This last week has had it all.

 

Hot, dry tinder days that you pray no-one starts a fire. Days where it’s nice just to sit in the shade and watch.

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Stormy overcast days that bring big splotchy raindrops from the thunderstorms to cool the singed earth and revitalise. Rain, glorious rain – even when I was drenched wet to the core, I was smiling.

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Happy mail days.

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Cuteness wrapped up in a kitten’s fluffy joy.

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Tastes of summer picked fresh from the vines with family.

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One black eye inflicted by a goat (and gate) at 6;30am on a Sunday morning.
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Cheese. cheese and more cheese. Relief from the heat and harshness of summer is found in strange places; like the peace and repetition of making hand made cheese.

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It summer, there’s no doubt.

Why I do what I do (or how I came to be a goat farmer)

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Source: here or here.

I came across this gem last week, suitably relevant for me and what I’ve been incubating for a while now. Particularly, as this week marked two years since I arrived at The Goat Farm.

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I came for a week, and stayed living and working as an “intern” on the farm for nearly a year.
Then I left the farm and headed back to my “career” in a conventional job (as a physio), only to get sick and reconsider the direction my life was heading b-i-g time.

Six months after I finished as an intern, I was back – this time in a paid position on the farm, for which I am still unsure of my exact job title! Farmer, milker, vet nurse. midwife, lactation consultant, cheesemaker, dreamer, land custodian….they all seem relevant! Nevertheless, this chop-n-change style over recent years has taught me some pretty major things when it comes to health, happiness, priorities in life and the big question I’ve been asking since I was two: why.

Without fail, every month I get asked questions along the same vein – why did I leave my chosen career as a physio? And why did I choose farming? With goats? And why, oh why as a cheesemaker?
Despite growing up on a farm, I hadn’t entertained the idea of farming as a kid, and until two years ago I hadn’t milked a goat or even made cheese. So, why would something so far removed from my training and career, be calling my name…?

It’s not an easy question to answer, because most people expect a romantic story about how farming is all about sitting on the verandah watching sunsets or lying in paddocks of long grass listening to birds or cuddling newborn fluffy kids all day. Yes, there are moments of that…interspersed with sweeping up poo, scrubbing buckets, and dark pre-dawn 6am starts. With long days, endless dishes and hard decisions to make – such as saying goodbye to the 6-month old boys you’ve helped hand-raise, as they are taken off to the abattoir. Then there’s the reality of working in a business that has to operate 365 days a yr – there are no sleepins, or days off – and everything you do is totally dictated by Mother Nature – we (and the animals) are at the mercy of weather patterns that are becoming more extreme and impossibly unpredictable. Summers are dust and heat and living in constant anxiety about the risk of  fires. Winters are harsh and cold, frozen and dark affairs.

I ask myself again, why would anyone want this life?

It’s taken me two years to be sure, but in reality it was the second day I was working on the farm that broke open my heart and showed me why.

October 13, 2013. Sunday

A hot, dry spring day. The grass is drying off, crunchy under foot and there’s the sharp shrill of cicadas as they begin to ramp up their song for summer.

Milking time comes around at 3pm as it does every day, but off under a shady, quiet tree sits Aretha – one of our beautiful 7 yr-old Saanen does. 

Sure enough when we approach, she is busy and focussed on the task at hand: making a soft “bed” of dirt as she prepares to kid, for the third (and final time) in her life. Her hormones and instincts strong, she rides every contraction with such calmness it is enchanting.

I have the privilege of sitting and watching the birth – she doesn’t seem too upset by the company, if anything reassured. 
(I’ve since learnt goats have a very cleaver knack of making sure you’re are there to help when needed!).

Quickly with the next contraction one set of feet and a nose emerge – a fluffy white girl is born. Then another girl follows. Aretha is diligent and loving as she gently, tenderly cleans them both. Nudging and encouraging them both to take their first, wobbly steps on firm ground. They drink precious colostrum in short bursts, nuzzling at her udder (and sometimes her neck, the wrong end!).

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But time ticks by, with continued intense contractions.

Slowly but surely more feet emerge. But this time, it is clear to me they’re are back feet. Uh-oh. A breech!

