Life in Tasmania's Huon Valley, by a blow-in from the mainland
Monday, September 14, 2015
As I write, it's warm and sunny. We've had three days of T-shirt weather. The welcome swallows are back again for the summer and swooping around, with their distinctive chirping. Bright yellow daffodils have popped up in the front paddock. We've been out in the garden on the weekend, digging, planting, weeding, watering, relocating raised garden beds. It's light enough to be outside at 6pm. The tomato and basil seedlings have popped up in their warm, indoor pots. Soggy patches of ground have dried up. The strong scent of wattle fills the air. Tiny buds have appeared on the fruit trees. Sebastian the rooster has a spring in his step and a look in his eye as he chases the ladies around the place. With our windows open, cheerful bird and frog noises float in. I know the warm days won't last (I'm not about to plant the potatoes yet), but for now, isn't spring wonderful?
Escaped Sydney in 2010 for a piece of paradise in Tasmania's Huon Valley. I'm a keen walker, remote worker, incompetent gardener, Bernese Mountain Dog owner, fan of almost anything German (food, language, cars, beer), amateur linguist, chook fancier, childfree.