Faithful Dogs: The Dog on the Tuckerbox and Ballad of the Drover

Earth's self upholds this monument

To conquerors who won her,

When wooing was dangerous

And now are gathered unto her again.

At the Dog on the Tuckerbox monument in March 2010

We have come across at least two faithful dogs in our readings over this last week.  Both stories have truly tugged at my heartstrings.  I have been left almost in tears due to the poignant writing of each of the storytellers.  This surprises me as I am not a dog lover - anyone who knows me personally will testify to that in full accord.  This trait has unfortunately been passed down to my girls to some extent, although I have tried my hardest not to do this.

My little girls have not ever liked dogs.  We have had some 'less than nice' experiences while walking in our old neighbourhood in Adelaide when big dogs roamed and barked without being on a leash, where little dogs yapped at my baby in the stroller and owners dallied wondering why my little one was not over the moon at their little ones' antics.  This last year it got to a stage where the big girls both screamed when a dog came by.  This became very difficult when we tried to enjoy an outing in public where dogs may be.  It was also difficult when we visited friend's houses - my girls' greatest concern has always been "do they have a dog?"

Last year a fellow home educating mother became aware of my girls "screaming" reaction and took action.  It became a necessity when we were to visit her family home for a filming activity by the group we are part of.  She and I explained to my girls how her puppy may be scared of their reaction, that it was just a toddler and we could pretend to be brave around the little pup.  The idea of imagined bravado and her understanding of my girls scared reaction was the key which turned them around.  By the end of the day my eldest girl was walking this puppy on a leash.  Very proud mummy here!

Now my girls and I are still not dog lovers but we hope to be able to react calmly around them, only showing caution and concern when there are dogs off leads and dogs without owners.

So it is lovely to be able to share with my girls some stories of the wonderful attribute of faithfulness in dogs.  Indeed loyalty to their master is a trait which dogs are renowned for in Australian bush folklore.  Our studies are taking us around Australia through literature this year so perhaps I should not be surprised at all to find stories of faithful dogs surfacing twice in a week.

I have found The Dog on the Tuckerbox, by Corinne Fenton to be a fabulous read.  Lady is the faithful dog who both begins and ends the story sitting on the tuckerbox of her master, Bill.

"Lady sat on the tuckerbox watching her master, Bill.  He packed up his billy and stamped out the campfire.  It was time to get moving."

The story establishes itself very securely in its setting - the Australia of 100-150 years ago.  The language used is clearly Australian without being crass in any way.  There is mention of tucker, billy and the campfire on the first page as well as bullocks, settlers and homesteads soon thereafter.  Lady and Bill share times of great joy and sharing as well as times of great challenge.  One which sees Lady almost at the end of her days, but for the care of Bill provided so lovingly and tenderly.  Finally, in the greatest challenge of them all, we see Lady showing such loyalty to her master as brought shivers to my arms, standing the hairs on end and duly tugging at my heartstrings.

"In 1932 a monument of a dog sitting on a tuckerbox was erected five miles from Gundagai."

The illustrations by Tasmanian artist Peter Gouldthorpe are beautiful and poignantly portray a sense of the love of an Australia now past.  He pays particular attention to detail in each illustration.  I particularly enjoyed the portrayal of an aging Lady throughout the book, as did my eight year old Ess.

We borrowed this book from the library when I heard about the author, Corinne Fenton.  It will be hard to take back and when it is returned perhaps we may need to purchase a copy to hold near to our hearts in our home.

Everyone is familiar with the famous Australian bush poet Henry Lawson (pictured above) and I was excited today to find that the Australian Poem of the Day was his Ballad of the Drover.

