Family
The perfect Christmas present
January 4, 2012
The perfect Christmas present all the way from London
Sometime people get Christmas presents just right.
My brother and his wife has just returned from about six months overseas and they did their Christmas shopping at Harrods of all places!
Anyone who knows me well knows I panic easily – at the drop of a hat really and I turn molehills into mountains most days.
That’s why this pannakin is perfect for me! And the fact it’s made of enamel and won’t break when I’ve got it in the ute with me.
There is a bit of a story behind the tag line on here too. In 1939 Britain was on the brink of war and the British government commissioned a series of propaganda posters. The crown of King George VI was used as a visual along with this simple slogan, although this particular slogan was never officially released. A crumbled poster was found by chance in amongst a pile of old, dusty books in a bookstore (see? Relates to me again!) in Northumberland.
As the tag attached to cup (where I got this history lesson) says, ‘its simple saying is as relevant today as it was in the 1930s!’
Did you get your perfect Christmas present this year? And what was, or would, it be?
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The start of 2012
January 3, 2012
Rochelle's yummy New Year's Eve dinner
I wrote about traditions a couple of blog posts ago and mentioned Rochelle would be cooking our New Years Eve meal. Which she did with great aplomb!
Yummy chicken drumsticks in a mustard and honey marinade and salad.
It’s pretty hard to be a great cook though, when there isn’t any power!
New Years Eve started out beautifully; calm, warm and the lamb roast cooking in the webber smelt delish. As we sat down to Rochelle’s entree, we heard the distance sound of thunder… then BANG! The lights went out.
No power, which isn’t all that unusual when you live at the end of the power line. But it’s slight awkward when you still have to serve up dinner and dessert!
As it was, we piled everything we had ready onto the plate and just ate that – there wasn’t any green involved, much to Hayden’s delight!
With the lights out and chatting done, we figured we’d best be off to bed. We had no idea if 2012 was going to start with fires started by the thunderstorms, so we’d better grab some sleep while we could.
Thunderstorm coming in over Esperance Bay on New Year's Eve day
It’s fair to say that 2012 started with a bang!
How was your New Years Eve?
Welcome to 2012!
January 1, 2012
The sun sets on 2011
Well the sun set on a fairly crappy year last night and to be perfectly honest, I’m pleased to see the back of 2011. (I have to say, many people I’ve spoken to have found 2011 to be a bad year, so I don’t think it’s just our community that wanted to hold a F*** Off 2011 party!)
During 2011 I learned two things. I think I knew them already, but they were definitely reinforced.
One: Health is King.
Two: Family and the people you love, is Queen.
If you have these two, not much else matters.
I’m not going to dwell on 2011. It’s finished and it can bugger off. Let’s look forward.
2012 is going to be a great year! Firstly Purple Roads will be released. I’m looking forward to this. Writing Purple Roads took place during a fairly turbulent time for me and my family, so to see it wrapped in its cover and finally on the shelf will be a big relief.
2012 is The Year of the Farmer! I’m stoked about this. One of my aims to is too somehow bring understanding from both city and country people alike. Since I’ve been involved in the writing industry, I’ve spoke with so many people who come from a country, if not farming background but live and work in the city. I’m astounded such a gap, misinformation and understanding of BOTH worlds can exist. To help bridge this gap, I’ll be running a series of Guest blogs with farmers and other people in the agricultural industry.
2012 is National Year of Reading. Obviously bringing the joy to reading to both kids and adults is something very dear to me. I can’t tell you how excited I am to be involved as a ‘Friend’ of this initiative. I’m also one of the Patrons for this, at my old school – Orroroo Area School. Thanks to Jenny Rosenblatt (who is also one of my old teachers!) for thinking of me.
2012 is The Year of Silver Gums! The publication date of Silver Gums been brought forward by twelve months. This means it will be available on the shelves in March of 2013. It also means my deadline is August 2012. Ummm, yep, head down!
Personally 2012 sees my daughter head into year seven and son into year six. My sister is due to have a baby any tick of the clock and the farm, well this year we’re hoping for rain at the right time, high prices and full dams.
To you all who take the time to read these little blogs of mine, thank you. I hope you find them interesting. From my family to yours, we hope 2012 is a wonderful year, full of health, happiness and love.
Traditions
December 31, 2011
One of the things I love about being married is two familles worth of traditions combine.
I like traditions, especially around Christmas and birthdays. As a kid I loved knowing that we would go to the small Christmas pageant which was held in Orroroo every Christmas eve. I enjoyed the carols which were held either at the hospital or the ‘Old Folks’ Home, so everyone got a piece of the Christmas joy. I knew that we would go to Church before we opened the present and there would be chicken and pork for lunch.
