Nourish Me

pickling

Conversation, Salvation Army-bought jars in arm, in the carpark at Woodend on Friday afternoon:

"You picklin' things too, love?"

"Yep. Runner beans - if there's enough - and another batch of tomato-chilli jam. You?"

"Yeah, everyone loves me pickled shallots. Makin' more today." 

He tipped his hat to me and opened the door of his ute, and, as an afterthought, turned back for a moment. "Me own shallots, that is. That I grew."

He didn't need to offer that up, but I am super-glad he did.  

Have I told you how much I love life right now? The sunflowers are over - yanked out, composted, kaput - but there's still some of their high-summer cheer about.     

constants

Mum's kitchen, late last year. The space between visits gets larger the longer I choose to live 900-odd kilometers south of the city I used to call home, but things rarely change in my absence, a fact that makes my heart feel happy.

That windowsill arrangement is pretty much just as I remember it 20 years ago, new plants replacing tired ones from time to time perhaps, but mum's blue kitchen and that sill that looks out onto the hills hoist and their beautiful cottage garden, eucalypts towering behind it all, is one of the constants in my life.