Goat handling and fast cows

We went to Hamilton Show last weekend.  An agricultural show.  A real one.  Not the one that says it's an agricultural show and has to ship in livestock from over 300 kms away in order to charge you $37 for an adult and $22 for a child just to walk through the gate.  This show is about the local community and local animals i.e., from nearby.  Whether they be for grazing, eating, jumping or rounding up, Hamilton Show did a fantastic job representing them all.  Me, having come from an upbringing in the suburbs, the thought of growing up in a community that supported young women in sheep shearing championships and mustering on horseback is as far removed from this goat in the photo to a Kardashian.  This goat, whom I suspect deserves his ribbon better than anybody with a Kardashian surname for that matter was grumpy and not keen to be in the spot light.  The girl was commended for her handling and will no doubt be grateful for those skills in later life.  The women on horseback that could chase down a young cow (see I don't even know the correct term for young cow...) and young fast cow too, was simply amazing to watch.  Such control of the horse, these women were truly inspiring.  The food was either the standard orange variety i.e., some unrecognizable object dipped in batter and deep fried until orange, or you could queue up for the local guys BBQ with steak sandwiches, lamb in pitta bread for the vegetarians and a tasting platter with a few bits and pieces.  Included in the bits were some slices of a smoked lamb that was so tender you barely had to chew it, some cold smoked salmon and someone had done some pickled cucumber that had long forsaken its title of gherkin.  All good stuff.  So if you get the chance to support your local agricultural shows, go along.  We enjoyed our day and even managed to get home without purchasing a goat.  Came close though.  Phew.  Our trees are only just recovering from the last two, who would never win best in class. Unless there was a category for escape strategies.  Prize winners.

My sanctimonious apples

When you go to the supermarket, it's ok to judge people.  Well that's what I tell myself when I'm waiting in line at the checkout.  And no I never self serve, because that's their job not mine.  And unless they want to pay me as per their enterprise agreement to scan items like other employees - ain't going to happen.  Note, rant ended.  Almost.  In the checkout queue I can almost hear myself tut tutting (I'm getting so old) as the person in front unloads large bottles of soft drinks, shiny packets of 'snacks' as they love to call them now and countless other pre-packaged stuff that is as nutritious as the sole of your shoe.  Less actually.  At least that contains real dirt.  Currently I'm being pelted by apples from my driveway apple tree as I walk past.  This tree having predated my arrival has produced an abundant crop without much attention or intervention by me at all, it's sad to see people relying on pretend food when it literally grows on trees.  My home grown apples don't get stored in a warehouse, or sprayed by toxic gas to prolong shelf life, and in fact won't actually come into contact with a shelf at all.  It won't be slapped with a sticky label, particularly because I don't even know what variety it is...Pippin Something would be sticker if it had one.  But when you are in Tasmania, you have apple trees.  And when you have apples.  You have pie.  My pastry making skills are not good, but I'm not a fan of the frozen stuff, being judgemental of myself here.  So I battle the pastry gods and put together something to use up some of my apples.  There is something purely sanctimonious about cooking with your own produce.  You just get this warm smugness that comes from something grown and picked from your own backyard as opposed to something that's been a barcode on supply chain.  No judgement.