Arachnophobia? Not me!

I noticed a post that commented on disliking spiders. I must admit that I am not very fond of these odd, hairy creatures either, but...

A not very good scan on the left, shows, if you look very hard, the beauty of a spider's web. They are fascinating things to look at, best seen when said spider is not in residence, and especially lovely when gleaming with dew drops, when they tend to look like crystal Christmas decorations slung between branches on trees. They can also form a sticky barrier when spun across the front verandah and one unwittingly walks into them. It takes forever to become unstuck, so I can imagine how impossible escape must be for an insect unfortunate enough to be caught. This ability to adhere is why they were/are sometimes used as wound dressings. They don't come off!
Peg Maltby, in her Fairy Book had a wonderful painting of the Cobweb Lace Wedding Dress. I have hunted high and low for a copy of said picture to post, but have had no luck to date.


In the picture above is a 'huntsman' spider. In my youth I would go completely hysterical if a spider came within six feet of my, and as you know, it is sometimes hard to spot a spider from this distance, but I always knew when one was around. Urk!! However, I 'grew up' and had children, and realised that I should not pass on my phobias to them so I learned to pretend that spiders were not a problem, indeed they were our friends, because they caught germ laden flies and ate them, and were really rather useful creatures. (I also learned to quell a very real fear of thunderstorms for the same reason). Time and again somebody in the house would point out where a hunstman spider had taken up residence and with a shudder I would say: 'It's okay, kids. He will catch the mosquitoes. Leave him be' And there he would stay, safe as houses as long as I could see him. It was when he disappeared that I became paranoid. If the creature was foolish enough to enter my bedroom it had to be removed. And who had to remove the critter? Brave me! Himself heartily dislikes spiders, the boys always said that I was such a good spider catcher they wouldn't even try! Up the ladder, or on the chair, wide mouthed jar in hand, I would carefully, nervously, inch the container towards the spider and wham! there it was, rearing up and threatening to have me for breakfast if I should just let it go.
A piece of cardboard carefully slipped under the container, a quick tip upside down and voila! one captured spider, duly carried out with great ceremony, to be emptied onto a shrub or dropped onto the ground. Oh, I was so brave!! Until the time a friend was living with us for a few months. She too disliked spiders and she appeared in the family room one night to inform us that a spider - a huge hairy beast - was lurking over her bedroom door and she couldn't get in. Don't be so silly, I scoffed and armed myself with the widenecked jar and chair, and very bravely caught the spider. I descended from my chair and - oh my! 'What did you do with the spider?' I gasped. It was nowhere to be found. A fairly thorough search was fruitless. Perhaps it is on your skirt, suggested the friend. I shook my head and lifted my skirt. It was a very brightly coloured floral skirt and was exceptionally full in shape. Carefully we moved the skirt through our hands and then, there it was, swinging gently from the hem. Oh horror. We both learned to do a quick and noisy tarantella as we headed for the door and outside, where the creature was brushed to the ground with a leafy twig. I must confess to not being quite as brave since this incident, but before I was very brave! I would pick up Daddy Long leg spiders from the bath, where they always seemed to congregate, and fling them aside, hoping that their legs would not come off. But they always did, and lame spiders would hobble in all directions seeking a dark hidey hole. I removed a huntsman spider from my youngsters head without turning a hair, just so that he would not be terrified.
I once, in my terror days, watched a couple of aunts in law play ball with the biggest tarantula/huntsman spider I had ever seen. We were at a family gathering and this foolish creature scuttled across the dance floor, to be scopped up and sent flying through the air by one aunt to the other. She caught it deftly and hurled it back. I was cringing in the corner and screeched when dancing feet squished the poor thing. They thought it was hysterical, especially my hysterics. But, in 'grown up' times, I was having a quick clean up one day, in an area that didn't know what a duster was, and I had to move some old bills to dust properly. As I picked the bills up into my hand there was an explosion of itsy bitsy spiders. I reckon at least a hundred, if not more, and they ran all over the shelf and my hands. Hysteria was lurking, until I spotted a beautiful, white silken circular object, about the size of a twenty cent piece, and realised that, because it was considered a safe place, a huntswoman spider had laid her eggs and encased them in this beautiful silken container. They had been lurking and scattered as I moved the papers. No, I don't think many survived because it was a long time before I saw another hutsman spider, but a short time before I dusted again in that particular spot.

