The Book

I have been keeping busy this week writing 'The Book'. I've decided to get off my backside and finally start telling the story of how I ended up in the bush, met CP and then married him, with all the trials and tribulations in between.

I'm writing it in instalments - the only way I know how - but I'm loving it so much I've just about finished the fourth chapter already.

So just in case you were wondering why I've been a bit quiet... I'm still posting, only I'm doing it over here for a bit. It's all linked into the tabs at the top of my page.

Check it out. It's a bit of light entertainment, though not completely different to my usual blogging style.

I'm loving the feedback so far!

Thanks for all the support and encouragement!

Enjoy!


Click here to start reading!

You Don't Wanna Know What I Freeze...

A friend of mine recently asked Stay At Home Mum - Secret To Living On One Wage about 'freezing lamingtons'. Being the fantastic site that it is, loads of women offered advice ranging from 'sure, we do it' to 'no, if the label says 'has already been frozen and defrosted for your convenience', I wouldn't do it.'  So I piped up with 'you don't even want to know what I freeze!' And now I need to blog about it to justify myself.

Basically, if it fits in my freezer, consider it able to be frozen.

I know I'm probably going to cop a lot of flack about this, so I would like to preface this blog with the fact that we live in a fairly remote part of Australia. Not TOO remote, but then again, I don't know too many people who would be happy doing an 80km round trip for a lonely bottle of milk or loaf of bread. Obviously this method of existing isn't going to suit everyone, and I'm not advocating it as the best way of living either. I learned pretty early on that if you don't freeze anything, you spend a lot of money on fuel. So here's how it works FOR ME. If it makes you angry, please bite your tongue. I do what I do. It hasn't killed any of us yet, and I'm actually pretty careful about all this. It doesn't suit everyone, but then again, neither does life in the bush. Before you walk in my shoes, please don't judge me too harshly.

In our freezer you will find:

1. Milk and bread.

The  dates on the labels frighten some people, but I have learned that the success of this process is all in the defrosting. Take your time, be organised, and whatever you do, DON'T leave it on the kitchen sink in the summer overnight. Never had an issue with it. Ever.

2. Meat.

We live on a farm. I see the whole 'circle of life', and I'm responsible for clearing out space in the freezers to make room for it all. We have 3 freezers primarily for this reason. The key is to label and date all packages, and be aware of safe storage lengths. Never had an issue with this either. Again, the key is to defrost slowly in a refrigerator. I never refreeze ANYTHING that has been defrosted at home. I am VERY cautious of chicken, and I have a whole set of rules alone for this product.

3. Baked goods.

I have an entire shelf in one of our freezers dedicated to baked goods, and another one for the products involved in the making of baked goods. Flour, sugar, cocoa, chocolate, bread crumbs etc. They all get infested with weevils and god knows what other creepy crawlies in our summer heat out here. But they are perfectly safe inside the freezer. Sometimes brown sugar has a tendency to go hard, but it's nothing a bit of defrosting can't fix (or a slice of lemon in the container can't fix). I've also learned that defrosting items in small amounts is handy too.

4. Pre-cooked meals.

Because my husband is 'kitchen-ly challenged', whenever I am going away, or just wanting to be organised, I cook meals in bulk and label and freeze them. This comes down to the type of food you cook of course. Stew - yes, no problems. Quiche - no. Completely awful if frozen. There are cookbooks dedicated to this point.

5. Dairy.

Milk aside, here's where it gets tricky. I have frozen almost every dairy you can imagine. Here's a few no-no's. Sour cream, cream, soft cheeses, dips etc. can't be defrosted quickly. If you have the patience, cream and sour cream will defrost in a refrigerator, but I refuse to freeze cheeses I want to serve when friends come over for nibblies. They are never quite the same. Also, some sandwich cheeses don't freeze well either, and become crumbly after defrosting. It depends on the brand, but as a general rule, I only freeze block cheese at a pinch. Grated cheese LOVES the freezer. No issues at all.

7. Vodka.

I need it there. It's a safe place. It will never freeze. But will make you feel warm and happy when you take it out to consume. Do not confuse vodka with beer or Coke. Bad, bad, bad...

What else have you frozen?

