And the winners ARE...

Alrighty then... tis done!

We giggled and scratched our heads and snorted at your entries...

as usual it was outrageously hard to nail it down to just one winning comment
but Jeanie has spoken and

The Winner of the Bush Babe 8" x 12" print of their choice is:
Jayne!

"You know, Dash, I think I used the salad oil instead of the saddle oil last night!"

We are arguing that it could equally be said vice versa - depending on the apparent discomfort level of our erstwhile father. Heh!

.
It was a hard choice. I loved Stephen's hat angle, and those who guessed something gate-related must know my Dad in real life! He lives to get others to open gates for him (his knees protest all that getting on and off!). I am taking a paddle to Pam (A Novel Woman) and The Accidental Housewife for their extremely risque remarks - well, I would, but I suspect you would both enjoy it far too much. You made us totally snort. And I am currently holding my hand over my mother's eyes. I am afraid I might have to explain y'all! Too funny...
.
Oh, hang on. There was another prize wasn't there?

The Winner of the fabulous Aussie DVD "The Castle" is:


Random number generated (for total of 31 comments) - 7
And I think comment # 7 belongs to: T Lee
Persistence pays off!!
(You will have to give us your review when you get the movie!)

Thanks to everyone for taking part! We loved your work.

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And I suppose you want to know the REAL story?

(Can YOU handle the truth?)

Well... it really comes from my uncle - Dad's little brother - the ex-rodeo rider.

.

When we were kids (and he was a 20-something-year-old cowboy) he would ride up behind our ponies as we rode out to muster, and stealthily lift us completely out of the saddle. (Think buckjumping horses or bulls, and that dude who flies in on another steed to lift the hapless rider from his bucking animal and away to safety). If we were lucky, the pony would just keep on walking at relatively the same pace and we could maintain our dignity and slide back into the saddle calmly. If not, we would be left mid-air, legs flailing and begging to be put down.
He would laugh uproariously and say:

"What? You never been taken off by a professional pick-up man before?".

Which was really hilarious, because we had. About a hundred times. By him. Never failed to amuse him. We learned to have eyes in the backs of our heads. And we rarely volunteered to ride out on a muster in front of him!
.
So the photo that looks like my Dad was gently patting his grandson on the back was actually a prelude the same playful threat:

"Ever been lifted off by a professional, boy?".

Dash has had little experience in this department, so was too naive to be nervous. I'd say Mr Incredible's body language says "I don't think that's a great idea!". And perhaps remembering that his daughter was documenting activities behind him, Pagi had second thoughts and kept on riding...

(If you noted the comments you'll see Jeanie-the-Judge spotted the scenario immediately).

.
Hope you have a great day - we are headlong into branding today so posting might be sketchy. Will check in on y'all later though.

And winners - please email me at your earliest convenience.
Au revoir...
BB

Shrek and the Swamp

You know how we have a pool?

A pool my father built when he was just a teenager?

A pool that provides some serious relief from the Aussie heat in the summer months?

And you know how (despite many, many lotto entries)

we still don't have Sven the pool boy at our beck and call?

And did you also know that our pool pump decided to up and DIE over winter?

So, as Summer approached at a gallop, our lovely big pool actually resembled

the Shrek Swamp in consistency and colour?

Not pretty - you can thank me later for not taking a photo of it

in all it's mucky glory!

...

It reminded me of when Jeanie and our brother Pig and I were kids

(the pool was built very much pre-filtration)

and Dad would simply skim the leaves etc off the top,

pull the cane toads out,

and in we would dive.

We never expected to see the bottom of the pool,

and were quite amazed at the council pools

with their blue clear stingy-eyes water.

Of course, the toad thing wasn't so great.

I had dreams/nightmares about diving into a pool

with ONLY toads in it.

*Shudder*

...

Anyway, we bought a new pool pump a few weeks ago

but it just couldn't handle the degree of Shrek-ness of our pool.

(say after me: 'YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE SHREK-NESS!')