I wonder if, to the right, you can make out the Eiffel Tower. In my not very good photography days, this was taken as the tower was lighting up for the night. It was one of the many magical moments in my life. I tooked as though a billion spiders were spinning molten gold webs around the structure. It was so beautiful, I cried. Amazing what a bit of light on an old metal structure can do. But spiders were the first thing I thought of to describe what I was seeing. I missed the rest of night time Paris, because I was so spectaculared out that I promptly fell asleep in the tour bus. It never does look quite as good in the daylight. Neither does the tower on our Arts Centre. It needs the night lights to show it as a thing of -well almost- beauty.
We are off to Western Australia for a couple of weeks, so I will not be blogging until October. I guess there will be lots of other blog news for me to catch up on when I return. I hope to have some impressive photos to post and share with you.
Cheers everybody.

Do I hear a waltz..

(The above picture is by Di Colman and titled 'Rhapsody')
I love to waltz! In fact, I just love to dance! But I do most of my dancing alone, especially the waltz as I am married to 'the man who will not dance' - if it can be avoided. Sometimes he cannot avoid his obligations, but he certainly tries. My first romantic attachment was to a boy who had learned to tap dance, and played the piano. Ipso facto, he could dance. Couldn't he? Well... the few times we went dancing, no matter what the music might be, he would steer me up one side of the dance floor, turn sharply, and steer me along the other. Sometimes in time to the music, but mostly just a quick march! So embarrassing! Then he would glare so savagely at anybody else who approached me for a dance, that it just wasn't worth the angst.
Eventually I convinced him that we should have dance lessons. With much muttering he agreed, so twice a week we would attend "Arthur Bosley's school of ballroom dancing'. Problem! I became so good at dancing with the instructor that I couldn't dance with anybody else. Ane then the boyfriend go jealous and refused to go dancing anymore because I only wanted to dance with the teacher - not him! Needless to say, dancing was soon off the agenda, so I would dance alone. I would have been a dead cert for Hollywood stardom if only Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire had spotted me! Eat your heart out Ginger Rogers and all you others who were spotted and became stars. I am still the greatest!
If I hear a waltz on the radio in the morning, I know I will have a good day. I used to love to hear a waltz on my way to work, especially for the few months before I retired. There was something about that old 1, 2, 3, that set me up for the day. Whilst on the way for a blood test this morning, I was lucky enough to hear the waltz from Der Rosenkavalier. It is one of the most beautiful pieces of music I have ever heard. One really has to listen to the orchestral version of this waltz, because Richard Strauss wrote singing counterpoint to this, and the voices tend to drown the beautiful music. Same as Puccini with Mietta's waltz song, from La Boheme. Ah well, the singers have to shine as well, I guess.
Needless to say, when we have been to Vienna I have been in waltz heaven. Himself, in a truly aberrant, but exciting, moment, waltzed me to the door when we went to a Strauss performance at the Schonbrunn Palace. This was a magical evening because, apart from himself dancing with me, it was so romantic to stand on a nearby balcony, with a full moon shining down and lighting up the gloriette in the distance, all to the background of a Strauss waltz! Oh yes, the stuff dreams are made of. There are just so many beautiful waltz pieces written and I couldn't even begin to list my favourite pieces, I have so many. Just play on, and I will continue to be a happy little vegemite!

And, after all that strenuous activity, I wonder
should we dare to drink tea from the pictured cups. I suspect they are just a bit of whimsy on someone's part, because I really can't see them being used. But dear friends have each presented me with a cup, and accompanying spoons in this very delicate china. Not English, of course! But, they look very pretty in the crystal cabinet or on the table when I decide to display them.
Cheers fellow bloggers.