I call one of the owners, who comes fast and every so gently, the last of triplets – a big, boofy boy –  is helped to be born.

 

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In that moment, I was hooked. Witnessing new life being born has to be one of the most powerful experiences in the world (second only to having a child of your own, I would imagine), but on this day I suddenly understood why anyone would be a farmer. The connection with each animal cannot be undone…they are part of your world as much as you theirs. The immersion into the natural world is intoxicating.

No piece of the latest technology or TV show or new designer clothes can swell the heart like watching a new kid flourish from wobbly newborn to strong, bold doe pregnant with her own young.
Witnessing the tenderness and love each goat show their kids makes me understand the responsibility and trust we humans must bear. I am humbled by this life-force that is far bigger than anything humans could imagine or build on our own…we hold the power in our hands, yet are mere players in the endless cycle of life and death on our planet. Each day I am reminded that I work (and live) in the clutches of momentum we can’t control…the ebbs and flow of the seasons bring tangible reminders to me that there is a time and a place for everything.

CONNECTION. Once we are aware of this web of life there’s no going back, no shrinking of the mind or shirking of responsibility.

I farm to see the power of nature flourish, to work with people who have similar ideas.  By doing so, I have begun to heal and flourish in my own right.

 

Let me return back to reality – I have never been so dirty or dusty or tired in my life. Not to mention overwhelmed at times, stretched and challenged (both physically and emotionally) in my life. But never have I felt so alive and free. It must be true – nothing worth doing is ever easy. Each night, when I climb into bed there is a very firm sense of achievement, satisfaction that I’ve rarely felt in any other job I’ve had. When I look out in the paddock and see the young kids dancing and running care-free it makes me happy. Being sure of my place in this big world doesn’t come easy, but knowing that I have played my part in fostering new life, that is enough.

 

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The extraordinary artisan cheese we make as a result of this circle of life, is really just an added tasty bonus.

What Spring means to me, so far.

I love the seasons, the way nature cycles through each mood every year. More than any other time in recent memory I have felt the undeniable influence of the seasons this year – is this perhaps because I live and work out in nature now? Or maybe it goes deeper than that…to a cellular level, after all we are mostly made up of water so we can’t deny the effect of the earth’s spinning axis. I think it has a fair bit to do with my fragility too – this past year has weakened my defences and wore down my armour, in effect leaving me exposed to the “elements”. Indeed I have titled the most recent winter “the winter that broke me”…in a good way I now realise (breakdown or breakthrough…? more on that later).

Ironically I’m writing this post about spring on the last weekend of winter, but once again Mother Nature has proven she doesn’t keep track of the calendar! It’s been a slow but steady descent into spring, or should that be ascent out of winter perhaps? Some years spring seem to arrive unannounced at the front door, demanding not to be ignored. This year though, she has seeped gently into my days as the days have warmed and lengthened, she has whispered into my heart with the delightful tune of the grey thrush each morning.

I feel it in every cell of my body.  New energy abounds.
The promise, the potential about to be unleashed as another cycle begins in the world.
While winter was cold, long, harsh and dark it has left me more grateful for the dawn of a new [spring] day.

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Spring is blossom and bees, the tree buds breaking through, their dormancy almost over.

She smells of wattle and jonquils, of early morning baking sessions and freshly clipped grass.

Spring is crisp mornings with bluebird days and warmth on my back in the afternoon. It is lying in bed on days off listening to the birds sing their lungs out, heralding a new day.
It is hiking through new bush trails on weekends with birdsong for company.

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Spring is bursts of colour on an otherwise monotone landscape – the vibrant yellows and pinks and purples. It is sweet floral arrangements dotting the house and infusing the rooms with their aroma.

 

 

The new season means harvesting more fresh greens from the garden and farmers’ market, quick meals with plenty of flavour and crunch are the order of the day.
It is the white-cotton tails of rabbits, bobbing everywhere!
Watching while the herb patch gets demolished by possums and/or sheep, but admiring the forgotten winter greens tenacity…to go to seed!

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Spring is walking barefoot in the backyard once again, stepping carefully to avoid the stinging nettles….

