Our Backyard

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Posted on June 24, 2013

How life has changed, and it seems to me it’s our backyards which reflect it the most. Not only are they smaller these days, houses are enormous and the backyard has become an outdoor room.

Now I’m all for a nice deck, a barbeque, lots of greenery and a bit of paving, but really, an outdoor room? Where is the expanse of grass? Where can the dog dig a hole? Where is the aviary or the chook pen? Where can the kids run through the sprinkler or play chasings? Where’s the mulberry tree, the passionfruit vine and the rhubarb? All disappeared to make space for the outdoor room. In my day it was a place exclusively for kids, not a group of allocated designer spaces. But alas, the backyard has gone the way of many things today ~ it’s small and compact, roughly one third of the size it was in the 1950’s. And as a result indoor and outdoor living spaces have become blurred, and the child-friendly, free spaces that once were backyards are not what they used to be.

But I’m one of the lucky ones. I grew up in the fifties, and my backyard was big and it belonged to me! There was no such thing as landscaping when I was a kid ~ our yard was filled with our life! We had a frangipani tree out the front which we were very proud of, hydrangeas along the side of the house which filled our vases with flowers, patches of freesias here and there which magically appeared, and out the back ~ paling fences covered with passionfruit, a neighbour’s overhanging fig tree laden with forbidden fruit, sunflowers which reached the sky, a veggie patch, a bush just the right size to jump over, a rotary clothes line we swung on, a proper cubby, an aviary filled with finches, budgies and canaries, a sandpit, and if like me you were lucky, smack bang in the middle of the yard there was a magic willow tree to dream under. Our backyard was a safe wonderful place where we kids played, created make-believe worlds and had a heap of fun. The backyard was ours ~ all of it!

And it was not only us kids who enjoyed our backyard ~ all of our animals did as well! Over the years we had a menagerie that lived with us ~ chickens, ducks, dogs, cats, rabbits, birds and even a lamb. Dad, a farm boy, was very comfortable with all of it, and Mum, for a city girl, managed our menagerie amazingly well. When it came to the chickens it was our job to feed them and collect the eggs, but she cleaned their pen and hatched the new chicks, and that, was an amazing experience. She brought in the eggs that were ready, put them in a large box near the warmth of the gas oven and then we waited. When the chicks and ducklings popped out the kitchen became a madhouse, especially when they escaped, but it was great fun and we delighted in the wonder and joy of it all.

As for our dogs, all of them were females, so we always had lots of puppies. One of them even had her pups on my bed! And any of our cats which were females, always managed to give birth in the wardrobes! We watched the babies being born, watched some of them die and watched with sad hearts when it came time for them to go to their new homes.

And then there was the lamb! He came to us via friends who found him wondering on the road. He occasionally snuck into the house as well, which was a riot. He stayed with us until his horns got so big that he started attacking anyone who wasn’t family … then it was time for him to go! Our backyard really was a farm yard ~ we even had a ring-in pet dog that fell in love with my baby sister and only went home for meals!

Of all the animals we had, the funniest was the flying duck. We had hilarious times watching him learn to fly ~ his take-offs were absolutely hysterical. We really loved him however, once he learned to fly, the neighbours didn’t! Come to think of it, I don’t blame them one bit ~ they were probably very sick of having to throw the rooster back over the fence every couple of days! So back to the flying duck, unbeknown to us children a decision was made that he would be fattened up for Christmas and so he was caged. Mum took pity on him a month or so later and let him out for a stroll. Freedom of course was just too tempting. He took off like a rocket and was never seen again! Secretly, I think Mum was very pleased.

So it was that our life was interwoven with our backyard. There was always something going on! It may have been very plain by today’s designer standards, but it was filled with everything you could ever want ~ fun, joy, and loads of love.

Weeping Willow photographed by (Christine Westerback) / CC BY-SA 2.0

We Have Sheep!

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Posted on June 21, 2013

If you’ve been reading my blog you may remember that around the end of May I wrote ‘Thank God for the Firies’ about the rather dramatic grass fire we had in our paddock.