We decided to give in, pump out the filth

and irrigate some parched pasture

with the old water and start afresh.

Which is when a lovely big cloud

dropped almost two inches of rain on our house!

Yay! But OY the timing...

...

So yesterday Dad (Pagi), my hard-working hubby (Mr Incredible)

and the kids got scrubbing.

While I took photos.

And I mowed the lawn.

(So what if it's a ride-on mower!

Laziness is no good unless it is well carried out!)

Ever seen a bush pool cleaned out?

Well, I am here to inform and educate...

if not to scrub!

Pick the lazy bones in this family portrait...

Hello!!!!
You can clearly see where the boys have been scrubbing

and where they have not.

I'm telling you, this pool was FILTHY.

Dash was on hose duty, with Violet wielding a small red brush.

I suspect she was using it more to point out the spots that needed attention,

than actually scrubbing...

She's a chip off the old block, that one.

(Her Ma is so proud!)

By the time I had done the mowing the pool job was pretty much done,

with just the final sweeping of last bits of brown sludge

into the 'trap' hole in the floor of the deep end for bucketing out.

We find water guns most helpful to help cool Daddy off when the sweeping work gets too sweaty... I use the term 'we' loosely - cameras don't like water too much!

As you can see, Dash and Violet revelled in this chore...

They care little about mucky water... it was wet and cool and fun!

We did give Mr Incredible a break eventually, with a pool-side coffee.

With the pool empty and relatively clean, we turned the hose on.

The kids lay on the pool floor and let the water trickle past them...

Our own water park!

Of course the garden hose will take a few days to fill this monster hole,

so I can't yet give you an 'after' photo just yet...

In the meantime...

Heeeeeeeere's Axel...

the pool-side boot-minder:

He's about as useful as I am!

Toasted

We did it.

My Dad has been well and truly toasted (but not too badly roasted) at his 'almost 70' soiree at Granite Glen house. It kind of turned into a weekend-long event. The first guests arrived Friday night and I waved the last of my visitors off yesterday afternoon.

But on Saturday it was 'four-wheel-drive central'.

We had about 60 of Dad's mates and rellies to mark this milestone, and the relaxed lunch was perfect for his preferred form of celebration: a good steak and scotch with friends and family.
D'ya like the groovy (and appropriate) serviettes I picked up in Big Town last week?

...
There was laughter, there was eating (oh my, the eating!), there were tears (mostly from the assorted visiting babies although one or two may or may not have been mine during the speeches).

This is Dad with neighbours Bill and Clair.

They are the most wonderful couple who lived across the river from us for many decades. They raised nine children (despite being initially told they couldn't have kids) and seem exactly the same to me as they did when I visited them with the measles when I was 10. They have retired into town and their son (the one I went to school with) now runs the property. Dad made a sweet speech and it included acknowledgement of the importance of great neighbours in the bush - he was looking right at this pair when he said it.

...

The atmosphere was wonderful... I found it a little hectic but I could feel and hear the relaxed conversation around me as I brought food to the hordes.

When you are hosting something like this, it is easy to get overwhelmed with preparations and feeding people and stuff. This kind of thing is a group effort. And luckily I just happen to have the best support network in the country - including the bunch below.

Have they not got the most beautiful smiles you have ever laid eyes on?

That's Pea on the left - she baked up a storm, delivered a table and a heap of chairs and cleared most of the debris for me at night. As Dad would say: Her Blood Is Worth Bottling. Then there is darling Elle - she and her family travelled hours to attend (her hubs Harv worked with Dad when he was a teenager and they share a great respect for each other), she entertained and laughed and helped me unwind at the end of the day (with a Baileys and by recording the Bush Babe train wreck - see last pic of this post!). Then there is Bon Bon, the incredibly stylish woman married to Dad's baby brother (is anyone allowed to look that good over 30?) as well as being a great neighbour and friend and lending me tables at the very last minute when I hit the panic button. And then there is Megs (P's daughter) who shares the long end of the bus run with my Dash - she was the only girl there her age, but who happily mingled with adults and monitored little kids as required. And she is beautiful. Nuff said.

