Clara Beyond

What happens when your children don't watch TV.....

2011-12-10T14:47:00.000-08:00

When I had my first child, I made a conscious decision not to plonk him in front of the TV. So I didn't. Not until he was nearly two years old and my twins were born. At that point, I really needed the daily half hour afforded by Play School, and the odd 10 minutes of Thomas the Tank Engine in order to get dressed in the morning, or have a little respite from juggling the needs of two newborns with that of a toddler. Bless them all..... it was a tricky time. And if I missed out on those 30 minutes allotted to me for showering and putting on my clothes, I was lucky to be out of my nightie before lunchtime.

A couple of years later we moved from Melbourne to Tasmania, and swapped our lovely old California bungalow and generous city patch of garden for a gorgeous big old weatherboard set in a beautiful acre of big trees and cottage flowers in the Huon Valley. So we decided to dispense with the TV altogether (for the children that is.... I still need my hour of rubbish in the evening for switch-off-and-knit time). With a rambling garden to explore and trees to climb, and space to build and play and run, nobody even noticed that TV no longer featured in our day. Even though we'd only ever watched a tiny amount, the impact had been subtle, but, nevertheless, quite profound on my children. There was an element of negative role play, imitation and acting out in accordance with what they had watched, and it definitely steered their play. But once even that tiny amount of screentime disappeared from their lives altogether, their creativity flourished and blossomed, establishing an independent course free of dictated content. Unfettered by the influence of storylines, characters and language all dreamed up by teams of adults trying to assume a child's perspective and vision, my children flew headlong into worlds entirely of their own making. Entirely. And since the day we hit that off button for good, those worlds have taken my breath away.

I am proud of my decision to quit TV on behalf of my children, and I can honestly say it has benefited them beyond my expectations or imaginings. Earlier this year we went overseas to visit family and friends. Before embarking on our trip, I sent out sensitive and considered messages to everyone we would be staying with, asking them when they watched the box, so we could make alternative plans for those times and set up our own rhythms. Interestingly, every single one of those families were more than happy to switch off while we enjoyed their generous hospitality, and not once was there a request, from any of the children, for the usual television time. For me, this felt like further affirmation of the negligible role TV plays in the lives and imaginations of our little ones. They simply don't need it or want it when there is something better to do. And there is always something better to do.

Now we are approaching the end of the year, and I am surrounded by festive creativity which involves lots of singing, giving and, of course, building. Always building. Lately more drawing has been going on too, and even a spot of writing from my 6 year old, something which he isn't yet being taught at school (we have chosen Steiner education), but which he is simply doing of his own volition. Looking back over this year, I can see for myself exactly what happens when your children don't watch TV, and I can happily say we won't be watching it next year either.....

So, what have we been doing?

We've built planes...

We've built castles...

We've been painting...

We've hung out in the cubby...

We've wet felted...

We've baked soda bread...

We've created elaborate ritual graves....

We've built trucks...

We've made fairy gardens...

We've ridden our bikes a lot....

We've stitched....

We've gardened, and grown masses of veggies...

Phew!

Worth it....

2011-09-04T23:59:00.000-07:00

For the last week or so, I've been seriously contemplating spending a lot of money (fortunately in the sales) on a coat and a jacket. Both items have been designed and carefully handcrafted from beautiful, ethical tweeds, woven on the Isle of Mull at Ardalanish Farm. Each stage of their production has been thoughtfully and creatively completed without any adverse affects on the land or the people involved. And Eloise Grey, the woman behind these designs, prides herself on her values, which benefit the environment and the disappearing traditions of beautiful tailoring.

Grey's garments are investment pieces, intended to last for lifetimes and destined to become heirlooms. A little research into the astounding features of pure wool tweeds attests to this - it's an amazingly tough and durable fabric, vulnerable only to moths. And the sculptural cut of her coats defies trends while remaining distinctly stylish. A certain quality of elegance has always transcended fashion, and it is this which really defines her work, together with the ethics of her label.

As well as the sheer beauty of her clothing, what has really struck me about Eloise Grey's approach to fashion is her steadfast principles. I've spent the last two days in bed with flu, and I've been reading her eloquent and informative blog which not only details the process of setting up her business, but also looks into the impact of the fashion trade, mass production and global corporations. To a degree, I've been aware of this situation for several years now, but moving to Australia, which is swamped by cheap imports from China, and mothering three small children, have distanced me from my former ethical lifestyle aspirations. Slowly, I am becoming re-accquainted with my previous modes of living, and given that we now live in the countryside, have added a good few more. We grow a lot of our own food now, and what we can't produce ourselves, we try to source locally. Organics are also very important to us. We make a lot of our children's toys, we buy them either pre-loved clothing or sturdy, tough things which last more than one child. And when we can, we buy handmade items from friends with small, ethical businesses. I also knit, and have been known to stitch, their garments. It's not easy, and I still make choices that are far from ideal, but I am at least aware of trying to make good decisions.

So, when it comes to a major purchase for myself, I am trying to be extra careful. Even though these garments will cost me more in the short term, the alternatives are far more expensive in the long - in terms of their impact on humanity and the earth. Many of them will have been manufactured in sweatshops, made from fabrics doused with countless chemicals at all stages of production, and ultimately intended for one or two winters at most. I'm ready for something more than that.

These days I'm working in a profession where appearance counts - on a relatively deep, psychological level. I'm having to think about how I represent myself. I haven't bought a new winter coat or jacket in nearly a decade, and it's time for me to make a considered purchase, taking into account my age, my work, my environment - and also my feelings. I have lately realised that good clothes matter a lot to me, and I am now quite comfortable acknowledging this. For me, clothes are very important, and I like to feel really really good in them. A great piece of clothing is an emotional investment. It can comfort you, cheer you, transform you. It can feel like an old friend, or even an extension of you. I appreciate unusual design and have sourced handcrafted items on ebay and in second-hand shops for decades now. I'm a self-confessed fabrics snob, always seeking natural over synthetic. I refuse to knit with acrylic and will always pay for pure wool over and above blends. I also look for things from reputable shops in the sales, and I have many lovely English vintage items in my wardrobe - also, thankfully, an ethical choice. Sadly though, none of my pre-loved coats have lasted beyond a few years, mainly because the shoulder seams and linings have torn (although I do have one green jacket I am going to have re-lined and fixed up).

So I have more or less decided to spend this considerable amount of money, and buy myself these two classic, beautiful pieces of clothing which I know will connect me into a whole chain of farmers, weavers, the designer, the tailor, and the efforts involved in all of their incredible endeavours. The real downside for me, of course, is the transportation involved in flying them over from England. But when I consider that nearly all of the alternatives will have been shipped from somewhere to somewhere for some stage of their manufacture, I realise that this one, albeit long, journey is also worth it. There is actually no one like Eloise Grey here in Australia, and nothing like these garments. I wish there were - I can see a lot of potential for this kind of thing here in Tasmania, an island full of sheep and alpacas. I hope that one day someone sees fit to develop a really good clothing label here.

For this, and for now, I cannot spend locally, but these are clothes my daughter will inherit and, hopefully, cherish. I know that their value exceeds their cost, and that they will stay the course. In so many ways, they really are worth it.