Well the outcome was that a neighbour from up the road, let’s call him Sheep Man, knocked on our door the next morning ~ yes, the very next morning because the grapevine in the country is lightning fast ~ and offered his sheep to keep the grass down. And we now have sheep!

It’s taken longer than expected to get them here as Sheep Man had to erect an inner wire fence around our four-acre paddock boundary to protect the 200 trees, and as we’ve had a lot of rain, he hasn’t been able to do it as quickly as he hoped. However today, was the day! The weather was magnificent and they are in!

So we have 26 African Merinos, and very good looking sheep they are too! Apparently they are very docile and we won’t even notice them. That’s probably true because the paddock has lots of little hills and valleys and it won’t be that easy to see them. Sheep Man says it will take them a couple of days to find their camp, which will be either near the water troughs under the trees or on the very top of the paddock, but the very first thing they will do is check the boundaries to get to know the area.

When they arrived it took them some time to sort themselves out. They huddled together for about 30 minutes, until suddenly there was a leader and they took off! And as Sheep Man said, they went straight to the boundary and started walking around it. Merinos are excellent foragers and very adaptable. Because they love clover they’ll find that first, usually where tyre tracks have pushed down the long grass, and only then will they start eating out the rest of the paddock. By the picture above you can see they have a big job ahead of them!

Our little flock are about 2 years old, and as most of you would know, Merinos are bred predominantly for their wool, which is very fine and soft. Sheep Man has about 800 head spread around the area, and he and his father do all the shearing themselves every year about late November, which in Australia, is coming into summer. He will be checking on them every few days, and as there won’t be any lambs ~ he keeps those on his property to protect them from dogs ~ it will be an easy job. And it will be nice for us as well to not only learn more about sheep, but to have someone drop in a couple of times a week.

So now it’s all done! I’ve painted a ‘sheep’ sign for the gate, and hubby and I are both very happy to have a ‘living’ paddock on our property again. Apart from kangaroos, the last time we had animals on a property was twenty ago when we lived on acres in Sydney and our paddock was used by the local riding school to rest their horses.

When Sheep Man was finally satisfied that the herd was happy, he hopped into his truck and with a thumbs up and a wink, left us with these parting words, “It’ll look like a park in here next year!” … and I believe it will!

A Next Morning P.S. ~ I think I’m turning into a sheep watcher! 🙂

Happy Birthday Dad

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Posted on June 16, 2013

Dad, today is your birthday. You would have been 90 years old, so this morning I toasted you with my first cup of tea. And because you have been on my mind all day, these words are for you.

Life with you was never dull, and being the happy-go-lucky person that you were, you swept us all along on that roller coaster ride of yours. You may not be in your earthly body anymore but your energy and lust for life is still here as strong as ever. How could anyone not have noticed you. So sure of yourself that you told your bride she would be your wife the very first time you met her. So affable, fun-loving and irresistibly charming that she couldn’t resist. And such a good dancer, that you waltzed around the dance floor with commanding ease.

Mum called you a hero Dad for the way in which you fought till the end, and when I was a child, you were certainly my hero. To me you seemed invincible. So big and strong. As far as I was concerned you could do anything, and you did! You saved my life when I stopped breathing as a baby, you got your family safely to a free country and you did extraordinary things for us like the time you rode 12kms on a pushbike with a huge glass window strapped to your back so we could have light in our meagre garage lodgings. Dad, you were amazing!

And you were such a doer too ~ always committed to doing your best and getting the job done. If something needed doing, from organising a function to moving house, you were the man. You were the ultimate wheeler-dealer ~ smart and sharp. You always found a way, and you did it the quickest and the best way without any fuss. Over the years we all witnessed your incredible determination, will and drive. Growing up we were inevitably caught up in what you were doing, and whatever it was, it always involved people and action.

You worked very hard for us Dad. You saw that as your duty, but you also played hard as well, especially in your hey days. Having come through a horrific war, like most, you refused to discuss it and instead you lived in the moment, took chances and loved a gamble. You locked away the demons and focused on the pleasure. You saw yourself as a winner, and when that winning moment came you revelled in it, often throwing caution to the wind. And oh how you loved those impulsive breezes and where they took you.