...

I also had my mother who worked her tiny butt off helping with the garden and getting food ready (as well as hauling the laundry shed back from disaster), providing the gazillion extra wine glasses required by the hordes and cleaning up quietly as her daughter collapsed on the couch. And let's not forget my sister who baked her little socks off - the smorgasbord of bread she provided was amazing. Sorry I didn't get a shot of it all Jeanie! And of course there is my hubby... who cooked a mountain of fillet steaks and moreton bay bugs without complaint, not to mention putting up with being handed a frightening 'Honey Do' list a couple of days prior to the event. Even Dad had to help chip the tennis court, tidy up the shed and nail up a "Please Slow Down" sign on an ironbark tree to prevent guests drowning in dust.

...

And of course there was my sister-in-law Curly, who took on the mountain of washing up despite her advancing pregnancy (notice how I didn't mention the step required for my high benches, C?) and the lovely Kay and Shell, who helped her. And my gorgeous cousin Bee who not only took on balloon duties, but also camera duties at speech time (and did an awesome job!). There were others too... in fact, I am trying hard to recall what I actually did for the event! I seem to have blocked it all out...

All this work made us a little thirsty.

Now I don't wish to give the impression that we are a bunch of alcoholics, but I have to say that our crowd does enjoy the odd scotch and dry (hello Dad) or the odd cold beer (hello Tex) or the odd Bundy and coke (hello there hubby o' mine!). And I have already confessed to a certain leaning towards a glass of chardonnay on special occasions (like dinner). And besides, we were toasting the continued health of my father on the weekend, and let me tell you, the man needs all the assistance he can get in that department (as previously explained here)!

...

The men had a lot of toasts to make apparently, if the low levels recorded in the rum bottles strewn around my patio yesterday morning. I suspect all that pool playing and tall-tale-telling was hard and thirsty work. Elle and I managed to make a couple of private toasts (after everyone else had fallen by the wayside/fallen asleep on the couch) with a dash of Baileys.

...

Actually if the Baileys people are ever looking to sponsor a blog, I would be the first with my hand up. I may fall asleep within minutes of the second dash, but those are a couple of FINE minutes. Actually Elle grabbed my camera and recorded the fine-ness of it all here:

Something tells me I could be waiting quite a while

for that call from the Baileys' people.

Bruiser...

It's my Dad's 70th birthday soon...

and while he's not all that sure about this whole blogging thing his eldest daughter indulges in, I don't think he'd mind if you knew.

Really, he is pretty stoked to have come within cooee of 'three score and ten' - because Lord knows the man has done his level best to test his mortal limits over the decades. I have mentioned some of his earlier years here, but really I would need a book to really cover the personality that provided half my DNA.

...

He is larger than life and he exudes more life force than ten younger men... and in a not-unrelated fact, he has also suffered more injuries (and bulldozed Heaven's knows HOW many less-forceful souls) than anyone else I know. I should know - because despite enjoying a mostly harmonious relationship with him, I have been among the bulldozed.

...

Luckily this less-than-comfortable experience served to teach me to stand up and be counted, if I wanted to avoid being regularly bulldozed. And it's a hard-earned talent that has stood me in terrific stead in most of my male-dominated workplaces. A woman that can calmly hold her own, unintimidated by masculine bluster, is a woman that will earn respect. Not an easy lesson, but it has paid off in spades.

...

This weekend we are pausing the Granite Glen express momentarily, to barbecue a good steak, fill our wine glasses and toast the man referred to somewhat cheekily by his loved ones as "Bruiser". And we will marvel that, despite having crashed and galloped his way through broken legs, two knee replacements, a smashed arm, cancer, broken collar bones, ghastly gash injuries from various farm-related 'incidents' and goodness knows how many corked thighs and black eyes, Dad is alive, kicking and still going 'flat biccie'.

