Sliding Doors moment: weddings or whips?

The Little Woman had a lot of influences on her wee little imagination lately. First she "attended" a wedding at which her mother was simultaneously having a nervous breakdown AND taking wedding photos.

This is TLW taking in proceedings.

And this is the beautiful bride and her groom 'doin' their thaing' as my daughter snored.

And then we had visitors galore, amongst whom were my illustrious sister and her Salina. Salina had also attended said wedding, and upon arriving at granite Glen afterwards, practised with Dash and TLW the wedding march. They turned my kitchen into the aisle, bursting from the pantry two-at-a-time frog-marching each other past the sink to the waiting 'groom', a very abbreviated 'ceremony', much giggling and a reluctant kiss.

Jeanie and Salina also brought with them offerings of hand-me-down clothes and dress-ups.
Including this little number....

I don't know 'bout you, but this image fairly stopped me in my tracks. An old silky petticoat hitched over one shoulder with velcro, a piece of netting, way-too-big gloves and a white material posy... and my three-year-old hellraiser is transformed.

SSB doesn't really want to look at this photo. Suddenly the reality of having a daughter is hitting home to him.

One day, one day sometime in the future, she might not be ours anymore.

I hope we might have another 30 years, or so, before that day.

I hope she lives a little before she 'settles down'... like her ma.
I hope she manages to find a good, patient, kind, reasonably wealthy (but not obsessed with money), fun, patient (did I already say that?), happy, sweet man to stand by her.

That's not too much to ask, is it?

Coz I'd make a great Mother-In-Law.

Hang on... suddenly I feel a little ill. The room is spinning!

No-one explained that if I actually went and had kids, that one day I might be a Mother In Law.

I've been had.

Then just as I am getting all freaked out and hyperventilating, I found this snap in the files.

And this one.

My hellraiser daughter.

Trouble in Boots or With a Whip.

That's more like it. Whew!

Oh... oh dear!

I wonder if she is dreaming about weddings or whips?

Mist-ical drive

I'm not really in the mood for yarning today, folks.

Must be the weather (and the mountain of washing, folding, vaccuming and tidying facing me down). Really, I'd rather watch a windmill spin. Anything. I do not heart housework!
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Instead, I thought you might like to come for (an almost) wordless virtual drive with me ... through the morning mist of my kindy day.


First we must wait for the school bus. This is looking one way up the road (can you see it?)
This is looking the way the bus should be coming.

If I'm not too late...

Oh... there it is!

Got your backpack Dash? Bye!

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Now we must creep along the road (and stop occasionally to take photos, therefore being late again for kindy. But it's OK. The lovely Kindy teacher would collapse in shock if I arrived on time.)

Lovin' the way the colour fades to black and white as the world disappears into the cloud...

I swear I could have been in a different world - the moors in Great Britain maybe. Or Lord of the Rings. Fog affects my mind....

Hey, maybe there's been a time warp and I'm back in the 1800s?

Oh no... that hand is too soft for the 1800s and that two-way aerial is definitely 20th century at least...

Climbing higher and into even more treed country...

And onto the bitumen...

TLW was demanding: When we get to Kindy Mum?? When?

So I stopped stopping to take photos.

We were only 15 minutes late.

And I went and had a very 21st century steaming cup of coffee to clear my head.

State of the Art, Baby!

I was inspired to do this post by the Pioneer Woman, herself... Ree posted about their state of the art hay picking-up machinery thingies (that was possibly not the technical term but you'll have to check with her to get the guff).

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It made me think about our own equipment, here at Granite Glen.

Now we are part of a pretty well-run enterprise ... but I'm not sure that our general machinery is, well, cutting edge. Sure we have the latest computerised gadgets for weighing and scanning and identifying cattle, cause that's our business. But the everyday maintenance of the property is often taken care of with items of a less impressive degree of shiny-ness.

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For example, for as long as I can recall, we have had a grader here to take care of the many kilometres of dirt and gravel roads through our paddocks. Not everyone has a grader, so really, we should be happy we actually own one. Trouble is, not everyone exactly had their hand up to drive this particular vehicle.

If you could really call it a vehicle...

Hello Grader... Hello Dad, the grader driver... Hello SSB the driver of the tractor pulling the grader... Yup, that's it on the left: no engine, no shock absorbers, lots of elbow grease required!

The operator is required to frantically pull the big vertical metal wheels to lift and lower the blade as it passes over the road, requiring some pretty good co-ordination between tractor driver and grader driver (both of whom have to watch where they are travelling as well as shout over the noise of the tractor to each other!).

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So as Dad's workforce increased and his joints began to protest more at the jolting ride our antique equipment offered, he 'got rash' and lashed out.

He bought a new grader!!!

'Not', he said, 'that there is really anything wrong with the old one. Still works. Be nice to have one that I can drive on my own though. Leave you blokes do the hard work for a change!'

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We all gathered to see the spanking new addition to the Granite Glen machinery shed.

There were arguments over who would get first ride in the cabin alongside Pagi...

Dash won and we all watched breathlessly to see the new grader in action...

Hmmmmmm... Dad gets a feel for the gears and Dash gives us the one-finger salute (the nice one!).

