The last post

2012 was a good year. A really good year. It was the year I realised that nothing is random, that everything we've done – that I've done – has brought us to this point right here.

2009 was a crappy year (the year we moved to Australia – take from that what you will), and 2010 started off well but ended up being worse than the previous year and 2011 was, well, just chaos from start to finish. There was a lot of moving for a start. Each move (overseas, into a caravan, and three house moves) took its toll.

But it all needed to happen.

So it's really lovely and calm-inducing and heart-warming and comforting to look back and breathe a sigh of relief. All those gritty bits I once talked about in the snow globe have settled now. We're here.

The garden seems to be echoing my words, almost as a way of confirming my sentiments. When things are a good fit, you see it around you. Abundant food from the garden and plenty of fish in the ocean for us to catch and eat.

Flow and calm. It's a good fit.

This is home.

Which is why the name of this blog hasn't sat right with me for a while now. It doesn't fit any more. Now, I know you shouldn't go changing something major like a blog name when you've been blogging for over a year, but it has to change. I'm happy to risk whatever it is they say happens when you start confusing your readers, because better things will come of this, and besides, I'm not confusing you, am I?

I'm only going to do it the once, and it's just the name I'm changing. Me, the boys, our life, what I write about and what brings you here will still be the same.

I'm really excited about this. I can move forward without the constant reminder that we spent so long looking. Of course we're still finding our feet and our place in this world – everyone is to a degree – but the focus now isn't on finding.

It's just being. Taking it slow and doing what makes our hearts sing*.

So this is my very last post as Finding that place called Home (I'm hoping... if I can get it all changed seamlessly!).

A new beginning. Happy new year to all of you.





* Psst, there's a clue to the new name right there.

My drug of choice

I am tired but obviously I haven't been listening. So my body shouted a little louder last week when the hand, foot and mouth virus hit me. A very dark cloud seemed to hang over us for a little while there – someone's mood was almost unbearable. But the cloud has cleared.

I feel like taking it really slowly now, going to bed early and just doing what we have to.

Except, wait, it's Christmas. Am I the only one who thinks the timing could be better?

I stuck my head in the sand yesterday and left the house and all its jobs. We wandered down to the garden in-between rain showers. We picked tomatoes and snipped speckled beans. When we put it all together, I almost cried.

Then Luca found an orange beetroot in amongst the beetroot basket. He raced upstairs, gave it a wash and sat and drew his prized beetroot. He's always had a thing about orange.

All of this in the garden, it's like a drug. It gets me all emotional and I realise when I'm juggling a push on the swing, a brief pause to watch the boys' snails on the driveway and a quick dash to harvest some worm castings, that I'm well and truly addicted.

===================================================

Thank you by the way for your beautiful comments and emails last week. I'm still thinking about that whole issue. It's obviously something we all question from time to time. What's important for me is to come at it from a centred place and not because of what it might look like: if it feels right, then I do it. If I'm not inspired by anything (last week was a case in point!), then I don't do anything. With any luck, the lull just passes.

How do you deal with your lulls? Do you have a 'drug'? Do you find your head's clearer on the other side? 





Pure joy

I vowed not to grow them again. They were a pain to plant (a daunting number of tiny fiddly seedlings) and an even bigger pain to transplant into the wheelbarrows (sometimes I lack vision and fail to see that 60 leeks will eventually outgrow a small plastic pot).

Then the aphids came along and threatened to destroy the whole lot. I caught them just before they sucked the life out of the slender stems. Blasting them with the garden hose and squirting with garlic spray seemed to get rid of them. I had another job when Mum reminded me shortly afterwards to earth up the stems to keep daylight out and blanch them, which means more of the finer tasting stuff.

I was waiting for fatter stems, but there I was standing, as I do, in front of the fridge staring at a nice piece of pumpkin and a few slices of smoked free-range ham.

It had to be quiche for dinner. I announced to Luca that we could finally go out and pick some leeks. What the picture doesn't show is how long the white parts were.