Hayden cooking
Some of these traditions I’ve taken over to my family, but The Boss’s family has some of their own – peppermint chocolate slice is one of them… And a very good one!
I’ve brought in two new traditions which we’ve started this year.
Boxing day, one of the kids has to cook tea and New Years Eve, the other one has to.
Hayden did a great job of making this lasagne – you can see the concentration on his face! Lasagne, salad and garlic bread… Yum, just about my favourite meal!
Hayden's lasagne - yummy, even if he couldn't smile!
Tonight Rochelle is cooking a three course meal – with the help of The Boss. Marninated Chicken drumsticks is entree, roast lamb and veggies, cooked in the Webber, for mains and self saucing chocolate pudding. With all of that in my tummy, I’m pretty sure I won’t see the New Year in!
Wishing you all a wonderful night tonight, oh and do you have traditions in your house? I’d love to hear about them.
Sometimes, windows are my eyes
November 3, 2011
Views from my windows
Last week, after many power outages and surges, the microwave blew up closely followed by the TV. I’m not casting any aspersions that the power caused the demise of my two electrical appliances, but it does seem coincidental.
We rarely watch TV and I thought I hardly used the microwave… However not two days after the microwave died, there was a new one on my bench. It seems I often forget to get the meat out of the freezer, and as tea gets closer the microwave gets overworked defrosting it. “You could be more organised,” I hear you say? Yep. I could be.
The TV hasn’t yet been replaced. I’m not sure what that says about us, but there you go!
Last night, however, I had a chocolate-like craving to flop in front of the TV and watch something that didn’t require my concentration. What makes something you can’t have become so appealing?
Anyway, it got me thinking. I’ve since likened TV to windows. We look through rectangular screens to see what is happening on the other side.
I have a gorgeous pink bottle-brush tree outside my office window and I often see Honey Eaters (or Mickey Minors) dancing among the branches; their beaks deep in the wattle blossoms.
The Honey Eaters are also brilliant guard dogs. The amount of noise they make if a snake is around (even if I haven’t seen it) will send me rushing for the shovel.
Our dogs don’t like being apart from us and while I was doing the dishes a few weeks ago, Weasel’s head suddenly appeared at the kitchen window to say “Hi!” That made me laugh.
Windows are particularly versatile. Unlike TV, you can see through from both sides. Rocket’s favourite spot, when we are outside and he is inside, is peering out the office window wishing he was with us.
Of course, windows can be used as mirrors and I have caught the kids doing the wrong (and occasionally the right) thing, by sitting in the lounge and watching their reflections in the window. It gives a whole new meaning to the ‘eyes in the back of your head’ saying.
So my windows provide me with more than enough entertainment and I doubt that our TV will get replaced much before the cricket season. Of course we will need a new on then to watch the Aussies roll the New Zealanders.
I wonder what views you guys have outside your window? I’d love to see some of them uploaded to my Facebook page.
Dads and Daughters
October 2, 2011
Every daughter has a special relationship with her father. Mine is no different. I love my Dad to the moon and back and I’m so proud of what he has achieved in his life and the obstacles he’s had to over come to do it.
A few weeks ago, Mum and Dad flew to Alice Springs to be there when Jeff Ogilvy was inducted into the Shell Rimula Wall of Fame. Jeff worked for Dad for 27 years and was the first triple road train driver in Australia. When I was a kid, Jeff was always in a truck or around the depot, and more recently he’s been on the end of the phone telling me stories of his driving days, which has helped me write Purple Roads.
Jeff also has six beautiful daughters. One of them, Shane, is a year older than me and I had a continuing dual with her, while at primary school. A dual called The Cross Country! She always managed to beat me.
Last year, Dad was inducted into the Wall of Fame – I wish you could read this newspaper article from The Northern Argus, that Mum sent to me but I’ll just mention a few of Dad’s achievements:
“1981 he was awarded an Advance Australia Award for his work in developing the transport industry in outback areas.
He (according to Ampol) had the longest fuel run in the world, covering SA, WA, South-west QLD and North-west of NSW.
He totally designed and manufactured the first skeletal trailers with fuel tanks front and back and with a tray in the centre
In the 1980’s Parnell Transport Industry, was selected by the Australian Road Research Board to be involved in a practical research project on which the requirements of operations of triple roadtrains were developed.”
There are so many more.
