July - The Joy of Coming Home

Dear Friends,

July became a month of contrasts.

One week I was standing in frosted paddocks, watching my breath drift through the cold morning air as the final peony roots were tucked carefully into the ground. Just a few days later, the warmth of the Queensland sun rested on my face as our boat skimmed across sparkling blue water, the sea stretching endlessly towards the horizon.

Perhaps that is what I love most about winter.  It reminds us that the seasons look different depending on where we stand.

For two weeks I traded muddy boots for sandy feet, frosts for sunrises over the ocean, and paddocks for beaches.  I celebrated family, revisited old friendships and watched George discover the excitement of catching his very first fish.

Then, just as quickly, we came home.

Back to frozen mornings, lambing ewes, the first daffodils beginning to bloom and a garden quietly preparing for spring.  

There is something wonderfully refreshing about stepping away from the everyday.  Not because you wish to escape it, but because distance has a way of reminding you just how much you love the life waiting for you back home.

And perhaps that is exactly what July was, a gentle reminder that home is one of life's greatest gifts.

 

In Bloom

Although I was away for much of July, the flower farm quietly continued without me. 

Before leaving for Queensland, there was one job i was determined to finish.  With the generous help of Penny, who spent hours weeding the rows while I worked behind her planting, every last peony root finally found its place in the ground.

It felt like the closing of a chapter that has taken years to write.  Hundreds of bare peony roots, each carefully planted by hand, now lie quietly beneath the soil, asking only for patience.

Standing at the end of the rows that afternoon, muddy boots and aching back forgotten, I realised the peony field I had dreamed about for so long was finally complete.  

Now comes the hardest part.

Waiting...

Returning home after two weeks away, one of my first jobs was checking on the dahlia tubers tucked safely away in vermiculite for winter storage.  I gently worked my way through each variety, looking for any signs of rot before they had the chance to spread.  Thankfully only a couple needed to be discarded, while the rest were sitting firm and healthy, quietly waiting for the warmth of spring.  It's a simple task, but one that feels strangely reassuring.  Each healthy tuber holds the promise of another season filled with armfuls of blooms. 

Stepping back outside afterwards, I noticed something else waiting for me.  The first daffodils had begun to bloom. Their cheerful yellow flowers appearing amongst the frosted mornings felt like nature quietly whispering that spring was on its way.

Closer to the house, another project also found its place.  The new 'Mojito' hydrangeas have now been planted beside the pool, softening the landscape and beginning another chapter in the garden surrounding our home.  They're tiny now, but like so much of gardening, the vision is always years ahead of the reality.

 

On the Farm

While I escaped North for a fortnight, life on the farm never really pauses.

July marks the beginning of lambing, one of the busiest and most rewarding times of the year.  Every day begins with checking the lambing mobs, making sure new mothers are caring for their lambs and watching carefully for any animals needing assistance.

Pasture growth is carefully monitored throughout winter, with regular pasture measurements helping us understand exactly how much feed is available across the farm.  When grass becomes limited the silage made during last season quietly does its job, feeding the flock through the colder months until spring growth returns.  There is something deeply reassuring about this annual cycle.

Spring and Summer grow the feed. 

Winter relies upon it.

Each season quietly prepares for the next.

 

From the Kitchen Table

Some of my favourite conversations this month happened over a simple cup of tea. 

This month two of my closest friends from school made the long journey to visit.  One had finished a full day at work before driving almost four hours, arriving at eight o'clock that evening.  Somehow, despite the late hour, we found ourselves still sitting together until well after midnight, talking as though no time had passed at all.

There is something wonderfully comforting about friendships that have quietly endured the passing of decades.  They carry a shared history that can never quite be recreated later in life. 

While I was in Queensland, I spent another afternoon sitting in my best friend Sarah's vegetable garden.  We have been friends since school, and although years may pass between visits it never feels as though any time has gone by.  Surrounded by beds overflowing with winter vegetables and an orchard quietly carrying fruit in the subtropical climate, we wandered through her garden comparing what grows well in Queensland to what survives the Tasmanian winters back home.

Our conservations naturally drifted towards things gardeners always seem to discuss, the weather, pests, diseases, compost, what is thriving, what has failed and of course what we are planning to grow next season.

