Here is one I didn't prepare earlier

Max never misses an episode of Delia Smith's Cooking.  It could have something to do with the fact that I watch WAY too many cooking programs - or perhaps he just likes her  cat.  I'm sure there is some syndrome associated with the ill effects of watching SBS Food more than any other channel.  I noticed for a while there I was 'plating up' my food and wiping the edges with a cloth before serving.  Sad.  Like everyone who watches these programs we watch and think hey that's a great idea, I should try that one day.  Unfortunately however I never remember anything past the ad break anymore.  I've tried to write recipes down but because of the editing and the magic of television it's never quite the same.  That magic doesn't translate past the wrong size baking dish, the five missing ingredients you left off, the fact that it's a commercial oven and you don't have a team of kitchen hands to help you clean up the crater of burnt substance that won't lift off the wrong sized pan.  I've many years later come across my television recipes that are written on the back of envelopes, telephone bills (when they were just telephones) and scraps of conference note pads.  There is usually a few ingredients and about three words for the method.  Mix, bake or shove in oven with other ingredients.  But it looked so simple when Nigella did it.  I'm often left there wondering, after having proudly put my magic dish in the oven why there is a container of unopened ingredient left on the bench. Oops.  Just for once when they stick that finger into the bowl, lick and declare a precocious 'yummy', I'd like to see someone fess up that it takes bloody awful and they need to start again.  Ain't no magic in that I guess.  The worst offenders are the ones on the beach, on the top of a cliff, in the middle of a lush green paddock that pull out a parade of about twenty ingredients that would be as hard to find as the paddock they're standing in.  If you followed some of these recipes, you'd be rocking up at the BBQ with a trailer loaded with a bunch of unheard of ingredients.  Those, so very set up scenes of outdoors cooking amongst some of the country's spectacular views are great viewing for scenery but pretty unlikely you'd be bringing along a Kitchen Aid in your backpack.  I'm yet to see a Sherpa prioritise a mortar and pestle amongst the life saving essentials.  At least Delia understands.  She's got a cat.  They can pick fakery a mile off.

My best friends right now are chickens

It did occur to me recently that my best friends right now are actually chickens.  I can't see that this is a great state of affairs.  I'm living on an island with my husband, we're perfectly sane and capable of making friends (without feathers) but some days, poultry will do fine.  August is for me, a completely shit month.  Every year since I moved to Tassie I've been hit with a bout of bronchitis.  Barking like a dog for weeks on end leaves me depressed and exhausted.  The weather is equally depressing and exhausting with grey skies, wind gusts and a push to get the temperature into double figures.  The idea of staying in by a crackling wood fire sounds romantic, and is a novelty for the first few months but by August you're completely over the ash, the constant need for kindling and the fact the you've been living in the confines of a two metre carpet mat shared with two inert cats and a bored Cocker Spaniel for too long.  So for a reprieve, with any glimpse of a parting through the clouds and some sunlight, I'll grab a cup of tea and sit on the church pew out under the verandah.  I'm always joined by my goods friends.  Doris loves to chat about her day.  It's a bit of a one sided conversation but it doesn't put her off.  She just thinks I'm a bit limited with my excitement about her efforts of the day.  None the less, friends are welcome on the church pew and we look to the sky for some sun.  A few home baked crumbs from an excuse to use up some eggs never goes unwelcomed and I find myself a little richer for having such good company.  As I look out the kitchen window right now I see my friends are waiting for me.  Will put the kettle on.

