tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51305382005101049092024-02-02T17:40:56.396-05:00AgathosOf travel, food, cats, and writing.Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.comBlogger278125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-77972040771309153612022-02-22T21:17:00.000-05:002022-02-22T21:17:38.871-05:00Exploring April - Mermaids Pool<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQzrdr_JyLztuqjDxz0Tk4f_7SQJm-0XTQjivNSz_FHUWpWPnyqyi7PTr3y-W4hGtplZuH5HRlCnV1dwycRDUdlKZc1439XhCpGPSKaFWBfI2FNadf0CwbbVNOgRgnwhkcPvKciXcWX8/s2048/9E813132-27E7-436E-B4E3-E02B1E86C702_1_201_a.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibQzrdr_JyLztuqjDxz0Tk4f_7SQJm-0XTQjivNSz_FHUWpWPnyqyi7PTr3y-W4hGtplZuH5HRlCnV1dwycRDUdlKZc1439XhCpGPSKaFWBfI2FNadf0CwbbVNOgRgnwhkcPvKciXcWX8/s320/9E813132-27E7-436E-B4E3-E02B1E86C702_1_201_a.heic" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfJljkEntljUJ5cWXKwfKZTl2FXfj8eMzSey9EtiqgAP9TItHEtMig6mlPyTTjsO17UtGsT2Ioqo_7J-NKv23CyY5o85r4wf9v6yfhKA4bvIoW1nPjT5aA4MCgY3xb2IFYjrIV5b0CwVU/s2048/15E57E5C-ADB5-4748-88BC-5C836D9C66E3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfJljkEntljUJ5cWXKwfKZTl2FXfj8eMzSey9EtiqgAP9TItHEtMig6mlPyTTjsO17UtGsT2Ioqo_7J-NKv23CyY5o85r4wf9v6yfhKA4bvIoW1nPjT5aA4MCgY3xb2IFYjrIV5b0CwVU/s320/15E57E5C-ADB5-4748-88BC-5C836D9C66E3.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNdcnGeOk0XCDnrOn69BS6pF1-cCWFn0EwiVP0QjiOWa0ZpfMLEl643UOQ8gZ2N02AUD2uSPp6q5FseR7WG9_kZlYJ61K6GOCJTJWKcCt0HbEcQB8kw2nrlfqLNnZRPZ65MRNDJ_csFos/s2048/2831AB59-5511-4D4E-8929-48261D008AB5_1_201_a.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNdcnGeOk0XCDnrOn69BS6pF1-cCWFn0EwiVP0QjiOWa0ZpfMLEl643UOQ8gZ2N02AUD2uSPp6q5FseR7WG9_kZlYJ61K6GOCJTJWKcCt0HbEcQB8kw2nrlfqLNnZRPZ65MRNDJ_csFos/s320/2831AB59-5511-4D4E-8929-48261D008AB5_1_201_a.heic" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgioEFDYQhJ5-9ZUgln9kd6xPsm45tEnRKIIjaymLJDqLutaXkl8w3O4VvqU4roU4fgVFoQ9ZDf4B3EQUT328OpdoGSCtBEbSiB3Q2-6TsCkcsi-FBqSfPrQHH06ojPzTp2fBFyUAVG3pg/s2048/E88771C3-6C24-4C7B-AA59-DFE7807CF3A9.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgioEFDYQhJ5-9ZUgln9kd6xPsm45tEnRKIIjaymLJDqLutaXkl8w3O4VvqU4roU4fgVFoQ9ZDf4B3EQUT328OpdoGSCtBEbSiB3Q2-6TsCkcsi-FBqSfPrQHH06ojPzTp2fBFyUAVG3pg/s320/E88771C3-6C24-4C7B-AA59-DFE7807CF3A9.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-53005424138969246332021-04-07T03:00:00.006-04:002021-04-07T03:00:36.648-04:00I am Green<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGuIWvRXHSE1kis3VjqF5bFhMtBh1vIvJHZws9EnrV0XfU7esNO5eLPKvxIPW-ijUOKd-GEcYdkOslqjLIA-0GOG1LwVEdGNlOA_xiaIswmEZa4H65IkqtFNsLdAVjLpfcD5zg42M2MbM/s2048/49EF2F20-E48E-4B9D-A780-B284B5EAC16E.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGuIWvRXHSE1kis3VjqF5bFhMtBh1vIvJHZws9EnrV0XfU7esNO5eLPKvxIPW-ijUOKd-GEcYdkOslqjLIA-0GOG1LwVEdGNlOA_xiaIswmEZa4H65IkqtFNsLdAVjLpfcD5zg42M2MbM/s320/49EF2F20-E48E-4B9D-A780-B284B5EAC16E.heic" /></a></div> I am the colour of life.<p></p><p>I vibrate with energy and softness.</p><p>I am multi-hued: dark in fir trees, bright in grass, tender in spring shoots, glossy in birds' feathers.</p><p>I am the colour of danger and the colour of luck.</p><p>I am the colour of envy and of fortune.</p><p>I am the colour of the sea and the land.</p>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-55469083934992421662021-03-30T01:23:00.007-04:002021-03-30T01:23:00.131-04:00A Reminiscence<p><span style="font-family: inherit;">It feels like a summer night in Toronto. </span></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVU6t4HmzAgvHjPBaJ5ZC1Vq_N0yu7cct6T7t_2l2WlUFwPPUfs6u9tQ3pa8pucWCOYbXQbUN6I-BPHHfMNqalWUrl9kOSyBLNhngmQzkzz6nBwrbFbNMR_AAsflVZcKvAdBdP_RTTniw/s2048/iu-3.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVU6t4HmzAgvHjPBaJ5ZC1Vq_N0yu7cct6T7t_2l2WlUFwPPUfs6u9tQ3pa8pucWCOYbXQbUN6I-BPHHfMNqalWUrl9kOSyBLNhngmQzkzz6nBwrbFbNMR_AAsflVZcKvAdBdP_RTTniw/s320/iu-3.jpeg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I remember biking home on those nights. Maybe we were setting out from somewhere in the west. Maybe Dundas and Davenport, maybe Market St, maybe I’d just played baseball in Coronation Park. The night would always be warm and humid - a cool finger of air coming off the lake, and out of the forested parks as we rode. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Always, the corridors of light through downtown. Always, the darker streets and old trees at Cabbagetown. Always, the thrum of traffic as we crossed the DVP from west to east. A sensation of energetic tranquility. And then the softer orange lights along Dundas, or Danforth, or Lakeshore. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Always, the hill to climb on Gerrard past Coxwell. Sometimes it was a slog, sometimes we flew. Finally, we would arrive in our darkened third floor treehouse apartment that looked over the dog park. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">In the winter we could see the lake from the roof, but on those summer nights, it felt like magic was in the treetops and I never wanted to go to sleep.</span></p>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-77335107775056124962021-03-28T01:23:00.002-04:002021-03-28T01:23:13.715-04:00Exploring March - Rain Delay<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOAF3DgRUHEIW3EdVAMy7voMqicNpGX3SAFBCoYIxvoFka55-4sEUEtYs7OuF5aoIFXiWBbEJrAEWEeJsllaA5curxkg3Pir4VTF5epsmLQSYkehZl5vhma_c4barqNu420qUH4bVt_C0/s2048/7BB0286C-E67B-4F94-9CF7-4BC2E65F39B3.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOAF3DgRUHEIW3EdVAMy7voMqicNpGX3SAFBCoYIxvoFka55-4sEUEtYs7OuF5aoIFXiWBbEJrAEWEeJsllaA5curxkg3Pir4VTF5epsmLQSYkehZl5vhma_c4barqNu420qUH4bVt_C0/w150-h200/7BB0286C-E67B-4F94-9CF7-4BC2E65F39B3.heic" width="150" /></a></div> As many people will have seen, New South Wales recently had record breaking, once-in-a-century-type rainfall. Rivers flooded, spiders sought high ground, and snakes jumped into boats to save themselves from the deluge. Drew, Lady Marmalade, and I stayed high and dry in Erskineville, lucky to be up-stream from any sewage drains or creek beds.<p></p><p></p><p>Drew and I were supposed to go camping with our neighbours last weekend at the Wombeyan Caves and Mares River Reserve. We were going to do this really cool canyon swim that I had been looking forward to since around Christmas, when Drew was given the Wild Swimming book as a gift. </p><p>We held out hope that the weather would turn for the weekend, but alas, the predicted rainfall amount only kept rising, and we decided it would be foolish to tempt fate. Normally, you could bet on NSW weather to end up being pretty nice, but not this time. And, just to confirm our decision, the campground announced it would be closed, and refunded our booking fee. </p><p>I think for this particular camping trip we'll now have to wait until next summer. The days are getting shorter and the Caves are in the mountains, which are a few degrees cooler than Sydney temperatures. That means that now we're into territory where it wouldn't be quite as much fun to jump into cold water! </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_9A96RnbgAsL7w4HqxITgcxE4KVtkmB4dBJ3j6IZQpY8QKZ0IRjlIUt7W9HEMEA1fzFfd_KMTeCwTi6Fb1QfUBFc7qfyFci1M4aCXw3lbxZLa37udrNwgd8CPAg2_hR4t1X_ObcDYfAo/s2048/7048514E-5367-4A57-A89D-3758085C72EB.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_9A96RnbgAsL7w4HqxITgcxE4KVtkmB4dBJ3j6IZQpY8QKZ0IRjlIUt7W9HEMEA1fzFfd_KMTeCwTi6Fb1QfUBFc7qfyFci1M4aCXw3lbxZLa37udrNwgd8CPAg2_hR4t1X_ObcDYfAo/w200-h200/7048514E-5367-4A57-A89D-3758085C72EB.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>Sadly, we have not had an official adventure this month. <p></p><p>On the bright side, the rain has stopped, and the garden looks excellent. The sea is greener than normal from all the rain - golden green waves were curling at Manly yesterday when we went surfing. </p><p>Here's hoping we can get some fun adventures in for April - maybe double up! </p>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-27829202963841032832021-02-15T18:54:00.000-05:002021-02-15T18:54:01.431-05:00Office Observations<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhXTKtxyYC_9qo_o3GXqSqLRYoeM62feLL7G6uzHGoIlkKPkZF1azkbLkLdsZmkBn1qcwHFQzMQWLshWHcJ7hlfENrkT_4Fw75-Af2V10uuHN9IqTLsdrNxfF_MqpnjJLN-pFyiOp6ck/s2048/984B28C4-0014-458E-B32A-66FA8C624DB0.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhXTKtxyYC_9qo_o3GXqSqLRYoeM62feLL7G6uzHGoIlkKPkZF1azkbLkLdsZmkBn1qcwHFQzMQWLshWHcJ7hlfENrkT_4Fw75-Af2V10uuHN9IqTLsdrNxfF_MqpnjJLN-pFyiOp6ck/w240-h298/984B28C4-0014-458E-B32A-66FA8C624DB0.heic" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An Orchard Swallowtail</td></tr></tbody></table> A huge beautiful butterfly just floated past my window. </p><p>White and black and brown. </p><p>As big as a sparrow, drinking rain drops off the sodden trees.</p>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-14059877101540009192021-02-06T01:33:00.002-05:002021-02-06T03:29:56.337-05:00Exploring February - The Coast Track, Royal National Park<p> Well friends, after a very strong start to Explore 2021, very little happened in January. What I thought was a 'rocking ear infection', as I wrote, caused by all of our swim and snorkel adventures, was in fact a case of SHINGLES. As a result, I was out of commission for three full weeks, and this weekend marks the end of week four. I am, at this point, fully recovered, but that was a hard go.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9n5jyIByLwyKCIIanhY4hj1tmPIiqex5CgtODxs1Mp7jte7KIwGAvu_4SGglQCM6hXhC-srzyhfQZwJJ_kPv_ozAiEaBo8CsuIQvPpbPviOnrk7t_ZZw69vvtIvNtehr1nVL9VXdSdXQ/s2048/E3189FE4-8FF6-4358-BF4B-AB474F82048B.