Surprise visit ...

I like surprises and last week I surprised my daughter, Kirstie and arrived to knock at her door in Tasmania. Only two weeks prior, Stephen and I had made a sudden decision to make the trip to Tarraleah. How exciting it was to knock on the door to her apartment well after all other guests had checked in for the night. Believing that it was a late guest she opened the door tentatively to see us standing there. Tears and hugs all round. What a greeting. A greeting that showed me that all of the secret planning had been well worth it. It was a visit of firsts in that we made the walk to discover the newly created forest site for weddings. A site in its bush setting under a canopy of trees. Ferns and wild flowers grew beside the bush track leading to the forest chapel. I could imagine excited future wedding guests and bridal parties making the same walk.

Thirty-six Panes of Glass

The blue scape was in itself entrancing but soon one was mesmerised by the unchanging vista and the mind wondered to other things. The sea blurred and distractions consumed thoughts whereby the vista was no longer of consequence. Seated by the open window, framed by its thirty-six panes of glass the pattern of daydreaming was firmly established.
Thoughts, not bound by doors, walls or roads, took me back to the recently visited estate overlooking the harbour. The homestead hedged and gardened with lawns sweeping across the cliff top, jarred the historic relic to times past. Was it secretly yearning to connect with an uncertain future?
Haunting sobs from the upstairs bedroom reminded one that real, living people once walked its hallways and scampered across the grass and pathways braced against the wind's biting tongues.
Had the sheep grazing in the distance noticed Julian's mother slipping into the garden? Still chiding herself that so simple a pleasure could end in tragedy.
Silently now, she stood and gathered her cloak to her cheeks. Her cheeks revealed her anguish. Tears shed wearily would not change the cold hard earth that embraced Julian. The white marble headstone etched with few details to explain the laughter, life and energy now lost. Two years, eleven months and fourteen days. The little hands and face that so trusted a much loved hound, silenced.
Grim reminders that life goes on. The children returned from their morning lessons.
Overhead a seagull cried. Eyes sought the here and now. Once again the blue scape craved attention. The past forgotten. Yellow sands called.
Yellow sand rimmed the bay. Rocks balanced and stacked to protect the shore. Footfalls left no trace. Shells crackled and shattered with every step. Matted brown, seaweed clumps carpeted the edge of the tidal litter. Skeletons of tiny crabs dotted the surface.
A parched stick of driftwood upended one corpse. No visible signs to show reasons for its demise, to justify its fate. Along with numerous others they lay, some face down while others suggested preparedness to scuttle at a moment's notice.
Sun broke through the cloud. For the first time there was a realisation that the sand was the brightest white. Not yellow. Cloud cover deceived perception. Warming strides invited further passage.
Stones rounded and smooth sparked in the growing sunlight. Bending to grasp a small black stone; a stone that had presented itself. It appeared to be pasted with glitter by an unknown hand. Over one shoulder we looked back, the nut rose. Its strength obvious. Its girth bold. There was no comparison between the two.
The silence and warmth of the walk was enjoyed by my companion and I. Not remarkable but invigorated by the shared activity.
Suddenly and unexpectedly from a sandy side track a couple emerged. Hands in pockets, hooded heads hastened towards us. Perhaps their daily ritual? There was a familiarity in their task. A small yappy dog was unleashed. It ran in circles along the sand. The white sands could not compete. We withdrew. The magic broken.
Returned to those thirty-six panes of glass coffee was poured. Sun showers drifted along the bay. Tiny droplets gave way to splashes of rain that licked the glass. Warming coffee sipped and once again there was a reacquaintance with the vista.
Gathered thoughts. The cycle repeated. Imagined journeys ...Sometime during that cycle one submitted to human elements. Eating, drinking, dining, partaking, all acknowledged the basic need of man to consume food. Food chosen or selected from a plethora of options. Intermission scheduled and concluded. 
Satiated we returned to the window.
Night replaced day. Stars replaced the sun as one sat by those thirty-six panes of glass. Bay lights twinkled more brightly than the stars. Red and green buoys instructed water craft to safest journeys. No moon shone.
Movement below. A tuxedo dressed fairy. Had I daydreamed from day to night? No blurred blue horizon. Jack blackness where the street lamps lights failed to illuminate the ground between the land and the sea.
Strained eyes stared into the gloom. One little fairy, tentative in its evening's feeding darted in and out of my view. Seated quietly by the windows one couldn't help but will it, one little fairy, to move closer to the arc of light.
Surely nervous of predators or man had cautioned its movements. Dim light prevented accurate tracking. Imagined loneliness in its solitary feeding habit too soon it vanished. One little fairy left. It had moved on. I had wanted more from our brief encounter.
A plover called below. It was not a fairy. I had guessed wrong. I had imagined a relationship with a fanciful creature. Unexpected. Disappointed. I left that window.
Timed meetings. Timed relationships. Some longer than others. Closure. I left those thirty-six panes of glass.
Time to explore new vistas. Time to sleep. Tie to dream.
Awakened and compelled to search glass panes once more. Looking skyward and to the horizon. Shades of grey painted both clouds and sea. 
I had a duty to sit and watch. Glass so easily shatters. Take care. Be selective in what you choose to view.

