Betty on a Box

Sometimes, things move me to the point of tears. Come on, I know you’ve been there - an old European man limps down your street and your heart skips a beat, or your puppy yelps dejectedly from the other room because she can’t jump up onto the bed. A few years ago, I saw a wonderful documentary about Mark Rothko that made me feel that same sadness with the grandness and scale of his work, the moodiness… And then I saw the real thing at the MOMA and all I could do was sit and stare and feel as though I was watching an old European man as he limped down the street.

Lonely.

Wintry.

Empty.

My heart skips a beat.

And then this week JJ and I attended the opening of Julia DeVille’s new exhibition (alongside William Griffiths) at the Sophie Gannon Gallery in Richmond – “Night’s Plutonian Shore”. Inspired by Poe’s “The Raven” it’s a voyage into the artist’s inspirational world of life and death.

Disturbing? Sometimes.

But also poignant, whimsical and, surprisingly, optimistic.

We can only HOPE that we, too, will end our days here with jewels in our eyes.

The weekends have been cool but sunny, so Jeff and I have been out in the garden getting the veggie patch ready for the first planting. And Dad’s been lending his farming expertise and his 72-year-old muscle, which is quite remarkable. The front garden’s also a work in progress after we ripped out the “lawn” a few months ago. I use the term “lawn” loosely because the draught over the past decade or so has turned the grass in most neighbourhood lawns into dust bowls. We’ve ripped out the grass, put down a layer of weed mat and the new soil is arriving this weekend. We have 20 or so succulents waiting to go in as well as a tonne of potted plants and succulents that have been waiting for a permanent home for years.

We built the raised beds in the backyard a few weeks ago out of untreated hard wood. HEAVY WOOD. But well worth it. The herbs have been transplanted into other parts of the garden for now. Check out my collage of events. 

I replanted some of the herbs, lettuce and silverbeet and we’ve been eating a lot of green over the past week.

This last weekend we lugged 3 square meters of soil down to the back yard for the veggie patch – in a 700 square meter block, that’s a mighty long way. Dad and Jeff did the wheeling while I mostly filled the two barrows we borrowed from neighbours.

We discovered beautifully composted soil in our two bins and had a few bags of horse poo that we picked up near Daylesford. The prep work is done for the veggies.

Look at that compost! I’m going to put a little container in the kitchen and everything is going to be saved. Although I do want to make a couple of bigger bins.

I’ve ordered a bunch of heirloom seeds that should arrive in the next week so it’s not quite over. I’m so excited about the seeds! I picked some crazy tomato varieties.

So we’ll see what happens. I must keep up the momentum. After all, even David Hicks is a horticulturalist now.

A little while ago, I wrote about my new toy. See the results here: http://www.yoyolovespeaches.blogspot.com/

This past weekend, JJ and I went up to the Country – hitherto known as the Little Chalet (which is neither little nor a chalet but there are lots of gnomes in the garden and it doesn’t look like a cottage so it makes perfect sense…)

We went for a walk with the puppies.

JJ: Hey Betty, let’s turn left here.

Me: Sure

After a little while.

Me: Oh, I don’t think we’ve come this far before. How fun.

JJ: Let’s go this way.

Me (seeing a sign to the Blowhole): The Blowhole. We’ve never been there. How fun.

After a little while.

Me: So, do you think it’s much further?

JJ: I shouldn’t think so. Oh look, a sign.

So we walked on. And so did the girls, whose wee legs are only a couple of inches long and even taking into account that their have four of them, it’s still a lot of work. And have I mentioned the mountains?

Me: JJ, you didn’t say there would be mountains to climb.

JJ: It’s not Mount Sinai.

See, I’ve climbed Mount Sinai so that exempts me from every climbing anything again – hills, stairs, a ladder.

We arrived at the Blowhole and it was lovely. A big hole, in amongst some old mine shafts, that gushes water when there’s been rain. And there’s been a lot of rain.

When it was time to head back, I said: “JJ, we can’t possibly go back the way we came. You know how I hate that.”

JJ ( a little weary): Yes, Betty. I know how you hate that.

Me: And there must be a short cut. I mean, we turned left, then left, which is virtually heading back home, right?

Cut to a dramatic reenactment on A Current Affair:

The trekkers didn’t tell anyone that they were heading out to the state forest, nor did they bring any water or food. They could have died from dehydration but we lucky enough to be caught in a minor hail storm and they were able to collect some water. They did, however, refrain from eating any of the local fungi, which is known for its hallucinogenic and deadly properties.

Stone fences marking the site of old gold mines

The Blowhole – not very active

On the Tipperary Springs track

Oh yummy! Dinner

Dinner?

Definitely not dinner.

We found a civilised place for JJ to check if his GPS was working

Kangaroos at the Hepburn Springs gold course

What’s up skippy?

Your email:

 

Nearly three hours later, drenched and cold, we stumbled back home.