A free-spirited farm boy and a believer in ‘live and let live’, there was no hiding behind a bush for you. You did your own thing, secure within yourself, never feeling the need to impress anyone. Your only sadness, and it never left you, was the heartbreak of having to leave Latvia and your family behind. In later years, as you worked in your garden, I know you often thought of your father and mother, and never once did you fall asleep without closing your eyes and walking through your childhood home first.

Dancing with my Dad

So you see Dad, we all understood you very well through all the ups and downs. We felt your sadness and your joy, and we loved and accepted you just the way you were. Strong of mind, body and will. Anyone who shook your hand felt your strength and assuredness. Your ideals were simple: family, hard work, friends, good food and fun. You lived your life exactly as you wanted, and you enjoyed it. And isn’t that what it’s all about?

Dad you may have been a man of few words, but you left us with so many memories and so much love. I am a better person for having you as a father. So thank you… for saving me, for being my hero, for teaching me how to dance, for instilling in me your work ethic, for letting me be me, for being proud of me, and for the times you made me feel like a princess. But most of all, thank you for showing me how to celebrate life, live in the moment and in-joy it.

When Fishing Becomes A Feast

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Posted on June 11, 2013

My father loved fishing. He was brought up by a river and I can’t remember a time during my childhood when fishing was not part of our life. We went fishing every single weekend ~ Dad, Mum my younger brother and me.

In the early days we had no car nor did we have the money to hire a motorboat. You see we were refugees, part of the intake by the Australian government after the Second World War to populate the country, and life was tough. Not only did we have no money, my parents were trying to fit into a country which at the time was very xenophobic. It was during this time that fishing became a crucial part of our life for it was what provided us with most of our food. There were many times when the fish we caught that day was our evening meal. So while fishing was Dad’s great love, it was also what sustained us.

Every Saturday Mum would pack the lunch, Dad, the bait and lines, and we’d head off to One Point at Georges River in Sydney. We’d then pile into our hired dinghy and Dad would row us out to the deep part of the river and let the boat slowly drift. He fished all day ~ from morning till sunset. To keep the fish fresh and alive, Dad hung a mesh bag over the side of the boat. In those days there was no law about throwing back the little ones so we kept and ate everything we caught. And if I remember rightly, the little ones were the most delicious!

Sometimes we pulled into a sandy inlet for lunch, but mostly we spent the day on the water. My brother and I sat in the open boat with wide brimmed hats, our fingers rippling through the shiny dark green water. They were quiet peaceful days, moving with the rise and fall of river as it gently lapped the side of the boat. Occasionally the silence was broken by the plopping sound of a leaping fish, and at other times we gazed in amazement as the river filled with jellyfish and surrounded our boat. When we got older my brother and I also fished. I caught a few, and my brother, two years younger, caught a few less than me. We really weren’t fisherman material. It was my sister, born some years later, who turned out to be a match for Dad.

Of course, the best part of the day was the delicious feast back home, which my mother managed to produce with expert ease at the end of a long day of fishing. Dad did the scaling and gutting, and then Mum crumbed and fried our bounty on an old gas stove just the way Dad liked it. Then, as with everything she cooked, she served it on a big platter in the middle of the table. It was wonderful, and the fish were scrumptious! I can still taste the buttery sweet flakes. It truly was finger licking good!

While this may seem to be a simple story about fishing, it really is far from it. Fishing allowed us to experience the joy of a table laden with food. And food was very much part of celebrating life in our family. As I grew older I understood that these feasts symbolised a celebration of survival and freedom ~ they were the antithesis to the insanity of war, deprivation, fear and loss which my parents experienced. While life was not easy in a new country, we never took our circumstances or our new life for granted. Our bountiful table was a representation of all the good things we valued, and for us, every feast was without doubt a fortunate one.

Don’t Waste Your Joy Worrying

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Posted on June 10, 2013

‘Worrying is like a rocking chair, it gives you something to do, but it gets you nowhere’ ~ Glenn Turner

Worrying is such a nowhere place, but for those who are perpetual worriers it’s a hard habit to break. Afraid of being taken by surprise, perpetual worriers are hyper-vigilant, always on the look out for the next thing that might go wrong. For them, it’s akin to a duty which holds their world together, but the price is high ~ anxiety, stress, insomnia, rapid heart beat and even digestive problems ~ all unwanted things which create more worry. And sadly, for those who can’t stop worrying it never goes away!