Tarraleah - It Came Again Last Night

Our cottage was nestled on the escarpment with views to the mountains opposite. Five symmetrical, silver pipes hugged the very edge of the mountains until they disappeared from sight. Strong and steadfast, their purpose to serve the valley below and those who lived beyond its reaches.
The warmth of the fire had filled the cottage and provided a welcoming atmosphere. Unpacking was hurried. Bedrooms chosen for their views. Provisions stored and refrigerated. It was time to explore the village.
Rain fell but it did not daunt the eager tourist. The rental was parked and my companion and I dodged the first drops of rain. Village pubs have their own unique charm and this was the case with the Highlander. Polished timber floors, subtle overhead light fixtures with lamps placed in strategic locations.
Chairs and lounges designated conversation hubs for guests. A log fire set to divide the room understood its dual role. Quietly and efficiently its glow and flickering flames ensured the traveller that they were invited to take their time and enjoy this space.
Stools lined the bar but none were occupied for guests had already begun to reserve the comfy lounges. Drink orders taken and filled; the friendly wait staff ensured that nothing intruded on the harmony. Each group relaxed, unwound, were prepared to linger over their pre-dinner drinks.
Somewhere Chef was prepping for the soon to be sought restaurant orders. No need to rush as one surveyed the seated guests, none pressed for menus or dinner orders yet. The wait staff had read guests well and appreciated that no diners were impatient for dinner.
One gentleman read his paper by a lamp near the window while his wife completed her crossword. No conversation or banter disrupted each from their task. White wine was sipped and beer savoured.
Another couple seated themselves at the far end of the bar away from the door. The male had chosen a beer. The woman seated beside him was distracted from her glass of red while she sat attending to an electronic device dressed in its leather jacket. She tapped icons and screen opened in rapid succession before the red wallet passed between them.
In the exchange, the outside world returned. Upon entry to the pub it had been raining.
A delighted cry, "I think it is snowing!"
Roused, the companion looked up from the on screen text to check the snow claim. He had been too quick to judge, for a flurry of flakes had indeed passed the windows.
Interest piqued, the last of the red wine was finished hurriedly. The couple rose to leave. Snow was an obvious highlight as afternoon slipped towards evening. As warm and cosy was the pub it could not compete with the draw of the snow.
Outside, flurries of snowflakes landed on scarves and wraps. The pair excited by the prospect of snow now determined to partake of its character. The flakes were unexpectedly large and clearly visible against the background of the blue jacket. Not offended by the arrival of snow they seemed to share a common need to celebrate its appearance. Oblivious to the temperature they walked slowly to the car savouring the event.
With few streets or roads to pass the cottage option was chosen with vistas in mind. However, the snow had provided a new dimension to the stay. Vistas would be replaced and lost in the snow's blanket.
Within the cottage the lounge area had been positioned appropriately. Large expanses of glass windows allowed the couple to watch the snow. Snow that they had just walked in as they made their way to the parked car and then from the pub, back to the rented cottage.
It was a cottage of generous proportions for it housed two master bedrooms and another, a single room off the sun verandah. A dining room and full kitchen facilities ensured that guests could choose between restaurant and home style meals as desired.
An outside picnic table dominated the yard's attention but it was not required on this occasion for the snow had diverted guests inside. Banter suggested the likelihood of further overnight falls.
One guest woke to crystal clear skies. Orion's belt steadfast in the sky above, momentarily disappointed, one guest in particular. She had woken and crept to the lounge to capture a secret viewing of the much anticipated snow falls.
She had not fully understood the pattern of nature in this area. For has she known she would have realised that the stars were only brief visitors throughout the night.
The lounge's log fire insisted on further refuelling. It was restocked and the guest sat to wait and to watch. Large pillows cushioned the wait and soon the voyeur slept unaware that more snow was falling. Snow fell across the valley. In another room, her companion slept heavily. His pattern of snoring indicated that he could slumber knowing that he would see the snow later. There was still time to sleep.
Morning light brought solver white clouds sweeping across the valley. Peaks disappeared and reappeared. At times the hillside was draped in curtains of snow. Silhouetted sun struggled to banish the flakes that had gathered on the lawns. Lawns that were dotted and edged with brilliant, yellow daffodils.
Village pavements were damp but accustomed to the changeable weather so an easy stroll to the Teez Cafe was deemed fit but first a wonder up past the lodge before circling back to partake of breakfast. 
Others had already eaten or ordered breakfast as my companion and I entered. A fireside table beckoned.
From the table diners scrutinised the newly hung pictures. Pictures that claimed wall space reflected local history and someone's sense of humour.
A personal favourite, a lady clad in fashions from times past, studying closely, a manual, explaining unfamiliar technology.

