Blogs for Happiness #7: Autumn in the Yarra Valley. Part Two

I came to consciousness gently this morning, slowly realising that the drumming beat I could hear was coming from the paddock below our house. The neighbour’s horses were enjoying an early morning frolic. And why not I thought, as I pictured them tossing their manes and tails in the air as they galloped with what sounded like utter joy to be greeting a frosty, nippy day. 

The first encounter with the neighbours that we had when we moved here 9 years ago was with Lollypop, a charming black horse with a white blaze. She rode down our driveway with Morgan atop, a gorgeous young girl, and both so excited there were new people to check out. Morgan wasn’t looking for apples in my pocket though! It would have been Lollypops’ daughter and friends that I heard this morning celebrating the coming of autumn.

It’s lovely to hear the horses but not having to get up in the cold and muck them out. We’re surrounded by productive, busy farmland: horses to the east and south, sheep, pigs and cows to the north and strawberries to the west. The labour that is involved with the upkeep of these beasts and bounty we observe mostly from a distance. We quietly cheer the farmers on as they wrestle with building fences to keep rambunctious stock where they’re supposed to be. We help out from time to time, chasing pigs and horses out of our yard when the fences have come second in the battle for supremacy.

The embarrassingly small amount of labour that we do at our place involves making jam and chutney when we feel like it and trying to keep the foxes from killing the chooks. (Have failed several times on that front-that’s a whole other story!) We have a small orchard that has had to look after itself. For the time I was pregnant and then when McEwan was still small, the fruit plummeted to the ground, the thudding of the overripe orbs noticed only by the birds. The parrots, magpies, cockatoos, currawongs and butcherbirds feasted on neglected white peaches, figs, plums, apples and nashi pears. Oh and mandarins, oranges, grapefruits and lemons. Almost forgot those. 

I had such dreams of abundant production when we bought this place. I was going to be knee-deep in delicious concoctions I’d made, all sourced from our permaculture style of living. How those dreams have gone by the wayside.

This year however, I’ve been able to get out amongst it all, as McEwan is a great little helper now. I collected one kilo of blackberries from the runaway vines that were strangling an orange tree. So some good did come of turning our back and letting nature have her way with our unruly, untended, overlooked and frankly overwhelming acre.

I’ve decided to turn over a new rust coloured leaf this season and actually tend to the garden in a more orderly fashion. I shall get help though as the restraining of ivy, the taming of blackberries and the beating to submission of Wandering Jew and Holly will be a task bigger than Ficus Benjamina Hur.

Wish me luck-I’ll invite you around for a garden party when I’ve uncovered a spot where we could actually sit!

My Website: Books for Happiness.com

Blogs for Happiness #6: Autumn in the Yarra Valley. Part One.

The seasons change quickly and dramatically in Victoria. Last weekend we were frolicking on a beach in East Gippsland with the ocean still holding its summer warmth. This week we’re scrambling for scarves and extra layers as the thermometer on the porch has plunged to 9 degrees. The first fire for the season was lit over Easter and a long winter of collecting kindling and sourcing firewood stretches ahead of us. I look forward to snuggling up with warming brews and gooey cheeses and going up a dress size keeping warm by eating bakes, stews and lasagnas in our newly converted to gas oven. 

The autumn colour is starting to really blaze. The reason we chose to live in the Yarra Valley was for the European trees that are so abundant. Whilst living in Scotland and England we became smitten with the dramatic seasonal changes that are mostly due to the gaining and losing of leaves on certain trees. I can stand under an oak at any time of year and be transported to a fairyland story of my childhood. We have such a tree in our yard; I fully expect to see Moonface and Silky sliding down its interior and greeting us with big smiles as they pop out the bottom, landing on soft cushions with a gentle bump.

Living here is just like living in fairyland. Autumn transports you to a pixie world as the silver birch and pine trees start to see villages of red and white spotted toadstools inhabit the land. The moss in the lawn feels ancient and looks as though goblins might convene there to plot mischief. Even the tulips and daffodils grow in circles that the fairies can dance around. (Oh wait, that was me playing a trick on my neighbours!)

Another fairytale land we lived in was near Loch Lomond just north of Glasgow at the foot of the Campsie Fells. We decided to walk the West Highland Way on a whim and as darkness slowly started to creep up on us one night I could swear there was going to be trolls around the corner. The ground was gnarled with twisted tree roots and we started to run, as a centuries old feeling of panic arose that we were on truly ancient magical ground. No trolls thank goodness but we have never pitched a tent so fast as to escape what felt alarmingly like the real Middle Earth.

Returning from the UK we moved back to Perth and missed all the European peculiarities especially the deciduous trees.  As Perth is hot and sunny in summer and mild and sunny in winter we became bored with the sameness of it all. It’s far too lovely, all the time. The natives’ have constantly bare brown limbs cruising around, always on and in and around the water. It’s all a bit too idyllic for me. I was never much of a yachtsman anyway. My head was over the side of the boat the whole way to Rottnest Island most of the time. My poor dad was disappointed in the lack of seamanship in the rest of our family too.

Back to the Yarra Valley and I prefer the drama and interest of this swirling, constantly changing landscape.  One morning, on my drive to work in Healesville, the cloud filled sky had the brilliant, bright, luminous energy of a ferocious Blake painting. The next morning it was all subdued and muted with the gentle hues of an early Constable. The rainbows that regularly arc over Mount Riddell at breakfast time absolutely take my breath away.

So it’s drama for me, and our valley is a perfect fit. Does your home hold the same enthralling spell for you? I’d love to hear…

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