Pottering

2011-08-02T03:40:00.000-07:00

The days are brightening in the Valley. We've had an exceptionally cold, but exceptionally beautiful winter - a bit like the ones I experienced as a child, deep in the English countryside. Snowfall, morning mists, dawn frosts and icy roads (not that I enjoy the latter too much on the school trip of course) and it's all been one big excuse for snuggling up with hot mugs of cocoa, sticky puddings and warm veggie bakes. But now the days are warming up - a little - and I am harbouring thoughts on the veggie patch...

Traditionally the growing of our family's food has been my husband's domain, but lately I have been feeling inspired to get out and sow and plant and dig and tend. Time is the issue, with young children to care for and meals to set on the table, but I decided to go ahead and order the bright red Hunter wellington boots and join the Diggers' Club anyway. So my new spring challenge is how to incorporate gardening into my day.

The thing is twins. Having twins is a totally unique experience, and quite different to having children of different ages. Twins are amazing, and adorable and heart-stopping, but they also impact not only on your physical sphere, but your mental one. With two four year-olds in the house it's a real achievement to complete a thought process, let alone sit down and drink a cup of tea. Recently my husband spent the day out with them, while our eldest was at school, so I had a day to myself. I walked the puppy by the river, did a little work, wasted some time on the internet and even managed to win a beautiful designer dress on ebay. But most of all I was able to have some peace, and began to remember what it was like to feel calm and free of interruption to my thoughts, dreams and musings. Don't get me wrong - I was very pleased to welcome them all back home at dinner time. My children are the very centre of my life and I feel incredibly blessed to have them, especially as I didn't so much as entertain the notion of motherhood until I was nearly 40. (I was lucky enough to have three in less than two years without so much as a nod to the ticking clock.) But while I've reveled in my life as a mother, the last four years have been almost a total immersion in the lives of others, and the other day it did feel nice to have some breathing space for a change. I also had a glimpse of what the days would be like without any of them at home. The twins will be at kindergarten twice a week next year, and instead of the gaping hole I once saw opening up before me in their absence, I could picture lovely long-ish stretches of time full of not very much. Pottering about the garden, drinking pots of tea, reading, spinning, staring into space, hanging out with friends. It felt good.

I was chatting to one of those friends today about all the lovely blogs that paint beautiful pictures of life with children - harmonious images of household creativity and calm mothers quilting and baking at the centre of them. They are beautiful, and we read them because that's what we are striving for. But while I decry the sceptics and cynics who deride these blogs, I am aware that sometimes they can make the more vulnerable among us feel a little inadequate occasionally. If you read them when you've had a day from hell, they can seem a little smug.... But mostly I find them inspiring and heartwarming, and I love the connection I feel to that way of life, even if it remains more of an aspiration than a daily reality in my own house. My house is hugely creative, but also chaotic and crazy and full of the emotional turbulence of young children. They may spend an hour or two in artistic reverie but then one of them will grow frustrated or a fight will erupt.... And that's ok. I'm sure the beautiful bloggers deal with all of that as well. They just don't blog it!

Perhaps we write our vision, whatever that may be. Perhaps we simply try to make sense of our days. Perhaps we need to vent. Or perhaps we just like to muse, query, reflect, ponder and contemplate. Gardening seems like a good way to do all of the above. This springtime. In my red Hunters.... With a pot of arctic fire on the brew.

Home Sweet Home....

2011-05-16T01:37:00.000-07:00

An Englishwoman's home is her castle....

(This one isn't mine....)

We have just come home. Having been away on a big adventure, on the other side of the world, we are now snuggled up by the fire, while autumn's copper and gold unfolds in the Valley around us. The children are opening up the toy cupboards to greet old friends, and our cat is tripping us up, all purrs and devotion. Hot chocolate and fruit loaf revives me, and a good soak in a lavender bath unwinds me after our long journey, but after falling asleep at 7.30am, I am wide awake six hours later, my mind whirring from the trip we've just made and all the experiences we've had.

We've been to England - back 'home' for me. Having not returned to the UK since emigrating to Australia four and a half years ago, I was wondering how a visit there would impact on me. I was slightly anxious about confronting what I might miss. As it turned out, the England I remember is quite a different place these days.

While I was delighted to return to my favourite childhood haunts with my own children - ruined castles, ancient burial sites, mystical stone circles, eccentric National Trust properties, gentle bluebell woods, quaint little villages full of secrets and treasures, Roman villas, Anglo Saxon churches and magnificent 1000 year-old cathedrals which took a century to build - I was surprised to find myself constantly unable to find my way around the places where I grew up. I kept getting lost - thanks to the modern malaise of shopping. Not my own wish to shop, but the wish to shop, which has now reached epidemic proportions.

England is being overtaken by the virus of consumerism, and towns that were once easy to find from the main roads and motorways are now obscured by the arrival of horrifyingly huge retail parks. In turn these require the building of endless roundabouts and extra roads in order to be reached, and multi-storey car parks in order to be accessed. The elegant Regency town of Cheltenham, where I spent my adolescence, has virtually burst at the seams, with shopping arcardes and superstores having rent it apart. Bristol, where my brother lives, is now attached to an entire landscape of car parks and hotel-sized retail enterprises that threaten to disorientate and nauseate even the hardiest of shoppers, and Gloucester, once home to my grandparents, has also been eclipsed by a sea of concrete and the bleeping tunes of transactions.

Bewildered by the sheer proliferation of such unabated consumerism, I found myself constantly asking - who could possibly be shopping to this extent? How would they find the time? Why would they want to spend that time shopping, especially with their children?

It got worse when we arrived at Dubai. There the shopping arcades are opulent temples to the gods of spending, pressurising all who enter to step up, look the part and leave with nothing in their minds or their wallets. This was a whole new game and it scared me because I could see how it actually affected people's thought processes, diverting their intellects and their energies into consuming. There, shopping is a way of life, and people who aren't careful or conscious are sucked right into the eye of the storm without a thought for the value of the rich and beautiful, but now disappearing, Arabic culture that pre-exists the coming of the malls by thousands of years. Or the environment.

I find it interesting that my over-riding impression of my birthplace was imprinted with shops. It's left me wondering whether it's me or England that's changed. Probably both. I remember being overwhelmed by the aggressive, commercial consumerism that typifies Melbourne when we first arrived there nearly five years ago, and have been so glad to be free of it on the isle. Perhaps England is just catching up with this kind of Americanised shopping culture, and I noticed it more on my return, partly because it sits so inelegantly within the glorious green countryside and ancient architecture, and partly because I have avoided supermarkets, let alone superstores, for nearly a decade now.

Other post-Tasmania impressions of the mother country? I found it crowded and cramped, and full of dangerously fast drivers. I found it buzzing with interesting ideas and brimming with style and individuality. I found the gardens too small, the houses too squashed together, and the parks, pubs and cafes delightful and atmospheric. Would I go back? Maybe, but not for a long long time. In many ways it all comes down to people, and while a lot of my old circle are building their lives in other parts of the world now, I still have friends and family in England, and there is nothing like spending time with people you have known for 10, 20, 30 years. In Australia people know me primarily as a mother. In England people have known me as a rock journalist, a student of Jungian psychology, an author, and much more besides. I will always miss having these people around me, as there is nothing like having that kind of shared history with friends. It cements you together. But while I would like nothing more than to have these people all around me all of the time, they would have to come and live here. For now, at least, in Tasmania we have a life we could never have were we in England. And fortunately for us, we also have an already dear set of friends with whom we are building our community - for now and hopefully many years to come.