Anyone who is or has a perpetual worrier in their family knows exactly what I’m talking about. My sweet, caring, loving little mother is a worrier. She instantly sees the worst in any situation and no matter how hard she tries, she just can’t stop. It’s her first response to almost everything, and because she keeps thinking about the bad bits, she creates more of the same. It often keeps her awake at night and also creates an enormous amount of stress. And even though she is aware that she is creating more of what she doesn’t want she remains trapped ~ stuck and unable to move beyond it. Now in her 90^th year it’s unlikely she’ll change a habit of a lifetime, so I wrap her in love and do my best to ease her worries by telling her that everything will be just fine.

Now I’m the opposite, which is interesting given I grew up surrounded by so much worry energy ~ I’m always focusing on the good bits. And I guess I can thank my happy-go-lucky Dad for that! So, all of this leads me to a conversation which I had with a friend yesterday. She is a very caring concerned person ~ so concerned in fact, that she was in worry mode … worried about all the ‘bad’ things happening to the planet, and those on the planet. Of course I am aware of all of these things, but because I am always focused on the possibilities, I can’t bring myself to worry about any of it or be negative. When concern becomes a passion for positive change, that’s great, provided it stays focused on the positive. To paraphrase Mother Teresa, ‘ask me to an anti-war rally and I won’t be part of it, but ask me to a pro-peace rally and I’m there’. It’s my belief that when you shine a spotlight on positive thought, action or improvement the world is a better place.

So, there is awareness ~ very important for solving the problem and creating positive change, there is concern ~ equally important as it’s very clarifying and also part of our survival instinct, and then there is negativity and worry ~ that’s not so important and bad for your health. For me it’s a choice, and I choose to focus on the good and to feel good. When it feels bad, and for me worrying and negativity feels really bad, it’s not helpful.

Sitting there with my friend, if I’d had a wand I would have whipped it out and become the happy fairy. Instead, I said that I preferred to focus on the positive aspects of all her concerns. And when it was obvious that I wasn’t prepared to wave the worry banner she looked at me and said, ‘Well, at least you’re happy’. And that is the whole point. I am because I choose it. We all live and learn in our own way, and for me, this is the most important thing. I choose to focus on the positive, the expansion and the joy. I choose to allow wellbeing … and I am grateful.

Dancing Amongst The Stars

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Posted on June 5, 2013

Have you ever felt like you were dancing amongst the stars? I mean really dancing amongst the stars? I have, and I did for most of my childhood.

I spent hours twirling, arms outstretched, floating about in fantasy land under the soft billowing branches of our willow tree. It was a place where the seeds of my dreams were planted, and as I danced in my world of make believe, my mother watched. And what she saw was a ballerina.

She was not mistaken for I loved to dance, and so, the dream began. Ballet became part of my world. By the time I was nine, I was a seasoned performer, dancing in operettas and even television. I was good at it and I liked it, but if you asked me whether there was an element of pressure, I would have to say that there was. It was after all, at its inception, my mother’s dream for me.

And she had a big vision. My talents were not to be wasted. Wanting the very best I started at a prestigious ballet school run by Mrs. George in the Sydney Tivoli Theatre. Twice a week Mum and I hopped on a train after school and rushed into the city. We had to walk through Belmore Park ~ perfectly fine in daylight, but on the way back in pitch black darkness we were terrified, and tore through it like lightening singing at the top of our lungs!

Within a few years I was being privately tutored by a Latvian prima ballerina. Eventually I joined her weekly classes and life centred around lessons, practice, and working towards performances ~ that’s me below on the far right in an operetta. My mother, a skilled seamstress made all my costumes, and together, immersed in the world of ballet her vision for me became mine. I dreamt of becoming a ballerina.