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9n5jyIByLwyKCIIanhY4hj1tmPIiqex5CgtODxs1Mp7jte7KIwGAvu_4SGglQCM6hXhC-srzyhfQZwJJ_kPv_ozAiEaBo8CsuIQvPpbPviOnrk7t_ZZw69vvtIvNtehr1nVL9VXdSdXQ/s320/E3189FE4-8FF6-4358-BF4B-AB474F82048B.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back at the adventuring</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I took a punt on my ability to recover quickly from illness, and in mid-January booked a camp site in the Royal National Park for Drew and I to walk <a href="https://www.nationalparks.nsw.gov.au/things-to-do/walking-tracks/the-coast-track" target="_blank">the Coast Track</a>. My gamble paid off! We have just returned from this walk, each in one (slightly sore) piece, and feeling very Fit and Outdoorsy.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ep7R5Q8_-HhdHsa6b1EVBTZAZ3EBzChoBz0MQaqjUY0iS8lcRfBnURu8WcnxFzBBspNOx_UAlwXeqg8DBwuDeb-zhtQzUANRVDdQkVGBJOz3gZw4HaB2mAzGiegvh08xzNSvV39_nHM/s2048/6137E991-4F44-49B7-AA03-00D935F00797.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ep7R5Q8_-HhdHsa6b1EVBTZAZ3EBzChoBz0MQaqjUY0iS8lcRfBnURu8WcnxFzBBspNOx_UAlwXeqg8DBwuDeb-zhtQzUANRVDdQkVGBJOz3gZw4HaB2mAzGiegvh08xzNSvV39_nHM/s320/6137E991-4F44-49B7-AA03-00D935F00797.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking south at the distance to travel</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The Coast Track is a 26km path that spans from a ferry wharf at Bundeena in the north, to a train station at Otford in the south. 26kms may not sound so far, but what makes this extra challenging is that you've got to carry everything with you on your back, including all of your water since there's no drinking water in the park. You also must carry all of your food, and if you're doing the walk in two days like we did, you must carry your tent, sleeping bags and cook stove. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYdHSAMKuzdhCAT9h_vczh1OYLz7u6OjBood8HAlMDh1qycay012P-VEkLnJU_j3XlzhQc0ZPbM9UbU4piIFM-Nk0NulgZgLtlsnRAd9WnGSZh3FufqVW5Hzbc15EuFdldlrH-XK8IW5U/s2048/9F364E77-5387-43B3-8ED4-6BDB2A014324.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYdHSAMKuzdhCAT9h_vczh1OYLz7u6OjBood8HAlMDh1qycay012P-VEkLnJU_j3XlzhQc0ZPbM9UbU4piIFM-Nk0NulgZgLtlsnRAd9WnGSZh3FufqVW5Hzbc15EuFdldlrH-XK8IW5U/s320/9F364E77-5387-43B3-8ED4-6BDB2A014324.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marley and Little Marley beaches</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Then, for more challenging fun, you'll be hiking up and over cliffs along the coast, with stunning beaches between. A little of what Drew and I like to call the Old Uppie-Downie. What goes up must come down, as the saying goes, and this applies to hiking routes, indeed. </p><p>Oh, and it's also very hot.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6TF4Uzat3xpwvAECurMbYQgc0vCeiiuQTNE-AZOYjoofJ5-uh9cxUfenpDjVX9HmacDu3JobCN2M7N_BNl3-gozO5WZU7Px3PMTIveUTuSbwJqTJ-Qa3OT76Yg0Dd6rbswc1wW56ZGKo/s2048/065FDC5B-24DF-46E5-946D-CBE76507A0C0.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6TF4Uzat3xpwvAECurMbYQgc0vCeiiuQTNE-AZOYjoofJ5-uh9cxUfenpDjVX9HmacDu3JobCN2M7N_BNl3-gozO5WZU7Px3PMTIveUTuSbwJqTJ-Qa3OT76Yg0Dd6rbswc1wW56ZGKo/s320/065FDC5B-24DF-46E5-946D-CBE76507A0C0.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An idyll of fresh water dammed at Wattamolla</td></tr></tbody></table><p>But never did we mind these details, because all the pain in our shoulders and calves is worth it. We saw so many beautiful swimming holes and beaches, and at some of them we were the only people around. We tackled the route from north to south, doing the longer, 18km trek the first day. This took us about 7 hours, with a few swims and stops for snacks and lunch. We got off the ferry at Bundeena at 10, and were at the North Era camp site just after 5. We made camp, opened our happy hour mini bottles of wine, and Drew cooked up some delicious mi goreng noodles with our slick<a href="https://trangia.se/en/" target="_blank"> Trangia camp stove</a> (aka the Perfect Stove). </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgufe7NJi3U1uyTbmVGjwxi41lwyOm7Rb9W-TDkfBaT2_llDbQIpvUEBpDbEvGu23JOHQj4nvp9pOk8zbKrSOWO-igbtgpPcPSNt2dRBTK93hmbJBjTFuk72uqsbhVibhbfeGm1JNSe_8c/s2048/6E7EE3F0-0875-400C-AC9E-F0679377020A.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgufe7NJi3U1uyTbmVGjwxi41lwyOm7Rb9W-TDkfBaT2_llDbQIpvUEBpDbEvGu23JOHQj4nvp9pOk8zbKrSOWO-igbtgpPcPSNt2dRBTK93hmbJBjTFuk72uqsbhVibhbfeGm1JNSe_8c/s320/6E7EE3F0-0875-400C-AC9E-F0679377020A.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tired but happy faces at North Era</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqck1PIXGWbiGRtkuU6RpeNGec8WhC7FrJdU6BFIe-NZuOX7K2FsjT2MiUtiwHsD0LiXvoXRxJxgwBHNKvKr3WZDBrrT_mlVj7rhW_dX8oVDCJZeWd8FWjopkvMdAH7FWn1j0_ClRwuMY/s2048/E7F90B87-A2E5-44AB-BF7A-2C442B0F7D86.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqck1PIXGWbiGRtkuU6RpeNGec8WhC7FrJdU6BFIe-NZuOX7K2FsjT2MiUtiwHsD0LiXvoXRxJxgwBHNKvKr3WZDBrrT_mlVj7rhW_dX8oVDCJZeWd8FWjopkvMdAH7FWn1j0_ClRwuMY/s320/E7F90B87-A2E5-44AB-BF7A-2C442B0F7D86.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drew is a wilderness chef!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We could barely stay awake until the stars came out, we were so tired from the heat and the walking. In a hazy, dusky mood we stood at the edge of the beach and saw a pod of dolphins swimming northward, then played some cards and finished our wine. When it was fully dark we lay outside the tent and took in a huge sky full of stars and the Magellan clouds. It was magnificent! I can't explain it really, but Orion always looks upside down to me here.</p><p>Early the next morning, after a not bad sleep considering we were sleeping on the ground, we got up and made coffee and oatmeal with our camp stove, and then took a morning dip in the ocean before breaking camp. We were the last to leave the camp site, but the second day is much shorter at 8kms, and only took us 3 hours - even on our tired legs! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkxEGaC-ZHvAheCs6gAkpgwX6bkLopzveIt6LfSnqSytxrEvt9U_L73RwVf8YFLOD67nUgLiibZj775rC1ZVCM97JvfOefxWmgatH0-Bv9Mr8IA6AgcWF_DM6Zv5EuBiw3xS0deDl9Qx4/s2048/1BBCA74E-372B-49D7-BE1B-B31D043BAF1F.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkxEGaC-ZHvAheCs6gAkpgwX6bkLopzveIt6LfSnqSytxrEvt9U_L73RwVf8YFLOD67nUgLiibZj775rC1ZVCM97JvfOefxWmgatH0-Bv9Mr8IA6AgcWF_DM6Zv5EuBiw3xS0deDl9Qx4/s320/1BBCA74E-372B-49D7-BE1B-B31D043BAF1F.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grassy hills and cliffs at Burning Palms</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The second day's walk took us steadily upwards, through a palm rainforest and then a eucalypt forest to the top of the cliffs at Otford, for stunning views back along the way we had come. Looking from there, it was hard to believe we'd really walked along all those cliffs. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbh6gvy_UhoP83aiekibQUHmG2hCQi8h-47fAWVAhlVuLSauRbt2myb6fx0jroQrxN3zUcLbKEJiI7rZT4zusPnvCWf6qYb7DgrVwQDxf4Zyi0_xAhjfNWTk2_bmqeP5nczh6fMEYGbvc/s2048/9651BB7F-5CDC-4283-9D18-4608215B47FF.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbh6gvy_UhoP83aiekibQUHmG2hCQi8h-47fAWVAhlVuLSauRbt2myb6fx0jroQrxN3zUcLbKEJiI7rZT4zusPnvCWf6qYb7DgrVwQDxf4Zyi0_xAhjfNWTk2_bmqeP5nczh6fMEYGbvc/s320/9651BB7F-5CDC-4283-9D18-4608215B47FF.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking north toward our starting point</td></tr></tbody></table></div><p style="text-align: left;">This is perhaps not the best hike if one is new to the game. Walking sounds incredibly easy until you're doing it all day over varied terrain (I thought walking was very easy until walking to Niagara Falls and realising it's no simple thing). A bit of training, or being in generally good fitness, is recommended. But, if that's you, then this is not a walk to be missed. And, we saw loads of folks of different ages doing this walk. In fact, the only people we didn't see on the trail were children, and understandably so. Book your campsite early, and take lots of water! Adventure awaits! </p>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-37463417345600405522021-01-13T00:21:00.001-05:002021-01-13T00:21:23.784-05:00Explore 2021<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4SbZMZxVPjdHpQ_ydqfJDdETXs3U-Q7Dsvee5YMzvPKFHShC4aC1MHuhB6PrPONJZ02dYwqZvN6tsjOWHKZkb26_COCs7R9AfDTF3k80j8Npy7v4i8Sp8Vo_0LFYApkME7lF4UnjbxN4/s2048/0CFFE3EA-DA74-4A7B-A7B9-CAAB2BEFE300.heic" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4SbZMZxVPjdHpQ_ydqfJDdETXs3U-Q7Dsvee5YMzvPKFHShC4aC1MHuhB6PrPONJZ02dYwqZvN6tsjOWHKZkb26_COCs7R9AfDTF3k80j8Npy7v4i8Sp8Vo_0LFYApkME7lF4UnjbxN4/s320/0CFFE3EA-DA74-4A7B-A7B9-CAAB2BEFE300.heic" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parsley Bay, Valcluse - *chef's kiss*</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Drew and I have decided that our project for 2021 is to explore.