Snow-topped mountains, wild tangles of forest and miles of empty beaches. Magical houses with enchanting gardens, and acres of bush to lose ourselves in. Summer houses for outdoor parties , weatherboard cubbies for children seeking a room of their own, and verandahs to sit and knit on with mugs of tea and thick slices of cake. Pristine rivers, pure, clear air, and valleys full of weather that changes by the hour. Places where the ringing of tills is still an alien sound, and people who have no more wish to hear it than I..... Yes, for now, Tasmania is definitely home. Sweet home.

Ker-Ching!

2011-01-25T13:04:00.000-08:00

Why are so many blogs dedicated to shopping? I clicked on a new link today, thinking I would be led to a charming blog about boyhood, with ideas for games and places to go and maybe even a few tips on wild-thing management.... but no. Instead I was transported to an endless sea of posts recommending this, that and the other to buy. Grrrr..... and this was a blog written in Tasmania too, where lots of us have come to escape commercialism, and children have the chance to grow up without setting foot inside a shopping mall.

Why would I want daily shopping suggestions? How could I - or anyone else - possibly afford to purchase my poppets item after item, and what kind of message would I be sending them if I did? I have been thinking about this a lot lately because, while I am more than happy to discover the odd beautiful garment, or gift for one of my children (or me....) I am beginning to feel utterly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of blogs enthusing over so much stuff. To buy.

I understand that some blogs are linked with online businesses and thus provide useful advertising space, although even that can get a bit much occasionally, especially if there is little else to read, or you're trying to save and can't afford that gorgeous dress/child's teaset/beautiful artwork.....

Really, do we honestly need anymore shopping opportunities? Aren't we already absolutely saturated with marketing, advertising, magazines, media overload all pushing us to consume? I would really like to see a more thoughtful approach to blogging, especially amongst those of us who aren't actually trying to push a product. And next time I trip off into cyberspace on the trail of an interesting sounding site I hope I end up in an inspiring, informative space instead of being confronted by someone trying to grapple my purse from me.

...and the living is easy

2011-01-22T03:52:00.000-08:00

We've been lazy this summer. Grabbing at the relatively few hot days we've had and sprawling on the lawn with rugs, cushions and beanbags. The wild things have been charging around on bikes, dining al fresco, taking cover in a tent made from an old playpen and a sheet, and playing house in the newly fixed-up cubby. We've watched swallows nesting and fledglings make successful departures, we've chatted to the cows in the neighbouring paddock, and we've installed a large white rabbit on the front lawn, sharing her with the school and another family. We haven't been away, although we did see in the new year camped out in a friend's garden. And we've had lots of lovely day trips to beaches, hilltops, meadows, friends' houses, and the rainforest five minutes away. But mainly, we've been lazy.... and I can't believe how quickly this summer holiday has gone by. Two weeks and we're back at school. Where did it all go?

If we weren't vegetarian, the goose would be fat....

2010-12-22T20:07:00.000-08:00

Handmade Christmas

2010-12-13T03:56:00.000-08:00

Lately I have been stitching Christmas. The shepherds in the fields.....

.... three crowns for my little kings and queen.....

....Mary, Joseph, and an admittedly lumpy and oversized donkey (well, I had to shrink him in the washing machine...)

...tree decorations. The pink bird was stitched by my five year-old son....

....three kings from the Orient....

... and here's my husband's beautiful contribution - a gorgeous wooden stable.

Mary and Joseph are journeying around the house until Christmas Eve, the kings are waiting in their castle (constructed from wooden blocks by my children), and the shepherd is tending his flock in a little felt field.

Today I have been dyeing pieces cut from an old silk sheet which I'm attempting to stitch into cloaks for the children, to go with their crowns. Husband chopped down a pine tree (he regards this as environmental assistance because apparently these trees are a pest here in Tasmania) and brought it home on the back of the ute. The children almost exploded with excitement before helping us decorate it with all the beautiful handmade things we've been gathering and making. I wrapped a little piece of tinsel round some of the branches but it actually spoilt it, so I've hung said tinsel along the edge of the mantelpiece above the fireplace, together with my eldest's fingerknitted Christmas strings. The paper angels from Lark are singing along the shelf, and the tin Santa we brought from London is standing in the middle of them all.

Making Christmas.... probably the best way I've ever done it.

Anniversary...

2010-12-12T01:07:00.001-08:00

We've been living in Tasmania's beautiful Huon Valley for a whole year now. During that time we've discovered beautiful beaches, amazing old growth forests, magical caves, waterfalls, rainforest, mountains, quaint little country towns (which would definitely be known as villages if they were in England), and the paradisiacal Bruny Island. We've made some gorgeous friends with lovely people, and woven ourselves into the wonderful community centred on our school. Our veggie garden is bursting at the seams, our garden is rambling with flowers, and the rain is keeping everything green and growing. We've even started fixing up the children's cubby house, so they'll have their very own summer hideout.

After a year in Tasmania, we are so happy we made the decision to flee the heat and concrete of the city, and finally I am happier than ever that I crossed the world in the hope of a better life. I am grateful to say I have found it, and the best affirmation of that is watching my children run through the grass at home, chase the waves at the beach, delight in the wildlife all around them, and enjoy the friendships and the community we have found here. Their sparkling eyes, rosy cheeks, tangled hair and grazed knees say it all....!

Vintage Chaos....

2010-11-16T20:29:00.001-08:00

Is it just me, or is anyone else slightly sick of blogs and lifestyle magazines featuring perfectly arranged interiors of vintage collections of this, that, and the other? I mean, I love an old biscuit tin or two, and I'll pounce on anything remotely folk, or handcrafted if it's knocking around in a bargain bin or an op shop, but do I showcase my pickings in beautifully positioned piles around the house? Do I artfully hang old white linens and lace in front of bright white window frames, stack pre-war china on ideally situated pine dressers, or fill up expensively tiled fireplaces with rusty old watering cans teeming with dried flowers? Er, no. I do have an old painted butterchurn in one of my fireplaces, but I also have three children whose chaotic trails of dolls, blocks, cars and books invalidate any attempts at tasteful presentations, even if we do clear up before bedtime. Not only that, but I also look around me and find that I have built up an utterly idiosyncratic collection of stuff over the years, from far flung places such as Mongolia, Iceland, Indonesia, and a variety of other continents and countries that are only characterised by fitting a folk description. There's nothing uniform about my tastes at all.

Now don't get me wrong. I do love vintage collections and often admire the displays I so often see inside, well, every single house, home and fashion magazine available (not to mention the blogroll). But I am beginning to think it's all (dare I say it) becoming frighteningly homogenous. Where's the individuality in all of this? And what about the constant emphasis on Stuff? Sure, we all like to decorate our homes and make them comfy and cosy and personal, but does anyone really need an entire room of vintage nightdresses, or a whole shed full of antique gardening tools? When do we draw the line and say - actually I have enough! And I am sick of shopping!