Of course behind every good man is a good woman and Mum is the best – supportive, unconditional and always there. I’d get up early when I was young, and the light in the back room would still be on. Stumbling out to see what was going on, mum would be sitting at the dining room table, surrounded by account books.
But they both say that there is no way they could have operated such a successful business without the help of employees like Jeff.
I’m so thrilled that two incredible men, pioneers in the trucking business, have been recognised and rewarded for their work.
Meet Meita
September 29, 2011
Meita (pronounced ‘metre’) is our new pup. We seem to have a few coming along don’t we?
Well unfortunately Buck and Hogget both were killed by snakes, last year, so the only working dog we have at the moment is Wally (also know as Law – our dogs have about five (nick) names but they come to all of them!)
Weazel is still learning the ropes, so we can’t rely on him yet and because Law is now eight, we need to get another working dog coming along quickly. When you run fifteen thousand sheep and work with them most days, a good working dog is essential – they often do the job of two men.
Meita is here not only as the new working dog, but to breed from as well. Wally’s genetics go back to our “legendry status dog” Roady and we’re really keen to keep his line going.
She actually had a very interesting trip to get to Esperance – she was dropped off at The Great Southern Sale Yards at Mount Barker, by the bloke who bred her and jumpped onto a truck. Steve (the drvier) very kindly looked after her until he drove back to Esperance where Rochelle’s teacher, Miss Butcher, picked her up from Steve and drove to Conding up for a normal school day. I then drove to school, picked her up and brought her home – that’s they way we do things in the country.
You might be wondering about her name. Well the boss was watching Weasel rounding up the sheep in the paddock and he always seemed go be about a metre short of where he needed to be. The boss is hoping that Meita won’t be the same!
Rocket, however, has his nose extremely out of joint. Meita has been sharing his house over the past week, while I get her kennel organised and he thinks that just isn’t on.
Stop and smell the (canola) flowers
September 17, 2011
I’m not sure why it’s heart wrenching, incomprehensible tragedies that make us stop and look at our lives – I don’t understand why we can’t see what we have until something happens. Why have I enjoyed the hugs I’ve had from my children more this week than others? Why couldn’t I appreciate the smiles they’ve given me instead of flashing them a quick half-hearted one as I rush through the house on a mission to do something that didn’t really matter?
I wrote this article earlier this year for a magazine that had a focus on suicide and depression. Maybe (I hope) it will make you stop and smell the flowers.
“It’s not like the old days. Nothing is any more is it? Thank goodness I don’t have to wash the clothes by hand or carry water from the creek! There’s so many things I’m thankful to avoid that my Nana had to tolerate when she settled with my grandfather on “Glenroy” in the mid-north of South Australia. It’s been in our family since the early1800’s. And my mother is thrilled for me now to not have to spend the evenings returning phone calls and organising the next days work like she did. As often as I curse the modern tie that is the mobile phone, I’m pleased we can turn it off in the evening and enjoy our family meal together. Well, in theory anyway.
Our lives seem to hurtle along at an unstoppable pace sometimes, propelled by the modern “conveniences” that seem to throw us the challenge to switch off and take a break. Every night I try to watch the gorgeous sunsets, and remember to take note of the bird laughing at itself in the side mirror of the ute, like we had last week. As a writer, it is important to me to look for the details of our farming life, and I often photograph these things to preserve them for my minds eye – you never know when you might need them. The best part about carrying the camera, is that it makes me stop and breathe, and no matter how fleetingly, forget about the puddle that is our drying dam, the dwindling stock numbers and the pressures of lambing percentages, higher crop yields and improved wool production. With a photographers eye, I can look for the beauty in our unique landscape. It’s the same view, just a different perspective.
When the modern demands make my head whirl, I often think of Nana and the leisurely way that she and Papa lived their lives, farming the station country. My husband and I own 8,000 acres on the south coast of Western Australia and it consumes a lot of our leisure and rest time. It’s a very different life to my grandparents.
We’ve just returned from a well-earned break to visit my family at Glenroy. It was the first family holiday for 16 years, and it was so much fun to do the things we did as kids when Nana and Papa were in control. We wandered down to the creek to lite a fire. We boiled the billy and shared some biscuits for smoko. Papa always stopped marking or drafting in the yards at 9.30am when Nana appeared with a basket full of sponge cake and sausage rolls. Everything seemed to be calm and measured. I guess they had the same worries that we face today – after all, it’s the same stuff, just happening to a different generation isn’t it? After four pretty tough seasons, endlessly hand-feeding stock, eyeing the cloudless skies and running in seemingly ever-decreasing circles, I have to remind myself to look for the beauty.
