Street stories

Summer evening, Sturt Street Ballarat

Last Tuesday evening the Ballarat Historical Society and the Ballarat branch of the National Trust had a little walk and quiz, up and down Sturt Street. We had to find the details that would reveal the stories of the buildings along three blocks of Sturt Street. It was fun and tricky and  I still haven't located the Sennitt's icecream advertisement.

Looking closely, up, down and around, revealed some other stories built into the street. 

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This building was once home to the Australian Native's Association. These particular natives were not indigenous people, they were locally-born British-Australians. The people who worked for Federation and built the unions that fought for safe and fair working conditions and wages.

And here is the spot where the Australian Workers Union began.

 Unions are deeply unfashionable at the moment. Does anyone remember the musical Reedy River, full of union songs and bush ballads, which I was brought up on? I can still sing every one of those songs! The music for the Ballad of Ninety-One (1891 Queensland shearer's strike) is here if you want a rousing song.

Of course Federation also marked the legal establishment of the White Australia Policy, enthusiastically sought by the unions, and  which caused Yin's family, among many others, a lot of pain and difficulty.

Then at the end of the walk I had a good look again at this.

This recent acknowledgement of the original owners of country is opposite the Ballarat Town Hall. Nowadays the Ballarat Town Hall flies the Australian flag, the Eureka flag and the red, black and gold flag of the first people of this country.
When I look at the list of land of the local Wada Wurrung clans I see the Wada Wurrung bulag of the Barrabool Hills. That's where the farm my family took up in the 1850s was. Along with many other families from the cramped towns of England, they came over to farm in the new colony of Victoria.
It's been five years since the nation apologised to it's first people. We've still got to follow up 'Sorry' with a constitutional acknowledgement, and last week Parliament  began the legal process.

Lunar New Year

It's Chinese or  Lunar New Year this weekend.

Last night Yin cooked  traditional vegetarian New Year's Eve dishes, including my favourite, the monks' vegetarian dish (Lo han jai is one English transliteration).
 It has fermented red bean curd sauce, sweet dry beancurd, dry bean curd sticks, black hair seaweed, gingko niuts, thread-fine rice vermicelli that is transparent when cooked, ear fungus, fat chinese mushrooms, and (not vegetarian because he can't help himself) chicken stock - but it doesn't need this).
 

Some things are soaked, some are marinated, some are fried until bubbly crisp.

Then all is stirred in together with the red bean curd sauce and simmered.

Then we eat it. 

It takes ages to make and Yin thinks it's a bit messy to look at, but this is the best dish ever!

Today we went in to Melbourne for New Year with the family. We saw the lions dancing through Footscray as we stopped for some red packets (we always forget something!), and a coffee and canoli at the last pasticceria left at the Footscray market.

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This picture was taken before all the food brought by the rest of the family was put on the table.

Now the year can begin (again - see the previous post).

New Year 2013

A new year, Australia Day and I'm getting back into things.

Everything is bone dry and has been since Christmas. Even my nasturtiums have died off this year.
I'm still walking barefoot in the park with Mr Pip but the grass is harsh, prickly, sparse underfoot.

Cricketers were everywhere on Australia Day - five games playing in the park when I was walking through.

in the garden my cherished plums are small and a bit dry.

The spring rains didn't really come this year, flowers have died off early, bees are scarce, I've left the self-seeded fennel and not picked too much lavender to leave the bees a little food in hard times.

Up north there is devastating flooding, down south here there are fires across the state.

And yet I am welcoming the New Year, even as I wish for rain on the fires, flowers for the bees and dryness for the people up north.

Summer evening, Smythesdale

Alpacas settling down for the night.

The paddocks are still spring green.

Here are the sheep they keep safe from dogs and foxes.

Beautiful vegie garden.

Catching up with friends.

Children running barefoot on the grass.

Strange storms

The garden is so peaceful today.

Last night I sat up with the quivering dog, for the second night this week, and watched the lightning storm around the house. Gallons of rain fell.

When we woke up this morning, a bit late after the drama in the sky, all seemed damp, steamy and well, although a massive branch from the ash tree had fallen and bent my baby apple tree into an interesting arch. I've propped the tree up with part of the fallen branch and it may become a permanent arrangement.

Despite the storm all the tiny apples are still on the tree. I counted them.

I spent an hour or two reading on the ruby recliner surrounded by brilliant roses and bottlebrush, and a fully recovered dog sat about with me.

When we took the dog to the park I saw that the local SES was pretty busy.

I was astonished to hear on the evening news that only five minutes drive away from us, in Sebastopol and Mt Helen, other people had been woken last night by monster hail shattering their windows and huge gum trees breaking through their houses. Winds over 190km per hour ripped off roofs.

December is a thundery season but this weather is weird indeed.  Temperatures touching 40 degrees in one day, hailstones and lightning the next.

Paper and paste play

It's the season of making cards and stuff - but I'm not quite Christmassy yet.

A few centuries ago, at the pub, they discussed if  women should write history.

"Fish will fall from the sky first!'

First summer harvest

Lemons (well they are fruiting most of the year), artichokes and rose geranium to scent the baked custard.

The hay is from the stock-food store. I've been taking the dog off his comfy hay to take photos lately and he huffs very gently to himself as he is hustled off.

Sorry Mr Pip, you can have your brekky now.