So - too much consumerism, too much materialism, too much old stuff which is, most of the time (if you choose to get your stuff from admittedly lovely, but frankly overpriced emporiums whose owners no doubt make regular trips to the tip shop and spruce up their findings...) simply superfluous. Not enough representations of real homes belonging to real people, with real messes and real lives. Not enough individuality. I really would like to see a change.... which is why I've posted the above picture of my distinctly imperfect, overly-cluttered, thoroughly chaotic workspace. Bring on the mess!

Gingerbread

2010-11-10T03:31:00.000-08:00

Recently, my children's school, Tasmania's beautiful Tarremah Steiner school, held its annual Spring Fair. With such a big emphasis on community, parents are invited to come on board to help create this magical event, and consequently Gingerbread houses have featured in my life for several weeks now. On the day, we secured this cute little dwelling for the wild things, who were seized with a bout of artistic gusto and set about decorating their confectionary as soon as they got home (5pm, after a good nap in the car...). Such anarchic flair is rarely seen after the age of five, so I saw fit to capture it. Everyone was terribly excited and terribly proud, and we began nibbling away at it today. I can see that this is one tradition that may continue for years to come....

Summertime....

2010-10-08T02:02:00.000-07:00

Spring is settling in across the Huon Valley, despite last week's snowfall. The days are warming up so much we no longer need to light the woodfires, and the garden is heavy with blossom and thick with grass and daisies. Bees are humming among the blooms, and the air is full of the heady scent of jonquils. Daffodils, California poppies, irises, forget-me-nots, camellias, and lately an arum lily or two are scattered all around, weaving a woodland sanctuary among the huge oaks, the silver birches, the eucalypts and the fruit trees, and the children are once again busy digging, planting, cycling, shouting, running and discovering fairy gates within the lower branches of the trees. It's a magical time of year, with everything waking up to a whole realm of new potentials and possibilities.

I'm feeling it too. A slow unfurling and awakening, an inner warming up, a quiet receptivity to opportunities I haven't noticed or perceived before. Consideration and contemplation of new and different ways of doing things. And I'm also feeling a strong, silent pull to return more fully to the writing that has always sustained me, the writing that earned me a living for a good decade back in England before I switched careers, and before I became a mother. I'm wondering about new ways of writing and new ways of weaving writing into my present life, and like the garden, my mind is blossoming with ideas and inspiration.

Strangely though, all this springing has made me feel a little nostalgic for home. In so many ways, I couldn't be happier than I am here in Tasmania, but when the seasons change I sense a wistfulness and a longing for the northern hemisphere. On the brink of summer, I am thinking of the luminous green of England, the meadows and woodlands abundant with wild flowers and the low cooing of wood pigeons, the humming of bees, the scent of freshly mowed lawns, the ever-present possibility of rain and the beautiful scent that follows that rain in a summer garden. And the beaches of Suffolk and Norfolk which inspire distinctly English writers such as Esther Freud and Raffaella Barker. Listening to Kate Bush's Aerial, with it's ethereal, hazy, summer evening soundscape hasn't helped.

Recently two English friends of mine who live locally, bemoaned the lack of village pubs, stirring up another longing - for those quaint old evocatively named 16th and 17th century English drinking establishments, usually positioned on a slice of village green (in somewhere like Lower Slaughter, Little Sheeps Bottom, or Upper Pigs Ear...) where you can sit outside on a creaking wooden table and drink pints of beer with names like Old Peculiar and Old Roger..... And no, of course there aren't any where we live, here in Tasmania, which is a crying shame. So, we've decided to offer up our very own gazebo as a kind of private alternative. I'm already harbouring visions of jugs of Pimms with fresh mint, gin and tonics, local sparkling wines with strawberries, and homebrew for the menfolk, all served with a smile, in my very own back garden. Frocks might have to be obligatory, even if we are in Australia.....

Forgotten Anniversaries and Love's Labours....

2010-08-16T03:33:00.001-07:00

This year I almost forgot my wedding anniversary. Well, no, I did forget it actually. Again. Small children consume me and I fail to remember these things.... but not my husband. He bought me a beautiful red merino wraparound dress in honour of our seven years together, which, traditionally, is marked by wool. So, feeling not a little guilty for completely neglecting the occasion, I decided to knit him a jumper. I chose a delicious Jo Sharp blend of cashmere, silk and merino in a rich chocolate brown, and found a pattern from a lovely book of men's sweaters, and set about stitching. It didn't take long, and now he has something to replace the one and only jumper he's had for almost those entire seven years - a beautiful deep brown cashmere knit I bought in Mongolia ten years ago, which the moths more or less devoured on their way across the world with it from England to Australia back in 2006. He's warm, he's happy, he feels nurtured, and the children can't stop cuddling him, which isn't unusual as it goes, only now they luxuriate in the softness of the jumper as well as the loving arms of their daddy. It's definitely been worth it! A labour of love I guess you could say. And only a couple of months late....

Rainbow Angel

2010-06-12T04:15:00.000-07:00

My second doll.... a Rainbow Angel for my niece, who's unwell, and overseas. Her dress and hair are made from handspun yarns, and the hair yarn was also dyed with flowers. She's a pretty special doll, and living on the other side of the world now.

Birthday Woodland Elf

2010-05-25T17:38:00.000-07:00

I just finished making my first Waldorf doll after attending a dollmaking workshop. This is something I never thought I'd be able to do (I can knit, but 'can't' sew), but thanks to the incredible grace and skill of our dollmaking facilitator, I've created this little chap and I'm extremely proud of him. I'm giving him to my eldest son who will be five this weekend, and while I know you should never give a doll with expectations, I am hoping this elf will be cherished - even if he sits on a shelf.

It's amazing what you can do if you put your mind (and heart and soul) to it...... I am now obsessed with making dolls! I have already made a second one for my niece, and have another one to make after that. And I'm sewing little figures for the nature table, and small dolls for my daughter. I may not be the neatest of stitchers, but I'm loving the process of watching these little characters emerge from under the needle.....

Gone Folk...

2010-03-22T21:26:00.000-07:00

For years I've loved folk art. I've collected all manner of textiles and wall hangings and mini-sculptures and artifacts from my travels and hoarded them in my homes, and now they're virtually all on show in my family home in Tasmania I can really see the impact.

It's funny, but until very recently I've not been able to really identify my 'style'. I know I like certain colours, I know I like cushions and blankets and throws, I know I like strange and peculiar things from places like Mongolia and Kazakhstan, like the above hand stitched 'coaster' I found at a children's school craft sale in the Gobi desert, the Tibetan rug sold to benefit an orphanage, the tent cover made by a Kazakh woman for when she was married, and the handwoven woman, also from Mongolia. And the beautiful 'Birds from Norway' fabric and sprigged calico (which has been stored in someone's grandma's attic for years...) both sourced on the internet for making kitchen blinds and curtains.

Now I can really see just how much I love folk, and what a huge influence it's been on my life, and especially in creating my home, where I want to build a beautiful, cosy nest for my children. Seems it's crept up on me over the years.... but at least I can explain my tastes a little more simply now!