This ballad tells the story of a drover who has been out droving for some time in Queensland.  He is on his journey home to meet his beloved.  One can hear the song he is humming and the accompanying jingling and jangling of all his campware, with two horses walking steadily side by side carrying all that is required when one is away from home for an extended period of time.  Here also is his faithful dog who has been with his master day in, day out.  However his afternoon is rather like ours here today: a storm is brewing.  He has a sturdy determination to reach home and pushes his party forward across a flooding river despite the thunder's warning.  Rover, "the best dog on the plain" and one of his "hardy horses" make their way across.  The cattle dog is seen on the river bank with the pack horse, but soon jumps back into the river to the place he last saw his master, such is his faithfulness.  He struggles and fails himself, leaving only the packhorse to return home to convey the sad tale of the drover and his mate.

I use these stories to seek narrations from Ess as part of her home education.  She is a keen and avid reader, her oration skills are still developing so I am happy for these to be oral at this stage.  She will be a wonderful writer in due course as she is exposed to so much fabulous literature.  I recently heard a comment from the Australian author Margo Lanagan referring to immersing ourselves in great literature in order to be a great writer.  I'll hold onto that comment.

Icing Granny's Lamingtons

We did ice these lamingtons just a day or so after we baked the butter cake for them.

I just have not got to blogging about it.  I'm probably spending my time eating them ;)

Creaming the butter

Sifting icing sugar with cocoa

Adding the secret and unique ingredient ;)

Production line in swing with Ess and Eee.  My hand seems to need to be in every bowl :)

This box of prepared lamingtons reminds me very much of the box my Granny would carry out to our picnics.  Beautiful pale, hand-formed lamingtons, coated in chocolate icing, covered with coconut.

The finished cake is a sweet, rich and moist delectable delight which few can resist the lure of.  Very moorish as well unfortunately.

I have to say that these lamingtons were definitely given the thumbs up.  The girls have been telling me lately that my food should be "sold in a shop".  I think I'd prefer to cook less and eat more than anyone running a shop, and stay home with my family.  Ess is letting me know as I write that "they are certainly fit to be restaurant desserts".  I'll take that as a very high compliment.  Really I am just glad to be creating fond memories for them which they'll cherish for their lifetime.

Lamingtons: Butter or Sponge?

Fresh Butter Cake squares waiting to be made into lamingtons,
 if they aren't consumed first.

There are some times when you just wish you still had your Granny around to ask a few questions.

Do you find that?  As I'm getting older and have a more mature perspective of the world, shall we say, I find myself wanting to ask my Granny a few more questions than I had thought to before she died when I was about 20.

Creaming the butter

When growing up I took for granted the fabulous lamingtons my Granny made for the family to share on picnics out on the farm.  I just devoured them.  We all did.  They were fabulous.

Little Eee loving helping with creaming the butter and sugar 

As I grew older I realised there were other sorts of lamingtons you could buy from bakeries and also supermarkets.  I never really took to those at all.  I have however come across a few and eaten a few as they are a favourite sweet of my dear Generous Gentleman's.  They always left a metallic taste in my mouth, and still do.

Ess helping sift flour into our bowl

So when the opportunity arose to take the family to the Great National Lamington Bake Off in order to celebrate Australia Day we all jumped at the chance.  I was curious to see what it was all about and how a chef might interpret the lamington these days.  My girls love baking (and tasting of course) and my lovely husband just loves eating lamingtons.  So it was a match made perfectly.

Fresh golden butter cake with the recipe I transcribed
at the age of about 10 years

When it was discovered that two out of the three chefs were baking a sponge cake for their lamington a question arose concerning the original and authentic lamington.  Would it have also been a sponge cake or would it have been a butter cake?  Granny always made a butter cake for her lamingtons and I have assumed that the spongey light and fluffy cake was made by the bakeries and supermarkets.  However it seems that some others consider the sponge base is a more authentic lamington.  Or perhaps they prefer the light and fluffy sponge cake?  It seems that the CWA baked a butter cake for their lamingtons as well.  I am yet to find an example of the sponge cake being used for lamingtons by the older generation, apart from mass production for school fetes and the like.  What is your preference?  