</p><p style="text-align: left;">For Christmas, Anna gave Drew a book called '<a href="https://wildswimming.com.au" target="_blank">Wild Swimming Sydney</a>,' and this brilliant guide book to the greater Sydney area has inspired us. It covers over 250 cool swimming spots, including beaches, rivers, bogey holes, lakes, and tidal pools. </p><p style="text-align: left;">We got started on our Explore 2021 project this past weekend, with gusto. We went to Coogee beach on Saturday, snorkelled in Gordon's Bay and Clovelley on Sunday, and ventured to Parsley Bay on Monday afternoon. </p><p style="text-align: left;">By which time, I had developed a rocking ear infection from all the swimming, which plagues me still. I have ear drops, and I'm managing the pain with paracetamol and naproxen, but all the lymph nodes on the left side of my head are swollen. </p><p style="text-align: left;">Drew is hitting the waves at Manly today on a solo surf adventure, while I keep my ear dry (aside from the thrice-daily drops). I've begun to wonder if I have a sea creature living in my skull now? Maybe I should start to consider names for it.</p>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-22259656664388926592021-01-01T19:56:00.001-05:002021-01-01T19:56:06.477-05:00A Merry Beachside Christmas 2020<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Sr-jUIri__Tdr-Y8kC-2G30vfHRdJU2uKb0uvCfjRA-2qHwctxh_eSL4j0flyZQnyraRL_RI4v6gBODijA-V184vyLvcQQpeHov8a7I3XgPaWxBlGSaItEkp7v09ToT5OKYoB3hqFlc/s2685/163A4F93-D721-4C43-BCC7-E0A6A7072877.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1171" data-original-width="2685" height="175" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Sr-jUIri__Tdr-Y8kC-2G30vfHRdJU2uKb0uvCfjRA-2qHwctxh_eSL4j0flyZQnyraRL_RI4v6gBODijA-V184vyLvcQQpeHov8a7I3XgPaWxBlGSaItEkp7v09ToT5OKYoB3hqFlc/w567-h175/163A4F93-D721-4C43-BCC7-E0A6A7072877.heic" width="567" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A panorama of Avoca Beach on Christmas Day<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p><p style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzYEKDCn2_92RbQQSDPHvRaaI8bF5fIHml-rTAEEok3Yo-Lnuvr21j_agyi6yEcC0RsKknDQMdU6oGSbdKUFhXVxkco_p8bQS3Bi_BbScc98xTPzuGdAKuYQgn18hnj-Sa8Dy5wfDhnc/s2048/DCA49D84-1992-4F08-9C8F-6F1BB59BA3FC_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzYEKDCn2_92RbQQSDPHvRaaI8bF5fIHml-rTAEEok3Yo-Lnuvr21j_agyi6yEcC0RsKknDQMdU6oGSbdKUFhXVxkco_p8bQS3Bi_BbScc98xTPzuGdAKuYQgn18hnj-Sa8Dy5wfDhnc/s320/DCA49D84-1992-4F08-9C8F-6F1BB59BA3FC_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sam and I look to sea</span></td></tr></tbody></table></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">E</span>ven the worst things can sometimes have unexpected silver linings. CoVid-19 has very few silver linings, and being stuck in Australia for Christmas - my first Christmas & birthday away from home EVER - was at first really *not* a silver lining for me. But, I must report that it was wonderful to spend Christmas at Avoca Beach with our friends. We decided to meld as many of our various Christmas traditions as possible. It was a beach holiday with champagne, luscious food and presents. Only a few things could have made it better. </p><p></p><p></p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-gLuLBKuDqOyayN5wWuB6Hh9VvimmihKmUkIicZSY4OVBZkW57ZssjjMqJ8TXQitywFZ9-FRATsdFFp5NgrGVmry6yoqP1cVos298Q_kMVyGcbo3yPqpMMhl7Fa-48rT3cZWYk1Hq_U0/s2048/9855F463-BF04-4AED-A80C-D89CF4613F5D_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-gLuLBKuDqOyayN5wWuB6Hh9VvimmihKmUkIicZSY4OVBZkW57ZssjjMqJ8TXQitywFZ9-FRATsdFFp5NgrGVmry6yoqP1cVos298Q_kMVyGcbo3yPqpMMhl7Fa-48rT3cZWYk1Hq_U0/s320/9855F463-BF04-4AED-A80C-D89CF4613F5D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Soggy Kookaburras</span></td></tr></tbody></table>Around October, or even earlier if we'd wanted to admit it to ourselves, the writing was on the wall that we would be staying in Aus for the holidays. So, Drew and I and the other Christmas Orphans - Diego, Sam, and Anna - started talking about what we should do. Beach house was the clear answer. Accordingly, and after a couple of false starts, we rented a house in Avoca for five nights over Christmas & my birthday. Avoca is a small beach town that feels much farther away from Sydney than its 1.5 hour drive time. </p><p></p>On December 22nd, we loaded up a rented SUV with overnight bags stuffed with bathing suits, bottles of wine clanking, and presents piled high, totally obscuring the rear window, and packed ourselves in for the quick drive out of the city. <p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzYEKDCn2_92RbQQSDPHvRaaI8bF5fIHml-rTAEEok3Yo-Lnuvr21j_agyi6yEcC0RsKknDQMdU6oGSbdKUFhXVxkco_p8bQS3Bi_BbScc98xTPzuGdAKuYQgn18hnj-Sa8Dy5wfDhnc/s2048/DCA49D84-1992-4F08-9C8F-6F1BB59BA3FC_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div></div>That evening we ate raw oysters and champagne to celebrate surviving the year in the first place and actually getting to the beach house, which honestly felt like a mighty achievement. <div><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilrDSOpl4ZB6v0tbQG21jU2vBx2p-P1S3GeeA3GTcxK8Ak1kBU04oNJGxpb5Z8xUd0wobBcASfLI1Bcb3N7PDOy31VX-KkqFZsAR1D0b0aDS7PD2_5zzmR9WNKIrg7SB0j1MLhP-kI9LE/s2048/48B14FDB-307A-4251-8E5F-EFF31C5E24A9.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1539" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilrDSOpl4ZB6v0tbQG21jU2vBx2p-P1S3GeeA3GTcxK8Ak1kBU04oNJGxpb5Z8xUd0wobBcASfLI1Bcb3N7PDOy31VX-KkqFZsAR1D0b0aDS7PD2_5zzmR9WNKIrg7SB0j1MLhP-kI9LE/s320/48B14FDB-307A-4251-8E5F-EFF31C5E24A9.heic" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Me and Drew post-surf lesson</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>The following morning, Drew and I had surf lessons with the <a href="https://centralcoastsurfacademy.com" target="_blank">Central Coast Surf Academy</a>, to which we wore our gorgeous Ugly Christmas Rashies. What a work out! It was so much fun - only my second lesson, but Drew's 5th perhaps. The thing about surfing is that you think the getting up part will be hard, and it is, but what you forget about is the 500 push-ups you'll do on an unstable surface while waves crash over you, as you contemplate whether *this* wave is really a wave you can catch or if you should wait for the next one. By the end of our lesson, my arms and chest were so tired that I gave up trying to stand and body-boarded through the waves instead (also very fun). Afternoon was nap time and reading, quiet conversations on the patio or in the bright living room. Drew cooked a ham for supper that night, with jerk seasoning and sweet potatoes. Stellar. </p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj55t4XzYEo32jnIhyA9gJukz3n3RLw_Qv3Q7HSq9XC4E3WRxUsxz9iQTynjPkhJ4F4ClelsXkzm9EGb1aI_w9fyPJfIV_bl8VIx5z6OxiZc_gmxp5zHTO4hMllOF-Ohafyfs1mDtCkZs8/s2048/56B2CAC1-DFA1-45F1-8AE3-EFF5FA9DB2D4.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj55t4XzYEo32jnIhyA9gJukz3n3RLw_Qv3Q7HSq9XC4E3WRxUsxz9iQTynjPkhJ4F4ClelsXkzm9EGb1aI_w9fyPJfIV_bl8VIx5z6OxiZc_gmxp5zHTO4hMllOF-Ohafyfs1mDtCkZs8/s320/56B2CAC1-DFA1-45F1-8AE3-EFF5FA9DB2D4.heic" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Nog-quiris! </span></td></tr></tbody></table>The next day: Christmas Eve. Drew, Anna and I surfed again in the morning - on Christmas Eve!! Instead of hoping for snow, I was hoping for sun and a low tide. As per Diego's family's tradition, we had our big Christmas meal on Christmas Eve. I made egg nog (from scratch) daiquiris - aka Nog-quiris or Lait-de-Poule-adas, if you prefer - which hit the spot indeed. As per Australian tradition and guided by Sam, we had a massive seafood feast. We cooked flathead lobsters (also less attractively called Morton Bay bugs) on the BBQ, and Drew fried up barramundi, and I contributed my family's traditional broccoli and cauliflower casserole side dish to the meal. We had champagne and Christmas crackers, and we wore the paper crowns AS IS OBLIGATORY. We ate until stuffed - fou' as a wulk, as Gran would say.</div><div><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiINtCVjWM_7XAVBqWks56sfxmyf8D1-Z2P2N5CeMCgPzVX8d7YDgkzJzATGrV1eeA0dMfnG40sUNSpPDREvl7zJn8FnXPiqkq3Bm4SCOEo2NJ_NM4Bf1ti1nXmUA7ekWJvR-Jzdd-nG34/s2048/B3CAEACE-0E72-4DB2-A791-0943B551C098.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1539" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiINtCVjWM_7XAVBqWks56sfxmyf8D1-Z2P2N5CeMCgPzVX8d7YDgkzJzATGrV1eeA0dMfnG40sUNSpPDREvl7zJn8FnXPiqkq3Bm4SCOEo2NJ_NM4Bf1ti1nXmUA7ekWJvR-Jzdd-nG34/s320/B3CAEACE-0E72-4DB2-A791-0943B551C098.heic" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Christmas Eve Orphan Feast</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>After dinner, we retired to the living room for a Secret Santa gift exchange. Sam gave me some amazing earrings that say 'Boss Lady' on them - very much looking forward to wearing those on future Zoom calls. Anna gave Drew a new cycling cap and a book called 'Wild Swimming Sydney', which is packed with amazing hikes and bike rides to various swimming spots around the greater Sydney area. Drew and I are setting a goal for 2021 to do at least one walking or camping weekend each month, and this book is the perfect guide. </p><p>Christmas Day was dark and stormy. Drew and I opened our stockings in bed, and we gave each other snorkelling gear for Christmas presents. We had coffee and Diego's delicious home-made stollen on the patio in the half-light of an overcast sky, and retreated to the Monopoly board when the rain came down. We took a walk by stormy seas in the afternoon, and Drew and Diego were brave enough to get into the crashing and crossing waves. The wind was saturated with salt. We went back to the house to BBQ sausages and potato salad, and after supper games accompanied by shortbread and chocolates.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwttOoO4odin5txK_CE3DvlA6caTnMGEqHUMjLCqgVUPgGcEN22mgHCAazsmey5OqUNxC1lzQPlOtptaBjbPBuvZ8yIs_xSU4_3qp0FEL6496Oo1xrlEZxEga5fzQfFymL8aRkqPVEMQo/s2048/944EEC31-87D7-4532-BFD7-92B5DF2D7D89.