Stormy Weather

Back at Onemilebridge after a few weeks in Melbourne, I dreaded seeing the damage caused by the wind storm that kept Farmdoc awake at night while he listened to the wind's howl, fearful something would fall on the house. For a couple of days he couldn't get our car off the property because six or seven huge trees had fallen across the driveway. Others had landed across tracks and paths, and of course onto fences.

By the time I arrived a lot of the mess had been cleaned up. Our neighbours from Blair and Sons Sawmill had come with chainsaws to clear the road and one of the tracks, and to block the timber up ready for use as firewood. In true neighbourly fashion they'll be back with some heavier equipment in a week or so to clear a couple more tracks. Another friend helped repair some of the fences.

It's sad to see these massive old beauties uprooted from the soil where they've stood for decades, and to witness the destruction they caused as they came down, crashing into smaller trees and bringing them down too. We won't see others of their size grown up to replace them in our lifetime.

We were lucky too. Our neighbour's barn lost its roofing iron. Our house and buildings were safe, and we have good and generous friends and neighbours to help us repair the damage. But it's hard not to feel diminished with some of the majesty gone from our patch of bush. The storm has reminded us yet again of how small and defenceless we are, helpless against the forces of nature.

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.

Country Life

In a recent Island magazine article a poet described city life as narcissistic. It exists for your convenience. You don't have to make an effort. Country life can be hard; the work often feels never ending, especially when you have animals. Animals and fences. But look where you get to do it!

I inhabit two quite different worlds: Mole Creek and Melbourne. I filmed this in Mole Creek on the day before I returned to Melbourne.

Hi, Farmdoc.

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.