Easter came, Easter went. I had grand plans for some sort of Easter related blogging, bunny biscuits, a round up of our blossom’s first Easter…but y’know, actually doing the ‘stuff’ rather than taking the photos, uploading the photos, writing about the ‘stuff’ was a better option. Blogging can be a bit like that, living in a virtual bubble. I decided to stop looking at a weekend as a blog post. Huh…novel. So, I’ve been absent for good reason. For Easter we bounced between Matt’s family at Inverloch, my mum’s here, cousins galore, far too many hot cross buns consumed, a fire down the creek, the usual fare…
We’ve now been in our little ol’ farmhouse for a full year, almost longer than our first stint here in 2010-2011. Of course, now I can’t imagine living anywhere else. Grandi is a two minute drive away, Grandad pops by often and I work in the family business office when and where I’m needed. Matt’s parents are a 50 minute drive away down to the beach, cousin Chloe visits on Spider the wonder pony, Eleanor watches the potato harvester on a nearby hill and waves to the ‘baa-baa’s’ out her bedroom window. It feels like home. I guess because (at last) it is.
Plans are afoot for the Magnificent Brindabella Veggie Garden at last (caps required). If you squint and tilt your head slightly you can see it: three raised beds over near the chook pen. Berries and beetroots and silverbeet and tomatoes and capsicum and strawberries and carrots. Actually, I’ve never had much luck with carrots… I’m planning on growing corn and pumpkins and rambling things over behind the chooks. We’ve got a little grapevine growing there to make it’s way over the chookies to give them some shade, and plan to make a little opening for them to free range into the paddock. The raised beds we plan to have tin sides, we’ve been scavenging random tin around the farm in preparation. Now who wants to dig the holes to begin? Errr…not me.
A few weeks ago I got back on the horse…this mama went back to work! For REAL. My ‘real’ job, you know, taking photos? I shot my first wedding since having Eleanor, and let me tell you, 9 months post-partum sure beats 34 weeks pregnant on a concrete floor reception venue all night – ha! It was like riding a bike. And other such cliches.
What’s going on in your world?
Stepping out of the virtual bubble and into real life?
Yeah, me too.