For the results of the bake-off take a read of the Canberra Times article.

Waiting for icing and coconut

Now I'm on a mission to bake lamingtons with my family in the fashion of my Granny's, to share with them the tradition I hold such fond and vivid memories of.  I'll ask them which cake they choose as their cake of preference: butter or sponge?  I already know my choice.

Playing Battleship

It is one of man's curious idiosyncrasies to create difficulties for the pleasure of resolving them. ~Joseph de Maistre

Do you remember playing Battleships as a child? I remember drawing up my battleground on grid paper, strategically positioning my battleships, then once prepared, hiding it all from my opponent and trying to find new strategies to win the game. It was a great childhood strategy game encouraging us to think in order to win rather than just be subject to chance or luck after rolling a dice.

So when I spied this modern version of a fun childhood game at our local thrift store (for only $3), I knew it would please my Ess who'd likely play along with her Dad. Sure enough, they were both seen over the weekend with their heads behind their radars striking each other's ships as they battled to win in naval combat.

The only problem is that there are two ships missing - an aircraft carrier and a little patrol boat I think. We used lego pieces (see left container in top pic) to substitute but one needs to be rather delicate to have them balancing in the right position. We'll have to see if we can find the missing pieces to complete the game.

What are your memories of Battleships?

I am From

Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee

Calls back the lovely April of her prime.
~William Shakespeare

Today is my mother's birthday.  She is away visiting her sister who is also celebrating her birthday today.  My aunty is 80 years old, she is 13 years my mother's elder.  Knowing they are celebrating getting older makes me reflect and think about where I am headed and where I am from. 

I recently read this post of Kellie's on Don't Look Now!  I thought it was lovely that she was from a similar place to me but never thought I'd write my own poem.  Then, at times unsuspecting, the poem sprouted and before I knew it my poetic juices were flowing and I had my own history penned.   So if you think you cannot, you will not, I encourage you to let go and see what might flow.  It is actually quite cathartic.  If you do write your own "I'm From" poem please let me know so I can join you in learning more about where you're from.  If you follow the links from Kellie's poem you will find the original from whence it came.

So here's a sneak peak of some of me.

I’m From

I’m from tireless pioneers, hard-working farmers and long dusty trails. From blacksoil plains, deceptive mirages and vast, tree-studded horizons.  From small country town, regional farming community and “townie vs cockie” the former is me!  From Mehi River, Gwydir River, where rivers meet. 

I’m from maternal ancestors trekking across seas, across lands; from England to South Australia, into northern New South Wales, up to central Queensland.  From sheep grazing, wheat farming then cotton as well. Corrugated iron sheds, blue-topped cotton modules, and seasonal “snowy” cotton lined roads.  From worshipping in a country church built by relatives of friends.

I’m from aesthetic beauty: flowers in the garden, arranged in vases, floral shows as well.  From cakes carefully decorated by my mother’s own hand, from embroidery, crochet, sewing, handmade.  Fixing loose threads on my clothing, “not the good scissors!”, stashes of fabric, buttons, binding and ribbons.  Always dressing well to go out.  From Sylvia’s fabrics, pattern hunting and fabric matching.

Paternally from Denmark to Australia, right into Queensland, freezing to heat.  From food production, apple orchards, vegetable growing and home baking.

From awkwardness, confusion; leadership and faith.  From silliness and laughter with my treasured brother and sister.   From independence and competence, achievement and success.

From “hugs and kisses”, “hugs and kisses” among siblings at the end of car journeys, upon arrival at our holiday destination, the “Uh-oh better go to bed” and “I wear my sunglasses at night, to keep my panties on tight” fun play with siblings.

Photo found at  www.Redbubble.com

I’m from the bright yellow daffodil, pretty pink poppy and rich red rose, the calm Carbeen tree, breezy Belah and the beloved, guarded unique Leopard Tree.

From the smoking besa block incinerator in the backyard, the besa block “barby”, begrudged family trips to the dump.