I will grow them again. I know now what to do (and what not to do!), but more than that, I love that feeling of pulling my own vegetables out and taking them straight to a chopping board. Pure joy.

And this quiche... I've made a lot of quiches, and this one with its raggedy edges is the finest of them all. And with two children competing for my attention, I cut corners. Pastry made in seconds in the Thermomix and I didn't even bother filling with baking beans or trimming my edges – my editors in days gone by would balk at this.

But I'm not working on a magazine shoot; I'm making a meal for my family.

Pure joy.





Dear cabbage white butterflies

Did you think we were running a breeding program? You might well see armies upon armies of your young feasting on our kale leaves as you flutter and hover, but that's not to say you are welcome to lay your eggs in the hope they'll hatch and fatten up nicely.

I am trying to feed my young, not yours. So with that in mind we've planted our own white butterflies to fool you – you apparently don't like competition so we're hoping you'll clear off somewhere else.

Only thing is it did fool you. You left our kale alone and today I caught a few amongst the wild rocket and one of your fat teenagers with his head buried inside my biggest tomato. Since when were you interested in tomatoes?

Tomorrow I'm going to scatter eggshell and make more friendly butterflies* for the tomatoes and rocket. Hopefully, you'll leave the garden for good.

In the meantime, whose chickens would love a bucket full of delicious green caterpillars? High in protein, organic... and hand-picked, of course.

*I made the butterflies by cutting out shapes from used cream cheese pots, then cut slits to attach to sticks. Large pieces of eggshell are also meant to confuse the butterflies and with any luck they'll lay their eggs somewhere 'safer'.




Guest post by Nicola Chatham: finding Flow in your veggie patch

"So, what do you do?"

Don't you love that ques­tion?!! I never know how to answer. I've been prac­tis­ing being more con­cise and inter­est­ing, but what I usu­ally say is…

"Well, I do two things. I'm an artist and I exhibit my work in Mel­bourne and Bris­bane. And I help peo­ple grow organic food with a blog and online train­ing course."

What I really do though, is chase 'Flow'.

When I was 18, I began prepar­ing my port­fo­lio for art school. The trou­ble was, I was ter­ri­fied of mak­ing marks on a page. I'd pretty much lost my cre­ativ­ity when my par­ents divorced three years ear­lier. It just fell away, prob­a­bly some­where with my joy and sense of safety. Return­ing to art was like court­ing a lover who'd rejected me. Painful. Full of doubt. Fear I'd be rejected again. "You're not good enough, you can't do this," I heard whis­pered over and over in my mind.

So I found a men­tor. He was an older artist. Worldly. Way­ward. Mys­te­ri­ous. Fun. Temperamental. He showed me how to put my ego aside and just dive in. Exper­i­ment. See what hap­pened. Don't take it per­son­ally. But do show up. Make marks. Put the time in. Don't run in fear of fail­ure. And don't take it so seri­ously – like my life depended on it. Because it felt like it did.

Sur­pris­ingly, I found an amaz­ing thing. When I did as he said (had a glass of wine and sat down to draw), I touched on an expe­ri­ence that has woven its way through my life ever since.

Flow :: Pres­ence :: Bliss :: Groove

"When­ever there is enthu­si­asm, there is a cre­ative empow­er­ment that goes far beyond what a mere per­son is capa­ble of." – Eck­hart Tolle, A New Earth

Pro­fes­sor Mihaly Csík­szent­mi­há­lyi calls it Flow. Bud­dhists call it Mind­ful­ness. Eck­hart Tolle calls it Awak­ened Doing. Joseph Camp­bell calls it Bliss.

Twyla Tharp calls it Groove. In her book The Cre­ative Habit (which I love, and highly rec­om­mend, by the way), she says:
"A groove is the best place in the world. It's where I strive to be, because when you're in it you have the free­dom to explore, where every­thing you ques­tion leads you to new avenues and new routes, every­thing you touch mirac­u­lously touches some­thing else and trans­forms it for the better."