Farewell 2013

A Moroccan themed New Year's Eve dinner saw everyone don the most amazing apparel. There were some fortunate guests who had genuine items of Moroccan fashion. Then there were others, like myself, who had ventured to the creative side. We dressed in something reflecting the tone of the night. Quite possibly some of us lucky to be escaping the ire of the Fashion Police. Commencing at 9:00 pm we were greeted by our hosts where opportunities abounded to discuss individual attire. One guest had sought the aid of the digital world to ensure that he had arranged his head wear according to authentic practices. What would such occasions do without YouTube? After twelve viewings Gary proudly displayed his newly discovered skills and techniques. Yet another guest had recycled a Nativity costume from his past. Mike had a biblical take on the occasion. Stephen bravely pulled on a caftan purchased on his travels to Africa. All I can say is that we were all fortunate to have once again been invited to a New Year's Eve event of international proportions. Luckier still that none of the guests were pulled over for RBT. The alcohol reading was not the issue but rather how the establishment would have viewed the less than standard party attire of those making their way home.

Ceviche

Ceviche was served at a recent Locals' Dinner at Calais Estate. On the lawn, on a very hot afternoon, the ceviche was refreshing. Wait staff offered platters of ceviche and so impressed were we that we endeavoured to replicate the taste and flavours. We have twice savoured the home-style ceviche and on each occasion it has been a little different from the initial sampling. As we continue to experiment with flavours and textures this Summer should prove to be interesting for there are so many variations of this dish. One home diner requested that her ceviche be heated. A twist, yes. No problem. It worked for her palate. Chef Stephen continues to please and surprise.

Christmas 2013

When all is said and done Christmas is about family and friends; not the gifts beneath the tree. Christmas Eve was shared with family and friends. Kind weather allowed us all to gather under the pergola. Under the pergola people sat or stood to share conversation, wine and the newly discovered Bibina offerings. Several family members had travelled great distances to to be there. This festive season was special for new friends and old came together. Absent friends were remembered. Candles and coloured lights created an ambiance of good cheer. I hope the gathering on Christmas Eve continues and becomes a tradition where family and friends are welcomed.