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It means drying the washing in one day (rather than three). It is packing away the extra blanket, and the sleeping bag from my bed. I fully accept that I’ll probably be pulling them back out of the cupboard in a week’s time, but thankfully there’s less pressure on the dwindling woodpile and less mud on the boots. It is opening the doors during the afternoon, letting the sunlight in and de-cluttering my house.

It is swapping hot chocolates for smoothies. It is shifting the reading from the couch to the verandah in the sun.

Spring brings promise of more – the kids born last month on those frosty nights now bound endlessly out in the paddocks, hungry to explore and seemingly growing up in the blink of an eye. The rest of the goats naturally feel the cycles of nature too, and with the longer days are grazing the paddocks with new vigour which always means more milk (more cheese!).

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So far spring has been about tying up loose ends, finishing winter projects – my hot water bottle cover, knitting a scarf, a shawl and those numerous books I’ve started.

September is also finals season for Aussie football, so I’ll be cheering the Sydney Swans deep into the month. It is also birthday season, so surely there will be catch-ups and celebrations and cake.

 

What does spring mean to you??

Winter: season for silent evolution

Winter is hard for me.
Yes, I love the beanies and gloves and woollen layers. I love the excuse to cook hearty, warming curries and eat slow cooked soups. And any excuse to sit cozily by the fire with a book or some crafty project is fine by me.

But come mid-July every year, it seems that winter dazzle starts to fade. Battered by winds and rain and mud, surrounded by dying and decay it all seems to seep in and leave my mood melancholy and dark.

Cold.
Harsh even.

Brutal, abrasive.

Still, winter is eerily beautiful. For in all the darkness and death there is space to be found. A certain peace we don’t get a chance to see or feel in any other season.

There is a silence and awe that can only be felt on a still, frosty winter morning. When the ground crunches underfoot, the birds no longer sing and the air hangs heavy with the misty dew.2014 - 122014 - 17

A conscious pause found in those foggy mornings that sit like a cocoon all day long, a blanket of comfort and mystery.2014 - 202014 - 1

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Or as night descends and shadows lengthen across the land early afternoon, mother nature is quiet too.   2014 - 62014 - 3

She is urging us to still ourselves, to settle, sit and reflect. To look inward, digest and then let go.2014 - 6(1)Are you feeling it?

I am.

There has been a motto in my head this past week or two that has kept me moving forward, one (bright red) gumboot at a time…

this too shall pass

For on the other side of the darkness is spring.

A season for new growth, germination and Phoenix-ing. Where the promise of fertile lands sown with hopes and dreams, can comes true.

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Taking Stock (and a link-fest)

Lately, there’s been so much going on in my brain it hurts…ideas and emotions and plans all rolling around in there, it can feel all a little overwhelming at times. But good busy.
One day, I’ll get all of the important ideas onto a page, I’ll record the brainwaves and document those fleeting moments of up and down. Until then here’s a snap shot thanks to Kate at Fox’s Lane and Pip shares.

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Making : a crochet blanket for a friend’s first baby, whilst sitting next to fire watching The Hunger Games movies.

Cooking : anything slow cooked, chocolate filled or mushroomy (not altogether!!).
Osso bucco, spicy pumpkin soup, chocolate brownies (x3), roasted field mushrooms with goat’s cheese, homemade yoghurt. Then late today,  into the slow cooker went mushroom and white bean soup.

Drinking : Hot lemon water with Apple Cider Vinegar each morning. And lots of smoothies – now with banana and coconut milk, not water for the weather has gone chilly. Plus lots of green stuff hidden inside too.

Reading: SLOW magazine, and The Renegade Collective Hub magazine. And The Saturday Paper…proper writings to inspire and comfort and inform.

Wanting: more sunny autumn days but knowing we need the rain more. So please, keep the rain coming but maybe just at nighttime, OK??

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Looking: out in the paddock for field mushrooms. And scanning up in the pine forests for more edible delights; blessed to live in a place with such plentiful fresh produce just a short walk away.

Playing: Asgeir “In The Silence”, on repeat every day. The haunting melodies and lyrics still move me to tears and then uplift my heart all at the same time.

