What it means, of course, is that I haven't posted for a while and I'm cobbling together something to make amends. There are two themes: food, and the shack at Boat Harbour.
While the Cuisine de Jeannie may not be as exotic as some to which this blog is linked, she does do some Very Good Things. For a long time I have carried the memory of a steak and kidney pudding (and yes, that's pudding, not pie) that she once made, and she was recently persuaded to do it again. Oh so good, and my excuse to the Heart Foundation is that we don't eat like that very often. Steak and kidney pudding may well be what robust Australian Shiraz was designed for in heaven: the perfect accompaniment.
Once upon a time I had to use my wiles to persuade innocent students to come on field trips and spend a day digging up burrowing crayfish in the rain. It was generally hard to get anyone to come twice, but one factor that greatly increased the chance was to offer a slice of Jean's egg and bacon layered pie. Seen here in its "just out of the oven" mode, it is perhaps even better cold the next day.
So much for food. I write this from Boat Harbour, where the rain is pouring down on our trim, re-painted and refurbished shack. More of this in a later post, but our two previous trips involved care and maintenance, and a little respite for Jo and Marty Roo while Jac was away in the US.
We hired a 4 cubic metre skip and spent a couple of days dealing with the excess vegetation (including the kiwi fruit on the bottom fence which had been trimmed, without invitation, by a neighbour). While I did the heavy lifting, Jean did a wonderful job trimming the debris into small lengths to maximise the carrying capacity of the skip. The guy who collected was so impressed he said he was going to take it back to the depot to show them what could be achieved with care.
The shed was almost invisible under the jasmine & kiwi fruit.
Not much spare space in there.
Jo and Marty came up at tulip time, and the little fellow generally had a great time, apart from being mown down by an errant toddler, thus collecting a mouthful of rich basalt soil and a graze on the cheek.
Tulip fields forever?
In the laundry basket in Granma & Papa's bedroom.