Morning Light and Streaky Rain... and Log Fires and Creamy Hot Chocolate....

2010-03-20T17:50:00.000-07:00

Autumn is definitely coming to the Huon Valley. Every morning we wake up to more golden leaves on the poplar trees in the neighbouring field, and the flame robins are here in the garden now, flying up to our huge kitchen window to greet us while they search for worms and seeds. I love watching the colours change around us, and feeling the fresh new nip in the air while the sun's deep golden warmth intensifies throughout the day.....

This time of year always reminds me of new inspirations, and new beginnings. In England autumn marks the start of the new academic year, so for most of my life it has meant the first stage of a new journey for me - creative writing, spinning and dyeing, my English Literature degree, my Masters degree in Jungian psychology, and numerous other trainings and courses... I'd always take a trip to the big London bookshops and stock up on whatever subject I was undertaking, and I have beautiful memories of those clear, wide streets in Bloomsbury lined with plane trees and Regency buildings, red double decker buses and black taxi cabs, the failing afternoon light, and everyone wrapped up against the biting wind with layers to shed beneath the warm sun.

Here, in Tasmania, there are fewer colours to the season, but still a sense of real change, which I never felt in Melbourne. We've been stocking up the woodpile in the shed and getting the chimneys cleaned and now the log fires are roaring happily in the early morning chill. We've been hanging beautiful curtains in deep reds and gorgeous folk prints (I've been sourcing vintage fabrics online, and even bought some patchworking fabric for the kitchen blinds) and I've finally had my exquisite Kazakh wallhanging bordered with red velvet and made into a curtain. And I've treated myself to a new work of art by Madeleine Goodwolf (as pictured above), one of my favourite local printmakers. I met her recently and she has such an intuitive approach to her work. I love her dreamy depictions of women with nature....

Speaking of nature... the apples and pears are ripening in the orchard, and we are also planning a big permaculture veggie plot for the garden. We'll get on with this once our current crop is all done. We've got a big new compost going in an old apple crate, and we're getting pretty excited about becoming more self sufficient. I found this fantastic gadget in a kitchen shop - a little machine that peels, slices and cores apples so now the children all love preparing their apples for crumbles and stewed apple with cinnamon for afternoon tea... and we're stocking up with more winter activities for them by rethinking the art shelf. A new set of beeswax crayons, beautiful plain paper colouring books, and beeswax for modelling.... the next step will be some decent painting materials. I think they learn how to value good quality things, as well as their own creative process if they have beautiful paints and paper to work with.... this is what they do at their school and it really honours their artistic and emotional development. Thank you Mama Moontime for help with finger knitting too - I just taught my eldest son and he loves it. I have added her Waldorf-inspired blog to my list, and it's full of great craft ideas for littlies.

So, happy autumn to all of you here in the Southern Hemisphere - and in the north I hope spring is springing! Friends of mine have just moved to Canada where the nights are still well below zero but even they say it's now warm enough to lunch al fresco. Easter soon - and I am just getting to grips with this festival happening in the autumn, so we'll be making Easter hares and hot cross buns and decorating eggs soon..... One of our very special and much loved playgroup leaders in Melbourne felt it was really appropriate to have Easter in the autumn, with the cyclical death of the year, and now I can really appreciate how lovely it is to have it at a time of year that I associate with new creative beginnings, new journeys and experiences..... whatever they may be.

Gourmet Farming...

2010-02-08T15:40:00.000-08:00

It's true, I've been neglectful of this blog lately. Summer has been keeping me busy with its long, humming days and blue, wispy skies. We've been swimming in a beautiful pool on top of a hill overlooking Bruny Island, collecting abalone shells on deserted beaches, riding on old quarry trains in the south to even more deserted beaches of white sands and crystal blue seas, drinking champagne with friends beneath the milky way, and letting the children roam around the garden till way past their usual bedtime.... Evenings are filled with their laughter, the neighbouring, permanently confused roosters, and the odd, late, kookaburra.

Once a week, we give the children a very special treat. We let them watch TV till 8pm. For a non-watching TV family, this is something of an aberration, but the show we watch is fantastic. Educational, humourous and full of local delights, the Gourmet Farmer is all about former Sydney-based food critic Matthew Evans who has moved to Cygnet (about 15 mins from where we live) where he has set up,what he hopes will eventually be, a self-sufficient smallholding. We love Matthew. He keeps chooks, he makes prosciutto from his pigs, he has a Jersey cow, he makes jam and yummy cakes, he brews cider, he goes tuna fishing and diving for abalone, he makes mistakes and he has a lot of fun following his vision. My children want him to come to our house.

Apparently there has been some local debate regarding Matthew - about how he will now become responsible for a huge influx of mainlanders all looking for cheap property, less stress, peace, quiet and the beauties of nature - the good life at a price they could never afford in Victoria or New South Wales. I'm afraid I don't agree with this view at all. From what I can see mainlanders (although some here might classify me as such, I'm afraid I will never identify, having only spent three years in Melbourne where I felt a total outsider, and mainly because I am actually English...) have been seeking the good life in Tasmania for some time. But too many of them are put off by what they believe to be the cold weather, and what they perceive to be a distinct lack of culture- both utter misnomers as far as I can see. The job market can be a bit tricky too, unless you're lucky enough to be self employed, unusually self confident, or remotely employable - or perhaps just foolhardy enough to follow your dream.

If Matthew's show inspires a few more people to discover the challenges and joys of rural life in Tasmania, well, it's hardly going to transform the island overnight. In my view, climate change, unsustainable city populations and the consequently uncomfortable life resulting from both will no doubt figure more in people's decisions about where to settle than a weekly half hour documentary on SBS. But even the increasingly negative prognosis for life on the mainland woudn't persuade most people to dislocate themselves from their social and professional networks even if they could. Having said that, I can see why the locals want to keep Tasmania unspoilt. There's already a large building development underway in our village (thankfully nowhere near our house), although fortunately most rural land seems to be protected from subdivision by strict laws and heavy financial barriers. Tasmania still has the air of an undiscovered secret, a secluded little paradise accessible only to those who are prepared to let go of city airs, graces and conveniences on a permanent basis. I am sure it will change here over the next 20 years - what place doesn't alter with the passing of time? But it will take a lot (more than a TV series) to break the spell, and the secrets, of this truly enchanted isle...

Beach Bakery

2010-01-11T19:02:00.000-08:00

When we moved into our house, there was a pretty little pond in the back garden. Surrounded by plants and flowers, and a wooden bird table, it even had fishes swimming in it. The previous owners kept ducks (18 to be precise...) so the pond area was a slippery mire of duck poo when I flew over from Melbourne to take a look at the property, but my father-in-law took care of that when he re-homed the Muscovys on his block down at Petcheys Bay. So we inherited a rather ornamental water feature in the end. But of course, with two year old twins, all I could see when I gazed into the green water was accidents....