Lunch at Leogate - Villa Du Pays

If you loved the Member's Dinner then you will also love the lunch menu too. The restaurant's dining area accommodates diners both inside and out. The daytime setting allows the guest to partake of the views to the ranges or the courtyard. The shared platters, individual meals or the gourmet burger provides a fine selection of menu options. I think that the burger is fast becoming a personal favourite. A word of caution. The portions at this restaurant are particularly generous. The restaurant's decor clearly establishes that the diner's experience will be as memorable as the meals. It was therefore, not surprising that at recent lunches we have noted that we are not the only diners who are making return visits.

Dad's Birthday

Dad chose to have his birthday on a day when the heaven's decided to open for one almighty storm. Torrents not puddles ran across roads and pavements. The lake hosted an amazing storm front. Umbrellas no match for the downpour. Despite the weather family gathered to celebrate Dad or Pop's big day. Lunch at the restaurant then candles and cake at Lesley's. Wet but wonderful day.

Dressed Up

How pleasing it is to see family members dressing for special occasions. Different weddings on different days. Each has their own take on fashion etiquette. I recall when ties were frowned on and suits were for old people. Do the ties and suits now mean that my children are old too?

Tarraleah and Whisky or is that Whiskey?

In the lounge, at The Lodge, Will hosted a Whiskey tasting event. I had never attended a whisky tasting so it was not only informative but it also surprised the taste testers that the differences were so pronounced in each of the varieties poured. A line drawing, created by Will, assisted the uninitiated to grasp the process of whisky distillation in one easy lesson. Colours, ageing, barrels, whiskey with and without the e were examined by those present. I discovered those who have ice and those who take water with their whiskey. Water if taken, is measured in fingers and ice in cubes. So much to see and learn.

Stolen dessert recipe, a movie and wine ...

What more could a girl want? On the Saturday night of an election when every media channel realised that no one would be watching anything other than the results. My alternative? Wine was poured. Strawberries, kiwi fruit and banana were sliced. The sliced fruit and was plated in a waffle cone. Blueberries were added for colour and texture. Cointreau and custard gently bathed the fruit. To finish; a serve of Limoncello-yoghurt on the side and a dusting of icing sugar. A recipe borrowed or perhaps stolen, from Lillino's Trattoria.

Tarraleah in September

Green greetings as we pulled into reception. The lawns were cropped and edged with garden beds. Sprays of daffodils splashed their yellow heads between the pristine gardens and rows of trees. Cottages painted in the subtle hues lined the road leading to The Lodge on the hill. We made our way to our room past paintings, ceramics and even kaleidoscopes. Kaleidoscopes of every shape and design were dotted throughout the Lodge. They must be discovered, each for their individuality and cleverly crafted timbers. Smooth, polished and poised on unique mounts. Our room, number nine, was located at the end of a corridor.  Styled and dressed in contemporary decor and fabrics room nine was impressive. Its bathroom featured a roof mounted jet stream of water that filled the bath for a relaxing soak after a day's travel to the high country and Tarraleah.  To celebrate the occasion, High Tea was served in the lounge area. An area with views to the cliff face opposite and its neighbouring valleys. Savoury and sweet delicacies a most welcome fare to spoil the weary traveller.

Sunrise at Home

Waking early has its advantages. Beautiful sunrise. Not to be missed. Just me and the view from the pergola. Windswept clouds overhead and a tree-lined drive stand to attention as the sun rises from the distant, morning cloud. Soon the sun will heat the morning air and drive the clouds to seek shelter elsewhere. It was going to be a hot one today. Vegetation awaits and will feel the full force of the thermometer.

Russell Falls

Russell Falls is a location, not a place. When you park the car you have no glimpse of the walk ahead. It is an easy and relaxed stroll to the falls. Along the way camera shutters and bird sounds greet the tourist. As you wind your way to the approach of the falls the river flowing from the base of the rock-face invites lush undergrowth. Ferns, lichen and mosses of every shape and colour dot the route. Overhead, beside and across the swiftly flowing water, fallen timbers enhance the vegetation's reclamation and ownership of the space. It is likened to entering a secret and ancient wood where one is welcome to visit and quietly enjoy the vista.