Ever since those days prepar­ing my port­fo­lio, I've wanted more flow in my life. For me, flow is when time takes on another qual­ity. You're so absorbed in the task at hand, it feels like time doesn't exist.
But flow doesn't just hap­pen in the fine arts. Flow exists in prepar­ing a gar­den bed. Trans­form­ing lawn into abun­dance. It can be found in a well-stocked gar­den shed. And a box of your favourite seeds.

Flow vis­ited me this week­end in the veg­gie patch.

Time flew. The world didn't exist out­side of my imme­di­ate environment. I didn’t have a plan. Instead, one action led to the next. I pulled down the old Mada­gas­car bean, like shed­ding an old self image. The abrupt naked­ness of the bam­boo teepee shocked and excited me. I pre­pared the ring of soil around the base with nitrogen-rich green leaves and weeds, then lay­ered com­post, and finally hay soaked in molasses and water. Then I parted the hay like a skirt and planted snow peas.

It was all good. I went out­side to check my hand­i­work at 9pm and the naked teepee, with her new upside-down skirt, glowed in the full moon.

Flow.

It can catch you unawares. But only if you are pre­pared and show up.

• Put on your gloves.
• Get into the habit of com­post­ing (so it’s ready, when you are).
• Find your­self some seeds to play with.
• Go out­side.

Nicola Chatham is an organic gardening teacher, permaculture designer and contemporary artist. Her Grow Organic Food in Pots course starts next week and enrolment closes in just over three days. I'm happy to promote and recommend Nicola's online courses because her first course, the Abundant Veggie Patch System, which I paid for, has transformed my garden and my way of thinking. I love her approach. I've enrolled on Grow Organic Food in Pots (especially as Nicola is covering worm farming this time) and would love for more people to join me! If you want to read more about Nicola's online course, pop your email address here and Nicola will send you all the details.

Joining in with Rachael's Garden Journal.




Fish stew from a potted garden

Four gardens beds around the house aren't quite enough, so I grow a lot in pots. And wheelbarrows. And the occasional baby bath. Herbs, flowers, greens, beetroot and carrots are in pots chez moi.

Some of it works – my hydrangea is happy as is the sage and flowering thyme. And some of it doesn't – if the strawberries, mint and rocket were people, they'd be a sour-faced dour bunch of grumps.*

My tarragon, which shares its garage-sale pot with oregano, is probably more like a 1960s Julie Andrews. Chirpy and oh so sprightly.

Which is just as well, because it's my favourite herb. Have I ever mentioned I could eat béarnaise with a spoon?

This afternoon, after I'd worked at the computer all day and with under half an hour to spare before I had to pick the boys up, I realised I'd cut it too fine to make fish pie with Graeme's leatherjacket. Time for something quick, so I wandered into the garden and picked sprigs of tarragon and thyme and a couple of bay leaves.

A summery fish stew is what I made. I sautéed 1 chopped onion and 2 garlic cloves in some coconut oil for a few mins, then added 3 chopped anchovies, 2 chopped tomatoes (from my FIG box this week!) plus the thyme and tarragon and let it all soften a little longer. Next, I added a good splash of white wine and let it bubble away for a few mins before adding roughly 350ml of stock and the bay leaves. I brought it to the boil then added enough couscous to soak up most of the stock. I let it simmer gently, then stirred through around 500g of white fish – cut into chunky pieces. Another 5 mins and the fish was cooked. I took it off the hob, checked for seasoning, put a lid on it and rushed out the door to fetch my little rascals.

A one-pot dinner in under half an hour and both boys loved it. (OK, so one really enjoyed it and one just ate to fill the tiniest bit of his tummy. But I can live with that.)





* These grumps in the garden are the reason why I'm doing Nicola Chatham's next online course: Grow Organic Food in Pots. Wherever you are in the world, if you want to learn more about Nicola and her lovely way, you can get her free (yes, free) video on 'The 5 Secrets to Growing Organic Food in Pots'. Maybe I'll see you in the 'classroom'?

