowl)

But maybe that doesn't matter as I suspect pomegranates may officially be the most pointless fruit there is. 

Many many years ago, Aussie New Yorker hosted a dinner party down at the beach on the eve of an important Federal election.  It was a bacchanalian long table dinner, to which we were required to atttend in character as a Greek or Roman god or goddess.   I was Persephone, the goddess of Underworld who was dragged down there by Hades after bursting through a cleft in the earth where Persephone was picking flowers with some nymphs (Hades made an appearance at the dinner - he was my boyfriend at the time - very apt as it happened).  

Daughter of Demeter and Zeus, Proserpina in Roman mythology, Persephone was eventually saved by Hermes, but as Hades had tricked her into eating pomegranate seeds, she was bound to return to the underworld for at least a season each year.

One of these pomegranates would have done rather well at the dinner.  At the time, pomegranates were not in season. In fact, as a 24 year old, I barely even knew what they looked like. 

I have found it hard to find many useful pomegranate recipes.  Of course you can sprinkle the seeds and make juice but these seemed a bit simple.  In the end I made this, a roasted beetroot, goat's cheese and pomegranate salad.

Looks a bit like a massacre, I know. But it tasted piquant and lovely.

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Dream House - Bluestone Estate in the Western District

Our recent holiday necessitated a lovely drive west of Melbourne for many hours until we got to the South Australian border. This means you drive through rich green dairy and cattle country, low rise blue stone fences (built by convicts), little towns with names like Hexham and Moriac, and occasionally, down a long drive way, you can catch a glimpe of a house like this:

This house. Leslie Manor, near Colac, was built in 1845 by Scotsman John Hastie. It has been renovated and comes complete with 18 foot ceilings, herb garden, friendly hens and lots of eggs, separate 4 bedroom manager's cottage, harness room and 183 hectares of verdant arable land:

Divine little bluestone shed for the lawnmower:

Access to two lakes:

And this green view when you are washing up, or preparing hearty country meals or just staring and daydreaming (or in my case given my slight country-0-phobia, mixing the first martini of the day at 10 am):

All this, just 2 hours from Melbourne, and yours for (price undisclosed) but I would be guessing about $6 million. But that is just a stab in the dark. If you are in the market check out their website. The auction is this Sunday!

One thing you can be certain about - there are no bright white or dark black floorboards in this house. No chandeliers in the kitchen. No quirky mix of mid century furniture and ultra modern Italian fittings. No walk in wardrobes. No mosaic tiles. Just country goodness.

I haven't shown the interior shots because although it has been renovated, in my view it would need some more work, but probably just superficial (soft not hard!).

I have previously written about my fear of being trapped forever in the countryside. But I could make an exception for this house.


(Images: Leslie Manor Homestead)

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An Australian country farm in winter

A few weeks back we spent the weekend at my mother's farm in north east Victoria. They breed racehorses and have some cows there on about 500 hectares (or acres, I always get confused).

She has lived there for more than 10 years and certainly had her share of droughts and flooding rains. And bushfires. And frosts. But here are the first spring daffodils.



As I mentioned in a previous post, the garden is full of European trees, which I really prefer around a house, and also lots of trees you can eat. Like avocadoes and mulberries.



Here is a lovely spot under the verandah which catches the afternoon sun.

There is also a cat called Fred who thinks he is a dog. And a new little puppy called Nellie who knows she is a dog but still needs lots of cuddles because she is only young.

Just to the left of this picture is the pomegranate tree. Each October a whole tribe of King parrots flies down from the mountains and devours every single fruit on the tree in three days and then flies away. Their genetic memory must be very good.

My mother is 100 times the gardener I will ever be. Here is her herb garden, looking a bit straggly, but I love its overgrownness.

And here is a little table form which one can admire two very Australian things - the little water tanks and the (partly obscured) back of the ute which is used to deliver hay to the horses.

I am not really a country person (and my husband sometimes has mini panic attacks that he might get stuck in the country For Ever). When we visit we always have to rush into the nearest town on Saturday morning to get the newspaper and drink a not very adequate caffe latte. But I do love visiting this magical place. And I wish we could do it more often.

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Black Saturday 6 months on - a poem

The terrible Black Saturday fires were six months ago, on 7 February 2009. 173 people died and everyone was touched and affected in some way.

There are some wonderful photos of the area around Marysville and Kinglake regenerating:

Thanks Greenstone Girl, whoever you are.

Out of all disasters come stories of bravery, selflessness, generosity, simple small acts of kindness and most interestingly, creativity.