Well it IS more recently painted than its predecessor, it doesn't require a tractor and it has a windscreen! A major upgrade. When asked if he didn't think he should have found a vehicle with actual air-conditioning, Dad replied:

"It IS bloody well air-conditioned. The NATURAL way - just open the blinkin' window!".

And with that, he was off. Happy as a lark, purring along in his new old grader, grandson at his side. You couldn't have made him any happier by handing him the keys to a Ferrari. I imagined what his response might be if you did such a thing:

"For heaven's sake - what use is that thing to me? It'd just get a bloody stone chip!"

And that would be that.

And the old grader??

Having an honourable retirement in a scenic paddock, drawing curious glances from passers by.

Oh, we say, that's the OLD grader. You wait til you see the new one!

Winter Weather at Granite Glen...

One of the changes that one must undergo when one (or all!) move from the city to the bush is being very much closer to nature... and by extention, the weather.

Sure the air is cleaner, the atmosphere clearer and the colours truer.

That's all sweet. Money for jam.

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But in many ways, this proximity to Mother Nature can be a little, well, unsettling.

Like when snakes don't stay nicely out of sight.

Or when the tank runs dry.

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As we packed for our big move from the 'burbs of BrisVegas 18 months ago (where water was very strictly regulated with the drought finally making its impact felt on city slickers) I had one friend come up to me with a question. Totally straight-faced, she said: 'So, what are your water restrictions out there?'.

Ummmm.

Simple. No-one reads our water meter and bothers to fine us.

This is what happens: I use too much water. It runs out. Tap turns, nothing happens. No washing up. No showers. No washing clothes. And then I do what any self-respecting country girl would do in the same situation:

Hit the panic button!

Yeaaaargghhh! Then I gather myself. Then I brace myself and call SSB.

And he frowns at my wastage (I can feel it over the two-way!). And I lower my head in shame as he pumps from any spare storage tanks we have (I am lucky we are not in a real drought at present!). It's only happened twice. But that's two times too many. Water is gold here.

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All in all, failing to pace water usage (and running out) is one of life's less pleasant feelings. You soon learn to be judicious with your showers - long ones are fine when it's raining heavily. Otherwise, short and snappy is the preferred option.

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Really though, Mother Nature has been reasonably kind to us lately.

It's been wintery, enough for big jackets and fires but not freezing.

The rain has been light, not flooding but strangely regular.

And fogs have been a habitual part of our day.

Which is scenic and beauteous from the front door of the Granite Glen house.

But kinda freaky and a little dangerous for those driving through it!

It can be clear one second... and then in an instant:

White mist takes over...

(See the dramatic change from the right to the left of this image?)

And as is normal for me, when I took this photo, I was in a hurry to get somewhere. Running late to get TLW to Kindy, actually.

But I'm always somehow able to justify stopping for a sec to get a photo. Must drive everyone else nuts! (Just hope they ain't drivin' behind me in the fog!).

And tonight, for some reason, I am bracing myself for a change.

For an onslaught of ice-laden mornings.

For cold southerly winds to burn the cheeks of all who venture out.

For fogs to enclose us all and cause havoc on our windy dirt roads.

The chill is in the air outside... and I am uneasy.

I know you are there, Mother Nature.

Please be gentle!

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What is your weather doing to your life at the moment?

DO TELL...

Ride with Bush Babe

Once upon a time a young Bush Babe was a very keen rider.

You could say that I was obsessed with any equine.

Thelwell ponies, Arabian steeds, gleaming Quarterhorses, athletic bovine-savvy Australian stockhorses... if it had four hooves and whinnied, I adored it.

And this was the view I most enjoyed:

from the saddle.

And then life somehow (against my intent) took over and took me away from my horses.
I went away to boarding school, riding only on my holidays.
I went away to university, and the holidays at Granite Glen grew less frequent.
I worked for a living in far-flung places and my rides became mere annual events.
And then, when I was pregnant with Dash, I sustained a serious knee injury which would put me out of a saddle indefinitely. Three knee reconstructions, and about 15 kg, later I am merely a spectator. I look after children, I take photos and I watch while others ride.
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Then yesterday something happened.
I was meeting SSB and Pagi (my Dad) at the Hilton for morning tea with the kids in tow.
Dash and TLW decided they wanted to go in the truck with Pagi, delivering cattle to another paddock. And my Dad, in an offhand manner, suggested I could try riding his quiet mare (my beloved) Yvette. Help SSB.
And by chance I had my jeans (my old blue jeans) on...
And I said (a little nervously): 'Sure... OK'. Why not?.

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So I awkwardly clambered aboard (it was NOT elegant and my old pony club instructor would have been horrified!).
And SSB and I reined up and prepared to muster a paddock together.
I'll let my snaps (from SSB's little digital pocket camera) tell the story.
You up for it?? Then come ride with me!

All aboard! Yvette is wondering who this one-handed, lop-sided new rider is? (I have to take my not-inconsiderable weight on my left leg as the right knee is a bit unstable).

Luckily she is a calm soul and relaxes with me.

Still, it feels like a looooong way up here!