Nan's Kitchen

Most of my young growing up was spent in the family kitchen, ruled over by my dearest Nan. She was the chief cook and bottlewasher, and none dared interfere when she began her baking. She cooked every day, of course, as women did until feminism saw them leaving the kitchen in droves. (Gotta admit to leaving my husband to it sometimes, when the boys were young, as I had become very involved with various organisations, which is probably why he won't cook now, unless I am too ill to do so. Can't remember when that last was!)
Sunday morning was THE cooking time. We always had visitors in the house on Sunday. I would waken to the crash and bang of cooking tins and utensils being banged around in the kitchen. In fact, the entire household would waken, because Nan always made an early start on this day of rest, and could never do it quietly. I can still hear my uncle groaning and asking why she had to cook on a Sunday. She was always in a hurry. I was usually the first to enter her domain, and she always greeted me with a smile and a chat, and breakfast. I was never allowed to miss breakfast and, if I was lucky enough to catch Nan just taking scones from the oven, she would butter one for me, and I would carefully eat the hot morsel, butter dripping down my chin, because Nan never skimped with the topping on scones. Then I would sit at the table, amongst the teetering pans and bowls, and watch as she made fruit pies, cakes and biscuits and a pudding for lunch. There would be flour and icing sugar dusting the table top and spilling over onto the floor, and I would sometimes lick my finger and dip it into the spilled icing sugar, or honey or golden syrup, or whatever tasty ingredient had missed the mixing bowl.
Nan would have every item available spread around the kitchen and was always pushing things onto the floor to make room for rolling out the pastry or cutting cookies. It was a fascinating place for a child to be. It may also account for why, even now, I am an untidy cook! Then, when the last item of baking was out of the oven, Nan would put the Sunday roast in, dutifully sitting in half a container of dripping so that it would bake nicely. (And I wonder why I have a weight problem now!)
then there would be more banging and crashing as she hurriedly washed all the dishes -and believe me there was always a lot of washing up to do. Then she would make a cup of tea for herself and cocoa for me and I got to sample all the goodies she had made.
My Nan was known far and wide for her beautiful scones. There never seemed to be any rhyme or reason to the way she made them. I have watched her rub butter into flour, I have watched her use an egg and cream, and I think I even remember her just mixing SR flour, (well, on her time it was plain flour with baking powder and carb soda added) sugar and milk one time. But no matter what, the scones were always declicious. Now all of this remembering is because Alice asked me if I learned to cook by show and tell, or by following written down recipes. I think it was mostly show and tell, because I don't ever remember not being able to cook a roast, or make scones. Sometimes, if somebody asked, Nan would quickly pencil a recipe onto a piece of paper and put it in the dresser to pass on, or for my aunt to use. Never a book, just pieces of paper or an old envelope. Her shortbread was the best in the world, and I put her recipe on my last blog. I have only been making for the last few years because I never had her recipe. I mentioned this to my aunt one day and she was amazed. She promptly produced it for me, written in Nan's hurried, but ligible, script. But nobody had her recipe for pastry or her meat pies. I used to watch her make these pies, but have never been able to reproduce quite the same delicious recipe. Mind you, my family always liked my meat pies, and the grandchildren do now. Minced steak and vegetable filling encased in purchased puff pastry. Nan's pies would be made from scratch with the beef being minced in the old fashioned mincer attached to the old wooden kitchen table. She had a large aluminium (or something like, rectangular pie dish. Into this she would put the ground beef, any grated vegetables that she could lay her hand to, salt and pepper, and then pour boiling water over the lot and mix vigorously with a spoon. Then she would cover the lot with her very own pastry. She never had a failure. I used to be amazed that the meat would cook, but now I realise that it was the action of the boiling water that helped it on its way. Family still talk about her pies. All I know about her pastry is that it was made with dripping!
The pie would be served, and I would smother my

portion with Nan's delicious home made tomato

sauce. I have never tasted sauce like this for years. She made the best sauce, and pickles and preserves. Her cauliflower pickles were better than shop purchased. Her green tomato pickles were beautifully flavoured, and I didn't eat tomatoes because of the seeds. It is very hard to pick the seeds out of tomato pickles, but I used to manage. I had a terrible aversion to seeds, and I was in my thirties before I stopped deseeding tomatoes for my own consumption. I have only recently come to passionfruit. But I make sure that I don't crunch the seeds. A cousin asked if I had Nan's recipe for the tomato pickles as she could remember her own mother frantically making them, but I don't think the recipe was ever written down, or if it was, it got lost somewhere along the way. It was a recipe that came from my great grandmother, and presumably she had it from her mother, who emigrated to Australia from Cumbria, so I suspect it is an English recipe, just like last post's shortbread recipe.

