Archive for November, 2012

First fruits

One does not like to boast, but this evening we had our first entirely home grown meal from this new garden. Everything we ate, I grew from seed. On the menu were zucchini cakes (I make these, amazing with tomato relish) using eggs from our chooks and a salad of tomatoes, cucumber, baby spinach, beetroot leaves, basil and nasturtiums.

This is what real zucchinis look like. One that something had a nibble at, one that was hiding under a leaf and turned into a monster, one that got more sun up one end than the other. What must they do to commercial zucchinis to get such uniform shape, colour and size? As a consumer of commercial zucchinis, I dread to think. I wonder how many such beauties they throw away.

* Sussex trug. Tony excels at gift giving, really.

A swim on a hot day

Aunty Bec is the first of our girls to go “broody”. She’s been holed up in a nesting box for weeks now, rarely venturing out even for food. I have of course had many suggestions as to how this pattern could be broken (such as jailing her in a nestless enclosure or dunking her in a bucket of cold water) but they seemed unthinkably cruel to me. Besides, all she really wants is to be a mum. Nevertheless, the time has come to do something. The poor little thing is skin and bone, comb pale and floppy, showing no sign of letting her maternal yearnings pass naturally. I gave in and decided that on a 32 degree day, a cold bath might not be so bad. Luckily, Grandad was here to do the honours. Aunty Bec seemed rather to enjoy herself.

Regretful

There’s something tragic about a child’s first haircut. Cutting those soft, downy tendrils which grow according to nature’s whim, imposing adult styles dictated by the dual bondage of fashion and social convention. I resisted cutting Rose’s as long as possible, which turned out to be almost three years. She wore clips (remember?) but Theodore can’t do that, unless I want him taken for a girl.

The time had come. Food was perpetually stuck in the foremost strands, clashing with his thick, dark eyelashes. In haste I took my sewing scissors and made a few deft snips. And behold

I gave him a mullet.

* Photo by my friend Chris Luttenberger

Spring in Brissie

I’ve been a bit of a grinch about spring. It’s so easy to feel the comparison to Germany at this time of year. Winter was strictly brown, even the weeds in the pavement cracks would disappear. But the reward was a spectacular profusion of new growth when spring came at long last. It’s easy to feel here that spring doesn’t exist at all by comparison.

But it does. Spring is Jacaranda season in Brisbane. A purple canopy above the city’s head and beneath its feet. Beautiful.


About Me

A girl with a camera, a toddler and a sewing machine. Making sense of Germany... and life in general.

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