Fritters, peas and glorious orange

I love the seasons dictating what we eat. We haven't had any tomatoes since last summer, so we're eagerly awaiting our next crop. The seedlings are coming along nicely. I think I may have added too many in the one patch, but there's plenty of basil in there too – a favourite companion in the garden and on the plate.

I can't wait for fresh basil again and warm tomatoes grown in my own soil. I thought I ate seasonally before, but not compared to now. Tending a garden and growing your own, even if it's only some herbs and a few vegetables, connects you in so many ways to nature and shows you a much simpler way to eat. What it also does is disconnect you from the trappings of supermarkets. Once you get used to all that year-round choice, it sucks you in, making you believe that choice is a good thing, when in fact choice is a whole lot of stress and it makes me dizzy.

I've always known this, but I still did buy the occasional tomato in winter. I still bought those over-priced over-sprayed wrapped bunches of herbs. Now I wait. If I haven't got the herb in the garden, I haven't got it.

We've waited all winter to plant our tomatoes, to sow our borlotti bean seeds and to see our peas get fat. We've watched our coriander show its first feathery leaves only to bolt and do that annoying thing that coriander does.

I've had a lot of coriander to use up – I'm cutting it in a bid to stop it going to seed. I won't stop it, of course, but I might delay it a bit this way.

So there it was sitting on my kitchen bench top narrowing the choice for dinner. Not only was this satisfying in itself, but having to wait for something to grow and then use it to make a meal is even more satisfying. It may not be everybody's idea of simple (not when you think about how easy it is to just go out and buy it versus building the beds, sourcing the materials to make soil, sowing the seeds and waiting... waiting... waiting...). But it's certainly mine. And it's satisfying beyond words.

I made corn, coriander and coconut fritters* with some spring onions I picked up at the co-op that morning. I think they might just be the tastiest corn fritters I've ever made. They certainly beat these ones.

After Luca feasted on all the fat peas hanging six feet above the garden beds, I had to pull the whole lot out. Powdery mildew got the better of them.

But sitting right there by the cabbages was one single nasturtium flower. That wild cutting worked.

So while my coriander plants just want to run away and flower, and while my peas have turned white and furry, it seems I know how to take a roadside nasturtium and make it flower in my own garden.






* Those tastiest corn fritters I've ever made: Mix 150g plain flour, 1/2 tsp baking powder, 1/2 tsp salt, 1 tsp ground coriander and 1 tsp ground cumin. Add 1 egg, 125ml coconut cream and 100ml water and mix well. Add 350g corn, 2 chopped spring onions and as much chopped coriander as you like (I like a lot) and stir through. Heat 2 tbsp coconut oil in a pan and cook dollops of the mixture until golden brown. 

Clickety clack

This train is chuff-chuffing along picking up speed and I'm running out of puff trying to catch up. The garden has suddenly taken off with the spring sun flooding more of the beds with its warmth. The peas are out of control, the broccoli and cabbages need picking and eating, the cauliflower is still growing its leaves long after we've beheaded them all and now I see the leeks covered in aphids.

I've got packets of borlotti bean seeds waiting to be sown and all my kale and basil seedlings are waiting to be given a home. Trouble is, I haven't moved on the previous tenants yet.

Recipes are still in my head and not on paper or shot on camera, which is where they should be if they are ever to get to the magazine on time, and I'm supposed to be interviewing a breadmaker this week for another feature. Oh, and I'm also attending a compost and worm farm workshop tomorrow and I've just realised it's the end of term so that means saying thank-you to Luca's preschool teachers. It was cake last term. I think we'll do tangy onion chutneys this week.

Say no, woman!

Well, yes, but I'm so inspired to do it all. The more I give to the garden, the more it gives back. I love my little blog and the creative freedom it gives me and the fact I don't have to do it, so I squeeze that in too. I don't normally have three deadlines in the space of a week...

