Ann from Oz (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} xaelle) wrote,@ 2005-11-09 09:52:00 |
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How green was that valley, or, what a time did we have
The paperwork says Champagne Set which is so much kinder than Obsessive Knitters and Yarn Hounds and we meet once a month at each other's homes. The husband of one of our number had the good fortune to be off overseas and she invited us all to a sleepover in their weekender in the Otway Ranges the weekend before last. And I came home so relaxed I'm still catching up.
This is the view from the veranda:
Very different from Long Forest Rd on account of the green.
Bacchus Marsh is market gardening territory, sure there are cattle farms at both ends of my street and you pass by a small herd of sheep as you drive down the Avenue of Honour on your way into town but these are the exceptions. Orchards and acres of lettuce are the most common sight around here. Although pick-your-own strawberries are becoming a big deal I notice, where there used to be one farm running this as a summer sideline, now there are three.
The Otways are dairy country, lest the term 'ranges' give you delusions of mountain tops it would be fairer to say they are chubby little hills. However The Otway Chubby Little Hills lacks cachet and would take up too much room on a map.
Take a walk down the slope beyond the veranda and that's water down there. Water. Amazing!
Turn around and look back:
to the homestead.
Walk around past the Billabong and really get the flavour of the place:
it's so pretty.
And the scuffling noise under the tree?
an echidna trying to hide.
The plan went something like this: Saturday: arrive, knit, eat lunch, knit, visit the Studio at Tarwandcort and lust over Wendy Dennis' hand dyed multi-coloured yarns, part with many shekels, return with an empty wallets and too much yarn to knit in a month of Sundays, knit, eat dinner, knit. Sunday, knit, breakfast, knit, go into Colac (the nearby township) for lunch at Duffs, say goodbye to those who had to leave, return, knit, dinner, knit.
A person should have finished a jumper after all that, no? NO. Too much talking, too much drinking of our namesake, and too much perusing of people's latest purchases from Artisan Books, Borders and the lovely Marsha over at the Needlearts bookshop and far, far, too much time oggling the beautiful scenery.
Lots of wildflowers:
A native violet.
White, er, things.
Georgeous yellow, ah, flower.
Pinkish thingos.
Brown and yellow watzits.
And just for perspective, that's my size 7, all of these gorgeous little wildflowers were exactly that: little.
And a parrot in a gum tree.
Currently reading: E is for evidence by Sue Grafton
The paperwork says Champagne Set which is so much kinder than Obsessive Knitters and Yarn Hounds and we meet once a month at each other's homes. The husband of one of our number had the good fortune to be off overseas and she invited us all to a sleepover in their weekender in the Otway Ranges the weekend before last. And I came home so relaxed I'm still catching up.
This is the view from the veranda:
Very different from Long Forest Rd on account of the green.
Bacchus Marsh is market gardening territory, sure there are cattle farms at both ends of my street and you pass by a small herd of sheep as you drive down the Avenue of Honour on your way into town but these are the exceptions. Orchards and acres of lettuce are the most common sight around here. Although pick-your-own strawberries are becoming a big deal I notice, where there used to be one farm running this as a summer sideline, now there are three.
The Otways are dairy country, lest the term 'ranges' give you delusions of mountain tops it would be fairer to say they are chubby little hills. However The Otway Chubby Little Hills lacks cachet and would take up too much room on a map.
Take a walk down the slope beyond the veranda and that's water down there. Water. Amazing!
Turn around and look back:
to the homestead.
Walk around past the Billabong and really get the flavour of the place:
it's so pretty.
And the scuffling noise under the tree?
an echidna trying to hide.
The plan went something like this: Saturday: arrive, knit, eat lunch, knit, visit the Studio at Tarwandcort and lust over Wendy Dennis' hand dyed multi-coloured yarns, part with many shekels, return with an empty wallets and too much yarn to knit in a month of Sundays, knit, eat dinner, knit. Sunday, knit, breakfast, knit, go into Colac (the nearby township) for lunch at Duffs, say goodbye to those who had to leave, return, knit, dinner, knit.
A person should have finished a jumper after all that, no? NO. Too much talking, too much drinking of our namesake, and too much perusing of people's latest purchases from Artisan Books, Borders and the lovely Marsha over at the Needlearts bookshop and far, far, too much time oggling the beautiful scenery.
Lots of wildflowers:
A native violet.
White, er, things.
Georgeous yellow, ah, flower.
Pinkish thingos.
Brown and yellow watzits.
And just for perspective, that's my size 7, all of these gorgeous little wildflowers were exactly that: little.
And a parrot in a gum tree.
Currently reading: E is for evidence by Sue Grafton