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1539" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwttOoO4odin5txK_CE3DvlA6caTnMGEqHUMjLCqgVUPgGcEN22mgHCAazsmey5OqUNxC1lzQPlOtptaBjbPBuvZ8yIs_xSU4_3qp0FEL6496Oo1xrlEZxEga5fzQfFymL8aRkqPVEMQo/s320/944EEC31-87D7-4532-BFD7-92B5DF2D7D89.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Merry Christmas from Avoca<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiij4_gFhf5fyyTEKynw_ouRhL7GziP7ZyWNcPNcjAnBuH2jtOoX-w4dz8c_gELhdQaOpDlCT35ySFwYSntMnjF7EeTCgqj9ZbUcFlHlf7hEm6BrvMecv33K3FQ05iJLGj4VmyXuS-mqtA/s2048/2AE56937-3963-4246-B184-A3140DC80975_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiij4_gFhf5fyyTEKynw_ouRhL7GziP7ZyWNcPNcjAnBuH2jtOoX-w4dz8c_gELhdQaOpDlCT35ySFwYSntMnjF7EeTCgqj9ZbUcFlHlf7hEm6BrvMecv33K3FQ05iJLGj4VmyXuS-mqtA/s320/2AE56937-3963-4246-B184-A3140DC80975_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Birthday Feast!</span></td></tr></tbody></table>My birthday away was also excellent, and Drew cooked up a feast as usual. We got a bit more sun on Boxing Day - enough to head down to the beach with boogie boards, beers, and finska. We played until it became overcast again, and headed back to the house. Drew made a huge feast of prawn Pad Thai, green mango salad, chicken skewers, and tamarind & lemonade rum cocktails. It was magnificent. </p><p>We packed up and left on the 27th, with not a little longing to stay for a few more days. The weather has been grey and rainy since we returned to Sydney, bathing the days over Christmas in extra-sunny light of memory. </p><p>Though next year, I definitely want to go home for the holidays, Christmas in Avoca was really fantastic. It was also lovely to not be travelling at Christmas for the first time in years. As much as I love going home at this time of year, the travel is always extra hectic and we have had multiple stressful mishaps involving snowstorms or missed connections. So, I see the appeal of staying put - and I see why people always want us to travel to them! Maybe in the future we will be able to convince people to travel to us instead, and recreate our beach Christmas with our families. 💙</p><p></p><div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzYEKDCn2_92RbQQSDPHvRaaI8bF5fIHml-rTAEEok3Yo-Lnuvr21j_agyi6yEcC0RsKknDQMdU6oGSbdKUFhXVxkco_p8bQS3Bi_BbScc98xTPzuGdAKuYQgn18hnj-Sa8Dy5wfDhnc/s2048/DCA49D84-1992-4F08-9C8F-6F1BB59BA3FC_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"></a><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWeT21_8xJd-_keVKAyKkAdOs4rgLiQrXPesHeozBNGlULRmMDWJiKvzMn2ZfOYn2eS4oize392aBuYp2791rj2y1u7VWi6TZUMk4Tco6UZqAHu0YbFyNvREkc6rmQjb_C2IUgz0R3yOI/s2048/D2267491-6093-427E-926D-07C4FA8DA146.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWeT21_8xJd-_keVKAyKkAdOs4rgLiQrXPesHeozBNGlULRmMDWJiKvzMn2ZfOYn2eS4oize392aBuYp2791rj2y1u7VWi6TZUMk4Tco6UZqAHu0YbFyNvREkc6rmQjb_C2IUgz0R3yOI/s320/D2267491-6093-427E-926D-07C4FA8DA146.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A last look - and a hope to return</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzYEKDCn2_92RbQQSDPHvRaaI8bF5fIHml-rTAEEok3Yo-Lnuvr21j_agyi6yEcC0RsKknDQMdU6oGSbdKUFhXVxkco_p8bQS3Bi_BbScc98xTPzuGdAKuYQgn18hnj-Sa8Dy5wfDhnc/s2048/DCA49D84-1992-4F08-9C8F-6F1BB59BA3FC_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"></a></div><p></p></div>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-73352329742034612062020-11-24T19:54:00.003-05:002020-11-24T19:54:39.402-05:00Overcast<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMkJnv_64CKyhjqAN1iwx0zyyEkEq9YPTC-hee1ENbTpbckwZXaHYGmoyOuPmbvruGncxmqDKKN74aEAYXlYASXYvMe9RTj71kncFLZ71y6BKkXJ2q7zP5eMXnWH1jq0VRAatx4rTV5oA/s3264/20140815_101045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMkJnv_64CKyhjqAN1iwx0zyyEkEq9YPTC-hee1ENbTpbckwZXaHYGmoyOuPmbvruGncxmqDKKN74aEAYXlYASXYvMe9RTj71kncFLZ71y6BKkXJ2q7zP5eMXnWH1jq0VRAatx4rTV5oA/s320/20140815_101045.jpg" /></a></div> A dove grey sky hangs<p></p><p>Muffled and soft overhead.</p><p>I need more coffee.<br /></p>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-67661632613065703902020-09-30T04:01:00.000-04:002020-09-30T04:01:52.372-04:00Plus ca change<div class="separator">'Adopt and Adapt':<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOvVjnXTIcXOo7nbt-4e6YXVDjssibVx2MzSXsog4kwFSsV5CD-FeA7CYht1dO5WFda9nWHkiQA7g1YZPFS-mZJ1LoYlkV20R-6KfRKjICNcPeTS-A72V6rMECqOXulrpN8vGjv0t70Y/s779/IMG_1825.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="779" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkOvVjnXTIcXOo7nbt-4e6YXVDjssibVx2MzSXsog4kwFSsV5CD-FeA7CYht1dO5WFda9nWHkiQA7g1YZPFS-mZJ1LoYlkV20R-6KfRKjICNcPeTS-A72V6rMECqOXulrpN8vGjv0t70Y/s320/IMG_1825.jpg" /></a></div></div><p>Such a timely reminder,</p><p>Living is Changing.</p>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-68719758525747705472020-09-26T04:40:00.002-04:002020-09-26T04:40:47.251-04:00Promise<p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqDc3hgYGk97HH_lwY7sfHh16vjUOBkZiGGl0Fvufn9fjemWqqt4ejx5T2v9Cf6o8hW9UOGXVfMZHfqptbt5pMowJAWyUraZEYwElOj5XHc7DrgvMOltu5yR_8_R8Dokv4J9G8HjIpyEs/s2048/5EFF1F3D-8209-46C1-86FF-D18D7BB40D2A.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqDc3hgYGk97HH_lwY7sfHh16vjUOBkZiGGl0Fvufn9fjemWqqt4ejx5T2v9Cf6o8hW9UOGXVfMZHfqptbt5pMowJAWyUraZEYwElOj5XHc7DrgvMOltu5yR_8_R8Dokv4J9G8HjIpyEs/s320/5EFF1F3D-8209-46C1-86FF-D18D7BB40D2A.heic" /></a>Tiny pink flowers </p><p>And a persistent gentle hum:</p><p>Promises for fall. </p><p><br /></p><p>The macadamia tree has just finished flowering. It scents the air with a sweet and pungent smell - lovely when it wafts through our windows in warm spring evenings, and sickly when we walk under the tree and catch the full musky-sweet force of the flowers. Shiny, spiky green leaves topped with tender new pink and pale green growth, and long tendrils of tiny flowers that the bees go absolutely mad for. You can hear them buzzing by the hundreds when you walk under the tree too, like the whole thing is a hive. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqDc3hgYGk97HH_lwY7sfHh16vjUOBkZiGGl0Fvufn9fjemWqqt4ejx5T2v9Cf6o8hW9UOGXVfMZHfqptbt5pMowJAWyUraZEYwElOj5XHc7DrgvMOltu5yR_8_R8Dokv4J9G8HjIpyEs/s2048/5EFF1F3D-8209-46C1-86FF-D18D7BB40D2A.heic" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-29119347908595930162020-09-04T01:02:00.000-04:002020-09-04T01:02:43.290-04:00Silly Birds of Spring<div class="separator">It's spring in Sydney! How can we tell? What changes? Honestly, not much to the untrained eye. Slightly warmer days on average, and slightly milder nights. The jasmine is in full bloom, making sensitive eyes water and noses tickle. And perhaps least noticeably, the birds are having offspring. </div><div class="separator"><br />I noticed the birds because of an experience in March, with a Masked Lapwing chick in an overflow grate and a very protective and distressed parent bird who was not pleased when I tried to lift the grate to scoop the baby bird out. Having rescued the chick from the grate at extreme personal risk, I felt committed to its well-being, and watched as the parents - both now - coaxed the walking chick down our street, across the road, and up the next street, on their way to a major intersection that they would need to navigate - on foot - to get into Sydney Park. I called WIRES for support - there was no way they'd get across safely - and a volunteer came and put the chick in a box and used it to lure the parents, flying, safely through the intersection and into the park. I can summarise this event in one quick paragraph, but in fact this was an entire afternoon of my life, watching the chick, helping it across one road, scooping up a neighbourhood cat, Saxon, and dropping him over the fence, and so on.</div><div class="separator"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg69jMsgWS5OVOHs9Z7FvIfd9Hh4YjYaa7UD62rr4kbg_mZh80eTSVbBsWuq0dWl8WMpwgc5lGbnG4AyNcfqbrIykbM8EGxPiViJEZNUjbuafu2U7vImUYRmBHbdgi27Bul8_VvIAduzko/w240-h320/A1D8F056-E5D1-4EA0-90F4-B1CC26B16101.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;" width="240" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Plover chicks! So cute and fluffy - and dumb as bricks<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>I was prepared, this year, when I heard the Lapwing parents back in the neighbourhood. They make a distinctive and not very pretty sound, like 'Ke-ke-ke-ke!' while circling overhead. They don't really build nests, but scratch together a little pile of twigs or something handy on flat ground - or flat roofs, which is why they are near our house. This particular pair nests on the flat roof of the apartment building next door. Silly birds! The chicks leave the nest as soon as they hatch, so they don't wait until they can fly. They just get up and start pecking around on the ground/roof. The problem for this family is that the chicks have to get to the ground - and it's a long drop of about 4 stories.</p><p>I was watching, knowing the chicks were going to be coming off the roof, and knowing that the parents were going to try to walk down the street with them again, and feeling the weight of this knowledge as a kind of responsibility. I had my eye on them. And then one day last week, I saw a little fuzzy head bobbing around in the eaves troughs of the apartments. It was The Day. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhed6SqwKs9gZ-i1iSOtr0WFwNURtkv3ZOrAn8_1KqQqMQVG61qHctG3cm_fRVEVX66EvscRLnZssKcaoMFgYkVcN9P9DG-Yxrj3RXo5pAWQGah7TTu-gz1VezLC5BG86eA7zUJTXCRVN4/s320/FB007AA5-2B40-42A8-A193-4F1E1A66EE86.heic" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Both chicks looking alert!