I always make my own conserves, having watched Nan for many years making a variety of jams. It is something that I always seemed to know, although I had to check the first time for quantities. The only jam that Nan made that I haven't attempted to make,is melon and lemon, and melon and pineapple, because a) those melons are awfully big and b) who on earth knows what they are these days. I remember that Nan sometimes used to let me get the seeds out of them before she chopped the melon, but I was too slow for her. I always got the seeds on my toast! But, I shall never forget the warmth and generosity that came from her kitchen, because she showed her love for family and friends by feeding them. She would be wounded if anybody refused any of her fare, but honestly, it is very hard to have yet another helping just to show someone that you love them back, when you feel that you are about to burst. I wonder will we ever return to the days of everyone being involved in the cooking. Christmas is the closest I come to all the bustle, but that doesn'thappen every year, now that I have daughters in law, and extended family have all grown up and like to play host to the family Christmas. Mind you, I am not complaining!

Catch you next time, folks.

I am starry eyed and vaguely discontented....

So goes the song 'It might as well be spring' and boy, ain't it the truth! I would like to be able to divert my spring fever to something more practical, but I am too busy meandering amongst the flowers and planning massive changes to the garden. It might well involve some statuary and very tall tubs, and himself being very busy! (Dream on!)
Just as a reminder that 'sumer is acumin' in....'
we had a new air conditioner installed this morning. It is an evaporative one, and I wonder how long it will be before the govt. says we can't use that extra water. Never. the electrician assured me, because if we all converted to refrigerated air conditioners the national electric grid would not cope with all the extra call on power. So nobody is saying anything. Hmm. Damned if we do, damned if we don't!
If you look hard, you might see some disembodied little globe shapes, yellowish, as I tried to get a picture of our absolutely loaded to the ground, lemon tree. (In the middle, just above the hop bush.) It has been wonderfully bountiful this season, so much so that I can't even give them away, so I guess everybody else has had the same bounty. I have juiced the fruit, grated the skin and popped it into the freezer for later use when lemons are a tad scarcer. I did read that one can put the whole fruit into the freezer and use the juice, but I think it might destroy the rind. Make it to wet to grate. I would make lemonade if the boys were still here, but I suppose that is a no no these days as there is just so much sugar in it to counteract the acidity of the lemons. (Which I quite enjoy, and no.2 son eats lemons like we would eat oranges. But not mine because the shop brought ones are better! Never mind that they are probably cheap imports for which he is paying a lot of money, and weeks old by the time they hit the shelves in the super market. I really must work on the grandchildren so that they always like home grown better. Any lemon recipes out there, apart from lemon meringue pie, marmalade and cakes? I suppose the pies would freeze, but then I would have to find the correct containers for storage. (We should all have such minute problems!)
The hop bush is holding its lovely soft red colour, and to the left the geraldton wax bush has just come into flower. I can't believe how beautiful and colourful the gardens have been this spring, and I am hoping it is not a last burst before everything dies of thirst. (Oh, dreadful thought!). Victoria is still parched and desperately in need of rain (as many of you will know!). And today, there is a very strong, warm north wind blowing, which is drying the already dry earth even more so! At least the washing is dry already!

