A slice of paradiso

Our first year in Tasmania is almost concluded. Before we celebrate our first year here in a few weeks' time, the idea of reflecting upon the year that was seems like a good one. And what a year it’s been! It doesn’t seem that long ago when we drove our cars onto the Spirit of Tasmania and traversed Bass Strait.  As I sit here this evening to ponder upon the year that was, I find myself distracted by the clouds. This time of year the clouds seem to take on a magical form. They move quickly across the landscape metamorphosing before my eyes. Layer upon layer, palimpsests of cotton wool against merino wool, marshmallow and wisp, drifting – some fill out and mushroom outwards and upwards. The evening’s sun sets alight the canvases with hazy lilacs, warm yellows, garish oranges and pinks that blend into greys.  Some hang low on Bruny’s frame, softening its dry paddocks with a broad watercolour wash; the ones high in the sky reflect wild palettes of orange and pinks onto D’Entrecasteaux Channel. The Channel really is alive with colour as I set to write this piece.

We get double rainbows around these parts

 For the first time, I properly learned about seasons and had first-hand experience of its rhythms. The winding up of summer was met with relief for our Brisbane summer had been a hot, humid and very wet one. The vestiges of renovations in the height of summer and open houses during monsoonal downpours were a thing of the past. We arrived in the Apple Isle during autumn when most of the small orchard was bare so we couldn’t identify most of the fruit trees. Autumn gave us lots and lots of leaf litter, some fabulous evening skies, interesting fungi and a glimpse into what winter might be like.

A striking find in the paddock: Aleuria Aurantia or Orange Peel Fungus

All winter long, the wood heater got a vigorous workout while we waited eagerly to see what would burst forth from the orchard. Our neighbours plied us with their delightful nashi pears and quinces. For weeks we had poached quinces with porridge, used them as toppings for tarts and flans, and the leftover quinces turned into jelly. I will never forget the perfume of quinces ripening in the pantry, filling the entire house with their distinct aromas. Just as we thought winter would never end, Spring arrived - late, and with lots of rain.

The spike in temperature saw the almonds racing ahead first with flowers, the plums weren’t far behind with their glorious white and pink blossoms. The orchard turned into a veritable confetti wonderland. The cherries came second with their own beautiful blossoms. I imagine this is what Japan is like at cherry blossom time! Apples took their time with their own intensely pink pretty flowers. The orchard buzzed with hundreds of bees, insects and birds.

Just as Summer woke from its long slumber, the noisy swamp hens packed up and left, so did the wild ducks, herons and eagles, they’ve all raised their young and flown the coop. All that’s left are broken shells at the bottom of trees – evidence of a family made. Just as we thought the birds had abandoned us, tribes of honey warblers, wrens, finches, swallows and other tiny birds moved in. I've recently discovered the joys of bird watching. Summer’s bounty of fruit saw my first batches of cherry and plum jams. I frequented op shops and bought as many jars and bottles as I could find. Lots of pies, tarts and cakes were eaten during the course of our first year. I learned to make bread and bagels and all sorts of baked goodies. Wet, cold dreary days will force you indoors and cooking I assure you! Now I have to turn my attention to crab apples and blackberries. The op shops await.

 

Cherries, raspberries, red currants from the garden                               Blackberries galore!

Weekends of leisurely newspaper and lifestyle magazine reading have given way to scouring the Ag and farming newspapers for clearing sales and auctions. Advertisements for bargain second hand tractors and its accoutrements excite us. Is it hydrostatic or manual? Has it got 4WD? Come with ag wheels, four-in-one buckets, slashers and post-hole digger? Bonus. Yes, if you thought my Blundstones were daggy, gum boots are now de rigueur in my shoe collection.

In the course of the year: old oyster middens have been uncovered by king tides and wild winds, majestic eucalypts, pines and stringybarks felled, five garden beds constructed, fencing built, gullies of blackberries slashed, neglected fruit trees released from the onslaught of bramble, wild weeds and mushrooms foraged, tonnes of firewood cut and collected, and our biggest investment so far, a ride-on mower!

I had no expectations of country living a year ago. Given that I had never lived on property or anywhere far from cities, how could I know what it would be like? Living on a bit of land demands time - every free, available spare moment is filled with 'doing'. There never seems to be enough hours in the day to do everything we want to do.  Something is always demanding attention – the rabbit holes need filling up, the compost needs turning, the worms need feeding, gardens need watering, paddocks need slashing, blackberries need more cutting and controlling and the trees need pruning. Work aside, living in the country has its peaks and troughs – mostly it is uplifting – the spatial freedom is wonderful. There's something special about Tasmania’s clean air and water and every measure to protect its natural assets is to be commended and encouraged. There is something magnificent and special about being able to walk down to the ocean in search of solitude, a spot of fishing, a beachcomb or forage. With this privilege comes a certain responsibility for the guardianship of our land and sea. The most profound thing so far this year, is the realisation that I don’t want to live in a city anytime soon.

Trees and how to feel when they fall

To own land means having accountability and a set of responsibilities. This is what I am discovering as a first-time owner of a parcel of land. To have land that contains a heritage conservation on its trees carries even more responsibility. The foreshore of the length of the D’Entrecasteaux Channel is home to the swift parrots, Tasmania’s endangered birds. These birds’ natural habitat is in the blue gums that are found on our parcel of land. Environmentalists talk of conservation corridors and community of natives – for me, the combination of towering blue gums, silver peppermint gums and stringybarks make for beautiful features of the land and make up a distinct part of Southern Tasmania’s landscape.

