Mole Creek, Early Autumn

In Mole Creek each of the four seasons has its own distinct personality. This week even a trip to Deloraine on a regular workaday morning was transformed by an autumnal mist:

Down the driveway,

Along the road,

and off to town.

Onemilebridge End of Summer Jam

Ah, the first day of autumn is upon us. Here in Mole Creek we celebrated with a temperature of 0.4 degrees centigrade at around 7.15 this morning, though it warmed up to a pleasant 17 by late morning.

I love autumn. There's still heat in the sun though the breeze is cooler now; the evenings continue to draw out and the vegetables and fruit in the garden loll about ripening.

A few days ago we picked a bagful of the apples from one of the street trees we pass on the way to the post office, and an ice cream container of blackberries from the canes that cling to the fences. Then, to mark the end of summer, I made a batch of blackberry and apple jam and called it Onemilebridge End of Summer Jam. Here's how I made it:

I very slowly stewed one kilo of blackberries in about 60 mls of water, then did the same to about 350 grams of apples. The apples we'd picked were perfect because they were very tart and lost their shape completely, so my jam would have no lumpy bits in it.

After I'd mixed all the fruit together and weighed it, I stirred in an equal amount of sugar and boiled the mixture, scraping off the scum and then continuing to test it until it was done.

As usual I found this last bit nerve wracking, but I know if it's underdone I can always reboil it, whereas if it's overdone it's useless.

We'll eat the jam through the winter months, on homemade bread and crumpets, tasting those summer hours of daylight that were ours to squander.

Hallelujah Spring

Farmdoc and I have sharefarmed with our next door neighbour, Sharon, since we moved to Onemilebridge. A few years ago a tree fell onto one of the fences between our properties so we took the opportunity to put in a new gate.

Then Farmdoc made a track from the gate to our driveway. The track meanders through a sycamore forest and is wide enough for walking or riding a four-wheel bike. This morning Farmdoc and I strolled it when we went across to feed Sharon's dogs.

This time of the year the forest floor is a sea of seedlings and all the trees are sprouting new leaves.

The track skirts rocks.

And ferns.

When we bought the property we planned to eradicate the sycamore, which is a weed, but we soon learned that we couldn't, so now we try to control it on some parts of our land and enjoy it on others. We've even made a picnic spot where we come in summer for the shade and in autumn to enjoy the colour of the leaves as they turn yellow.

This new track was such a success that Farmdoc made another one leading from our driveway up to the top water tank. We call it the pink track for the colour of the baling twine he marked it out with.

This track also has its fair share of beautiful rock formations

and ferns of various types

Every time we walk these tracks we tell each other that whatever the season is at that moment, the forest is at its most beautiful right then. We said it last autumn when the leaves were gold; we said it in winter when the trees were stark and bare and made us feel we were deep in some European country; and we'll say it again when the forest is cool and shady in the middle of summer. We said it this morning with everything bursting into tender new leaf.

Hallelujah, spring!

To Every Season

Each year at the autumn equinox, on March 21st, Farmdoc tilts the solar panels on our roof by the number of degrees latitude we are from the equator - ie 41 - to capture the maximum amount of sunshine during the winter months.

Then, at the spring equinox, September 21st, he climbs back onto the roof to lie the panels down again, ready for the warmer weather.

It's been too wet for roof climbing lately, so this morning Farmdoc took advantage of a clear spell to lower the panels. We're ready for the summer now.

Then we spent some time in the vegetable garden: spring cleaning and planting seeds of carrots, radishes, peas, beans and broad beans.

Sometimes I think that as a writer I see symbolism where there is none. We did these things today because they needed to be done and the weather was briefly fine. Still, it did feel healing, after yesterday's events, to be moving with the seasons, and looking forward to spring growth and summer harvest.

Winter's End

Last day of winter, though not the last day of cold weather. It poured last night and this morning the sky has a hangover; the clouds look exhausted. The wind is pushing patches of blue from left to right so that from time to time a sun stripe lands on our solar panels and on the kitchen table.

One of those patches of blue looks like a map of Australia, but by the time I fetch my camera it has become something else.

There are already leaves on some of the sycamore trees and hundreds of new shoots. It feels hopeful and exciting, but also sad that the still part of the year is almost at an end. Winter is restful, the bare bones of the deciduous trees exposed; their discarded leaves in some light look like fallen snow. I love the starkness of it.

The farm will begin to warm up and life will resume its rush. We won’t have to feed out hay until next winter and soon we’ll stroll and picnic again in the shade of the green leaves that are budding now, but I’ll miss this slow inward-turned time.