Our local country show, The Wallamba District Show was held on Saturday. It’s an event that’s branded onto my annual social calendar. I don’t miss if for anything. Neither does The Kid. He attended his first Show at 4 days old (next week he turns 9) and he’s been to every Show since, bar the 2 that were sadly and record-breakingly washed-out.
…. is your own home-baked, fresh out of the oven, served with melted butter, warm bread.
“If thou tastest a crust of bread, thou tastest all the stars and all the heavens”.
Well, the dust has well and truly settled on our local country show. Truth be told, there was more mud this year than dust. It rained. The whole day.
Despite the weather though, fun was had. Continue reading
Our local Show is only a couple of weeks away. Officially it’s known as the Wallamba District Agricultural and Horticultural Show, a bit of a mouthful, so let’s just stick with ‘The Show’.
There’s talk around town about who’s entering what. You can sense the competitiveness starting to simmer.
Amongst my friends, we’re agreed that it makes the day more enjoyable if you have items entered. We’re not necessarily in it to win it, but I have to say it’s quite a thrill seeing a blue show ribbon on one of your entries when you wander through the Produce Shed or through the exhibits in the main hall.
The weather has cooled here. It finally feels like winter. I’ve had the fire going for the past few days and it’s toasty warm inside.
Aside from the unseasonably warm weather prior to that, this time of year always delights me. Just when you think Mother Nature is shutting up shop for the cold season, she surprises.
Over the past 6 weeks I’ve been picking lemons, oranges and lemonades.
We have, ummm, been celebrating the Christmas season since Halloween. This is not because we have been consumed by religious fervour (not much of that here. In fact, errr, quite the opposite), but because the only thing that would appease young Thomas from the disappointment of not being allowed to ‘celebrate’ Halloween (“no darling, we don’t live in America, we are not Americans, it is not our holiday”), was me agreeing to let him put up some Christmas decorations instead. Why not? Continue reading
I’ve been disappointed by our ‘orchard’. I use the word loosely (hence the inverted commas), because when you talk of an orchard, one imagines rows of healthy, lush, shade-providing trees heavy with fruit. The reality of ours is a few rows of struggling, often sad-looking trees spending all their energy fighting off the wallabies, rabbits, bandicoots, and now chickens. ‘Give us a break’, they seem to be saying. We’ve tried. Plastic bottles, sliced up the side and wrapped around the trucks of some of the trees, wire guards surrounding others. The Orchard Rescue Plan is a frequent dinner-time conversation at the moment.
Even the mulberry tree was near destroyed by Dudley the goat. He ripped off and ate half of it before I could get to him. I ran, yelling, scolding, cursing, to no effect. I dragged him back to his paddock while he continued to happily munch on a branch. The mulberry tree has never been the same since. Continue reading