We hadn’t realised how getting off our own place, even though just for a week, gave us the distance and change of scenery we yearned, and a chance to stop and smell the flowers – and the scones. We’ve determined now to take our early morning coffee outside when we can breathe the brisk air. Even though we know at some stage we’ll be dragging our heels – there’ll always be something to be thankful for, and to photograph. Recently it’s been eyeing the little clover seeds pushing up, and the smell of rain on the dusty soil.
When things get too tough for me outside, it’s a pleasure to bury myself in writing, where I can make it rain or have the cattle eating green grass that is a foot high. It’s my escape and I’m not sure that I would have dealt with the 2008 drought as well as I did, if I couldn’t disappear inside my fictional world for a time.
2008 saw us agist over eight hundred cows across the state of WA, some nearly eight hours drive away, when we ran short of water and hay. Because of that and previous bad seasons, I know how soul destroying it is to hand-feed stock day after day, with nothing but blue skies and northerly winds for company. Skinny cattle and poor sheep tear at your heart, because contrary to some beliefs, farmers actually care for their animals.
That’s why it is so important to have an outlet. My husband’s is fishing. There is a tranquillity at the beach which would send him home calm and ready to make decisions.
2008 and late breaks every year since has made us stop and smell the flowers – even if it’s only the Canola. It chases away the demons that try plague us when things aren’t going well.”
©
Vale Mr Gubbins
August 7, 2011
People come and go in our lives. Some are easily forgotten and some stay with us forever, even if we’re not in contact.
This morning I found out that my old music teacher died from cancer. I’ve been shocked at my sense of loss, even though it’s been nearly twenty years since I’ve had contact with him.
I adored him during my school years, we all did, and like a classmate said on Facebook; ‘He would have known we all loved and appreciated him by us not being shits in his classes!’ You’re probably right, Alice. But I’m not sure I ever told him and now I can’t.
He wasn’t only our music teacher; he played the piano for our twice-weekly morning assemblies so even if you didn’t study music, he was a constant in our school lives. His music room was always warm, friendly and fun and he had the most wicked giggle I think I’ve ever heard from a bloke. I can’t remember him cross but when he did reprimand, as he did so gently from time to time, it cut to the quick.
Mr Gubbins, I know you can’t read this now, but I wish I had thought to tell you when I was seventeen how much you impacted my life, made school bearable for a homesick teenager, and how much I thought of you. Go peacefully and know you that were loved.
My old Rexy
July 24, 2011
I went to sit with my first ‘child’ today. Although he’s a bit dottery on his paws now, and old and grey around the muzzle with weepy eyes, underneath he’s still my old Rex.
He was born one cold blustery winter night under the combine in our machinery shed. Coincidentally it was on my dad’s birthday. Rexy was from a litter of nine, and was sired by our legendary dog, ‘Roady’.
Rex had an unlucky start to life as his mum died when he was only five weeks old. He had numerous accidents in his first eighteen months and if I’d had my way, he’d be a three-legged dog now, after a kick from a cow tore all his hind leg muscles and ligaments.
The vet could operate for $1,500 (much more than we could afford back then), or amputate the leg for $800. The boss said ‘bring the dog home, Fleur.’
In floods of tears, I took Rexy home thinking he wasn’t long for this world, but six weeks of rest and restricted movement saw him perform the unbelievable; a full recovery!
He has gone on to become a brilliant yard and paddock dog. Rex and Roady worked together amazingly well, compensating for each others weaknesses, although they really couldn’t stand each other and were constantly competing for our attention.
Rex and I spent hours together pulling down old fences and repairing the ones we couldn’t afford to replace. He would laze on the green grass, snapping at flies and flicking his ears as I talked to him. He sat in the tractor with me during the long cold nights when I was ‘ripping up’ and answered my questions with a thump of his tail.
He was so pleased to see us when we returned from our recent South Australian holiday that he tried to jump on our chests (a big ask for a dog with arthritis) and for the first few days sat close to my legs and wouldn’t let me out of his sight.
Patting him today, I know a trip to the vet is close. His heart murmer is very bad, his arthritis painful. I can’t and won’t let my old friend suffer, but the sadness his passing will bring is huge. He’s the last of the ‘old brigade’ – the ones with us when we first began farming, when we didn’t have any money and clapped out machinery. He lived with us in the hut, watched the house built, the children born and kept watch when I was working in the sheepyards. His barking would alert me that one of the kids was crying.
While he is still here, I’ll enjoy every pat, conversation and ‘woof’ that we have.