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>A little later, Drew and I were going to get coffees, and I looked down the side of the building. There, crumpled on the ground, was a chick. I picked it up and as I did, it started breathing a bit, and slowly it came-to and tried lifting its head. I got a shoe box and put it inside. Then, I waited for the other chick. I wanted to try to catch it before it could hit the ground, but in the end, I was standing too far away. The parent was with the chick that had already come down off the roof, and was aggressively trying to keep me away from the shoe box. I saw the other chick fling itself off the roof, stumpy little wings and long legs stuck straight out, and smack fully into the concrete. Unbelievably, it also lived. I put it in the shoe box, and after a bit of faffing around and seeing if a WIRES volunteer could come to help me (they couldn't - overwhelmed with calls), I lured the parents with the chicks in the shoe box over to the grassy stretch of land beside at the end of the road, where the chicks could be safer. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="862" data-original-width="862" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6XuVbFmI3Wv6h5EQMwfhvKwhON8Ber-Fa0yaotTryTj6D2iIJpVLfMp38IR5bhLfnV-FgAQsem9Lb45kwBaPh2RdKr__NSIL7aQg7x9FP3762ApRaAfdmf_EEcdHDV5cTrZ90hBfUwc/s320/plover.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The parents are scary because they've got those spurs on their wings <br />and they're definitely ready to cut a b*tch.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p>I don't know how they're doing because of course they've moved on, but I hope the chicks are OK. One of them looked like it was doing better than the other, but with the parents there and all of them in a safe place away from cars and cats, I think I gave them a bit of a head start. Just every now and then I hear one of the parents yelling 'ke-ke-ke-ke!'</p><p>And the back yard is instead full of the sound of our resident Noisy Miners and their chicks. Miners also leave the nest really early, and learn to fly as they go along. The chicks are fluffy grey round things with pointy yellow beaks and very stubby tails - their tail and flight feathers haven't grown in yet. There are two chicks and two parents, and the chicks sit in trees (often the tree right outside my office window) and yell 'Tweet! Tweet! Tweet! Tweet! Tweet! Tweet!' all. dang. day. </p><p></p>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-42562433768676928802020-08-31T01:20:00.001-04:002020-08-31T01:21:30.377-04:00Air Traffic<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="328" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqwM22DluWnSVaHcV6WIPZszndem6kgGiqdkl0gV3eNzaGWEA-VY_YcxQBQHvANtNnsp4htmjUVGJrBUHk69FgxHaKeTb_Cswpi5GmdXwDWOos1wmeRTisjWyp9ZDRom7_0KE8DY5DAZY/w246-h328/3BAA7BE0-70B7-4766-AED3-FA237FF80C64.heic" width="246" /></div><br /><p style="text-align: left;">The sound of a plane overhead</p><p></p><p>Once so ordinary, now makes me look up.</p><p>Where are they going? Is there mail?</p>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-86263317774589982402020-08-16T04:07:00.001-04:002020-08-16T04:07:11.612-04:00MacKay Cracks Macs<div class="separator"><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We have a macadamia tree in our back yard. </span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1755" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWrmBWnt_W5v5EZgojBsBMjMzMVGou5HecmJX6XR5B3lg3xSGojRDWdJGuBb4In_zpcMvfX7GsyBbbnQso7ALPAWP2AVWubH6V9Qh1cCwYBOSzr66gxAhahyYRaHikvHKjkBy2DlShEJg/w273-h320/1072469E-231C-4A41-86EE-0E4948830D4A_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="273" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">White chocolate macadamia cookie<br />and vanilla ice cream sandwich<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We didn’t realize it was a macadamia tree until we bumped into the woman doing </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">renovations on the </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">house next door collecting some of the nuts and she told us what she was up to. We had seen another neighbour out collecting the nuts - which are big round hard things that come out of even bigger harder husks - but didn’t know what they were or why anyone would want to collect them. In our ignorance, we’d been using one of them as a replacement for</span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-align: center;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">the ball in a foosball table.</span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Now we know.</span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We were pretty late to the party, but the tree is very generous. There were still a good number of nuts on the ground in July, and I collected as many as I could find. They sat on the counter for weeks while I considered what to do with them, and how to get them open. </span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The woman who told me they were macadamias advised that she used a hammer to open them. Could I use a hammer? Upon what would I hammer them? And with what would I hold them while I hammered, so as not to pelt Drew and Marmalade with flying macadamia nuts?</span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGNm2lfQ05zsUXB7g06W4z8bipBQhjfQGOhYAQ3jqhDaZSTX9eHqLWfJEbOfAKQCMaP6aaQHD7Ed2awgJq-GgVsfcCz-RyXShJTwqpjB_cvtD84UIdbgeJH9OhznHkW6g9EfvATMl7vc/s2048/865BB1DF-5A49-462A-905F-26DF9B1C0B2C_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1761" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRGNm2lfQ05zsUXB7g06W4z8bipBQhjfQGOhYAQ3jqhDaZSTX9eHqLWfJEbOfAKQCMaP6aaQHD7Ed2awgJq-GgVsfcCz-RyXShJTwqpjB_cvtD84UIdbgeJH9OhznHkW6g9EfvATMl7vc/w275-h320/865BB1DF-5A49-462A-905F-26DF9B1C0B2C_1_201_a.jpeg" width="275" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Aussie Mac Cracker with one in the chamber</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>The solution was much more elegant: the Aussie Mac Cracker, a specially designed device for </span>cracking open macadamia nuts. </div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">To use it, you put a macadamia nut in the bottom where there's a little divot to help hold it in place, and then, grasping the body of the cracker firmly in one hand, you twist the screw down with the other hand until you hear the very loud snap of the nut popping open. I had to take a few more twists <span style="font-family: inherit;">to break the shell further because they're incredibly sturdy. </span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once the shells were cracked, though, things were easy. Most of the nuts were just sitting inside, softly rattling around in their half-brown half-cream interiors. </span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I managed to get an entire cup of macadamia nuts, which was enough to make a batch of white chocolate macadamia cookies. AKA The best cookies ever! </span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We used them to make ice cream sandwiches for our friends.</span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">so pumped about this discovery. Though my hands were hurting after the work of getting the nuts out of their shells (and I have a cut on my thumb from a shard of shell), I cannot wait for February/March, when the tree starts to drop nuts again. We will not miss out next season! I shall horde them all and bake dozens of cookies! </span></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxEOj_v54xkuquzR7IOW5Oel1QrcjqgzBx4Pe1EHzmB1U1f5Y1ZnPlBillbAi8dFtJUtrLAZKkAMP_CflsxyVUUBo93FjnLjLY05p5qEBKvjj9wsD75FJpQWSopvpd0tELzjFS4DccG-k/s2048/9599E2FD-DB4B-4851-90D6-342A7C648108_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1669" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxEOj_v54xkuquzR7IOW5Oel1QrcjqgzBx4Pe1EHzmB1U1f5Y1ZnPlBillbAi8dFtJUtrLAZKkAMP_CflsxyVUUBo93FjnLjLY05p5qEBKvjj9wsD75FJpQWSopvpd0tELzjFS4DccG-k/w326-h400/9599E2FD-DB4B-4851-90D6-342A7C648108_1_201_a.jpeg" width="326" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">The inside of a macadamia shell</span></td></tr></tbody></table>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-3862451446074670542020-08-16T03:08:00.001-04:002020-08-20T22:50:18.189-04:00The Swab<div class="separator"><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="text-align: left;"> </span><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz4MkcyoPOByEJnsIdFwJGPCQKXnK03UHHgDiCZFjuTiddFex3JtA9KT8-W5jJrZMt5YOXQQ_QjU9ahNCG0DWAV23M1z0Q3k8xNHxJceuGNELfZrC8Vocy5CWjGOYeglu5sHwIBNK1I9k/w240-h320/AAE495EF-8C8B-46B9-9FA0-A718922E686B.heic" width="240" /></div></div><div class="separator"><p style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span> </span></p></div><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">Finger-soft, slender,</p><p style="text-align: center;">Twirling up inside your nose,</p><p style="text-align: center;">Feels a bottle brush.</p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>On getting tested for COVID-19.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-8282635272872236332020-08-09T20:52:00.000-04:002020-08-09T20:52:20.374-04:00A Winter Day in Sydney<p> A wet and windy day,</p><p>Wind whistles through the door frame.</p><p>Where's the weather stripping?