From oranges, mandarins and almonds in the garden, lawns always watered through hot summer months.

From home-sewn school uniform and Dad-knitted navy cardigan, from tights keeping legs warm from pesky, shivery Jack Frost on our front lawn

From Sunday roast dinners and baked beans on toast, salad plate lunches, toast fingers with soup.  From Potatoes La Jolla, Herbed Chicken pieces from “promite, not vegemite” or “vegemite not promite” sandwiches in lunchboxes.

Piano lessons during lunchtime, then through swimming lessons in high school. Piano duets in my best friend’s Mum’s bedroom on weekend retreats from boarding school.  Boarding school challenges, fun and successes.  Singing and singing, and singing some more, “Yes, Jesus loves me”, Christmas carols and rhymes.  Renaissance polyphonies, madrigals, and contemporary and sacred choral works.

I'm from sharing my music, from teaching tiny littlies, imparting my intuition and knowledge to the families I meet.  From meeting my beloved and sharing in our union, from bearing two treasured, precious daughters who now ofttimes lead me in my journey.

And now I am me, here today, returned to the start, growing veges and living down south in South Australia from whence my ancestors came, living and loving creatively, following my Creator.

Farm photos courtesy of my brother and sister-in-law. 

New Year Musings

For last year's words belong to last year's language

And next year's words await another voice.

And to make an end is to make a beginning.

~T.S. Eliot, "Little Gidding"

Nabbed from here.

Things you've already done: bold
Things you want to do: italicize
Things you haven't done and don't want to - leave in plain font

1. started your own blog
2. slept under the stars 
3. played in a band
4. visited hawaii
5. watched a meteor shower
6. given more than you can afford to charity 
7. been to disneyland/world
8. climbed a mountain
9. held a praying mantis 
10. sang a solo 
11. bungee jumped 
12. visited paris 
13. watched a lightning storm at sea 
14. taught yourself an art from scratch
15. adopted a child
16. had food poisoning
17. walked to the top of the statue of liberty
18. grown your own vegetables
19. seen the mona lisa in Italy 
20. slept on an overnight train
21. had a pillow fight
22. hitch hiked
23. taken a sick day when you’re not ill 
24. built a snow fort
25. held a lamb 
26. gone skinny dipping 
27. run a marathon 
28. ridden a gondola in venice
29. seen a total eclipse
30. watched a sunrise or sunset 
31. hit a home run
32. been on a cruise 
33. seen niagara falls in person
34. visited the birthplace of your ancestors 
35. seen an amish community 
36. taught yourself a new language
37. had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. seen the leaning tower of pisa in person
39. gone rock climbing 
40. seen michelangelo's david in person
41. sung karaoke
42. seen old faithful geyser erupt
43. bought a stranger a meal in a restaurant 
44. visited africa 
45. walked on a beach by moonlight
46. been transported in an ambulance
47. had your portrait painted
48. gone deep sea fishing
49. seen the sistene chapel in person
50. been to the top of the eiffel tower in paris
51. gone scuba diving or snorkelling

52. kissed in the rain
53. played in the mud 
54. gone to a drive-in theatre 

55. been in a movie 
56. visited the great wall of china
57. started a business
58. taken a martial arts class
59. visited russia
60. served at a soup kitchen
61. sold girl scout cookies. 
62. gone whale watching
63. gotten flowers for no reason
64. donated blood
65. gone sky diving
66. visited a nazi concentration camp
67. bounced a cheque
68. flown in a helicopter 
69. saved a favorite childhood toy 
70. visited the lincoln memorial
71. eaten caviar
72. pieced a quilt
73. stood in times square 
74. toured the everglades 
75. been fired from a job
76. seen the changing of the guard in london 
77. broken a bone
78. been on a speeding motorcycle 
79. seen the grand canyon in person 
80. published a book
81. visited the vatican
82. bought a brand new car
83. walked in jerusalem
84. had your picture in the newspaper 
85. read the entire bible 
86. visited the white house
87. killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. had chickenpox 
89. saved someone’s life
90. sat on a jury
91. met someone famous 
92. joined a book club
93. lost a loved one
94. had a baby 
95. seen the alamo in person. 
96. swum in the great salt lake. 
97. been involved in a law suit
98. owned a cell phone
99. been stung by a bee

It's good to reflect.  Maybe I'll have done a few extra things by the end of this year.  I will certainly have watched my children grow and grow - a year brings so much change especially in a baby heading towards toddlerhood.

