Gourmet Farming...

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

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....

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....

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

Spinning....

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

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

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.