Sunday, 17 July 2011

A wet weekend on the farm

The farm in winter is beautiful. Mud laneways, green paddocks, dams filled with water rippling outwards in circles. Heaven. Home made bread, soup and roasts soothe us while the raging, devilish wood fire keeps us warm. The smell outside is fresh with wet sand and grass.

Girls run around in the puddles and collect the eggs from the chook pen. Everything screams of fertility and new beginnings. The only things missing are the lamb's tails, tadpoles and mushrooms (not including the toadstools, growing in mum's garden).

Rain in the city means we do everything we can to avoid getting wet. We have garages joined to the house, undercover parking at the shops, rain covers for pets and prams. The reason we don't venture outside on the farm, is not the rain, but the cold. It was so cold today the gap between my pants and my slippers almost iced over!

Yesterday was a little warmer, the sun shone, but in a winter way. We took the girls scavenging at the old rubbish tip. There is no bin collection on the farm, rubbish is disposed of in a hole in the ground. Things that we don't see anymore are still degrading. It delighted the girls to see the many rusting tins and they collected old medicine bottles for flowers.

Spending time with a melancholy dad was also a must. Reminding him of what it is he is fighting for. I keep telling him, "You are giving up a lifestyle and gaining a life". He is a bit sad about losing a big part of who he is. He is a smoker, a drinker, a man who likes his food with butter, fried and piled with potatoes. The funny part is that he really wants to stop smoking, but is devastated about his butter!

Thanks, for a lovely weekend. It was great to get away from a half done house. Happy birthday dad. I hope that this year brings you happiness and fulfilment. That all that you strive to achieve, you do. That health comes with butterlessness. I love you.

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