I am hanging out to kiss in the rain.  Rain down please!!!

The End of an Age

How hard it is to escape from places. However carefully one goes they hold you - you leave little bits of yourself fluttering on the fences - like rags and shreds of your very life. ~Katherine Mansfield

This week saw the sale of the family farm.

It seems like the end of an age to me. It has been around with us, part of us for as long as I have known, of course, and for many years longer. It has been in my mother's ownership for over 30 years and her family purchased it over 50 years before that. Add that up and it's almost half of Australia's history as a country. It has been the place which was our section of our Australia. The place my ancestors pioneered in the region producing wool, wheat, barley, cotton and more. It was the place my mother grew up. The place she learned to cook, sew and garden, to ride horses. The place she took us back to with her Mum to enjoy lamingtons together on family picnics. Granny always made lamingtons for us to enjoy at Roydon. The place where I remember many fun moments with my family and friends: riding in the tractor, riding on the sulky, learning to drive the car when I was a young teenager, cooking pan-fried scones, camping out, picnics with my Granny, shearing in the shed and observing the many workers.

It was the place I found my little lamb, Bimbo, when I was about 10 years old. She was an orphan lamb whom I chased and chased and chased around the shearing shed, trying to catch her. Lucky for me, but possibly somewhat unlucky for her, she got caught in the fence. It was rather easy for me to "catch" her then. I pulled her out of the fence, showed Dad and we let her rest in the Landrover until we took her back to our home in town. I loved her, doted on her. Unfortunately she died after catching Tetanus after she was bitten by a dog while staying with a friend as we holidayed. This stayed with me for many years. I think I felt it wouldn't have happened if we hadn't left her. Maybe it gave me a very early sense of what responsibility for our loved ones means.

So now that place I am attached to has moved into new ownership. My Mum is pleased that the new owners are the old neighbours. They are happy for us to visit the old homestead whenever we like. I wonder how it will feel next time I do that. I imagine that sense of it being mine, of having been my place, of it being that part of the country my ancestors chose, will not be gone.

Photos courtesy of my brother and sister-in-law! Thankyou.

Blossom Dearie revives Oklahoma in me

During an interview I listened to recently I heard a dear old song which invoked nostalgia, hearkening back the days of my childhood. The song was “Surrey with a Fringe on Top”.

The interviewee, Lisa Forrest, remembers it fondly and states she often sings it to her children at night as they request it frequently: “chicks and ducks, chicks and ducks” they call. The first line of the song being “chicks and ducks and geese better scurry”. This enticed me to sing it to my two, indeed they have fallen in love with it too with Eee accompanying me on the piano and Ess requesting we sing it again and again as she bops and dances.

The song comes from the musical “Oklahoma”. While I don’t recall Mum singing it to us like this, Mum often got out the record she had of this musical, acquired after watching it during high school, and played it when we were kids. I am sure that as I grew older I would have put it on the old record player myself.

The recording I heard this time however was not from the original musical. It was sung by a female, was jazzier and somehow smoother, richer and creamier. I liked it, really liked it, and have since discovered it was a recording of Blossom Dearie singing it in 1958. How have I lived my life without hearing Blossom Dearie before? So now I have purchased her album Once Upon a Summertime and will play it for my daughters with fond recollections of my own childhood; all the while creating new memories for my girls to last a lifetime.

Pictures sourced from