I have the same hours in a day as everyone else (not sure if that would be news to you?), so to fit my life in as it currently looks, something has to give. If I want to indulge what inspires me, if I want an abundant garden, if I want to cook from scratch (and face all the washing-up afterwards) and still have plenty of time for my children, there are things that fall by the wayside.

Me for starters. If you knew me before Kian was born, I looked a certain way. I look... different to how I looked then. I wear maternity baggy tops and I can only fit into one pair of jeans (ever wondered why there are very few pics of me on here?). It doesn't make me happy, but I can't possibly fit exercise into my week. Ahem, ahem.

I don't make much time for me. I tend to forget about me. We all do it, I know. I forget to moisturise. I forget to each lunch. It's been years since I had my hair cut.

But on Friday night, I did something for me. I was invited to a group meditation at a friend's house. Never been to one before, but my whole being said go! A chance to relax, be centred and switch off from everything. No matter how busy you get, I know this is important.

I switched off all right.

The sounds were beautifully soothing and comforting. And when the lady chimed the bell at the end, I sat up in a daze.

Then came a voice: Who was that snoring like that?

Oh dear god, please don't let that be me. Please. I can handle falling asleep at a Rolling Stones concert and in every facial I've had. But not here with all these people.

It was me. I quickly and quietly asked someone if I was loud.

Moderate, but it means you went really deep, so that's good.

I was mortified.

But wow did I feel great afterwards. I was even more motivated than I was before. The following day I felt calm and present.

I'd like to go again next week, but not sure if they'll have me back.


Do you fall asleep whenever you try to relax? Do you ever feel like your train is running away with you?




Making our own compost

I want to spend every spare minute I have in the garden right now. The light is beautiful and it's not too hot. Yet.

I always get distracted from what I'm supposed to be doing. This morning was no different. I took my camera down and took a few pictures.

1. Our first snow peas are ready.

2. My little experiment with nasturtiums. We used to grow nasturtiums in England to eat, but right now I want them as a companion plant. Aphids love nasturtiums, so the plan is they'll love my cabbages and broccoli a little less. The thing is I can't get hold of nasturtium seeds through my plant man, so I went for a little walk and took some cuttings. They sat in water in the kitchen for a couple of weeks until I noticed some roots. Luca and I are after plenty of brilliant orange flowers so I stuck them in the poorest soil I could find near the brassica beds (nasturtiums don't like rich soil; you get more flowers if you hold back on the fertiliser and compost). Fingers crossed.

3. I'd actually forgotten I planted cauliflower. I got quite a surprise when I poked through some leaves and found this creamy white head.

4. A bed all ready for this season's crop of tomatoes and basil. It had sunk down a fair bit through the winter, so I followed the same no-dig garden method and topped with alternating layers of carbon (hay, cardboard) and nitrogen (mushroom compost, veggie scraps, lawn clippings).

5. Our first homegrown broccoli. Lovely but not quite the tight heads I was hoping for. Or does that not matter? And does anyone know why it's all going to flower so quickly?

6. Tomato seedlings in.

Then I got stuck into the one thing I've been looking forward to for weeks. Filling a compost bin to make soil. Number one compost bin is already full and takes the odd bucket of scraps from the kitchen but it's time to start another one.

Making compost is more than throwing in kitchen scraps at the bottom of an empty bin with the occasional bit of cardboard and grass (just because they can go in) and hoping for magic one day. We composted this way for years and abracadabra all we got was slime. With broken egg shell.

I've learnt there's a little bit of science. Much like no-dig gardening.  

I'm not exactly sure why I love filling a compost bin. Is it because I like adding a bit of this and a bit of that, put a lid on and leave the rest to nature? Is it because I find it incredibly satisfying to put household waste (newspapers, office paper, vegetable peelings, ahem urine*) to really good use? Is it the thrill of making something else other than food from scratch and saving a bit more money?

Probably all of the above.

The boys shredded paper. I filled buckets with water and a dash of molasses (blackstrap molasses does wonders for the micro-organisms, which help break everything down, and gets all the worms rushing in).