Below is a photo of the kamikaze noisy miner that keeps attacking the kitchen window. He is recuperating his strength for another attack by sipping the nectar in the grevillea. He was so busy I was able to creep close enough to catch the blighter on camera. Fat lot of good it did me! He was back with a vengeance yesterday, and had the nerve to bring a couple of mates along to get rid of what he sees as an intruder. I hope they were able to tell him it was his own reflection! (Some hope!) I have been checking the bird book, and he is just as horrid as I have always thought



Problem at the moment is that he and his kind have gone forth and multiplied, so we have a new crop of juveniles coming along, who will soon be learning to attack my kitchen window, no doubt. I do wish they would all move on! The book says that during the nesting season these birds produce a lovely song at sunrise. I haven't really heard anything special, despite sometimes waking up at that time. I maybe don't believe there is anything at all nice about these birds, aggressive, nasty beasts that they are. He looks as though butter wouldn't melt, doesn't he!

I just had to post this photo of the only flower on our tree paeony. Isn't it delicate? I have visions of eventually having a tall tree smothered
in these beautiful blooms. When I lived in Kyneton in my early teens, we had 'ordinary' paeonies which grew at the front of our house. They were a magnificent, double petalled, deep burgundy colour. If I was lucky, my Nan would sometimes allow me to take a small bunch to school, to decorate our form room, thereby winning points for our form each week. Do children still do this I wonder? Or has this sort of competition vanished along with all other competitiveness!
It was the same at chrysthanthemum time. We had a massive growth of autumn toned flowers which were magnificent. We used to nearly always win the form room comp. at certain times of the year. There was usually a chocolate frog, or a packet of sweets from a very pleased form teacher. The simple joys of country life in the 50s!

And after all that, perhaps a cup of tea might go down well. I thought we might try outdoors this time, but it is a bit blowy today. Never mind, it is reasonably sheltered near the house and the perfume of the hyacinths is delightful. I thought you might like to try my Nan's shortbread recipe, which she had from her mother and her grandmother before her. I suspect it is a recipe that came out from Cumbria with my great great grandparents in 1852. So I don't really know how old it is, but it is just so simple!

Nan's Shortbread.

1lb plain flour (500 gms)

10 ozs butter (310 gms) ?

4 ounces sugar (125 gms)

Method

Cream butter and sugar then add flour and stir until all blended. Knead lightly on floured board. Cut shortbread into four pieces and roll out rounds onto a tray. Pinch edges and mark into 8 pieces and prick with a fork. Of course, you can roll flatter and cut out whatever shape you want. Bake in a slow oven until just coloured. The original recipe said 15-20 minutes, but it varies.

(Absolutely delicious!)

Please note the absence of rice flour in this recipe. I suppose it could be added, but it would be impossible to mix the ingredients. I tend to melt the butter to very soft then add the other ingredients. It is much easier then to mix in the flour (and to knead and roll). Cheating I know, but it doesn't alter the flavour one whit!

One can add chopped glace ginger, choc chips or macadamia nuts if desired. Me, I tend to like just plain shortbread.

So, bake and enjoy this very old recipe.

Cheers to everybody!

Just some nice things and a recipe

Firstly, an invitation to tea and a chance to try my very favourite biscuit (cookie) recipe. The recipe was published in Melbourne's Herald Sun in 1992 - so I have been making them for a long time now. It doesn't seem as though I have been baking them for 15 years though! (Ouch!)

BASIC BISCUIT RECIPE.

Melt 4 ozs. butter or margarine,
Add 3/4 cup of sugar, 1 egg, 1 1/2 cups of self raising flour, 1 teaspoon vanilla.
Mix and use.

Lack of imagination is all that can limit what you can do with this recipe.
It can be rolled and used as pastry for jam tarts, raspberry slice, apple slice.
(For raspberry slice, line lamington tin with pastry, and spread with layer of raspberry jam and top with coconut, egg white and sugar mix. For apple slice, roll out as base, add stewed apple and top with another layer of pastry)
Biscuits:
Roll out and cut into shapes (stars, crescents, rounds. Place on oven tray and top with cherries, or walnuts.
For drop biscuits:
Omit some of the flour and make up with custard powder. Drop onto tray and flatten with a fork. When cooked join together with butter icing. (Yo-Yos)
Coconut and chopped glace cherries.
Choc chips and chopped macadamia or pecan nuts.
Diced glace ginger, and ginger powder, These are delicious sandwiched together with lemon butter icing.
Choc chips and sultanas.
Peanut butter and peanuts.
Cocoa powder and coconut.
All of the above are baked in a moderately hot over, for approximately 17 mins.