When I was three or four I remember falling into a fishpond in someone's garden, and even though it was netted I was traumatised enough to be put off swimming for about 37 years. I'm a born again mermaid now, but I'd hate any of my children to have to struggle against a foundation of fear when it comes to water. So, the pond has become what is quite possibly the best sandpit in the world. The panoramic views are astonishing, the setting divine, and most importantly, there's enough space for them all to be occupied without grazing elbows. In fact, they have called it their Beach Bakery because while they're making their sand pies and cakes and ice creams, they like to think they are, in fact, actually on the beach.

I would like to thank whoever made this pond, because they did a great job - we'll probably reinstate it one day, when everyone's past the phase of tumbling, or pushing each other in. Who knows, maybe we'll even get a duck or two. But for now, it's all go at the bakery - anyone for a chocolate/coffee/apricot/broccoli/actually mostly sand muffin?

Garden Flowers for the New Year....

2010-01-04T20:00:00.000-08:00

How lovely to be able to pick such beautiful flowers from our huge, rambling garden... and how lovely to place them in the vintage milk bottle on a kitchen window sill with a view across the valley..... It's going to be a year full of nature. We ended the old one watching naked children dancing across the grass with the hose, chasing each other into the cold water after a 34 degree day.... then a storm blew down the riverline and lit up the sky for hours with the most incredible lightning. I love being able to watch the weather approaching.... So, the old year was washed out and the new one blown in on the back of a blue moon. Auspicious? I think so.

Merry Christmas from Tasmania....

2009-12-24T01:36:00.001-08:00

I am so pleased to be able to say that.....

Spinning....

2009-12-24T01:31:00.000-08:00

Earlier this week I bought a second hand spinning wheel from an elderly lady who lives on the coastline. Before buying it, I went to take a look because it's a good 22 years since I spun any wool and I needed to make sure I'd be able to work it out. As I drove home from her place, I felt a wave of sadness washing over me. She'd told me she was selling off some stuff because she was moving to a unit, so I guessed she had probably been recently widowed, and I really sat with this on my journey home - how life ebbs and flows and changes constantly, and how the threads of others' lives continue through our own.

When I went to pick up the wheel a couple of days later, she told me that her husband had died several months ago and she could no longer manage the upkeep of her huge house on the hill or the 5 acres that unrolled around it. The sadness in her was tangible. She's a passionate gardener and clearly loved the laughter of the kookaburras in the trees that towered over her verandah, but she's off to a future that will fit her better now, and she is taking another smaller wheel with her, so she can teach her granddaughter to spin. And so the yarn continues to wind down through the generations of her family after all.

So now I have a spinning wheel. I always said I'd get one when we came to Tasmania. I need someone to show me how to use it, but I know I'm going to get right back into all that carding and dyeing and spinning and plying.... I loved it when I did it all those years ago in London. It was magical. I remember when I was about 18, during my last year in the Cotswolds, I met a guy whose mother dyed and spun the wool of her own sheep, and knitted it up into amazing jumpers, mainly for the Japanese market. She lived in this amazing old house called Postlip Hall, and she had a big studio full of wheels, yarns, colours, and textured garments spread out across the floor. They were mesmerising, real works of art. I spent a night there and for some reason I couldn't sleep, so at dawn I found an old wooden window seat and sat there, gazing out over the misty fields, at the sheep in the meadow. It was enchanting.

I may not have my own sheep (although we have friends with alpacas and Grandpa keeps sheep so I'll not be short of a fleece or two...) but now I do have my own meadow garden and the neighbouring farmer's paddock to gaze out at every day. With the mist rolling along the riverline, all the way down the valley, and the Hereford cows ambling in between the trees, it's a little bit like living in a Turner landscape. And I can't wait to get that wheel turning, that rhythm going and that yarn spinning through the new year.... I have a feeling it'll be a good one.

Home At Last

2009-12-13T02:41:00.000-08:00

We moved into our Tasmanian house a week and a half ago. We cannot believe how beautiful everything is around here..... the Huon valley is quite possibly the loveliest place I have ever been to, and I've travelled quite a bit. I guess I didn't take it all in when I came to view the property back in June or July or whenever it was, but driving down here from the ferry was simply breathtaking, especially once we reached the southern side of Hobart.

Our house is gorgeous too - so big and spacious, and full of character as old weatherboards are. We are so happy with it. The children love to just run around it when they're not busy exploring the fairytale wildflower garden outside.

We still have a few boxes to unpack, and lots of business to attend to now we've moved interstate. Without curtains in the house yet, the children are reluctant to go to bed much before 9pm which means our evenings have been cut very short... and I am busy trying to knit a Christmas monkey, dinosaur and mermaid.... but we'll get there. It takes time to settle in after a big move and we have plenty of that.

After 25 years of city life, I am feeling set quite free in so many ways, and of course missing a few things too. There's nowhere nearby to go for a swim, and my precious Bikram's yoga is a good drive away in Hobart. But the pros are going to far outweigh the cons, especially once we deepen and extend our connections here. And every drive I take is a stunning one! I have adapted surprisingly easily to country roads, although I did get caught out on a steep, windy dirt track while exploring the other day!

I know we will have such a good time here, and it's the best possible place to raise children. Watching them frolic on the beach last week, my heart skipped a beat. They were so happy, so full of the sheer joy of being alive and free to roam. So hello Tasmania, we are very very happy to finally be here. Our move to Australia finally makes sense.

The Impact of Blogging

2009-11-28T15:01:00.000-08:00

We have two more nights left in the city..... I am so tired I am barely functioning. But last night I did have enough energy to order this beautiful intaglio print from the woman behind one of my favourite blogs, Prudence pouts, who makes gorgeous artworks and children's clothing for her Etsy shop. This is the second piece of art I've bought from her for our new house. I love its evocative quality, its fairytale air of mystery. It reminds me of all of my favourite childhood stories, and many of my favourite adult ones too - those ones set in big old houses with strange characters.....like Fuschia from Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast, or one of the twins from Audrey Niffenegger's Her Fearful Symmetry, which I've just finished reading.

Actually, the Prudence pouts blog was instrumental in my decision to move to Tasmania. I stumbled across it by accident, while looking for a Waldorf doll pattern. The author, a mixed media artist, makes and sells exquisite dolls (I will buy one one day...) but more importantly, for me at the time I discovered her, lives in rural Montana with her hubby and four children. The pictures on her blog crystallised something for me during my time of deep wondering about where to place roots for my family. They were such beautiful wild images of kids and nature, camping holidays, wooden cabins, riverside picnics, sticky cream cakes, gardens blooming with vibrant colour, and a chord was struck in my heart. This was it. The life I wanted for my family. I'd always known it in a way. After all this is why we left England, where country living wasn't an option for us at the time, mainly due to its prohibitive costs and also because so much in England is centralised in London.

Melbourne was fun for a while, but in terms of city life, London is a hard act to follow. I quickly realised that had I wanted to remain in a city, London would have had to have been it. But of course none of us wanted city life anymore. Having said that, all cities are notoriously hard to leave. They suck you in with a myriad of temptations, and while London has the most, Melbourne has many. So for a while we half-heartedly toyed with the idea of mortgaging ourselves to Northcote or Brunswick. But once I discovered Prudence and saw those images of what I knew I'd always wanted for my own children, my mind was made up. We'd stop being one of those couples who endlessly prevaricated over making the sea/tree change while slowly being drawn into the urban networks around us of school and work, and we'd find that big old weatherboard between the beach and the forest, and we'd give our children fresh air and plenty of nature to feast on. And we have, and now we're off. And when we get there I can gaze at this intriguing, slightly unsettling girl with her unruly hair and her challenging expression and I can think of Prudence and the part she has played in our move. Blogging..... it's certainly had an impact on me.