...

And in preparation, I am trawling my image archives along with the one gathered by my aunt (dad's only sister). It is a treasure trove. The first picture in this post almost makes me weep, it's so sweet.

Could that really be Bruiser?

This child with the head shaped exactly like my Dash?


Oh gosh... this one gets me too.

That is my grandfather holding his newborn son, my uncle, who would one day be a tearaway rodeo rider and then father to four great kids, now a devoted grandfather himself.

My aunt (holder of the photo archive) poses sweetly to the right in her white shoes.

And Bruiser... could that be he at left, with the band aid on one shin?

So upright, shoulders back, half-smile, as close to his much-worshipped father as possible.

...

Soon after this photo was taken, my Dad would head off to boarding school and my grandfather would succumb to a terrible brain tumour a couple of months after that. It's the only image I have seen of his with his three children and it bring a lump the size of Uluru to my throat.

...

And then there is this one...

This young father with his firstborn child.

Me and my dad.

I have his swarthy dark complexion, the brown eyes, and apparently the very same 'bulldozer-ish' approach to things when I get a bit focussed. Or so I'm told.

Thanks Dad. I think!

...
I guess the one thing I always think of, when I am trying to illustrate the kind of man my Dad is today, are his hands.

These are not computer hands.

Not mobile phone hands.

Not dainty or soft or manicured.

There is even part of a finger missing from his left hand - something about a horse striking at a rail and nicking the pinky. And a doctor pulling off the hanging end section and throwing it in a bin... no microsurgery for these hands!

I cannot begin to imagine that these hands are old.

Or done with.

They are strong and capable and sure.

(I hope) for many, many years to come.

Here's to you, old fella.

And here's to bloody well looking after yourself please,

to ensure that I get to blog about the 80th!

Influences and thrill-seeking genetics

Mustering and working cattle is a lot of what happens here at Granite Glen. Sure there is other work to be done - building fences, making sure waters are reliable, machinery maintenance. Gathering and sorting cattle is a big part though - and something that almost everyone can take part in. The kids are starting to be allowed to go on little musters, either on their own steeds, or in front of Dad's saddle. It's pretty good fun.

...

And there is no guessing that it is my Dad's very favourite job.

As I have shared previously, the sport of campdrafting derives directly from the kind of work we do on a cattle property. We use horses to muster in and then separate cattle in the yards, when they need sorting out. And while my Dad retired from the campdraft arena (where he won his share of competitions) many years ago, he still adores the thrill of a good cut-out.

The speed, the anticipation, the power of the horse, the sharp turns and the 'yesssss' of success in getting the chosen steer through the gate where it needs to be... it was the same adreneline rush that saw his parents, and his mother's parents, get deeply into the sport of campdrafting. They just loved the buzz and that edge of danger. I often wonder if he had been born in another place and time, if he'd have been a base jumper. Or a chopper pilot. The thrill-seeking part of him is what's kept Dad young really.

Not bad for an almost-70-year-old...

And if you have been keeping track of us lately, you'll know the campdrafting bug has already infected my husband. I suspect my father has had more than a little influence on Mr Incredible - who already had his own thrill-seeking genetics (the man was a footy player and mountain climber). So you will understand that I took pause when I noticed this little fella watching Pagi in action at the yards...

He was agog - he did not blink at all during the drafting. . And nearly twisted his little head off trying to not miss a second of the action.

And as they took the cattle back to the paddock, I wondered about the conversations going on.

And if the campdraft bug will infect the fifth generation of my family?

Blinking thrill-seekers.

Silver stars, sterling in-laws, and our Christmas Miracle!

Well hello there!

...

I have been a bit absent over the past week - apologies for those seeking regular Ree-like updates from the Bush. I have discovered that having 21 people in one's house over the Christmas period kinda distracts from any regular blogging efforts. In the most chaotic, and yet the nicest possible way!!

