One week of winter

I picked a large daffodil for the kitchen windowsill this morning to ponder while I emptied the box of Uncle Toby's oats.

That large lone daffodil was magnificent in the midst of swathes of lemony little jonquils that have emerged from the path cut by the Bob Cat. The jonquils had been suppressed by the 100 year old shrubbery that we ripped out.

 The daffodil and all its promise of spring was more lovely as it stood with me looking out at the cold misty morning from the warmth of the kitchen as I breakfasted for the last time this year on oats (a superfood we're told, that reduces cholesterol if eaten in sufficient abundance) with skim milk (to preserve the slender form) and honey (to reduce inflammation of the joints). The oats have expired along with winter, and spring holds better promises.

Beyond the kitchen window the Japonica something is blossoming a scarlet tinged pink.In the picture above you can see it feintly. Still haven't bought my new camera. And I still haven't identified this so often leafless shrub which goes on to produce small quilted fruit like apples. Tasteless. I am just grateful we did yield to the Bob Cat operator's convenience. So many bulbs have popped back up, and some of the shrubs are returning warily.

Half a dozen gnarly old apples and plums remains as the centerpiece for our spring project, a meadow of self seeding annuals interspersed with salvias, daisies and a path of odd shaped stepping stones that I retrieved for $2 each the the Junktion (Tip Shop). Oh, and if the trees don't fruit, rambler roses will be grown over them.

I have not blogged since May. Reason (1) I have not been gardening much due to the continued degeneration of my Evil Knee (2) I suspended all deadlines, urgency and planning around the garden - it was meant to be a ten year project, and it hardly matters when it is"finished"  (because gardens are never finished).


But yesterday, with winter almost done, Juliet and I hobbled to the Growers Markets in Bathurst. Dwarfs have very little legs, so Juliet's walking capacity matches mine perfectly. We visited our two favourite growers, who are getting to know us: the Blue Wren native nursery which sell things in $4 tubes that are acclimatised to Cow Flat, and the cottage garden keepers who come in from 100km away, with big pots of established hardy perennials. Yesterday we also met a new fellow who lives locally and raises herbs. Next week Linda, my lovely gardener, comes back after her winter "holiday" (unpaid leave, sorry) to begin planting and cultivating our new projects.

To make some concessions to the Evil Knee (E.K.) my herbs will be moved up to small new beds right next to the house, where I can look after them....rather than down in the valley where the chickens can dig without my supervision. I am going to build a Medieval garden down in the valley and let it run wild - I have even bought those voracious nuisances Comfrey and Jerusalem artichoke to go populate the forgotten corners.I am thinking of a backdrop of another equally weedy item, the California Lilac, only because it attracts bees, and as long as they are way down in the valley land grabbing won't bother me  (it's really just a little slope, but it's the E.K. talking). Now I know these plants don't sound terribly Medieval, but in the midst of this will go to the Madder and Indigo, and all the other dye plants that I am trying to source.

Our solar power is going in within the next few weeks, and my next plan is to link a second water tank to my studio, to feed the Medieval garden and the vegetables. I state that baldly, knowing there will be no veg this year due to the next round of surgery on the E.K., and the studio exists only in my mind, and in the imagination of one of my Handy Men. The studio will be an"extension" of the Number 1 Dunny which has the best distance views back to the Central West. It will be built of the convict bricks, the ancient timbers we have retrieved, old stone, oak doors and the iron machinery parts from the rust gallery. This Handy Man has done some extraordinary retrievals of very old Bathurst buildings, and he loves to source beautiful original bits of stuff to do creative constructions.

So if I didn't work in the garden much this winter, what did I do (apart from teach 500 students, cook amazing food, sing in the choir, swim laps, chauffeur my granddaughter and write some articles for academic journals).....see below. I prepared Alpaca fleece for spinning and I spun, plied, knitted, weaved and crocheted away the long winter evenings. Thankfully it's my left knee that is exceedingly evil, leaving me the capacity to spin with the stronger right leg, which is also my driving leg (automatic  car, no left leg needed). Next year I'm hoping that my Alpaca  fleece will be spun by the end of winter and dyed from my Medieval garden. The colours will be more subtle than the commercial dyes.

The felines of Far Out

When we came to Far Out I intended to have only two cats, Porgy and Bess. But no one wanted Tigger, so he stayed, and then, along came Daisy.

I gave up cats for about 12 years in the interests of small birds and wildlife, and also because I was afraid of becoming a cat lady. But when there was a plague of field mice, I went out in search of an effecive solution. The first candidate was a  $200 rescue cat from the  RSPCA with the most promising name of  Hunter, who was gorgeous looking but scratchy and not cuddlesome.. When I asked if he might decide to move out of our place,seeing as he had abandoned one family, the cat-keeper told me that they generally did run away, there was no refund, and if it was rescued again and rehoused I would have to pay up again!