Thank you Nikki Gemmell....

2009-11-16T15:32:00.000-08:00

I've just finished reading Nikki Gemmell's gloriously moving book, Why You Are Australian: A Letter to my Children. It holds particular resonance for me as I too am an expat mum, caught between two worlds, wondering which is best for my beloved three children.

Nikki is an Aussie, who, after 12 years in England, decides to follow her heart back home to her land of light and sun, where she spends three delicious summer months watching her kids unfurl and flourish in the heat and the great outdoors. She paints a fond, yet bleak picture of the London she has left behind, confessing that it has never held her heart in the way her homeland has always done.

I am the opposite. My heart is in England, despite its grey skies, its overburdened, diminishing countryside, and its emotional insularity. I miss the rich historical heritage, the incredible variety of culture, the intellectual climate and elegance and eccentricity of the people. My homesickness crashes over me at times, disorientating me and hurling me off balance. Yet, I am not convinced England would offer my children a better life, certainly not while they're young. And Nikki's book, written directly from the pure, deep love of a mother, has given me a fresh perspective on this land, and the potential it holds for my family. She has renewed my focus, refreshed my gaze, reminded me why I left the relentless concrete, the nerve-shattering violence and the sheer, unsustainable expense of London for this wide open country where nature abounds and where big weatherboard houses with generous gardens are more than affordable, if you know where to look. Where I don't feel threatened in parks, streets, or my own home. Where the cost of a decent living doesn't cripple me. And where wild places expand out across the horizon.

So today I am feeling inspired all over again about my life in Australia. And it's on a grander scale than the inspiration that's been rippling up with our imminent move to Tasmania. This is an ambitious inspiration, a big, bold, wide inspiration that is feeding on everything from Arnhem Land to Sydney to Nikki's beloved Lake McQuarrie and beyond.

Yes, I may well decide to head home one day, and do what Nikki did. I can absolutely see us renting a cottage in Dorset and seeing how we all fit into the disappearing English idyll. That heart-pull Nikki describes so poignantly is one I need to negotiate in my own time. But as someone reminded me recently (thank you Josephine...) you find reflections of yourself wherever you go.

My children's heritage is English, American and Australian, they are children of the world, and one day they will find their own way in it. But for now their foundation is in my hands, and if I can give them a free and protected space while they are small that foundation will be strong. Hopefully, home is where children flourish, and for now, from what I can see every day, beneath this bright light and these strong stars, for my children, that is here, in Australia. Thank you Nikki Gemmell, for offering me such a fresh look.

The constitution of cool

2009-11-14T20:44:00.000-08:00

I keep meeting Melburnians who regard Tasmania as a cultural desert. "It's not cool there" said the woman at Fitzroy's Lost and Found market, as I handed her the cash for my new vintage phones this afternoon. "It's full of inbreds down there," said my periodontist, last time she dug around my teeth. "They're all mad...", while her receptionist added, in a scrambled attempt to dilute her colleague's comment, "It's very beautiful there, but no doubt you'll be back here soon for your fix of the mainland."

Will I? I wondered. Because when it comes down to it, apart from the live arts, what will I really miss? Shops? Yes, but frankly I'm a little sick of the constant consumer option. Cafes? Well, there are gorgeous cafes all over Hobart... and there's one at the Antarctic Division which I can't wait to visit. Anything else? Er, no, not really. I actually don't get to see the live arts at all either thanks to my hectic schedule of motherhood and my tentative forays back into the world of work (although I did see the amazing Bangarra 20 year celebration yesterday...) But in Tasmania I'll be thoroughly entertained by the natural arts - the forests, the beaches, the huge, unspoilt national state parks. I can't imagine I'll be pining for the busy streets of Melbourne. Especially while the Victorian summer sun scorches away any semblance of comfort or sanity...

I've been thinking about this scapegoating of Tasmania, because from what I've experienced of the island state it's far more cool, just as cultured, and far less conservative than Melbourne. Here, even the so-called alternative culture is vaguely homogenised, and any cool has a very self conscious edge to it. In Tasmania, people seem to simply get on with being themselves which reminds me of England - a place where individuals have plenty of room to become fully fledged eccentrics if they so choose. Don't get me wrong, I think there's a lot of creativity blooming away all over Victoria's state capital, but like a lot of American cities there's a sense of conformity here which is very hard to resist or escape altogether. Maybe it's my British perspective, but that's really how I see it.

So far, most Tasmanians I've met are artists or musicians or both. There are people down there from all over Australia and Europe who've moved across the country or the world in search of nature and adventure. And they're not all retired, despite the other common misconception that everyone down there's drawing on their pension.

I guess lots of nations have their scapegoats. God knows Ireland copped it from England for years until Dublin and Dingle became too cool to cackle over. These days it's full of hip young eco-minded types looking to leave the grind. Which is exactly how I see Tasmania. As far as I'm concerned the apple isle's persistently negative reputation is unfair and outmoded, and from what I can tell, we're heading for a beautiful slice of the world, complete with artisan culture and festivals galore. If that's uncool then turn up the heat!

Packing

2009-11-11T21:23:00.001-08:00

Here we go again.... packing up all our worldly goods and entrusting them to some blokes with a truck. Actually last time we did this, the blokes were my husband and one of our closest Melbourne friends, and we just made a hop, skip and a jump from one inner northern suburb to the next. But this move to Tasmania involves ships and containers, just like our move to Australia from London back in November 2006. We had no furniture worth keeping back in those days so we only brought our bed with us, and some favourite chairs, but we did bring our hefty library which caused the packers to openly curse us. This time of course we have two more children, and a whole house worth of goods - oriental antiques, baskets of toys, and yes, a few more books.

Packing with three children at large is no easy feat. Endless monitoring of toilet-training twin toddlers together with ongoing requests for juice, icy poles and diluted milk to cool them down in this, frankly, unacceptable heat have to be honoured but that does mean endless interruptions and constant concerns along the lines of 'where did I leave those scissors/that tape cutter/the roll of bubblewrap'. Which is why we started early. I think I've got past the point of feeling utterly overwhelmed and am now at the stage of - well, we'll get there. We have to. The truck is booked, the ferry is booked, the new tenants for our current rental are booked. My only real concern now (apart from hoping I got all of my daughter's poo out of the sandpit) is that the bathroom tiles for the new house are shipped down from Sydney in time for the builders to instal the luxurious new volcanic limestone, claw foot bath prior to our arrival..... After three years of water restrictions I, ever the Brit, am truly gasping for a good, long soak.....

Hot...

