Illuminations

Coming in to Ballarat for the White Night illuminations. 

In a minute the sun went down 

the lights came on.

A beautiful night

Cockatoo lace

This morning  I stopped by this old house in Sturt Street which I love for it's unusual iron trim around the front verandah.

Here is the central pillar.

Left

Right

If this were my house I'd be tempted to paint the cockies' crests yellow - they have to be sulphur-crested cockies, which hang around here over summer.
There's a lovely 1920s letter from  an old man who came to Ballarat as a boy in the 1850s, saying that flocks of cockatoos filled Sturt Street in the early days of the town. Lovely birds!

Although some people hate their noise they have a lot of fans - why else were these patterns made and then chosen to go up on the verandah?
If you haven't seen the house yet, it's beside Rosenhart's bakery.

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.

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.

Summer begins

It's been hot and dry for two weeks now, fires have sprung up briefly around the state and  summer is here.
I am going through my cheering-up list, as this is the season I like least.

Roses

Cherries, Christmas, and clean, sun-dried cotton. 

Walking on the grass in the park in bare feet. A short black coffee and a freshly made gelati at Espresso late in the morning on non-work days. 

Long, long evenings.

 

There's more if I stop long enough to think about it, but I'm already feeling happy.

Summer changes

After hesitating between spring and summer, the seasons have finally changed.

Each day this week has been bright blue and biting hot and over the week I've completed a summer ritual. I've washed and packed away my winter clothes and aired and hung up my summer clothes, and my windows, too, are now wearing gauzy white cotton.

Fine white cotton reflects the heat away and lets a soft light fill the room, a light that is easy to read and work in.

I made these last year, handsewing leftover indigo fabric pieces along the tops and sides. It's really summer now and I'm ready for the heat and glare of the sun.