Carson? It's Max...I've rescued you from the tree

Christmas is officially over.  There.  I've declared it.  The tree was rammed back in its box today and the decorations unceremoniously turfed into recycled shopping bags, and out to the shed they go.  Number one son and cocker spaniel Bennie rushes in to see if Santa will sing one more time but the fluffy fat man in the red suit is silent as his batteries are now removed.  Our pets do well at Christmas time which I think the majority must also do with bits of ham, extra toast from Nanny and more cake crumbs on the floor than usual.  The Dyson hits the rug one more time and the last of the glitter and tinsel wrapped disappointments are put away.  New Year's Eve comes and goes without a bang here.  We don't usually make much of an attempt to stay up for the firework.  Just the one.  That usually goes off somewhere over the hill or behind us.  No resolutions as we know they won't be kept and it needs to be a while before I'm seeing another mince pie.  Woolworths have hot cross buns on display today which was noted by a letter to the editor of today's paper stating 'Don't they know what the cross is for?'  According to supermarket scripture, He was born, and then crucified about a week later.  How gruesome.  And so to another year.  Hope yours is a cracker.

Freshly picked farmers

A fabulous morning at Bream Creek Farmers Market with bread just baked, apples just picked and coffee just brewed.  With a shared small blueberry and almond tart on a picnic table, what could be better.  The market is gearing up for its annual ball, the Bream Creek Show.  The animal nursery got a dress rehearsal today with guinea pigs and ducklings getting a rough going over by some small and cautious hands.  The white Silkie chicken just looked plain annoyed - as they often do.  The green hills around in all directions provide a watercolour landscape with a soft haze on an Autumn, feels like end of Summer, kind of day.  A guitar plugged in and a smooth voice provides warmth for the soul while beanbags offer comfort for the rear.  A bottle or two from the local winery and a trolley full of gatherings are loaded into the back of the car, and home to enjoy the bounty.  It's not quite Easter yet but the freshly baked hot cross buns have no hope of going past Labour Day.  These buns were light, with some spice and no traces of hard orange rind bits.  They were baked from beginning to end by the same person as opposed to the factory kind that start life as a pre-mix then are transported to an outlet who only finish them off in an oven.  That's the one thing I love about farmers market, it's the real deal.  The apple lady said that her apples were chemical free, and the tiny grub graffiti was the stamp of authenticity to that.  If you can, support your local farmers market at every opportunity.  There's nothing par baked about them.