2009-11-10T02:45:00.000-08:00

The city has felt like a furnace today - 34 degrees and we're all burning up, irritable and desperate for a cool change. This is the first year my children have complained about the heat, which makes me even more glad to be escaping into the comparatively civilised climate of Tasmania where it's been 19 degrees today. God, how English am I! So many people here love the heat - and I simply cannot understand it! My very dear fellow expat phoned me to find out how we were coping and I said we were stripping off, eating ice and rolling around in the empty cast iron bath. At least my twins are taking the opportunity to step up their toilet training.

This evening a lovely breeze blew through and dinner was eaten on the porch. Thirsts quenched with gallons of juice and icy poles in the freezer for tomorrow's onslaught....

Day Trip to Daylesford

2009-10-25T02:23:00.000-07:00

With just five weeks to go before we head across the Bass Strait, I was determined to have a family day out to Daylesford, a beautiful little town just over an hour's drive away from Melbourne. If I'm honest, my main reason for going was to visit The Lark (see my blog list) so we made a beeline for this exquisite little emporium after I'd foraged through the Sunday market for some lovely old dessert bowls and some Willow tins. We were given such a warm welcome in the shop, and everyone left with gorgeous gifts - a real treat for the three smalls. And for me. I have never before been given a goodie bag on my way out of a shop, but today I was handed a lovely assortment of an angel, notebook, Betsey Clarke coaster, cowboy book nameplate, and an I Love Daylesford badge. A shame we didn't get to meet Allison, but a big thank you nevertheless to The Lark for a delicious shopping experience - we shall miss you in Tasmania!

Needless to say, I have been fired up with inspiration by a visit to the shop, which specialises in handcrafted, nostalgic gifts and beautiful children's toys. I bought the new edition of ecofashion mag Peppermint, and felt especially motivated by a long feature on contemporary craft, and the whole craft blog community. It's fantastic to get connected this way, and so cool to hear about what other people are creating.

We finished up our trip with a play down by the lake. The wind was icy so we chased the sun, and had a game of Pooh Sticks, before snacking on bananas, racing around a very large tree, and then heading back to the smoke. The drive home was whiled away with Peppermint, the new issue of Dumbo Feather, and a bar of Green and Black's.

So, back to a quick-fix pasta dinner and a late, late night, but everyone was very pleased with their new brightly coloured, melamine tumblers, and the lovely Royal Winton china. The boys have taken their Czech Republic vehicles to bed, and little miss has her new basket on her bedside table..... sweet dreams monkey-angels....

Things I Will and Things I Won't Miss About the City

2009-10-22T20:03:00.000-07:00

Things I Will Miss
1. My friends
2. Ceres market
3. International airports
4. Trips out to Blackwood, the Garden of St Erth and Daylesford
5. Gorman
6. Northcote High Street
7. Brunswick & Gertrude Streets
8. Zedi hair
9. Montsalvat
10. Corner cafes on residential streets like my mate Patrick's Foxy Brown in Westgarth (pictured above right in all its warm, glowing orange retro glory - mostly organic too), and A Minor Place in Brunswick

Things I Won't Miss
1. Heavy traffic
2. Not being able to park outside my house (with my twins and their big brother still all under five this is not fun)
3. Belligerent and dangerous drivers
4. The car theft that blights our street
5. Relentlessly straight roads
6. Rush hour (nothing by London standards but in Tasmania it truly does not exist)
7. The viral sprawl of the suburbs
8. Thousands upon thousands of very badly dressed people
9. The trend towards 'European style' living ie. in a shoebox with no garden
10. Being surrounded by other peoples backyards and houses

Contemplating Beekeeping

2009-10-21T20:54:00.000-07:00

I woke up at 3.30am this morning, thanks to a revving car engine outside my bedroom window - something we won't suffer from when we have a 50 metre long driveway flanked by fruit trees and lawn. Because I was hoping to get up at 5.15am and hotfoot it to my ridiculously early Bikram's yoga class in Fitzroy, I couldn't get back to sleep..... always a toss-up between the incredible energy afforded by a class and a couple more hours in bed. But I know what makes me feel better, so off I went. Afterwards I had to go to straight to the periodontist (poor, poor old teeth, but at least they look after them in Australia - in England they just whip 'em out!) so called home to check on the tinies only to discover they were munching on handmade cheese, homemade bread and a huge goose egg all posted from their Grandpa in Tasmania.... Posting an egg is something that possibly only my father-in-law would attempt. It was enormous - that's it pictured sitting up proudly in one of our egg-spring-cups. I am amazed it arrived intact.

While waiting for the dentist I picked up a copy of Country Style magazine, drawn by a cover line about the renovation of an old coach house in Hobart, only to discover it's the new home of a couple of printmakers I met last time we were in Tassie. As if I needed more inspiration! It was so reassuring to feel we might eventually belong to such a rich, artistic community, and also re-ignited my intentions to embark on a printmaking course when we get there. I also would love to buy one of their pieces. They are Nick and Madeleine Goodwolf, and their work is represented by Handmark Gallery in Salamanca. Handmark also represent Mandy Renard whose work I already own. Such beautiful images of women and nature. Take a look at my links to see their inspirational work.

Finally, all of this rich mix of nature and art and the good good good life made me contemplate the possibility of beekeeping. Me and my hubby have pondered over this, and I am thinking my children's breakfast would have been just perfect with a dollop of home made honey.....

Our New House

2009-10-17T03:24:00.000-07:00

Here's a view of our new house , waiting for us in the back of beyond.... Snuggled in between mountains, tucked into a valley above a river and nestled on an acre of country garden wrapped around by a paddock, it's an old 1910 weatherboard beauty, full of stories and character. I've only seen it once, when I flew out alone to make a decision on behalf of the family about whether or not to buy. Right now the builders are in there, plumbing in the claw foot bath, painting the kitchen deep red and chocolate brown, and bashing down a wall to let the light into the main living room. Still holed up in our city home (another lovely old weatherboard), I am increasingly impatient to install myself and my family, with all our treasures, beneath the clouds and the blue skies, among the flowers and the fruit trees. I am already imagining a life without traffic, beachcombing on the way home from kindergarten, and sitting on the porch with an accordion....

So, six weeks to go before we up city sticks and leave the urban sprawl of Melbourne for this back of beyond - the Huon Valley in Tasmania. Three years since we left London to bring up our children on this side of the world. And it's been a strange time in many ways. I love the breathtaking beauty of this land, the safe and sound atmosphere and the relaxed Australian friendliness of the people, but I totally underestimated the culture shock. I still haven't got used to the prevalence of tracksuits on the streets, the hoons wobbling all over the roads, and the baffling popularity of New Age spirituality. I've lost count of how many times I've asked myself - what on earth am I doing here? But now we are finally escaping the city life we never really came here for in the first place, I am beginning to remember. Melbourne has been a great starting point and we've made some lovely friends who I will miss. I'll also miss the gorgeous inner-city pockets of Northcote, Fitzroy and Carlton, with their tiny tethered park blocks, their beautiful parlour corner cafes, their quaint little cottages and converted milk bars, and the thriving music, arts and crafts scene. But these small precincts of cultural cool are too heavily eclipsed by the ever-expanding rest of the city - the endless, homogenous suburbs, the sleepy uniformity of thousands of long straight roads and infinitely bland high streets and shopping centres which just go on forever in a sea of concrete and fast food outlets. Let me out! I am counting down the days......