Everybody's Wearing Blue Jeans

I moved from Brisbane to St George ten years ago. I packed up all my city clobber, and naively assumed it would all be useful and appropriate in the country. I'm ashamed to admit I only owned two pairs of jeans in the year 2000. One was a faded blue colour, and the other was possibly creamy in colour. Both of them were usually stored in the far recesses of my wardrobe; only ever utilised on the coldest of cold days. I found them uncomfortable and bulky, and preferred the flexibility of black pants. I offer no apology for this. I was a city girl, and black pants were the height of fashion. They probably still are. I wouldn't know. I can't even tell you what movies are showing at the cinemas anymore.

I had been living in 'the bush' for a few weeks, when across the road from my house (at the showgrounds) was an event called a 'campdraft'. Anyone who knows anything about horses and cattle would be able to tell you about a campdraft, (hubby corrected my spelling by telling me it is only one word - not two) but I only knew that it was something about horses and cattle. (For more information, click here.) I thought this would be a great opportunity to 'socialise', meet a few locals and do something different. So I ran off to get dressed, and emerged minutes later in black pants, some synthetic shirt and possibly black heels. I'd thrown my hair back and put on minimal makeup.

I scaled the first fence, and made it to the outer perimeter of the bar area. I scanned the crowd; a blur of blues, checks, buttons, collars... and jeans. I froze, mid-step, and started my retreat. I was back home faster than you could count to ten.

Even at the local 'watering holes', the standard dress code involved jeans and varying 'dress code levels' of tops and shirts. By the end of the next week, (out of sheer necessity) I think I owned two new pairs of jeans.

Today, my wardrobe consists of this many pairs of jeans. (I was also wearing a pair, and another pair was in the wash). I just showed this picture to CP, who sees nothing wrong with it. He possibly owns more jeans than I do, and apparently he thinks this is 'normal'.

Jeans are the unofficial uniform of the bush. No wardrobe is complete without them. And they are SUPREMELY comfortable, despite my initial reservations.

Today it is my black pants that are pushed all the way to the back of my wardrobe. There is no practical use for them at all these days. Jeans are functional and I can't imagine existing without them. Jeans are especially good for scaling fences. (Including fences into campdrafts). But I don't need to worry about that anymore.

Thank goodness.

The Weather Girl

In my previous life, I couldn't have given two hoots about the weather.

Thanks sallyjanevintage.blogspot.com for the pic!

All I needed to know was that there would be water in the taps every day, and how much hair product would be required to see me through the day. Too much wet weather or humidity affected the structure of a hair do, and the likelihood of packing an extra layer of clothing or umbrella when I left the house.

The weather certainly never factored into my conversations any more than 'how cool is this thunderstorm?!' or 'far out, if it keeps raining, I'm going to have to carry my heels into that club tonight', or 'how bad are my sweat patches in this shirt today?'

And I mean it when I say that NOT A DAY GOES BY when I don't think about or discuss the weather. I have four (yes, four) weather apps on my iphone. Some are better for temperatures, and others have better, more reliable radars. We check the radar almost daily on our home computer. I didn't even know what a weather radar was before I moved out here. I thought it was what you looked out for along the M1 so you didn't get caught speeding... Those were the days before I knew that there was any other kind of heat than humid heat.

CP and I often discuss how much easier life would be if you weren't reliant on the weather. If you are a teacher, or a nurse, or a lawyer, you don't need to concern yourself with trivial things like weather and temperatures. (It's a fallacy that you get to go home from school if the temperature hits 40 degrees, sorry kids). And it still seems pointless to me that people in rural areas rely on something that they have no control over. But it's all part of the planning process.

Planting crops, stock numbers and timing are all dependant on the weather. Anyone who eats fruit and veges, meat, grains, drinks milk, and any product derived from these things (including raw materials like cotton and wool etc.) will understand that the cost of a product is affected by external factors like flooding and cyclones, but the supply and demand of such products also affects prices. And it's not consumers losing sleep about supply and demand. It's the farmers.

So without getting into the nitty gritty about the extent to which the weather affects the functioning of the farming business as a whole, let me just some it up by saying that CP gets very cranky and tired easily when it's dry for an extended period of time, and he suffers from extreme cabin fever when it's wet for an extended period of time. So pretty much the general wish for people living on a farm is 'everything in moderation.'

Where we live, the average annual rainfall is something like 19 or 20 inches. Mostly we get that in a handful of showers. In the last 2 years we have averaged about 30 inches, (possibly a lot more this year). Everything is AMAZING and lush and green. Dams are full, and stock are happy. Stock happy = farmers happy.