As I said, only your imagination can limit what you do with this basic mix.
Bake and enjoy, folks.


Here is a picture of some of my very favourtie Portmeirion pottery. We went to the little town of Portmerion some years ago, and I thought that this was where the pottery was made. It wasn't of course, but it was on sale in their shop. (All they have 'made' here is the series The Prisoner, with Patrick McGoohan. I wonder how many of you remember that series. I actually hired a couple of videos after our first visit, and enjoyed seeing the town all over again. Trouble was, it was a black and white series.)
The pottery is made at Stoke on Trent of course, and each trip to England has included a visit to the factory shop for some purchases which have been sent home and usually arrived some time after we got home. For someone who loves fine china, I really do like this ware. It is so cheerful. If you look hard, you will see that I have a matching rolling pin in the bowl, which I was lucky enough to purchase at a garage sale in Essex, or it may have been Suffolk. I didn't notice when we changed from one county to the other. When I made 'oh look' noises, my cousin did a u turn and back we went. The lady was selling quite a bit of Portmerion, including three rolling pins. She had decided that she really couldn't use them all and had a fourth one for her own use. I have never seen one in Australia, so I was quite chuffed.
The pottery also brings back happy memories of sitting in the dining room of a b & b in Yorkshire, overlooking a ruined castle which was one of Richard 111s favourite homes and eating breakfast from Portmerion pottery, my very first experience of it. And yes, I am a Riccardian. I don't believe for a moment that he murdered the prines in the tower. That was Henry v11! I continue to collect this pottery, because they are always bringing out new designs, some of which I like and buy, others which I find a tad clumsy and don't buy.

To the right is a view of the front of our property, as it is just now. I think I said in another blog that we are about to landscape this front bit. You can see where a couple of smallish trees have been removed. All those little rocks will be taken
away as part of the new work. We expect a
delivery of BIG rocks and soil in a week or so, and then the landscaper will get busy arranging them. So, in a few weeks, I should be able to show you a much improved front of property.

I was gazing out of my kitchen window the other morning, admiring the pink blossom on the prunus tree, and as I watched the petals began to drift gently down, just like pink snow, and I couldn't help thinking how transient this beautiful spring can be. Theprunus seems to hold its blossom just for long enough to admire, before suddenly being replaced with burgundy coloured leaves, which are very pretty too. I then began to sing (well, sort of) the old Nat King Cole hit 'A blossom fell...' I came over all nostalgic and decided that I really should hunt out all those old records and start playing them again. Or I might even have them transposed to CD and then I won't have to turn them over to play the other side. I was also reminded of that lovely scene in the film 'Carousel' where the blossoms were drifting off the trees and Gordon MacRae and Shirly Jones were working up to singing 'If I loved you.'
And on that nostalgic note, I am going to take myself off and see what I can do to annoy his peaceful self, who is drowsing in his chair.
And yes, Gina, I did take the photo of the kookaburra. Would you like a copy?

Roaming the ranges

Above is a photo of a brown boronia megastima. It is one of our most insignificant flowers, as you can see. Small brown round bells growing in masses along the stems of the shrub. The inside of the flowers are a deep mustard yellow colour. You could easily pass it by on a ramble, except suddenly your senses are overpowered by one of the sweetest perfumes on this earth. Even if only one flower is open, it tends to scent the air around. Perfumiers have tried for many years to emulate the beautiful perfume, but it just can't be done. There are many boronia scented products around, but it is not like the natural perfume. These days boronias also come in green and purple. The perfume is still strong and beautiful, but this is the original of course. This is one of several that grow around our garden, and it really is a case of 'spring is in the air'.

epacris impressa.

The above plant is the stae emblem of Victoria.

' I know a bank whereon the wild clematis grows,

Where correas and the nodding boronia blows,

Quite overcanopied with eaucalypt and banksia,

With sweet bursaria and epacris impressa.'