Here is a beautiful poem by Mike Claridge I found on a Hot Rod website. I hope he doesn't mind me reprinting it. It says it all:

Where horses grazed and cattle drank
Where grasses lined the river bank
Where stood a house and water tank
Now black is all I see

There was a town with store and hall
Which proudly stood ‘neath ridges tall
Now nothing moves or lives at all
And black is all I see

There stood a home and there another
Where lived a daughter, father , mother
A sister, cousin, niece or brother
Now black is all I see

Our nation grieves and holds them tight
Throughout the darkness of the night
Till daybreak brings an ashy light
And black is all I see

“Poor fella, my country”

Mike Claridge, Fri Feb 13, 2009 1:14 pm

People have a tendency to short memories. Whilst I don't think that is happening in Victoria, it is important to remember that these communities need our support for years, not months or weeks.

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Blue skies smiling at me

Over the weekend we visited my mother at her farm in north east Victoria. It was freezing cold, and we returned tired and smelling of wood smoke as I spent the entire weekend either shivering or standing in front of the Aga in the kitchen or the fire place in the living room.

She has a wonderful garden with a variety of interesting non native trees including mulberry, pomegranate, avocado, grapefruit, willow, liquid amber and more.

This is a view of the icy blue sky through the branches of an oak tree.





I will post some more pictures of her garden in winter soon.

And just because I feel like it, a beautiful 1950s retro print for fabric:

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This is Calyx, by Lucienne Day, designed in 1951. I love the coral red and blue together.

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Garlic is as good as 10 mothers

This beautiful image was taken at the Louisiana County Fair in 2008. We don't have county fairs in Australia, although we do have farmers markets and agricultural fairs. To me, a US county fair resonates with images of pumpkin pie, prize pigs, checked shirts and haybales. I am sure this is quite an inaccurate picture but there you go.

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There is a Chinese proverb which says garlic is as good as 10 mothers. No doubt this derives from garlic's well known health giving properties. And what is not to like about garlic? It adds depth and tang to food, it gives you lovely breath and can be roasted, baked, sauteed, deepfried and eaten raw. Each different method gives a different flavour.

Whilst on Chinese proverbs check out Chinese-Sayings. If this website is to be believed the Chinese invented every single wisdom in hindsight proverb known to man. I think they are right about garlic however. It is restorative, especially when roasted.

My mothers roasted garlic salad dressing

This is more of an idea than a recipe. On the wekend I visited my mother at her farm in north east Victoria and enjoyed a salad with butter lettuce and tomatoes from the garden, along with gently boiled asparagus stems. The dressing was sublime. This is how she makes it:

• wrap about 4 nice fat cloves of garlic in some foil, make sure to sprinkle some olive oil and sea salt on. Roast in an oven at 180 for about an hour.
  


• let the garlic cool then mash with a fork.
  


• add about 75 mls of olive oil and 25 mls of red wine vinegar (the amounts don't matter as much as the ratio of 3 to 1).
  


• mix in a small teaspoon of Keen's mustard powder, salt and pepper, any oily juices from the roast garlic and a sprinke of sugar.

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Eggplant garlic and roasted tomato dip

This recipe comes from a Crabtree and Evelyn cookbook I have had since the early 1990s when I was just a wee lass. It is from memory now. An excellent piquant lemony dip which can be served with pita crisps, which I usually loathe, or toasted ciabatta. Don't worry about the double-dipping hygiene issue. I recently saw an episode of Mythbusters which comprehensively refuted any concern.

Ingredients

One medium size boy eggplant (aubergine) (it's true, they come in girl and boy. The girl ones have an oversupply of seeds and not enough flesh).

One head of garlic

About 12 semi dried tomatoes (home dried or from a delicattessen)

Half a teaspoon of cayenne pepper

2 tbs of chopped flat leaf parsley

Juice of one lemon

Salt and pepper

Method

Pre-heat the oven to 200 degrees. Stab (kindly) the eggplant in a couple of places, and place on a roasting dish in the oven. Slice the top half off the head of garlic and wrap in foil with a sprinkle of olive oil. Roast for about 45 minutes or until the eggplant is looking soft and a bit leaky and the garlic is soft.

Leave eggplant and garlic to cool then scoop out eggplant flesh and mash, and squeeze garlic from their enclosures and mash or chop.

Finely chop the tomotoes and mix these along with remaining ingredients with the eggplant and garlic into a bowl. Eat fresh and warmish. (This goes a bit yuck if refrigerated.)

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