A night after dark

Thank you to the very wonderful and creative people who put together the Winter Feast as part of the Dark Mofo event.  To bring together so many people on a cold and wet Friday night for a showcase of art and food is sheer brilliance and no doubt much hard work.  Our hearts went out to the stall holders spending hard days prepping and nights on their feet doing the same service delivering a seamless experience.  What must have originated from an out-there idea has resulted in a yearly event that is loved and growing in attendance.  We had a night in town free from farmyard noises and demands.  Whilst it was bliss to know that someone was cooking my breakfast in the morning I missed the early call of roosters and the sleeping lump of ragdoll at the end of the bed.  Our city stay reminded us that there is life beyond sun down and sometimes it's ok to let someone turn down your bed.  We soon returned the following day to grumpy faced cocker spaniel and where the hell have you been chicken looks.  Well worth it though.

Shirley's not tap dancing today

Living on a small farm it was always going to be that 

we would have sheep. Lawnmowers.  Pets not chops. Our four girls as we refer to them is a little misguided as one of them is in fact a castrated male.  He got into the mix when being selected for a privileged life.  Can't blame him really.  He now has to live with a girls name, Rosie but he considers it a reasonable sacrifice.  Betty has the most protruding eyes as in Betty Davis eyes and is always the last to the feed trough.  But today Shirley is our worry.  Shirley had the curl in the middle of her forehead which has almost disappeared now. Shirley's curls are the least of our worries as she has a front leg that she cannot put weight on.  She can hobble on the other three but needs some medical attention.  I rang the local vet surgery.  According to their website they look after dogs, cats, birds and horses.  But no sheep.  I thought that they might laugh at me for considering a vet visit for a sheep.  They didn't.  They asked her name and asked about her condition.  The vet is coming out to see her today.  I hope it's just a boxthorn in a hoof and nothing more sinister.  I know it's probably slightly hypocritical to be a lover of slow roasted lamb shanks but any animal in distress goes straight to the heart.  I'm staying away from her until the vet arrives as she sits on the ground and only gets up when I come to the wire fence.  She loves a slice of apple so I will save her some for later.  Fingers (and hoofs) crossed for Shirley.

Bugger the barley it might have to be rice

It turned very cold very fast.  The morning air froze and the sun revealed a layer of white crunch underfoot on the grass.  Then it rained.  And kept raining.  Today, it's raining still.  A weather pattern from the east they say.  Gotta blame someone. Muddy paw prints are a constant on the kitchen floor as number one son sports a smashing red doggie puffer jacket but alas no gumboots.  Can't convince him to leave the pre-loved bone on the back step and so forced to decide between bone and inside wood fire. He chooses bone.  I'll never understand dogs.  My barley boils on the stove, the desire to go down the ancient grain route may result in a bonus for the chooks as my superfood is taking super long to cook.  I've had a pulse influenced weekend with a red lentil soup that was enticed into flavour by garam marsala and ground cardamon.  For someone who is notoriously bad at soup making I did pleasantly surprise myself, and with much gratitude to Elizabeth David.  A purchased pumpkin from the Hobart Farmgate market will be roasted tonight with some every reliable thyme from the veggie patch still vibrant, where all other herbs have accepted their redundancy and terminated. Two pieces of salmon that came over the fence rather than upstream will be pan fried followed by a plan to clean out my stove filters in the coming days.  Ah winter.  Now back to the bloody buggery barley.