After riding slowly with me for a bit, SSB decides I look OK and canters off to ride the boundary (read: do the real work) while I poke along through the centre of the paddock.

How you doin' girl? Just you and me now... all good?

Hmmm, looks like that mane needs some work - a good brushing and perhaps we should book a visit to the hairdresser soon?('Cause we already know you like a facial!)

Oh, hang on?

Are we supposed to be looking out for cattle?

*Sheepish grin*... ah, sheep-ish, get it?

Sorry. I must be nervous.

Look what Yvette and I spy off to the south...

See to the left of the dam?

SSB and a small mob of heifers (translation: young cows that have not yet had a calf). I'd better canter down to help.

How you feeling knee? Up for some action?

Please, please, please don't pop out on me now...

Let's go, girlfriend!

Insert some unphotographed action during which I needed two hands ... as I convinced the small mob to move in a semi-orderly manner across to the north side of the paddock to some more of their friends. No major catastrophes ensued, although my heart almost stopped when Yvette stumbled after stepping into a hole in a gully... but we stayed upright! Whew!

Walk along girls! ... SSB will be back soon with the rest of the mob.

Quick aside for non-cattle-experienced readers as we ride along the road: This is a molasses licker - a tricky device to allow cattle to take in small (licked) amounts of urea (mixed with water and molasses which they love) in times of drought. It helps them digest the dry unpalatable grass they would otherwise leave. We are having a reasonable season so far this year, so it is not filled at the moment. If we are lucky (and we keep getting enough rain) it'll stay unneeded for some time.

Here endeth the 'molasses licker lecture'.

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Back to the ride and my injured leg is feeling things a bit, but the rhythm of the ride, the subtle aroma of horse and leather, grass and sweet fresh air more than makes up for the niggle in my knee.
Aaaah... the heady combination of the views, the small adrenaline kick of just being here and getting my job done successfully, the feel of my horse beneath me, and the unexpected freedom of the ride... I remember now! I feel ALIVE!

You might think poking cattle along a road would be boring... but working with animals is rarely monotonous.

See that creamy heifer veering off from the back of the mob and looking for a piece of trouble (there on the left, above)...

Aha! Just as I suspected... looking for a bit of a scrap. Girls can be so bitchy at this age... Enough of the schoolyard shenanigans and back to the mob, please!

(Like how I say 'please'? Manners make all the difference...)

And who have we here, just as the mob nears the yards?

All hot and handsome on a dripping-with-sweat steed? And three very out-of-breath dogs?

My SSB. Sweaty. Sexy. Bearded.

We push the heifers into a wire yard and close the wooden gates.

(Well SSB does and I admire the view. Yes, yes, the one beyond the gates as well!)

Cruel and Yvette have a well earned drink/swim.

(Dogs ALWAYS do this after a run - regardless of how cold it is! Crazy!)

And SSB counts the heifers through the next gate towards the dipyards. (Note the Hilton in the background). Job done, I slide off my patient steed after my much-awaited re-introduction to mustering, and do a personal stocktake:

Knee: a bit quivery but still in one piece.

Inner thigh muscles: aching very slightly.

Generally: Silly great grin on my face!

Horse: apparently no worse for the experience.

Thanks Yvette!

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Hope you enjoyed the ride too!

I Heart Underbelly

I bought some DVDs for SSB for his birthday recently.

My husband is renown for loving his movies.

I chose a box set of a TV show which had been shown in Australia recently.

It's called Underbelly.

It was quite controversial - an underworld crime show based on real events between 1995 and 2004 - it was banned in Victoria as court cases relating to the events were still being held. The series is based on a book 'Leadbelly: Inside Australia's Underworld', by Age journalists John Silvester and Andrew Rule.

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SSB's brother and his wife had raved about it, but I was dubious about being interested enough in an Aussie, Mafia-type action series. Well... I am hooked.

More that than... a tad obsessed really.

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It's violent, but in context. It's raw and real. It's controversial and clever. And somehow, you get totally involved with the characters. And weirdly, you know that the real-life version of the person you are watching is out there (or was) somewhere! It has amazing acting, awesome writing, snappy dialogue, fabulous cinematography and the editing is sharp as a tack.

Blew us completely away.

I should be in bed now. Instead I am pretending to fold clothes so I can sneak one more episode in before hitting the hay officially.

Here's the promo - warning: the language is underworld stuff...

But if you can handle your TV raw and real, get this (if you can)!

The 'Old Stuff' disease

I love old stuff.
You may have noticed.

I cannot NOT photograph it.

It's a sickness.

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When I started this little blog, it was supposed to be a spot to file my photos of kids and lifestyle. Somewhere to put the gazillion images I shoot in my day-to-day life.

But somehow it has instead prompted me to take MORE photos.

More photos of people.

More photos of animals.

More photos of trees (for heaven's sake).

And more photos of Old Stuff.

Like at the Granite Glen Hilton recently.

Where this caught my eye.

Don't ask me why...

Something about the peeling paint,

the exposed wiring,

the haphazard angle of the actual switch...

Am I insane for being so intrigued by the details of Mother Time?

Is there a name for such an illness?

Help!!

BB