It's amazing that discussion about the weather have become part of my daily vernacular.
"Hey you! Much rain out your way?" "Have any trouble getting into town on that road today?" "You guys looking for any more rain?" "How hot is it today?!" And even more amazing is the fact that I genuinely care about the answers.

Sometimes I forget though.

It's highly probable that I can get off the phone from a neighbour (after a half hour phone call) and CP will ask "How much rain did they get over there?" and I'll say "Ummm... I didn't ask?" and CP will respond with "Well what did you talk about for half an hour then?" (As if you couldn't possibly be talking about anything else?!) So I'll say "You know, facebook, the good looking guy who is working at that place etc."

So clearly I haven't been born with the worrying about the weather gene.

But I do like it when my farmer is happy.

Christmas: Blink and You'll Miss It

The silly season is done and dusted... 1000 rum balls have been consumed; nectarines, plums and cherries have been digested at rates fast enough to guarantee we all stay regular until well after New Years. I have personally eaten enough M and Ms, chocolate, mango smoothie, pavlova, trifle, ham and salad to last me a lifetime. And I have two big family functions coming up faster than I can say 'loosen that button please!'

Our Christmas Tree is still up and decorated. It will probably stay this way until school goes back. We have our house decorated. And it will stay decorated. Indefinitely. Several years ago, my mother bought us a fake Christmas tree, after I whinged and moaned about the ongoing clean up that a real tree necessitated. This is why I feel justified in keeping it up for about 3 months. The clean up is minimal. Eventually I will come to look at it as a giant pot plant. Only without the pot, or water, or soil.

This year we had Christmas at home. And the day began at 4:30am. We alternate Christmas between our families. My brother, sister and their partners joined us for three days of Christmas fun on the farm. We all squeezed into our little house, stocked up the cold room with drinks, fruit and meat, (in that order), and sat back by the pool and killed time. It was wonderful. And the weather was superb!

As far as tradition goes in our family, it's always about food. I ALWAYs glaze a ham.

Glazed Ham

We ALWAYS make a potato salad. We ALWAYS make a pavlova and trifle. We ALWAYS eat about 4kgs of prawns. SOOO GOOOD! So we did all those things. And we washed them down with a cool room full of alcohol - which we ALWAYS do. Daquiris, Mojitoes, Martinis and Cider were the beverages of choice this year. Mmmmmmm.

The children were over indulged again. Being the only children on both sides, they are spoiled terribly. And thankfully they are still buying my lies about the man in red. Or lady in red, as it actually is in our house. Santa Claus really outdid herself this year at our house! The lies get harder and harder.

"Sorry he got that swim suit size wrong girls... I'll email him and check his returns policy."
"I know the wrapping paper is the same as those presents from us over there... Santa must buy his paper from the same shop as us!"

Kids are so clever! (And now - two days later, also cranky and tired)...

Liv, out cold after the longest Christmas dinner wait, ever. It's all a bit much for little people.

The funny thing about Christmas this year was not having any parents in our house with us. Sometimes I felt like a child pretending to be a grown up. But more than anything, it made me realise that it's family that makes Christmas, 'CHRISTMAS' for me. It's the love, the laughter and the happiness I love. And the 'Christmas play' the kids put on. Yes, Sam is in a dress. Yes, Olivia bossed everyone around and told them what to do and say. Yes, Darcy is Lady Gaga. And not because Olivia told her to be... I love Christmas.

And now it's all said and done for another year. And I'll start the online shopping frenzy right after New Years. Only this year I'll have to hide my presents in better places. We had a few close calls this year...

What did you do for Christmas?

The Thing About Meat

Before I met CP, I had learned to survive on a staple diet of stir fry, Mexican food, Asian cuisine and Italian dinners. As a university student, mince and chicken met my food budget. And as a first year teacher, friends and flat mates inspired my stir fry craze. Back then, I couldn't tell whether or not I was eating beef or lamb, and steak was something you could eat at the Breakfast Creek Hotel for half my weekly earnings.

On the first few outings with CP there were no opportunities to actually eat. It was usually a night out at the Pub with friends, which involved more alcohol consumption than food intake. On the rare occassion I did see CP eating, it was probably a steak burger or something similar.

Early in our relationship, I visited the farm. It was an opportunity to meet his parents, and take a small tour of the most important place in CPs life. It was a lovely afternoon.

