Home is… Doggy and Heavenly and So Very Good

“Coming home to friends with wagging tails and loving hearts makes everyday a good day!” ~ Anon

I’d love to be writing profound things.

But the truth is what I want to write is very ordinary.

We came home to the farm late yesterday.

We came home to our dogs.

They were SO EXCITED to see us.

They stuck to us like glue.

It made us feel so very loved. And it was great.

We cooked a roast dinner and opened a bottle of wine and sat with our friend and our dogs and listened to music, laughed and talked and enjoyed the simple pleasures of food, loved ones and good conversation.

So good to be home.

The End.

Nx

Pretzels and Early Morning Strolls

2015-11-26 07.26.46

“I can’t think of anything that brings me closer to tears than when my old dog—completely exhausted after a hard day in the field—limps away from her nice spot in front of the fire and comes over to where I’m sitting and puts her head in my lap, a paw over my knee, and closes her eyes, and goes back to sleep. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve that kind of friend.”Gene Hill

 

I needed a good stretch and a long walk this morning.

It’s because of my bed. Because of the way I’ve been sleeping.

After a week away on retreat I was so looking forward to coming home and sleeping in my own bed. And for the past few nights that is where I’ve rested. But I’ve been waking up stiff and sore.

Usually my bed is like sleeping in a cloud. Comfy mattress, just the right amount of pillows, a little lavender oil on the sheets, and a view out my nighttime windows to the moon-bathed trees.

I have a problem since I came home.

Dogs.

Dogs that sneak up onto the bed in dead of night. Large Cafe-Dog-and-Nurse-Bert-shaped dogs, who drape themselves along me, pressing their whole body weight to me. Dogs who use their substantial body weight to lie on top of me, where I am snuggled up to my sleeping husband, and then use that body weight to slowly wedge themselves between us and open a space on the middle of the bed. After which they extend themselves, claiming all of the space, and most of the blankets.

So we sleep like human pretzels, contorted into strange positions.

The dogs wake before me and then stare at me, waiting for my eyelids to crack open so that they can slather me in affection and help me greet the day.

I guess they missed me!

2015-10-18 06.37.11

2015-10-10 12.17.20

Still, I missed them too, so all is forgiven. And an early morning walk fixes everything.

Sending much love and good clean country air your way,

Nicole xoxo

2015-12-02 07.33.51

2015-12-02 07.30.32

2015-11-29 07.30.09

2015-07-20 17.18.23

2015-10-23 09.31.29

Down at the Farm…

A Garden of Love grows in a Grandmother’s Heart ~ Author unknown

I’m feeling circumspect today.  My beloved Nana is in hospital after falling and breaking her hip. She’s 97, nearly 98, and it’s been hard to be brought up close to the truth of her age, her mortality, and that her time with us is drawing ever closer to an ending. I forget sometimes, that she won’t be with us forever.

My beautiful Nana

I’m grateful to be at my farm right now.  For me it’s a special place that never ceases to nurture me, to replenish me, and to remind me of the natural rhythm and wisdom of the cycles of life.

Being at the farm reconnects me. There is an abundance here that gives richness and texture to my life. I love the peacefulness, and the privacy. I can walk amidst nature, and watch birds and animals to my heart’s content. I can pick a flower or two to adorn my house, and I can always rely on finding fruit, vegetables or herbs to pluck and enjoy.  I have friends at every boundary, and I never need be alone, except by choice.

My Nana has very much shaped the farmer, and the person, I’ve become.  When I was a little girl she was the first person to teach me about seed saving.  And she showed me that vegetables and flowers could grow right along side each other. She taught me that a garden didn’t need to be grand, and that a very humble space could feed you.

After years of being embarrassed that Nana went everywhere with plastic bags in her handbag in case she found a plant worthy of taking a small cutting from, I now find myself doing the same. The geraniums in my garden grew from pieces snapped off from her own plants. Nana could tell me where most of her plants came from – never from a nursery, always from the gardens of friends, or propagated from the greater gardens of Brisbane. Her garden was a tapestry of love.

Today, in honour of my Nana, I’m sharing some of my garden tapestry with you. There are wild spaces, farm spaces, and little pockets of crafted space. I hope they work their magic for you too.

Oranges, sweet and juicy.

Fresh green grass and koala homes.

Sweet little tomatoes, still flourishing as the weather has cooled.

Possums, busy eating our roses.

Purple daisy, sparking with early morning rain drops.

A kitchen full of cheer.

A bountiful harvest of spuds.

The magical platypus creek.

New calf with mum, and a little friend looking on.

Thanks for visiting.  Friends are welcome here anytime. Come sit a while on my verandah and enjoy a cup of tea, a chai or a good coffee with me. We can swap garden cuttings and recipes, and I promise to feed you well. Nana would approve of that! ♥ xx