For the record, I am not an avid environmentalist nor am I an eco-warrior. My reaction to the decision to fell some of the very established native trees on our land was one of horror. I even feel sad that the dead, but strangely beautiful wattle tree that frames the cottage garden has to go. In order to make our land working and ‘productive’ for us fruit trees, garden beds, berry vines and nut groves need enough sun and they need proper nourishment from the earth. Dams need reinforcing and revitalizing, and chooks need a pen in which to return home from running around foraging. Sometimes to eke out a sustainable living lifestyle demands certain sacrifices – that, I have come to realise. It has taken months to accept that the huge pine trees by the dam have to go (they are sucking the dam dry and making the soil very acidic and unusable); the very established and beautiful blue gums that shade a lot of the property are in paths of future fruit trees and berry vines; the majestic silver peppermints and stringybarks also are in the way of edible species being planted. So they have to go. The local Council said yes to our request of removal of some trees but with the compromise of an offset planting of more blue gums. So the offset deal is four blue gums for every established felled tree. 

As the men outside hack away at my trees with much gusto, the whirr-whirr of chainsaws remind me of the shrill drilling of dentists – only these guys are uprooting perfectly good trees. I hide in my office and am unable to go outside to see the destruction as it is happening. I hear the distinct cracks of wood, and the first sickening giant thud – and then a second. And there's more to come. I feel a bit sick in the gut. Old country hands might call me a softy but my heart died a little today as the trees came down. Never did I think I would ever feel this way about trees and the bond I feel towards them on my land. Perhaps the birds will forgive us a little and the possums will move on. There is another conservation corridor on the other side of the property which I hope will flourish as time moves on. For now, I only hope we do the land justice by enriching its soil and planting lovely things. The neglected water course overgrown by blackberries is being rejunevated slowly by hand and I hope we can create a proper rock/creek bed that will attract many species of wildlife to compensate for the loss of trees and restore balance in the native-introduced environmental/agricultural framework.

(a mighty stringbark in all its glory)

(a silver peppermint)

New beginnings

It’s been such a long time since I posted, and in the meantime, the world in between posts has shifted dramatically in these two and a half years. My running around as a food reviewer and food guide publisher has come to an end this year. The world of eating out endlessly, meeting busy schedules and impossible deadlines; the ongoing financial and emotional challenges of running an independent food guide has caused great stress and harm. And perhaps for want of privacy, I stopped communicating through the social media sphere. My love and appetite for eating out and discovering new places have not diminished but I feel the time for home-cooking and rediscovery of what cooking skills I have left ought to be nurtured, and is important at this stage in my life. So thank you to all those who supported me for years by buying my little food guide and making my dream of publishing an independent food guide come true. My beloved and I have turned inner city living on its head and headed into the country – specifically, into Tasmania’s southern countryside. The hills here are rich and perfect for animals and orchards, and its shores teem with seafood. There isn’t a better time to look to the land and sea for inspiration and creativity than now. So perhaps it is fitting that I should kick start meemuncher with my reflections of the journal of new writing and ideas, Griffith Review’s #39 Tasmania: The Tipping Point that I’ve had the pleasure to read.
 
 Those interested in this edition check out: https://griffithreview.com/edition-39-tasmania-the-tipping-point/

  To celebrate new beginnings in a new land – what better way to get a grip on what the island is about by reading this collection of essays, memoirs and writing by people who have lived, continue to live and by those who were born on the Apple Isle, left and re-entered island life after a period of absence. This is an enticing entrée for those who want to get to know Tasmania a little bit more. I only knew of the tourism clichés that fill print and advertising media. I certainly have learned a bit more about the complexities of green and mainstream politics through the essay about the collapse of the timber industry; saddened about the whaling stations on Bruny Island and absolutely appalled about the forced incarceration of Indigenous peoples on Flinders Island and the genocide that took place not very far from here. And as for the purposeful destruction of apple orchards when the 1970s’ export market crash, it decimated much of Tasmania’s economy – it was a gargantuan waste of orchardists’ efforts and resources, and perfectly good apples!

Many of the articles don’t shy away from the ‘un-niceties’ of living in isolated circumstances, of being stuck in horrendous weather conditions and the reminders of the realities of dealing with inward-looking individuals. There is so much to inspire as well – the hope of progressive individuals, the connection to place and the genuine love people have for Tasmania is to be admired. Natasha Cica opens up about what it’s like to re-enter Island life after a period of absence. Cassandra Pybus writes eloquently of her conundrum of not being able to live anywhere else but Tasmania but yet wanting to flee at the same time. I found David Walsh’s essay refreshing – forget government bureaucracy and art farting around – his frank admission that MONA came about simply because he wanted to put his art collection on walls – more or less. Matthew Evans makes an impassioned plea to the dairy industry to think about over-commercialising and dumbing down of the uniqueness of their products. Evans, and I’m sure a swag of food lovers want food producers to make the best of Tasmania’s terroir and the unique regional flavours that come from that. This edition makes a valuable contribution to Australia’s understanding of what is going on in the Apple Isle, and provides great dinner party conversation starters.