You may recall I was a bit like a rabbit caught in the headlights as we hurtled towards December 25 - concerned about the readiness of our home for the onslaught of my husband's family? Well, the house - this enormous rambling weatherboard home we have taken over from my parents - was kinda MADE for this degree of human habitation.
...

Four bedrooms were maxed out, kids piled into the sunroom to sleep side-by-side and top-to-toe like excited little (and not-so-little) sardines. Three toilets managed to service the hordes (including the additional 20 people we hosted on Boxing Day! whew!), two bathrooms managed to keep them reasonably clean, one year-old kitchen held up to 8 cooks at once to feed the masses, and one humungous living room provided the dining and indoor entertainment facilities for one and all. We even put our old Quarters (aka The Love Shack!) into action... can't forget the pool and the tennis court (both constructed by my Dad in his younger years) for the cooling-off and wearing-out factors needed for such a gathering! I am ever grateful to those who lived here (and renovated here) before me for such an amazing spot to hostess at.

...

Of course, I did try to put my own touches to the event...
'cause Lord knows, nothing is safe when I have a can of silver spray paint in my hot little hands!

Here is a delightful "horse" that 'Salina made with Dash and Violet during her visit earlier in the holidays - ain't he dashin' in silver with black spots? He got to grace the entry garden area with his dappled presence...

And speaking of dappled, here is a little gumleaf and dried 'some other leaf' arrangement at our front door... with a splash of silver to sass things up a little!

And I couldn't forget the gumnuts I started this whole silver-obsession with...
Here they are, alongside some bark gathered by Dash, and spraypainted red.

Anyone seen Snugglepot and Cuddlepie lately?

(check here if you have no idea what I am talking about!)

Anyhoo, as is traditional with my hubby's family, the kids are in charge of tablesetting Christmas Day... here is Cousin T doing a sterling job with the tools at his disposal:

The theme was kinda starry... and surprisingly silver!

See those stars near the crackers? Paddlepop sticks, spraypainted silver, and inscribed in black Nikko with someone's name - our placecards in fact. Is there anything silver paint cannot do?

(Don't answer that!)

And here is the centrepiece mentioned earlier... our major Bush Christmas ornament!

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Of course, it wasn't ALL about the decor...

It was also about the FOOD! Here is my sister-in-law P, preparing the ham with a pineapple glaze...

Sister-in-law K is supervising!

(Actually she was very busy helping... and keeping spirits up in the kitchen with that fabulous smile!)

SIL P is busily reglazing the enormous ham in the BBQ (my oven wasn't big enough!)...
and if you haven't noticed her gorgeous top by now, then I cannot help you! She brings a certain city pizazz to any gathering...

And she can glaze a ham... how does this look?

Mmmmmmmmmm...

Here are my other miracle workers in the kitchen Christmas Day...

On the left looking glamorous in green is sister-in-law A (whom I am currently trying to talk into hosting her own cooking section of this blog - the woman is an artist!) and the Incredible Gwen (hubby's Dad's wife). The latter pulled off the major miracle of our Christmas Day...

...

Can you guess what it was?

It wasn't that we managed to get the food on the table on time...

Or that there were enough chairs for all...

Or that we got almost all of the family into the lunchtime photo...

Or that a group of guys looking remarkably like The Wiggles joined our festivities...

Although each of these were minor triumphs.

...

No, it has to do with my darling hubby and his famous dislike of sultanas.

He's quite pathological about them.

Fruitcake has never passed his lips.

Curries with sultanas are left untouched on his plate.

I have never ever seen him eat one.

It's the darndest thing.

But on December 25, 2008, at Granite Glen, my husband ate plum pudding!

In shock, I asked what possessed him to try it.
You know what he said?

"Oh, it looked good with the custard.

And I kinda forgot."

...

What was your Christmas miracle?

(Other than making it to the end of this post!)

Come on in, the water is clear! And a CONTEST...

CONTEST TIME IS UP!

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Welcome to the Granite Glen pool...