I have to apologise to the great Will Shakespeare for the above parodyof his verse in Midsummer Night's dream, but honestly, our banks of wildflowers are just a delight to see. The wild epacris is in two shades of pink and there is a white one. They were growing along all the embankments on both sides of the Melba Highway when we drove up to Kinglake today. It had started off a lovely sunny day, but gradually degenerated into grey and very cold. It didn't stop me from taking photos though. At one stage we were driving along through the bush, admiring wattles and epacris and various other native plants, including the occasional grevillea. Suddenly a large brown bird, with a long draggin tail flashed across the highway - yes - a lyrebird, which disappeared into the bush alongside the road. Himself stood on the brake, and I dived out of the car to see if I could see the elusive bird.

It popped out of the bush just as I stepped forward and the noise startled it back into cover. I stood around for ages, camera poised, but never saw the bird again. I certainly heard him singing in his imitative style though. It is nice to know that these birds can still be seen, if only as they flash across in front of cars. This bird did not become a road fatality, as some do.

We then drove into de Bortoli's winery, just so that I could photograph the view back towards Yarra Glen, so that you can see how lovely the rolling valley and hills can be, despite the dark sky. The vines are marching in straight rows towards the shadow on the hill, not even in leaf at this time of the year, but the prospect was still rather beautiful.

This part of Melbourne was settled originally by Scottish migrants, some of whom came for gold, and others who decided to settle because the scenery was reminiscent of Scotland. Not so much now of course, but I can imagine how it must have been in the early 1800s.

Gulf Station, a bit closer to Yarra Glen was built by a Scottish family, who lived there for many years, and actually built a small school for the local children on their property. The property is now owned by our National Trust, and is fascinating to look around, especially the early timber farmhouse. They have farm animals on display, including the wonderful shire horses. My little boys love the horses, and the ducks, and especially
the pigs. Lovely, large black pigs, who will no doubt have a litter by now, so I must take the boys up to investigate. There are also cows, and on special days they have demonstrations of how the old time farmer used to plough, and a blacksmith making wares etc. Well worth a day trip when these things are happening.

The picture to the right is another taken at de Bortoli's just across the way from the restaurant. Have you been to the restaurant? The chef creates the most delicious Italian cuisine, interspersed with dishes that could come from anywhere in Europe. I especially like the creme brulee dessert. The wines are very good as well.

In fact folks, I love every part of the Yarra Valley, and will be out and about taking more photographs over the next few weeks, just so that you can see how very lush and well endowed with wonderful wineries and restaurants this part of our state is. I like nothing better than to breakfast at Chateau Yering on any morning of the week. We usually save it for a special occasion like a birthday, anniversary or a getting together with infrequently seen friends. Balloons take off from the paddocks opposite the Chateau and then the balloonists come into the dining room for breakfast. I like watching the balloons come down, never being early enough to see them go up!

Hmm! I think I will go and plan several day outings for me and him where we can take in the scenery and the good food and wine.

Will keep you posted.

Cheers

Kookaburra sits on the old gum tree....

Here is a lovely shot of Eastern beach, Geelong, taken on a lovely suny day. Doesn't it make you want to race down and have a swim. The photo was taken from the Geelong Botanical Gardens on a sunny winter's day, in July. Our garden group had gone to look at the Australian Dry Garden (ho.hum!) I had seen it several times before so take myself off for a short walk and some photograpy.
Eastern Beach Geelong

Jordan and Harrison looking at the kookaburra in his tree.

Here is the fellow they were looking at, in all his feathery glory. They do like to get up close and personal, these birds.

The idea is to take along some bread or something that they might like to snack on, and they will sometimes even out of your hand.

Nicholas, Daniel, Grandad and I had the experience of them being a bit too close and personal.

Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree,

Now he has his foot in my cup of tea.....