His mother took the time to ask me if I could cook and clean. Luckily I can. But I didn't have the heart to tell her that if CP had two arms and two legs and a beating heart, so could he.

When he came to visit me on weekends, I usually prepared a healthy stir fry. Lots of chicken, loads of veges, and a nice flavoursome sauce. I was cetain that my meals would be enough to impress him. He ate every last bite. Even though he probably enjoyed those meals, he probably snuck out for a roast of the day when I was sleeping.

Over the next few months, dinner with his parents usually consisted of a roast, with potato and veges, or cold meat and salad, or chops, steak or even stew. I should have seen the signs far sooner than I did.
For even though CP ate my chicken, all the poor boy really wanted was beef and lamb.

The simple truth about all the farmers I know, is that meat, three veg and potato is all you need impress them.

Ten years after meeting CP, the large majority of our meals revolve around red meat, salad or veges and some sort of potato dish. And CP couldn't be happier. On the nights I serve up a stir fry or a quiche or something similar, I am met with either 'This looks delicious! What's for the main course?' or 'What meat will we be eating with this?' A meal is incomplete until red meat is served alongside the other ingredients. I have developed my cooking skills as a farmer's wife, much to the credit of CWA cook books and The Country Table.

And don't get me started on seafood! Living 650km from the sea, I am always slightly dubious about using seafood as an ingredient in my cooking. CP is even more dubious. I love a good prawn on the Bar-B as much as the next person, but it's become something of an extravagence these days.

Thankfully (according to the Blood Group Diet - of which I am not really familiar with at all) being an O+ means that I can pretty much eat all the meat I like, as often as I like. And thankfully being married to a sheep and cattle farmer means we have the luxury of not having to pay for red meat. Our grocery bill is scary enough without even having to add meat to the equation.

On the down side, there is such a thing as 'too much of a good thing'. On more than one occassion CP and I have had a discussion something like this:

Me: "What do you want for dinner?"
CP: "I don't know. What do you think?"
Me: "We don't have any meat left."
CP: "There is lots of meat! I saw it myself yesterday."
Me: "Only roast lamb. And I can't be bothered cooking and eating roast lamb again. I'm sick of it."

The craziness of this isn't lost on me!

I'm doing my best to decrease carbon emissions at our place, one animal at a time...

Meat is THE staple food of a farmer. CP likes his food simple. He talks about how if more people ate meat, the world would be a better place. But maybe not in those words. And this addiction to meat is clearly genetic, because my kids are all meat addicts. If we go to a BBQ, they will choose steak before sausages. And me? I still like my 'chook food' (as CP calls it). But I can definitely handle a good lamb chop every now and then too.

If you ever find yourself in a position of having to feed a farmer, keep it simple. A well cooked (as opposed to well done) steak is definitely the way to a farmer's heart. Just ask Sam Kekovich.

PS: Please click on the circular "Circle of Moms" badge at the top of this page to vote for me - competition closes tomorrow!!!

An Anniversary

Today, the 6th December, is my wedding anniversary. It's been 8 long years that CP and I have spent together. No itches and no scratches in sight!

Some people say the time goes quickly. And it does. But I think that has more to do with our children growing, than the actual length of time we have been married.

Back then, I didn't realise that a cupboard door left open, butter not put back in the fridge, sandy boots worn through a freshly mopped house, and a sly boob squeeze would be enough to send me into a fit of anger.

I look at old photos of us and remember a whole future ahead of us.

I have spent 6 of the last 8 years either pregnant or breastfeeding.

 I didn't realise that even the smell of my husband would be enough to make me want to sleep in another room out of fear of vomiting.

 I didn't realise that no one would ever make me angrier. Or sadder.

More importantly... I didn't realise that love then could grow and CHANGE. That I really can't imagine life without him, for more reasons than I can even count.

Back then, I'm sure CP didn't realise he was signing up for me to publicly discuss elements of our relationship. He didn't realise he was my muse. He didn't realise I was such a talker...

Ah well, no one can say there aren't plenty of surprises in our relationship.

Thanks Cranky Pants. Here's to another 8, or 58 more! Love you!

xxx The Farmer's Wife xxx

PS: I feel the need to explain that CP and I both forgot it was our anniversary when we woke up today. So thanks 'Kym' for the phonecall. What would I do without you?