It's a vital part of the setup here, with long, hard, hot dusty days a regular occurrence (and the men work pretty hard too! Heh!). Just the knowledge that a place to cool down awaits our hard-workin' musterers, tractor drivers, fence builders and truckies helps no end with the general atmosphere in our (very big) workplace! The fact that the musterers, tractor drivers and truckies are usually the same few people makes it all the sweeter.

...

But this pool is a pretty special place for other reasons.

It has some serious history.

It's one of the oldest pools in the region... more than 50 years old in fact!

It was the brainchild of my Dad.

Of course.

He was just 18 years old, but had already been running this place for over four years, when the hole was dug for this 'water hole'. It was not with my grandmother's full support - I believe Dad actually pretended that the digging was for a dam for watering animals. I cannot imagine quite how that conversation went, after it became apparent that this hole was perhaps a little too close to the house!

...

Anyway, after realising that a few logs would not provide the water-tightness required, Dad went in search of some more expert opinion and assistance. At the local pub, he discovered a gentleman who had some experience building pools on ships.

Bingo!

For days, he and this gentleman dug. Then carted sand. Then mixed up wheelbarrow-loads of cement which was wheeled into the big square hole. Then painstakingly formed up each load of cement with planks of wood. The faint marks of these boards are still visible on the walls of the pool. And the planks were turned into a fence which still runs along the bottom of our houseyard. Nothing gets wasted 'round here!

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The pool - 17 metres by 6 metres and 2 metres deep at the deep end - would prove popular in this district. It has hosted many a party - family events, polocrosse break-up days, birthday parties. And for almost four decades of it's life it was UNFILTERED! You heard me. Basically, it was a glorified dam. Murky and mysterious. The leaves were scooped out, of course. No-one expected clear blue pools in those days. Mind you, the image of horrid cane toads floating around in the green rippling pool water (double and triple deck! Ewww!) still haunt me to this day!
...

Thanks to my brother, who about ten years ago put his mind and efforts to plumbing the pool up to pipes and a sand filter, the pool is now a place that is pretty much toad and muck free. We give thanks every day for this particular upgrade!

Your blood is worth bottling Pig!

Of course, seeing as how Sven the Pool Boy refuses to show his mug around these parts, it doesn't always reach the heady level of clarity and blueness shown in this pic. Mr Incredible is required to wear Sven's hat (because he doesn't already have enough to do round here!) after I was sacked from the role (with a chronic inability to remember lever positions on pool pumps). I sometimes ask him to take his shirt off while performing this duty. He usually ignores me!

...

This is our Sven-in-training.

He is quite some way off being trusted with the mechanics of the pump and chemical distribution. Can you see why??

Of course, he gets plenty of mileage out of our water hole.

And his Mum does enjoy his enjoyment.

And he is pretty handy as a lifesaver too!

My little Violet (aka TLW) seems to appreciate his efforts (well most of the time!)
...
There is just one thing about the pool that visitors do need to bear in mind when they take a dip in our great pool, however.
It's not the cane toads.
Or the green water.
Or the potentially shirtless pool boys.
*sigh*
It's this...

Can't see what I mean.

Well this brings me something I haven't done for a while...

it's MYSTERY PHOTO TIME!

..............

Can you guess what this hole is for, right beside the pool?

Best answer wins a BB print of their choice.

Leave your entry in the comments section.

Contest finishes Friday, 8pm Aussie time.

Hint: we live very very close to Mother Nature here at Granite Glen.

Postscipt: I should have made it clear in the post that ACCURACY matters little or none in any Bush Babe contest. You WILL get the answer from me in good time. In the MEANTIME however, let your IMAGINATIONS rip. Go wild. Go free. Go crazy.

Ask yourselves: What MIGHT POSSIBLY be down that hole?

I need lots of silly 'colour' in the answers. I need descriptions that make me spit my coffee. Please?? Cause what I really need is more housework to do!

So, go your hardest people! Make me spit!