A cow safari

The temptation to stay indoors gets stronger as the afternoon winds whip up a frenzy.  The cold mornings are increasing as we get closer to the wintry months and the wood fire sits at a low burn on more days than not.  It's hard to tell a Cocker Spaniel that you don't feel like going for a walk today.  He's not real good with taking no for an answer.  In fact, like most dogs they get to know the word 'walk' very well and will pick up on it in any conversation.  We've had to now refer to it as a 'safari' to keep him in the dark.  I spoke to someone recently that had gone from walk, to safari to holiday by the coast, just to keep the dog from working out what was happening, or not.  Today he got his safari.  We walk along a country lane with paddocks either side of us.  A friendly horse friend pokes her head over the fence to see if I remembered to bring that carrot today.  Oops, sorry still in the fridge...next time I promise.  She looks at us both with big black eyes and long eyelashes.  We walk on, and one of us feels a bit bad.  We get to the corner of the lane before turning right.  At the corner paddock gate are the white faced black cows.  They are inquisitive and seem keen to chat to Bennie.  We're often accompanied alongside our walks by cows wondering what sort of a cocker spaniel calf walks on a lead.  Several months back the paddock on the other side was full of young cows with a spring in their step that couldn't get enough of looking at Bennie.  They would come racing towards us with the loud thundering of hooves.  It was a bit concerning for me given the only thing between a large group of boisterous cows and me was a flimsy old wire fence that was now on a forty five degree angle from strong winds and cows leaning over it which could be flattened by not very much at all.  I know living in a rural area you are not supposed to be worried about certain things like spiders, septic tanks and particularly, not scared of cows, but on mass, gee, I'm not so sure.  My dear husband, coming from more legitimate rural stock than I kindly demonstrated later on, who's the superior being by running up to them and saying 'booh' to which they all took off.  All very fine I thought on a later trek knowing you'd only get away with that one for so long.  Fortunately those cows have now gone.  Must have gone to another paddock for better feed, I kid myself.  Time to turn back and return to the fire.  That's all the safari for today.

Does the rat want one sugar with his coffee or ten?

I came inside after feeding the chooks and taking this picture of the many webs on display in the slight glimmer of sun poking through the heavy fog that is now slowly lifting.  Bloody spiders.  I know you're not meant to discriminate but I'm not a fan.  And whilst I'm sure they work hard on the aphid elimination program for my sad looking roses, they really do take liberties.  They extend webs from rose to rose, across branches, paths, gateways and probably highways as well.  Nothing worse than walking through one on dusk.  Queue the mad woman shake and shudder dance.  At this time of year the critters are about during the times that we are.  Possum as he's known, is a permanent member of the household.  He's been a resident here long before we moved in so we figure it's his place too.  He's a big bushy tail and is clearly an old feller who's enjoyed the greater things in life.  If you are in the bathroom when he jumps from the rain water tank to the roof you'd swear a man was about to fall through the ceiling.  We hear him at night in the roof doing the oddest of things. The list of things that go bump in the night here is extensive but at certain times of the year possum can be heard to be undertaking what sounds like some serious renovations in our rafters.  Hammering, moving large fragments of wood...was that a power tool I heard?  Nothing like a DIY possum.

When I came back in after feeding the chooks I fired up the coffee machine and stood by waiting for the little milk frothing light to tell me it's done.  But above the whirring of the Nespresso machine was a scratching in the wall behind the fridge.  Max looks, Bennie growls and then they lose interest.  It can't be Possum, he works night shift.  Most likely at this time of year it's a mouse or a rat.  Bennie has been trying to get his nose under the chooks pen for the last few weeks so I know they are around.  They come out at this time every year.  Fortunately we have two cats in the house...I said, FORTUNATELY WE HAVE TWO CATS IN THE HOUSE THAT CAN...oh, fine keep sleeping.  I'll just have my coffee with the rat.

Just blowin' in the wind

Sunny skies today, hardly any wind.  The weekend was very different.  We had up to 80km winds here battering on side of an old house.  We managed to come out the other end unscathed except for the lid off the chimney which took flight on a south eastern trajectory.  There were reports from the chook yard of a flying saucer nearby but nothing confirmed as yet.  And whilst the wind smashed us all from the west, a new batch of babies arrived safely. Er, like we need more chickens!!!  There's many predators around that take them before they get much of a chance so we've locked them up this time with mother for safe keeping.  Gulls and Butcher Birds are known thieves of chicks and I've seen both hovering around.  Yesterday I heard the Guinea Fowl screeching their most alarming of sounds when I noticed a cheeky Butcher Bird up a tree considering a swift move.  It was interesting to see the Guinea Fowl being protective of someone else's chicks even though they don't have much time for them themselves.  Come feed time the Guinea Fowl

will chase all chooks away until they've finished eating.  No manners, but pecking order rules.  So as the sun comes out today we've got some clean up to do as the 100 year old Oak tree out the front throws branches back at the wind and all over the front yard.  The hardest hit are the poor roses.  They're leaves are shredded as the wind tears through them and the flower buds hang on for dear life.  I'm sure it somehow makes them stronger but they're looking like they've been in a fight, and lost at the moment.  I'll try to keep the watering up (it seems like it never rains here) and give them some food to boost them up a little.  That's Autumn for you.  A selection of fabulous mild sunny days with a gentle breeze, then all hell breaks lose.  Never dull anyway.