We filled the bin with different layers of carbon and nitrogen including some roadside alpaca poo and store-bought chicken manure, and finished it with a layer of molasses-soaked hay.

It'll sink down in a few days leaving us room to add our scraps.

Then abracadabra we'll have homemade compost. Very soon.

Congratulations to Libby who wins Stephanie Alexander's The Cook's Companion.





* Graeme often 'waters' the garden when he gets in from work. You know, when it's dark and no one can see. He walks through the door and announces he's given the beds a good dose of nitrogen. He'll be doing the same to the compost bins as long as I remind him. Seriously, if you garden, urine is a valuable resource.

Grateful for little surprises

I woke up with a spring in my step today. The strawberries are turning red. I've got enough kale to have juice every day and I'm excited about getting one of my beds ready for tomatoes and basil.

It's Friday and Graeme's working from home. To give him a little peace and quiet, the three of us spent a very blustery morning on the sand, driving first to buy some chicken poo and poke little hands at a rabbit for sale. (Yes, Luca, I know Mummy bought a fabulous rabbit hutch for next to nothing in a garage sale, but this rabbit's not coming home with us. Not today.)

Usually, when we go out, the cat-and-dog antics come with us. But not today. There was no fighting over the biggest bucket or the spade with the better handle. Kian filled and Luca picked clusters of weeds and gave them a new home. Look at my collection, he said.

They walked along walls and jumped, and said hello to passing strangers. Sydney scavenged like she does. When it was time to come home, I prepared myself for all the fuss. There was none. Was it because Daddy was home?

Then I took delivery of some mushroom compost and chatted with the mushroom grower on my driveway. We talked about my broccoli and he told me how to give the mandarin tree a bit of love and attention. 

It wasn't just the fact I've now got everything I need to layer my no-dig garden bed, but it was how the compost had mushrooms sprouting all over it. I rushed upstairs to show the boys what came with the compost. The reaction I got was great, but they're still mushrooms.  

Oh well. Luca picked thyme for me and I made mushrooms on toast for my lunch and sat down properly with a knife and fork. (Another little surprise given I usually wolf something down as I ferry food and drink to the table and mop drinks off the floor.) 

Maybe everyone's in good form because my brother arrives on Sunday. We see parents, brothers and sisters once a year usually, but I haven't seen my brother in two years. So he's never actually met Kian. I can't wait.

I'm joining other lovely grateful people at Maxabella loves.

Did you know I'm giving away a cookery book?




Thursday Garden Journal

Lots of questions this week. This is the answer to one of them today. A perfect reminder of why I started this blog. It's a journal. A special journal that frees it all up, gets it all out and lifts me when I'm feeling a bit bleak.

I just look at that dandelion globe and I'm amazed how much it actually does lift me.

(I'm starting to think a bit more about my photos. Graeme's always giving me tips, but why is it we don't listen to the ones closest to us? I had Jodi's 'rule of thirds' in mind when I took this picture. 'That's what I've been telling you'... Sorry honey. I'll try and listen to you more.)

I love it. Regardless of whether I've nailed the thirds thing. Have I?

Tonight, I made pizza. I picked watercress, spinach, oak leaf lettuce and cos for a salad. This is where it all comes from.

Mandarins. Some rotting. Some rock hard.

Hydrangea. Tormenting.

 Celery. Fingers crossed.

A side-of-the-road basket. Beetroot seedlings.

Luca's peas and snowpeas. String and bamboo.

Strawberry flowers. Cobweb.

Mint for me. Chilli for Graeme.

Leeks slowly fattening up. Two wheelbarrows. I say not enough. 

Someone says two wheelbarrows too much. 




My birthday in pictures

I had a lovely day. All my boys were home. The sun shone. I pottered in the garden in a perfect temperature under a perfect blue sky. Fresh fish. My favourite chocolate. And now for a quiet evening. Off to have kangaroo fillets with béarnaise and greens from the garden....