Frost On The Flats!

“All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.” 
J.R.R. TolkienThe Fellowship of the Ring

Brrrr!
I’m late blogging this morning because we were up early to feed out to our cows.
A big roundbale of hay, and some mixes of molasses, copra and minerals to help the mums stay strong as our cows out all of their nutrition into the milk that is feeding their calves.

My fingers are still numb. The tip of my nose is rosy with cold.

Our dogs are a damp waggy mass of smiles and boundless energy.

And all around us the ground is dusted with frost.

Now it’s time for a cup of tea and a hot shower before we head off into Byron Bay for my weekly acupuncture and tune up.

Sending massive hugs your way, Nicole ❤ xx

PS – Thanks for all your lovely messages yesterday. A cry or two, a big sleep and this morning I’m good as new.

Air In My Lungs

2014-07-08 07.20.51

“Feelings come and go like clouds in a windy sky. Conscious breathing is my anchor.”
~ Thích Nhất Hạnh

I woke up in my own bed here at our farm, following a long trip home last night in our ute packed high with the things we will need for our coming retreat.

After our city stay, this country morning is a revelation.

Still dark. Cold. Frost riming the grass blades like diamond-edged swords. My breath fogging in front of me. Crystals of ice in the dogs’ outside water bowl. The air heavy and quiet and pressed in around us.

The morning so still that I can hear the occasional distant roar and grind of trucks changing gears as they climb the steep hinterland hills.

The birds are just waking up. One or two call to each other or sing happily, their feathers puffed out against the chill.

After my meditation I am stretching, and breathing air into my lungs. It is cold enough that the air stings my nose, and burns my lungs in a good way. A clean way.

The kettle on the stove is hissing and clicking as it warms the water for my pot of tea.

On my kitchen bench sits a lemon and a bunch of dewy herbs collected from the garden, ready to throw into the makings of a pot of homemade chicken soup.

Ben still asleep. Dogs still asleep.

A wallaby nibbles on the grass around the lemon tree.

Cows wander down the hill towards water, their new calves pressed tight to their sides.

My sweet peas in their pots at the back door have grown a foot in the time we’ve been away. While I wait for my tea to brew I weave their tendrils into the trellis that will support their blooms.

All this fresh cold air, this clean quiet morning is good for my soul.

2013-04-12 16.46.07

Frosty, Frosty… Penguin!

frosty penguin

“If a solution fails to appear … and yet we feel success is just around the corner, try resting for a while. … Like the early morning frost, this intellectual refreshment withers the parasitic and nasty vegetation that smothers the good seed. Bursting forth at last is the flower of truth.” 
― Santiago Ramón y Cajal, Advice for a Young Investigator

 

Winter is finally here at our little farm. We awoke to a hard frost that reached all the way from the flats on the river up to the orchard high on the hill behind our house.

Harry dog’s favourite toy, his stuffed penguin who’d been left outside overnight, was bristling with frost feathers.

Anywhere the grass was protected by the canopy of a tree you could still see green, but everything else was dusted with frost.

2014-07-08 07.20.15

The dog water bowls and birdbaths are sealed with a shiny layer of ice. The air smells of bright clean frost and soil. A lovely smell.

front paddock frost

Frost kills insect pests and sweetens the fruit hanging from the citrus trees. There will be fewer buffalo flies to annoy the cattle, fewer ticks this season. A good frost knocks them all out.

frost orange

The grass is crunchy and stiff with the weight of tiny ice crystals.

frstgrass

Ordinary things become jewelled gifts.

frst

I’m so grateful for the seasons, and their stunning play of beauty.

Image from Jendhamuni

Image from Jendhamuni