Last in line has its advantages

Roosters get a bad rap around here. Whenever we try to sell or give away any of our chicks, it's always the same 'no roosters, please'.  We've had to take a few back when little Henrietta hen lets on she's actually Henry.  We've got way too many of course and it's not that we don't love them it's just that in the morning it gets kinda noisy around here.  Fortunately being on property and not so close to neighbours we can see into their kitchen as in our previous life, we can indulge a few of the early morning crowers.  Whomever implied that roosters only crow at sunrise obviously didn't stick around long.  They crow all day long.  It's a method of communicating.  If you listen, you realise they crow in response to another rooster who's sent up the call.  And not necessarily on your property either.  Crossbeak (pictured left) is a perfect example of bucking the trend though.  He's been to the vet and returned with a less protruding beak, and he's managed to accommodate his disfigurement to great advantage.  Quite frankly he knows he's special.  Roosters will generally scratch around for food and alert the hens to their findings.  They'll point out cake crumbs with great excitement and break up the bigger pieces to distribute amongst the girls, without eating any themselves.  However as Crossbeak is never entrusted to a group of hens (they're so judgemental) he pulls out that disabled sticker faster than you can say 'now who likes bacon rind?'  He'll shove any hen aside to get face first into whatever meal is on the go and ignore the protests from rule following roosters in the pack.  He's able to get away with this as he's so far down in line to the throne of head rooster he knows there's no point trying to impress anyone, male or female.  He knows he's special and follows me around the garden.  He'll eat out of my hand and cry blue murder when he's forced to eat with the others.  He's a lucky little fellow as our vet advised us, he was lucky to survive given the way his top beak crosses over the bottom.  He'll always be a special little guy for us.  Even if he'll never be king.

Does anyone have a chicken bandaid?

There's a cold front heading our way, expected to arrive some time tonight.  This is then to be followed by another cold front.  I'm not sure if that cold front makes the effects of the first cold front colder or just backs it up with a bit more cold front support.  Either way, the gentle breeze and slightly warmish sun peeking through thinly dispersed cloud will disappear by tomorrow under grey skies, wind and hopefully rain.  And so my opportunity to be in the garden will end very soon.  Whenever I head out in the garden I'm always accompanied by my feathered friends.  Yesterday, after a quick check on Narla our guest sheep who is eating her way through our weed paddock I headed back towards the courtyard.  At that point I heard a loud chook scream, nothing unusual.  There are often many chook screams and protests about many things in chook land but this time it was Doris (pictured left on the chair).  Doris is a popular character in the chook family.  She's named after Doris Day and has a 1960 hair do to match.  She's deserved of her own facebook page but I'm unable to find the time to manage it for her.  Today she came running towards me screaming.  I looked down and the front of her chest feathers had blood on them.  She was standing on one leg with her beak open, as if in shock.  I wondered if she'd been attacked but there were no likely predators in the yard and Bennie our Cocker Spaniel has no interest.  For a minute I even thought she might have lost a leg but realised that she did in fact run over to me and not hopped.  I got a bit closer and her foot was bleeding.  She appeared to be in a bit of shock and just stood there looking at me.  I wanted to help but didn't really know what to do.  With no likely predator, no motive and no evidence, there wasn't much to conclude.  I gave her a water bowl and she had a few sips and slowly recovered.  She stayed next to me for a while and then commenced limping off into the yard.  It's a bit difficult when they don't know why we can't understand them.  They try so hard to communicate with us but we're just dumb humans that don't understand chicken speak.  I'm sure she'll be ok, she's been known to over dramatize the situation.  But for now I really must get on and utilise this small window of outside weather before it's gone.  And according to Doris I need to look out for invisible leg mutilating monsters of some sort.