The Garden at Moorfield Journal: 21
Take a walk with me into the future. 02.06.2023
Hello and happy Friday good gardening folk!
By the time you read this I will not be at Moorfield but rather back in Tasmania, where we called home until 18 months ago, for the last decade. I am there to attend a wonderful photography workshop (more details at the bottom of the post). I do this so that come spring I can capture the gardens of others I visit for The Garden Gadabout (also hosted here and soon-to-be updated) and of course, bring you the best quality pictorial story I can of our garden as we create it, to accompany these words.
This is not how I normally start as many of you know but as we have so many new readers this week I just wanted to say, hello, welcome and thank you! Thank you for joining us, for joining this growing community of fellow garden lovers, for our story of starting again, from scratch, the building of our second organic food and flower garden around an old farmhouse.
This weeks journal will be one everyone can enjoy and will be particularly helpful to those who are new to this tale, as this entry will paint a picture of what we are endeavouring to create and where my head has been a lot of late, in the future.
Thank you again, to all of you, thank you so very much for being here. xo
Lets take a walk…..
Winter joined us yesterday, officially and the weather has been sunny and mild, she toys with me…..for the very next day it is -2 as we leave for the airport and the thickest frost I have seen yet at Moorfield. The entire car was iced over and the paddocks glistened like it were made of diamonds.
I have sat in my little botanical cave of an office, the heater on for this room is always cold (a blessing in the height of summer) and a cup of rose tea steaming on my desk, my usual vase of flowers from the garden, empty.
I think again of the natives I want to plant down nearer to the River Red Gum lined creek that snakes through to the east of the property, where the bee hives will sit, hoisted high enough on the hill to avoid flooding, and the flowers they will offer when all else is finished, for me and the bees. It is a precarious position to plant, so beautiful, just as it is, I must avoid adding too much and losing what makes it magical, where it begins to look less wild and more like an extension of the garden, and I don’t want that.
I stare out the window in the door of my office, letting in the only natural light to this dark but snug den, more than a century and a half old with its triple brick walls, cool and protective in summer, dark and cosy in winter. I look forward to when we have reinstated the fireplace that sits in a corner of this pocket of a room, and I can write to the crackle and hiss of it. One day, I sigh, one day that day shall be here.
Little Oak appears in my mind, how many times we said that, thought that, cried that, insisted that, as we built that place of abundance and beauty with not two cents to rub together for much of the decade it took to create. Oh the patience and determination it birthed in us, that we use here now and are caught by, every time we become restless for it to be done…..and too soon. We learnt there, in that garden, in the place I will return to for the first time since we left this very weekend, how important time is, and it being taken, to create that which truly speaks to you, and of you. You must know the place, especially a place such as this, with such a history all its own, intimately, before you impress upon it who you are, for fear of losing who it is in your rush to be done.
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