Back at the table we shared cups of tea and thick slices of home made banana bread, baked with bananas picked straight from her own garden.  There is something deeply satisfying about eating food that has travelled such a short distance, from plant, to kitchen, to table.

It's these simple moments that stay with me long after a holiday ends.  Not necessarily the places you visit, but the conversations shared over a warm drink, surrounded by gardens that tell the stories of the people who tend them.

Sarah's Banana Bread

Ingredients:

• 130g unsalted butter
• 340g banana (approx 4 bananas)
• 140g sugar
• 2 eggs
• 225g plain flour
• 2tsp baking powder
• 1pinch salt
• 1tsp bicarb soda
• 100g buttermilk
• 2tsp vanilla extract

Method: (Thermomix Version)

• Preheat oven to 180 degrees celsius. Grease a loaf tin and set aside
• Place all ingredients into mixing bowl, then mix 20sec/speed 5
• Pour into prepared tin and bake for 50-60minutes or until a wooden skewer inserted into the centre of the bread comes out clean.
• Allow to cool in tin for 30min before turning out onto a wire rack.  
• Serve with butter

 

Gathered at Home

This month was less about home itself and more about the people who make it feel like home.

One of my favourite memories was spending two whole weeks with my youngest son, George.  Time like that becomes increasingly rare in a busy family, and travelling together gave us countless little moments that probably seemed ordinary at the time but somehow feel incredibly precious when I look back.  

Watching the excitement on his face as he caught his very first fish, feeling the warm winter sun on our faces as we drifted across the water, and listening to his endless questions and observations reminded me that children have a remarkable way of slowing us down.

We also celebrated my younger sister's 40th birthday with a road trip to K'gari (Fraser Island).  The drive itself became part of the adventure, filled with conversations only sisters seem to have when there are hours of open road ahead.

Exploring the island together with her family and friends was unforgettable.  Lake McKenzie's impossibly clear water, long stretches of white sand, wild dingoes wandering the beaches and searching for Pipis in the surf felt worlds away from the frosted paddocks waiting for us back home.

Another gift of the month was reconnecting with friends I've known since school.  Whether they have travelled hours simply to spend an evening together, or welcomed me into their homes and gardens while I was away, I was reminded how rare and precious lifelong friendships truly are.  Years disappear almost instantly, conversations pick up exactly where they left off, and the shared memories seem to make every visit feel familiar.

Returning home however was perhaps my favourite moment of all. Walking through the airport doors to find my husband waiting with a large bouquet of beautiful pink flowers to celebrate our 20 year anniversary of being together was the loveliest welcome home. After two weeks away, it was one of those quiet reminders that home isn't only a place, it is the people waiting for you when you return.

Driving back through the farm gate to frosted paddocks, seeing the first daffodils standing proudly amongst the winter garden and feeling the familiar stillness of home reminded me just how deeply grateful I am for this little corner of Tasmania.

Sometimes the best part of travelling is remembering how wonderful it feels to come home.

Closer to home, the month also brought simple family moment I will treasure.  An overnight trip to Hobart ended with a drive back through the Central Highlands, where we stopped to play in the last patches of snow. Soon after, my husband's cousin from New South Wales and his family came to visit, and the farm echoed with the sounds of cousins playing Nerf gun battles and hide-and-seek in the dark, the sort of ordinary evenings that somehow become lifelong memories.

While I was away, Olive was busy competing in her dance competitions.  Thanks to wonderful friends and my husband, who has well and truly earned the title of 'Dance Dad', she never missed a beat.  Watching everyone quietly step in to help while I was away was a lovely reminder that raising children does take a village, and how incredibly grateful I am for ours.

Field Notes

July reminded me that home is not only a place.  

It is a feeling.

Sometimes it is found watching the sunrise beside the people who have known you longest.

Sometimes it is discovered in conversations with old friends who somehow make years apart disappear within minutes.

Sometimes it arrives in the proud smile of a little boy holding his very first fish.

And sometimes it greets you as you turn through your own farm gate, where frosted paddocks, lambing ewes and the first daffodils quietly remind you that there is nowhere else you'd rather be.

Perhaps that is the gift of travelling. Not simply seeing somewhere new, but returning home with fresh eyes and noticing the beauty that had been quietly waiting there all along.

Until next month,

From the Paddock.