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9JqWpX271COHc7450medf9AT9zzI85wLiCPvD5QyfOTwdM8Rter0H2nKUpnc-vKLbm98nnS_L_9Ci2JLs4gwnw1589TEiw5S7FYPKbCis3CNjVwiQhfDif35vzjbHIGxOQpiHkfEe2vQ/s2048/110768C0-43CD-42D3-8120-D553A8488BDD.heic" imageanchor="1" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9JqWpX271COHc7450medf9AT9zzI85wLiCPvD5QyfOTwdM8Rter0H2nKUpnc-vKLbm98nnS_L_9Ci2JLs4gwnw1589TEiw5S7FYPKbCis3CNjVwiQhfDif35vzjbHIGxOQpiHkfEe2vQ/s640/110768C0-43CD-42D3-8120-D553A8488BDD.heic" /></a></div><p></p>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-2186893392787636082020-07-22T04:44:00.001-04:002020-07-22T05:12:57.305-04:00Kombucha: More Kitchen PetsRecently, I <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2020/07/sourdough-what-cool-kids-do.html" target="_blank">wrote about making sourdough</a> bread, and about our kitchen pet, Agatha the Levain. Not being content with only one inanimate pet, nor one on-going kitchen project, I decided sometime in March that I should probably start making my own kombucha.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6OJG-0cmcgzvnjnLCiHmtdKuBaO9F0rtnKfJFcudiuDiFKkwGKLz1gFqtOteKoGEihAbxwxS0GzcSO15QNM6aDLpqAGr2goKGkJcCg1M_6vxAqyDgCUEIIK_4BofIy_t9RWcBj49s9QM/s1600/721FAA41-0496-40D2-A5A3-AABBB2982EAE.heic" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6OJG-0cmcgzvnjnLCiHmtdKuBaO9F0rtnKfJFcudiuDiFKkwGKLz1gFqtOteKoGEihAbxwxS0GzcSO15QNM6aDLpqAGr2goKGkJcCg1M_6vxAqyDgCUEIIK_4BofIy_t9RWcBj49s9QM/s320/721FAA41-0496-40D2-A5A3-AABBB2982EAE.heic" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="2">First fermentation with berry pu'erh tea</font> </td></tr></tbody></table>
When I first moved to Sydney, I stayed with an artist named Sue for a month, while settling in and looking for an apartment. One day while doing laundry, I lifted the tea towel that seemed perpetually draped over a mysterious bowl, and, not knowing what the pale, snotty, slimy thing was that I found in that bowl, I quickly replaced the tea towel and pretended I never looked. A few days later, Sue brought the bowl out, and explained that she was making kombucha. I don't think I'd really had it before. Sue made hers with herbal teas and added it to soda water. I thought it was pretty good, so while stuck in the house and wondering about things to drink that were neither alcohol nor tap water, I thought about Sue and her kombucha.<br />
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So, one day, Sue dropped off a SCOBY in a jar for me to get started. SCOBY stands for symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast, and I called ours Scooby. Scooby and I have a lot in common: as long as it has enough sugar and caffeine, it is happy.<br />
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Kombucha is fermented tea, and it can be as sweet as you like, as fizzy as you like, and flavoured with whatever teas or fruit you like. Making kombucha is not hard, but it does put one on on a bit of a production schedule - much more than sourdough does. I follow the <a href="https://www.liveeatlearn.com/the-simple-guide-to-kickass-kombucha/" target="_blank">Simple Guide to Kickass Kombucha</a>, which is available in a printable PDF for easy reference, and it involves double fermentation to get really nice fizzy kombucha to one's own sweetness preference. The first fermentation takes about 6 days, and the second fermentation takes 4-5 days, and once you pour the first fermentation tea into bottles for the second fermentation, you're already starting your next 6 day first fermentation cycle.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-IHuWORzSEjBC5K6hg7_ss9uaa1GKUgESMmxIFVQ_whCkzsYIJZ0xda0Gwsd5xtfDB3O50WOKpzQV6CTn9fySn2lObIo9d_TyQj9PSfZLZQJDpDf8cnGf6shOPxlyPxFVuEMSsdfXaU/s1600/716ED04E-E2D1-487A-AF24-5B6AE90B9B40.heic" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-IHuWORzSEjBC5K6hg7_ss9uaa1GKUgESMmxIFVQ_whCkzsYIJZ0xda0Gwsd5xtfDB3O50WOKpzQV6CTn9fySn2lObIo9d_TyQj9PSfZLZQJDpDf8cnGf6shOPxlyPxFVuEMSsdfXaU/s320/716ED04E-E2D1-487A-AF24-5B6AE90B9B40.heic" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="2">Berry pu'erh tea in second fermentation</font></td></tr></tbody></table>
Thus, you are making two bottles of kombucha at a time, and you better get on drinking them, because every two bottles have another two bottles hot on their heels. I bought three pop-top bottles so that there's one-bottle lee-way, but it's good to have another back-up bottle as well for times when I forget to drink it.<br />
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I like to use a combination of standard black tea and rooibos tea (I've never liked drinking rooibos tea on its own, and had accumulated some boxes of it that I didn't want to throw out - turns out this was the perfect use for it). I have used honey and maple sugar to start the second fermentation, but I have found it really nice to use fruit. I prefer the kombucha to be a little sweet and very fizzy, so I am generous if adding honey, but find that I get the best fizz by using sweet fruit (and really don't need to add honey at all).<br />
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Some really good combinations that we've found so far include:<br />
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For a black & rooibos tea:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Passionfruit - these were just in season, and so good</li>
<li>Smashed apple, cinnamon & ginger - this one tasted like apple pie</li>
<li>Blood orange & ginger</li>
</ul>
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For a berry pu'erh tea:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Mango - tinned mango works incredibly well</li>
<li>Honey & ginger</li>
</ul>
<div>
I've tried using green teas or a mix of green and black, but I'm not a huge fan of the taste of the final product. However, everyone has different preferences, and I possibly haven't found the right second-fermentation fruit/sweetener combo to for the greens. Happy to accept suggestions if you have any!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-56964810795162916012020-07-12T23:38:00.004-04:002020-07-22T05:09:01.802-04:00Sourdough - What the Cool Kids Do<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMP0C8narNdyyqFn0Uv8urZ2lPFFt_qxBeJgYp62jYtIRpcLs39y8KFkgQrdAtml6yJXa8laZVQ6afWAJTYEK11fS0_9oAN8VX6o9vzlf2zTf01pL-0GJ9AhzqhRd8jrXRfROoKAgTIEA/s2048/CE26F390-5361-4763-BC41-C59E29167C26.heic" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMP0C8narNdyyqFn0Uv8urZ2lPFFt_qxBeJgYp62jYtIRpcLs39y8KFkgQrdAtml6yJXa8laZVQ6afWAJTYEK11fS0_9oAN8VX6o9vzlf2zTf01pL-0GJ9AhzqhRd8jrXRfROoKAgTIEA/s320/CE26F390-5361-4763-BC41-C59E29167C26.heic" /></a></div>Sourdough bread is the Hot New Thing of 2020. When the COVID-19 pandemic began in earnest (and was termed a pandemic), sometime around the end of February, it seemed like everyone everywhere went into lockdown overnight. Of course, it was much more patchy and gradual than that - every country and even some regions within countries has handled COVID differently, placing people under greater or fewer restrictions for more or less amounts of time. <div><br /></div><div>In Sydney, it was mid-March when the university I work at sent all units online and most employees to work from home. Around the same time, businesses across the country (and across Canada and Britain, too) were shuttering, hopefully temporarily. Everyone who *could* work from home was asked to, and only 'essential services' were to remain open - essential workers only on transit, etc. Suddenly, loads of people had loads of time on their hands, and most people were spending every day inside their houses. </div><div><br /></div><div>The first thing that happened was that every grocery store ran out of toilet paper. The second thing that happened is that every grocery store ran out of flour. Home baking was The Thing To Do, and sourdough bread was The Thing To Bake. </div><div><br /></div><div>I started baking sourdough in January, when my friend gave me a bit of her own yeast mother. She's had the mother since 2015, which is awesome. It's a real Sydney salty air levain. We called ours, the daughter and our first inanimate but very much alive pet, Agatha. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was super hot in January, so slightly hilarious timing to start baking sourdough, but on days that were only in the high 20's, I'd fire up the oven. I was deeply annoyed when everywhere ran out of flour. What were people doing hoarding flour (and other food! Flour was not the only thing to fly off the shelves at unreasonable rates. Interesting to see the true selfish nature of our society). I don't remember when flour finally became a normal feature of shelves again - for a while, I was buying flour at the spice market down the street from us, which always had a tinge of the distinctive health-food store smell to it. Anyway, I had started my sourdough attempts before it became cool, and it was irritating that suddenly everyone had decided to become a home baker. I wonder how many people have kept it up?