Wasting: plenty of time on Instagram these days.

Sewing: nothing; I don’t sow…not even hem my pants; I use sports tape and safety pins instead.

Wishing: my family lived closer nearby

Enjoying: pretty autumn sunny days filled with lots of colourful trees and reading books in the sun and cups of tea

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Waiting: for a sign, to pluck up the courage and take the plunge: to plan the next adventure and travel some more. Patience, little one.

Liking: after nearly 18 months living in Central Victoria I finally got to go to my “local” Farmer’s Market today; sell cheese and chat to the locals….my locals. For a gypsy like me, it’s a new feeling to find a place to settle comfortably.

Wondering: just how much firewood is enough, and exactly how many hours a week does it take to keep a 3 bdr Farmhouse clean.  (answer to both: too much!)

Loving: fiction – escapism at it’s best.

Hoping: for my flannelette sheets to dry so I can snuggle between fresh, clean, cozy linen tonight.

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Marvelling: just how magical the outdoors is during my favourite season, Autumn.

Needing: to chop some more wood. And collect dry kindling. Then start knitting the next scarf.

Smelling: nothing better than being woken by the sweet aroma of a new slow-cooked meal early in the morning

Wearing: my beanie inside these days…

Following: Mindful In May’s 31 day meditation program this month – taming my monkey mind and fundraising water for African villages. Go here to join in or donate or sponsor me.

Noticing: just how many new lambs are running around the paddock next to my Farmhouse with each day that passes by.
And already just 4 days into May that just ten minutes a day spent in meditation really does ground and calm me.

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Knowing: once the mind is stretched into new territory, it can never retreat. Knowledge is power and freedom. That we never reach the end destination; the finish line keeps shifting, the goal posts move and what we once felt important in life will be constantly redefined by new moments. That the only constant in life is change, and we can only do what we can, with what we have right here and right now.

Thinking: To upgrade the phone, or not?? The USB connection is hap hazard, and the screen freezes in my nigh-on 2 yr old Samsung are becoming more frequent and more frustrating. But oh, the cost. And then Android or Apple?
I’ll probably just keep going with the one I’ve got…til I smash it up or drop it in water.

Feeling: inspired by all the possibilities that are ahead of me, but just a teensy bit scared of the next step. Which direction??

Bookmarking: at page 714 through my next read for #fiftytworeads: Inheritance, by Christopher Paolini. The last of the Eragon books – epic but captivating.

Opening: a block of French-made dark chocolate my boss’s bought back from Paris last month. Mmmm…dinner perhaps?

Giggling: with a fellow farmer chick this morning on our way to the local Farmer’s Market about terrible reality TV, Twilight movies of yester-year and just how much cheese is enough…!?

Feeling: Challenged. Proud. Grateful. Just happy to be alive, here and now.

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How about you??

When words fail me…

Most times the words come easily. My thoughts and musings fall out of my pen and sprawl onto the page. I’ve kept a journal for over ten years now, and time and time again I find such calmness from letting the ink run deep across the empty brown paper pages.

But sometimes the words don’t come. I write the day, the date, the year and nothing more follows.
Or I come with a good idea, and strong emotion or needing to vent but poof – the moment passes.

That’s when I let the pictures speak. The world around me is such a fascinating place, and with my trusty phone camera in my pocket I can easily capture the little moments of life.
Better than a thousand words someone once said.

And it’s so true.

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I don’t alway photograph to share. Or keep every one that I take. At times it’s to capture a fleeting moment of precious light or colour or movement. (Yes, I admit it; I love a good sunrise).  To marvel at nature bursting forth after rain, or capture the cute little goats running around. I often feel the need to catch memories of what I create with my own two hands – those brownies, the blanket, or knitted beanie.

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Sometimes I click just to capture the ordinary moments – clean clothes stacked in sunshine, dirty dishes strewn across the kitchen after baking, my lunch on a plate before I shovel it in.

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But the folders of shots sit here on my computer, ready for me to revisit as I need.
Instant inspiration, emotion, clarity and comfort.

There’s my happy place. Behind a lens. Eyes gazing out into a beautiful world.

An ordinary life, in moments.