Sunday morning chooks.

With every group, there always seems to be one individual with their own plans. On our farm, it is a chook. We have six hens who live in harmony with our dogs, cats and boys. Their house is down in the orchard, covered with passion fruit vines and by pink and white blossom trees. Every morning they make their way up to the garden, weaving their way through the red-stemmed dogwoods, up past the clumps of bluebells and onto our long, thick green-leaved lawn. Five of them cluck together, rushing over to see bleary eyed worms sticking their soft heads out to the morning light. They all take quick darts with their clacking beaks and jump up and down with agitation and excitement.

One little chook always walks away, instead jerking its wrinkled feet through the dew to our veranda where it then pecks away at the concrete, cleaning up all of the boys' crumbs from the previous day. It is now so bold and curious that when the boys are watching their morning cartoons, it comes to the door, taps its beak on the frame and studies them, her head tipped to one side. If they move back slightly from the door, she jumps through and strolls past the Lego, tapping the odd Morse coded signal and smashing any left over rice bubbles that have jumped out of a breakfast bowl.

We chase her out of the house after a couple of minutes because somehow, sense kicks in that perhaps it is not a good idea to let a hen have run of the house. Also, our home is chaotic enough without chooks roosting as well. And there is always the thought that tomorrow morning she will return.

I admire her because she isn't afraid to test the boundaries, to try new places and not become discouraged by rejection. There is something in her that makes her less fearful and I wish from the tips of my ears to the ends of my toes that I could have some of this too. My life is threatening change and I want to be able to embrace it, to not be weighed down by fear of the unknown. Maybe I could practise bravery by banging my nose and teeth against the concrete floor too, or instead, maybe I could just go upstairs and write my application forms, saving my bones from breaking unnecessarily. Where is that pen...

Another Sunday and Back on the Lay...

Another Sunday over and its passing has been marked with soft boiled eggs and soldiers. The exciting part of the childrens' dinner is that the eggs are ours. That's right, our plump little araucanas are back on the lay, popping out their blue-green eggs again. Wahoooooo!!! I think my eyes bulged most unattractively when I went into the hen house. I am so used to just feeding them and walking away empty handed while they giggle and cluck behind my back.
Life is becoming a little easier again in the organisation stakes. Funnily enough, I think it is my involvement with the farm that is doing it. With much less time on my hands I am floating less through the day and achieving more in the snippets that I have. What a revelation. I even potted up a few plants today which felt like I had single-handedly sorted the planets into alignment. Keep in mind though that my being relatively busy day still allows for a good afternoon nap so I don't think it is quite the grown-up version of busy yet.

Now, I was going to do a post on Chewy, our ultra friendly pet dog/sheep (actually a Suffolk sheep) but I couldn't arrange any photos of him. He is so affectionate and tame that every time I go near him with a camera (dear me, I almost wrote camel), he snuggles into me and refuses to go back far enough so my lens will focus on him. Maybe if Jonno has a spare minute or two I will suggest a photo session down in the orchard. I hope he doesn't get the wrong idea...

By the way, I just want to thank Raglan Guld because in the quietened blogosphere of the weekend, she always has something interesting to say and something beautiful to show.

Harvest and Plum Jam

Things have been a bit quiet on the blogging front so I thought I would do a little catch up from last week. Now the seasons are changing, the plum jam is coming into its own bringing memories of summer onto our plates. And autumn too is having its celebration, showering our grass with feijoas, windfall apples and pale blue eggs.

A Morning's Harvest

Hugo's contribution to the day - a burst of beauty

The Hens' contribution - a little bit of protein

And the orchard's contribution - some late ripening nectarines so full of sweetness the gods have been circling our trees

Our Orchard Says Welcome Home

I am humbled. Our garden and orchard have seen nothing but neglect over the past year and yet, with joy in their heart, they have welcomed us home in abundance. Punnets that were bought and then shamefully plonked on top of the vege bed, are now spreading their tendrils in a huge circle and are heaving with ready to be picked zucchini. The plums are sweet and the apples are plumping with promise. The hens are laying and in fact, speaking of of our feathery little friends, I had better go and feed them now.

A Steady Rain and Gluten-Free Biscuits

Here is the teacup in which I store hope, peace, quiet and a hint of caffeine.

Finally some sewing has happened, writing paper folders for the children's teachers - please avert your eyes if you are one of them. I am still in the process of finishing the writing paper.

And the chooks.... I caught them discussing the day they scratched over all of my heirloom seeds when they innocently sprouted like little time capsules encountering their given moment in the future.

Another quiet day at home today. Jonno has recovered well but is still looking a little gaunt, thankfully his sense of humour is bouncing again, he puts up with me so grown-uply when it is intact. Archie however, had a very unsettled night with a sore throat and aching body and stayed home for the day. Hugo had pre-school so Archie and I huddled inside while the steady rain pattered companionably against the windows.

I had lots of Christmas sewing to catch up on and Archie snuggled on a neighbouring chair, listening to a children's podcast. Very 1940's-style comfort. We even had gluten-free vanilla, muscovado biscuits baking in the background. Quite Christmassy when I think about it.... I might just leave it at that.

Here is the recipe:

Gluten-Free Vanilla and Muscovado Biscuits

185 grams softened butter

1 cup muscovdo sugar

1.5 cups tapioca flour

1 cup brown rice flour

2 small eggs

2 teaspoons vanilla essence

1/2 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon allspice

Pre-heat oven to 170 degrees Celsius. Mix all ingredients in processor than refrigerate as it is quite a sticky mixture. When stiffened, shape and cut as desired (do I hear anybody wincing). Bake for 15 minutes or until golden.

Araucana hens

I would like to say they are running toward me but I think they found the camera a little alarming and it certainly doesn't carry the irresistible scent of rotting cabbage.

The eggs slumbering, warm and perfect.

I thought I had better elaborate on my previous post by adding that our hens are Araucana and were allegedly immortalised by one plump beauty laying the muse of Dr. Seuss's masterpiece, "Green Eggs and Ham". Our chooks were gathered from the wild and are certainly not purebred resulting in a colour more blue than green. I have read that they originate from South America but I would love to hear from anyone with further or more correct information

Picnik Collage

This is my first attempt at making a collage on Picnik and who better to include than Jonno, Archie and Hugo welcoming me home - note Hugo's new and extremely alarming habit, a nice touch having garden chemicals behind - most organic but still..... I found a tutorial on Lucy Bowler's blog (alright, she is my sister) and thought what a great way to get lots of photos up.

Strolling down to the chook shed this afternoon was sheer, giddy, heaven. The hen featured at the top is giving me the eye, she pecked me but thankfully my skin withstood the assault, who is to say however, that she hasn't acquired a taste for me.

These are the things that bring my soul home and make it settle in one place rather than having its precious gossamer stretched from one country to another. Our bright blue barn, adventurous kittens not quite ready to be weaned and fruit fattening in the orchard..... I have to say though, the nectarines are showing suspicious bites and after reading a vampire series, I am very pleased to say they don't look like fang marks.