Daisy the dwarfette





Porgy the kingpin



I decided to hunt for a careless Cat Lady who did not desex her animals. Such women always have  a A Bad Reputation in the Neighbourhood, so it did not take long source a  Genuine Cat Lady with around 68 cats all living inside her house.

 I brought home two  kittens (free to good home, of course), brother and sister, who had been hauled around remorselessly by the children of Genuine Cat Lady. They were black with fleas...the kittens, that  is ( I didn't check the children!)

Once my moggies (Porgy and Bess) were thoroughly Veterinated, they proved to be adorable. The male had the big chop immediately....and the girl got pregnant before reaching the mandatory weight for desexing. She chose the Russian Blue next door (can hardly believe that they were as careless as we were on that issue).  We accidentally kept the least attractive of the litter, Tigger, and he has proven to have the beautiful disposition of his relatives, calm and floppy, purry and peaceful.

The Master Bricoleur arrives

  

I am always looking for skilled trades and craftspeople to help me with the house or garden at Far Out.

I did not have to wait long for a bush brickie to take down my 1879 dunny. A "free" laborer walked back into our lives in the shape of Son Number 3,  home from his unhappy marriage. 

 He doesn't want to be back home at 30 something, and I don't want to keep him, but it's bed and board and a fair exchange because work is his way of handling the angst.

Who can blame a man for longing to be with his children and to have his own home and life  as it once was. In less than three months Son Number 3 has demolished the dunny, cleaned the bricks, formed up the paths and laid most of them, built concrete steps, ripped down a wall of vegetation that obstructed the paths and views, chopped wood for the winter, fixed doors that were unhinged or stuck, repaired my wooden bobbins, created shelves in a cupboard for our video collection, and motivated his aging father to participate in some of  these non sedentary activities. He has also been on shopping sprees to our local recyclers next to the tip, and entered into the values of the bricoleur,  the craftsman who wastes nothing, who remakes, restores and reuses.

 .So now the lovely dunny shown in the picture above has gone into the magnificent path on the left....all those diamonds on the bricks indicate convict labor from around 1870. The second dunny is nothing more than a deep double brick pit....who knows what we can do with that?  The beautiful sandstone window ledge has been removed, and it is awaiting a new home. The louvered window was made of cedar, and it was still in pristine condition, and it will go into another building. The bricks have been cleaned and laid into the  path which ties the garden and house into a cohesive whole.

For those who think the demolition of this dunny was sacrilege, don't worry, we have two more precisely the same.  The one nearest the house will be restored into a working flushable lavatory, and the one farthest away will be extended into a studio that looks out to the distant hills. I want a studio for my Indigo dye baths, and the floor loom I am planning to buy. When I write things like this I wonder if it is actually achievable, but when I look around the place at Far Out and see what has been done in just over a year, I feel confident.

On the left is one of the two surviving Dunnies...this one has a kerosene can roof. The path will wind down past it to join up with the long straight one which goes to the veggies, the chook and what will be a citrus orchard with protection against the bitter winter.

Bit of sandstone on the ground at the bottom left of the picture.

I cannot imagine why the washing line (picture below) was put at the top of this slope - sure, it catches the breeze, but for someone with Evil Knees it is quite a struggle. Steps will be a help.

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Autumn is coming up with roses

Autumn has blown in early bringing abundant rain. The garden made a sudden recovery from the long hot summer, and the roses, which I had fed with something called Black Gold, burst into bloom. The long months of  mulching and buying in water, twice using the water and bucketing it out  to stressed plants, was rewarded. I even welcomed the purple and mauve  bracts of buddleia, not my favourite shrubs, but they survived and bloomed.  Despite my Evil Knee, depleted bank account and the weather, the garden is alive and flourishing.

I learned so much about resilience and perseverence from the garden.

The stone embankment we built eight months ago, using recycled blocks found in the paddock,  has ground cover roses tumbling down it, annuals, fuchsia, natives grevillia  and miniature agapanthus. Strange combinations which I have never attempted before. I am growing plants that are strangers to me, because I lived in the mountains for so long or in its shadow. This climate is bewildering.

Resting the evil knees for six weeks

If you must spend extended periods resting Evil Knees, it is important to be able to gaze upon beautiful things.

No knees, no water, no grass, but we have fences

I had the surgery for my Evil Knee  in November. It is now Januaury, and although I can walk limited distances, stand for short periods of time, and even potter in the garden for an hour, I certainly cannot dig, carry or mow. There is an incessant ache in the knee, with intermittant bouts of pain so amazing that I have my own cupboard full of  drugs to die for (if you have any junkie inclinations).