</div><div><br /></div><div>If you're interested in taking on the challenge, here are the deets:</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="border-bottom: 1pt dotted rgb(147, 83, 9); border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top: 1pt dotted rgb(147, 83, 9); padding: 1pt 0cm 6pt;"><p class="MsoTitle" style="text-align: center;"><font color="#f57c00">SOURDOUGH BREAD</font><o:p></o:p></p></div><div style="border-bottom: 3pt double rgb(220, 125, 14); border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; padding: 0cm 0cm 1pt;"><h2 style="line-height: 19.6px; text-align: center;"><font color="#f57c00" face="georgia">FEEDING YOUR STARTER</font></h2></div></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>If your sourdough starter (mother, levain) has been dormant in the fridge, take it out (morning) and bring it to room temperature before feeding</li><ul><li>The starter will last for ages in the fridge, as long as you feed it every two months or so between uses</li></ul><li>To feed your starter (night-time, two days before you want to bake bread), remove half and replace with equal parts unbleached white flour and warm water(about 100g of flour and 120mL of water)</li><ul><li>Cover with a few layers of cheesecloth secured with an elastic band, and leave the jar lid open</li></ul></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>When your starter is happy and fed, and ready to bake with, it should look like this:</li></ul><div><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 72pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><span style="font-size: small; text-indent: -18pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5S2tr_ZH8MLasTuV5AVu5Wlc4z9ZnfpbMUixbdf1DBt1rVPT4wcVqG2PGjM_CfildQ4PSwWj1TLWxmNNi-qDJcgQqhtXFMtpWN9EYnOPBxSn3SjVcjRH_SGkBxIHhMq9jo2HWZZ0AsD8/s2048/0282CEAC-81DA-4CDA-8720-06BF50718083.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5S2tr_ZH8MLasTuV5AVu5Wlc4z9ZnfpbMUixbdf1DBt1rVPT4wcVqG2PGjM_CfildQ4PSwWj1TLWxmNNi-qDJcgQqhtXFMtpWN9EYnOPBxSn3SjVcjRH_SGkBxIHhMq9jo2HWZZ0AsD8/w240-h320/0282CEAC-81DA-4CDA-8720-06BF50718083.heic" title="A happy Agatha ready to bake" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0UgliS4j2HqpD9WAaQeiKzrmsxkr7TjVjSNGqdlqIVC3amO60Kh8APwmC4VYqhFbkZjfaSxf128_buT5bc4k_dUgmeZ5gMulRicV14g5aWYeMPhnG0Fa5hiAoKYuqOM7Od_uzvL_Az4/s2048/56D1E298-5F6C-49E2-B370-A61FA166BEB0.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj0UgliS4j2HqpD9WAaQeiKzrmsxkr7TjVjSNGqdlqIVC3amO60Kh8APwmC4VYqhFbkZjfaSxf128_buT5bc4k_dUgmeZ5gMulRicV14g5aWYeMPhnG0Fa5hiAoKYuqOM7Od_uzvL_Az4/s320/56D1E298-5F6C-49E2-B370-A61FA166BEB0.heic" /></a><span> </span></span></p></div><div><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin-left: 72pt; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l1 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><br /></p><div style="border-bottom: 3pt double rgb(220, 125, 14); border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; padding: 0cm 0cm 1pt;"><h2 style="line-height: 19.6px; text-align: center;"><font color="#f57c00" face="georgia">NOTES AND TIPS</font></h2><h1 style="line-height: 19.6px;"><o:p></o:p></h1></div></div><br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Your starter should look bubbly and have a faintly sour (but nice) smell when it’s active and ready to use </li><li>To test if it’s ready to bake with, take a small spoonful and drop into a glass of warm water. If it floats, it’s ready to go. If it sinks, you should wait longer, or feed it again (especially if it has been dormant) </li><li>The starter likes a warm-ish spot in the kitchen, and it’s good to leave air circulating if it’s at room temperature; in the fridge, it should be in an airtight container</li></ul><br /><div><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l1 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p></p><div style="border-bottom: 3pt double rgb(220, 125, 14); border-left-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-top-style: none; padding: 0cm 0cm 1pt;"><h2 style="line-height: 19.6px; text-align: center;"><font color="#f57c00"><font face="georgia">BAKING BREAD</font> </font></h2><h1 style="line-height: 19.6px;"><o:p></o:p></h1></div><div><br /></div>Tips: For timing purposes, I like to mix the dough before bed, to rise overnight, and bake around noon the next day. Use a kitchen scale, if possible. Let the baked bread cool for at least 1 hour before slicing it. </div><div><br /></div><div>For <b>1 round</b> (or 2 round) loaves:<br /><ol><li>Disperse <b>200g </b>of starter in <b>300mL</b> (or 600mL) of warm water<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/#" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisGbY1K1iXvFdy7N0PpnIFpIP_sjkrEMGPbTdRpxGZTzi1aA27eK0Sj6BeZdQD43eJzL7_04VZDashPHEfiKdMG6X3iMMlxwbIS6mVCvWJL5qVoPL4RonydwsZqUOy5NdyhlOSrH_OMZ8/s320/E7CCBBD9-8CA7-44F1-A2F7-DFA2E7F8D1EC.heic" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="2"><span style="text-align: left;">You can cut leaves or hearts - </span><br style="text-align: left;" /><span style="text-align: left;">or just straight lines<br /><br /></span></font></td></tr></tbody></table></li><li>Add <b>500g </b>(or 1kg) of flour and <b>10g</b> (or 20g) of salt, and mix with your hands until there’s no dry flour.</li><li>Shape the dough into a ball, but don’t knead it, and cover with a damp tea towel to rise overnight (or 8-10 hours)</li><li> In the morning, scoop out the dough onto a floured surface and gently knead, by taking one edge of the dough and stretching it upwards, then folding under the rest of the ball. Do this on all sides, stretching and folding (if making 2 loaves, divide the dough first).</li><li>Form the dough into rounds on your worktop, coat with flour and cover with a tea towel. Let it rest again for 3-4 hours.</li><li>Preheat your oven to 260C (500F) and warm a cast-iron Dutch oven with lid</li><li>Slice the top of your (first) dough ball along the top with a serrated knife, and drop into the heated Dutch oven (you can put cornmeal on the bottom of the pot if you like)</li><li>Place the pot in the oven, reduce to 230C (450F) and bake with the lid on for 25 minutes</li><li> Remove the lid and bake for another 20-25 minutes</li></ol>After a couple of imperfect attempts, I've now got it down pat. I've got a loaf in the oven as I type this, even. I find that the ambient temperature makes a big difference to how the dough feels (sometimes stiffer, sometimes stickier) but that the bread is reliably good as long as I let it rise enough. <br /><br />Similarly, Agatha prefers warmer temps, but if she's looking sluggish (the yeast isn't not floating as much as normal when added to the water) I can help the rising process along by adding a teaspoon of sugar with the flour and salt, and it doesn't impact the taste. <br /><br />You may need to experiment with what works for your starter and your oven. If you can get a starter from a friend, I recommend it. You can also grow your own (though it may take a few attempts) and there are loads of instructions if you Google! </div><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 15.4px;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo2; text-indent: -18pt;"><!--[if !supportLists]--></p></div>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-32216197485770627652020-07-07T03:48:00.002-04:002020-07-07T04:18:24.548-04:00Only Connect: the Prose and the PassionTen years ago, I started this blog. <div><br /></div><div>For two weeks or so, I've had a song stuck in my head and I don't know what it is. I remembered that I had linked a video to it on this blog for a Valentine's day post, and after failed attempts to find the song by googling 'I love you song' - which predictably yielded poor results - I figured I'd see if it was still on here. For me, at least, the video is no longer available (can anyone else see it?). I still don't know what it is.**</div><div><br /></div><div>I was amazed, though, to see how long ago I wrote <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2010/02/love-day.html" target="_blank">that post</a> - it was my 6th ever post, in February 2010. And, in the process of trying to find the post, I saw so many things that I forgot I'd written, and so many things that reminded me of my former hopes and experiences, and past lives. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have written funny stories about <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2012/01/skills-pet-barfing-sound-recognition.html" target="_blank">pets</a>, <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2015/06/falling-down-hill-in-edinburgh.html" target="_blank">falling down hills</a> and <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2016/10/that-sinking-feeling.html" target="_blank">falling in canals</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've written my goals and ambitions, and <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2016/01/here-lies-kate-she-got-what-she-asked.html" target="_blank">reflections on achieving them</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've written loads of haikus, <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2011/01/small-stones-of-winter-weather.html">small stones</a>, and small daily observations.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've written about health, <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2010/08/having-body-that-heals.html" target="_blank">healing</a>, and generally trying to stay positive.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've written about big <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2014/09/life-changes.html" target="_blank">life changes</a>, the <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2014/05/wedding-season.html" target="_blank">happy </a>and the <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2014/10/goodbye-to-good-friend.html" target="_blank">sad ones</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>And, of course, fashion, <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2012/01/biking-in-snow.html" target="_blank">cycling</a>, and <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2016/10/road-tripping-in-scotland.html" target="_blank">travel</a>!