That is exactly what happened. A friend had told us about the scavenging birds, and so off we set with our picnic basket and thermos just to see what would happen. We each had our drink, and a scone (biscuit) and some biscuits (cookies) and were happily munching when a whirr of wings and a squawk announced the arrival of the first of several birds. The beady eye was fixed on a scone, and before the boys had a chance to even blink, the kookaburra had snatched the scone from Daniel's hand. But that wasn't enough. Nicholas and Grandad were smart enough to gobble their scones down, and I managed to hide mine under my hand - I thought. Next thing the bird was sitting on my cup, one foot in the tea and staring beadily at my hand. 'I can see you've got food and I am not moving until you give it to me" was his attitude. Eventually I broke off a bit of scone and the bird deigned to take it from my hand, but sat on waiting for me. Eventually I gave in, and he very kindly removed himself from my cup and onto the table, searching around for more, and eyeing everybody suspiciously until he was convinced that there was no more food, at which stage he flew into the gum tree just behind us, and announced with a great chortle that he had fooled the humans again. The boys were beside themselves with excitement. Daring to try to swim in grandma's cuppa was not the way to go!

Unfotunately Harrison and Jordan were unable to get quite this close and personal with the birds. They did get to hear them go off into peals of raucous laughter.

Apple blossom time, Melbourne on the Yarra and Galahs

It's not quite apple blossom time here in Australia. The above picture was taken in Spring in England, at Snowshill Manor in the Cotswolds to be precise. But, of course, our own apple blossom will be just as beautiful in a few weeks time. I was discovering how good the digital camera was for taking 'portraits' of flowers, which I have never been able to do on my old camera, well, not this clearly anyway.

I have been into the city today, and was so disgruntled by the time that I arrived, that I thought I'd best hunt out some photos to remind myself that Melbourne is usually quite beautiful on a sunny day. This is actually from last February, towards the end of one of our very hottest summers, which seemed to go on forever, and was still warm after we returned from colder climes on the 1st May. Mind you, we were in England during the warmest April on record. The 18 degree heat was beautiful after our run of high 30s before we went away.

However, I was disgruntled because I chose to go into the city by train, and I was surrounded by people, four of whom were talking very loudly into the mobile phones, in four different languages. Sorry folks, but I don't need to hear your business on the train. I was trying to read, as I know the passing scenery as well as I know anything, and peace and quiet should have been the order of the day. People shouting on the assumption that those on the other end of the telephone were deaf, and someone had the nerve to share their music with us. Not for long, thank goodness, because I was feeling quite murderous at having my trip so disrupted.

Today, Melbourne was not at all as I expect it to be. Crowds of people wandering aimlessly around and getting in my way. I am always amazed at how one person, one mind you, can take up and entire footpath. It is almost as if they have a rear vision mirror just so that they can step into my pathway as I try to dodge by. As you can see, Melbourne on the Yarra really is quite a
pretty place. People enjoying themselves in the sunshine, watching the passing parade. From this angle it is not a towering city and looks as though it should be comfortable.

The above photo is looking back towards Princes Bridge and the city. Along the Yarra, especially on the opposite bank is a great place to be on a pleasantly warm sunny day. Lots of attractions, and many, many wonderful restaurants looking out over the water. You can just make out some of the small ferries and water craft that will take you sailing along the river, or around the bay to Williamstown, another good place for restaurants.

Galahs feeding in our garden The above picture was taken towards the end of last summer, and we had to race out and take photos with our new toy (the digital). The galahs had been hanging around in flocks all summer, obviously in the hope of seed and water. They had spent some time in the gum trees, nipping the flower buds and seed pods off. They are nearly as bad as the cockatoos - of which we had many last summer - for chomping flowers off. If you happen to stand under a tree as they are feeding, one is freely showered with flowers, pods and sometimes something nasty. We all kow the expression 'ya stupid galah' but frankly, these birds are very smart, as are all birds I think (except our stupid kamikaze noisy miner which is still attacking the kitchen window) but I suppose there is always an exception to the rule of smart! Nature certainly gave the galah a lovely colour combination. Their grey, pink and white is delightful when a flock settles in a bare tree.

I was reading one of Kerry Greenwood's Phryne Fisher novels the other day, and this description was very apt for how I was feeling just at that time.'....rummaging furiously
in a mind which appeared to have entirely lost its card index' D'you ever have one of those days? I have more than I like these days, so the coming trip to the West is starting to look pretty good.

Happy days.