But that however, was to change much sooner than I imagined. My last performance, a valiant swansong, was at the tender age of eleven. Looking back now, I have the strong feeling it was all predetermined. By that time I was dancing on points, stuffing cotton wool into my ballet slippers to help with painful toes and pirouetting across the stage with great skill and flare.

That evening I had two dances. The first was a solo and the second, a duet with the principal male dancer, the prima ballerina’s husband. I remember desperately wanting a nervous pee while waiting in the wings for my solo. But when it was time to launch myself on stage, for some unknown reason, I missed my music. Another would-be ballerina standing beside me panicked and gave me a big push, and before I knew it, I was out there. Disorientated, I completely lost the thread of the dance. So, with a pounding heart, I made it up. I thought I had saved the day, but by the time the duet came around I had completely lost the plot. When he lifted, my feet were firmly planted on the floor and when I jumped he wasn’t lifting. It was a disaster, but it was about to get a whole lot worse!

After the bows were taken and the flowers given, all hell broke loose backstage. In a blistering outburst, the prima ballerina tore me to shreds. Now as bad as this may seem, sometimes the worst things turn out to be the best.

In one stroke of the tongue my desire to be a prima ballerina was over, and in my eleven year old heart I knew it was absolutely the right decision for me. Today, I have a wonderful appreciation for the fine art of ballet, but from that day on I danced without pressure and without sore toes. I was free to twirl, float and dream once again in the place where it all began… under the willow tree dancing amongst the stars.

Sunday Pleasures

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Posted on June 3, 2013

There are some days which are special, and Sunday is one of them, especially in our house. Late brunch, the papers, music, reading, an afternoon movie perhaps ~ all usually in a very lived-in looking house because it is Sunday. It’s kind of sacrosanct and definitely not to be messed with, but then, the unexpected happens!

Today, just as I was about to take the first mouthful of my leisurely brunch, we had a phone call announcing a visit. Family we hadn’t seen for a very long time were passing through our little town and did exactly what we always ask people to do ~ pop in and say hello! Now I, nor the house, were exactly at our Sunday best so suddenly my leisurely brunch turned into a mental plan of action: wolf down large plate of food, leave coffee for later, wash dishes, pots and pans, make cake, sweep floor, tidy slightly dishevelled lounge room, set table, change clothes, comb hair … all in the space of 40 minutes!

There are those in this world who are happy to say, “Take me as you find me”, and then there are the rest of us! I am part of the ‘rest of us’. My welcome, while totally open-hearted, also extends to the state of my house. Now fortunately I am reasonably organised so it wasn’t nearly as bad as it sounds, but I must say I felt pretty good when I mentally did the ‘tick, tick, tick’ thing and it was all done!

There was a time when I wouldn’t have had to do any of those things at the last minute ~ I was always ready! Everything was in order by bedtime the night before. Not because of the need to be ready, but because I liked it that way. It made me feel happy, and it still does. I love taking care of my space, making it beautiful, putting love into every corner and then in-joying what I’ve created. But these days I’m a little more relaxed about routines. In fact, we now have a saying in our house ~ TAD ~ ‘Tomorrow’s Another Day’. So if you called at my house unexpectedly it would more than likely have the lived-in look. But if you rang ahead to say you were coming I know that I could get myself together in under an hour … and I love that ~ it’s all part of the fun of what the day brings.

Over the years there’s been many a time I’ve been in the middle of something that’s turned the house upside down and there’s been a knock on the door … like the time I hung all my washing from the rafters of a screened area at the front of the house and an unexpected visitor had to pick their way through sheets and towels to get to my door. A comment was made but so what! It went right over my head. I’d much rather focus on in-joying time with my visitor than the washing! What others think of me and what I do is really of no concern. What does matter to me is that I have enough respect for myself to care about my space and enough respect for those I’ve invited into my home to make them feel comfortable and welcome.

So if you let me know you’re coming I’ll do my absolute best, pop in unannounced and we’ll both get pot luck ~ either way it’s all good! So with a shipshape house and the smell of a freshly baked cake wafting from the kitchen ready to welcome and make my unexpected guests feel very special, I stood at the door with a huge smile on my face.

Sunday Musings

A Blog about Life, Living, and Learning

Monthly Archives: June 2013