</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6BDL63MlQDBYz01WEe4c-avLFWLQqMi04NPlxLRd66Z8GfhIOQFwSp_VX3qLxr0570m6OItTczlMBt6gFtDKwCBcInVqNpCuPvv2IF_mnM6aLhyphenhypheneUjLNtorpiNxpbT2WurdTSv3M6BM8/s4032/IMG_1423.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6BDL63MlQDBYz01WEe4c-avLFWLQqMi04NPlxLRd66Z8GfhIOQFwSp_VX3qLxr0570m6OItTczlMBt6gFtDKwCBcInVqNpCuPvv2IF_mnM6aLhyphenhypheneUjLNtorpiNxpbT2WurdTSv3M6BM8/w400-h300/IMG_1423.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Many of the things I wrote about over these 10 years (or 6 if we count the really active ones) are things I still think about, a lot. The post <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2016/08/abyss-in-august.html" target="_blank">Abyss in August</a> from 2016, about philosophy's ability to make me feel like nothing matters, could have been written two weeks ago. Or my post about '<a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2015/01/unproductive-january.html" target="_blank">Unproductive January</a>' - that could have been written word-for-word in April and May, when CoVid-19 stole all motivation from me. It turns out that writing-focussed angst is a common (constant?) feature of my life. As is my battle with <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2011/08/internet-is-killing-my-brain.html" target="_blank">internet-related</a> distractions. It was quite amusing to read my October 2010 post about <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2010/10/staying-calm-while-reading-news.html" target="_blank">keeping calm when reading the news</a> - I'm so glad my past self did not know what 2019-2020 had in store! Good lord! Who could have kept going if we knew what lay head?</div><div><br /></div><div>This month in particular was an interesting time to stumble back to my blog. In addition to being ten years since starting the blog, this week marks my one-year anniversary of moving to Sydney, Australia, for a new job at Sydney Health Ethics. Drew and <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2014/11/adopting-animals-test-of-zen.html" target="_blank">Lady Marmalade</a> arrived at the beginning of August last year (dear <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2015/06/its-monday.html" target="_blank">Sir Barnabas Meow-Meow</a> died from heart failure in 2017). As an aside, it's amazing to me that I didn't write about our kitties more. They're such a big, comforting, joyful part of our lives! Perhaps it's because I post pictures of them on the socials instead, or because they don't seem interesting to other people.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was curious to re-read my <a href="http://agathos-nex.blogspot.com/2016/02/thoughts-on-australia.html" target="_blank">thoughts on Australia</a> from our first visit here in 2016, and find them to be very accurate - including my comments about the cycling infrastructure in Sydney, and how expensive food is. Fortunately, Australia has stepped into the 21st century making same-sex marriage legal in 2017, and abortion is now legal in every state (as of October 2019, when New South Wales was struck by common sense). AUS is still a right-leaning and very white country. But, unlike then, I live here now, and I have seen many kangaroos (still no koalas). </div><div><br /></div><div>Rediscovering my blog has made me reflect on some things. I really liked reading the old posts. I started keeping a journal again in January 2019, in which I jot down a few reflections about my day, every day. I think I might try to get up the energy and creativity to write the odd blog post, as well. I have lately been reflecting on creativity, and my sense that I am losing/have lost it. I began drawing again in an effort to notice again, and maybe I'll try writing small stones again for the same reason. I used to be constantly on the look out for interesting or beautiful things. Small stones are a good way of being creative and writing, of using words in new and fun ways. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think because my life in Toronto felt very comfortable and in some ways routine, I had space in my head to look for and appreciate small differences. Since leaving Toronto, life has been less comfortable and in some ways less routine. Discomfort means change, and change is good but hard. Change takes up a lot of energy, even when it's good. So maybe at last I'm settling in again, with Drew and Lady Marmalade in a new place, and finding the time to look around again with curious, attentive, and creative eyes.</div><div><br /></div><div>**Update: the song is The Colour of the Fire, by Boards of Canada!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-9257491524702146902018-09-26T04:53:00.000-04:002018-09-26T04:53:29.308-04:00Superesse AcademiaResilience is key. I see the work taking its toll on friends and mentors. Patience with yourself, and the ability to say no to things - but crucially, to step away from the constant crush of pressure to do more, get a promotion, secure the next step in one's academic career.<br />
<br />
Promote promote promote. Sell sell sell.<br />
<br />
Patience is key. Everything doesn't have to be done now, even though it often feels that way. Like surfers bobbing in the waves, we're afraid that we might miss the next big chance. It could be for funding, or for a publication, or for a job - everything now. Clever acronyms.<br />
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But softly, softly. Be slow.<br />
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You don't have to be the best, only good and kind.Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-20604996768520542472018-09-26T04:47:00.001-04:002018-09-26T04:57:23.956-04:00I Haven't Told You AboutLancaster<br />
<br />
My first academic job<br />
<br />
A challenging but rewarding year of teaching<br />
<br />
Moving Marmalade to the UK<br />
<br />
Me and Drew getting married in my Mum's backyard<br />
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My sister's two boys, who I adore<br />
<br />
Drew starting his MBA<br />
<br />
My coming interview for a permanent post<br />
<br />
And the trials and tribulations of the job search<br />
<br />
everything...<br />
<br />
My fears about academic careers<br />
<br />
Namely, that I'm not good at this job<br />
<br />
(but you're doing it)<br />
<br />
That I am worried that I don't know how to write anymore<br />
<br />
That I haven't done anything creative for a long while<br />
<br />
And, I think that might be killing me a little<br />
<br />
That I worry a lot about my work not being good enough<br />
<br />
(for what? for whom?)<br />
<br />
That I feel a lot of pressure to write a book about something<br />
<br />
(from where?)<br />
<br />
That sometimes I wonder if I'll run out of ideas<br />
<br />
And sometimes it feels like I've forgotten how to do this work<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-26092170606902016972016-10-23T14:17:00.000-04:002016-10-23T14:41:39.789-04:00Road Tripping in Scotland<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKajFmp_s1IJLV2ijCcr3-1jmssKrtcI3hRoL9RjiQQew7h5-wr2NIA-BTB0ptrOn3AVmr-E4FsJc6n81gp5Gv_AxJ5OqWY2nVRr9KwvniPL1vpmNQSJQxwS-DGGA7TYzDyqJ0nho9ok/s1600/IMG_5871.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFKajFmp_s1IJLV2ijCcr3-1jmssKrtcI3hRoL9RjiQQew7h5-wr2NIA-BTB0ptrOn3AVmr-E4FsJc6n81gp5Gv_AxJ5OqWY2nVRr9KwvniPL1vpmNQSJQxwS-DGGA7TYzDyqJ0nho9ok/s400/IMG_5871.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
For Drew's 30th birthday, I had a glorious plan. It involved Drew coming over to Birmingham, and the two of us travelling to the northern tip of Scotland for the summer solstice, when there would hardly be any night, to eat at <a href="http://www.captainsgalley.co.uk/" target="_blank">one of Britain's best and most sustainable restaurants.</a><br />
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This plan didn't exactly work out as I had hoped. Drew was working a contract position that didn't include paid vacation, and I ended up teaching a course at the university that would have made this trip difficult. Thus, we put it off to when Drew's contract would be up and I had a quieter period. This coincided with the month that I believe to be the very best in which to visit Scotland: October.<br />
<br />
Two weeks past saw us taking an early train from Birmingham to Edinburgh, where we rendezvoused with what would provide our transportation and our lodging for the next five days: Roseisle Campervan Hire's <a href="http://www.roseislemotorhomehire.com/campervan/adria-twin" target="_blank">Fiat Westfalia</a> luxury van. I am totally in love with this vehicle. You will see why as you read.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5G4geEM47rJicYQwVaZd97tERKXdTS8-aBghMKjXf_BaEK2vuavBxWdFRhD25iMdMSl8RsuVTbRovum1DgdCR-b7RVgNT1rgxqPVHrwKT2oTuhl8pDvEX7ybmqXIoaZ3DjnvWO5FtxA/s1600/IMG_0133.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5G4geEM47rJicYQwVaZd97tERKXdTS8-aBghMKjXf_BaEK2vuavBxWdFRhD25iMdMSl8RsuVTbRovum1DgdCR-b7RVgNT1rgxqPVHrwKT2oTuhl8pDvEX7ybmqXIoaZ3DjnvWO5FtxA/s320/IMG_0133.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the middle of Cairngorms National Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
This first day was ambitious. After the train and getting the van, we hit the road to the Cairngorms right away. It was a Friday, and I wanted to get us to Thurso, to<a href="http://www.captainsgalley.co.uk/" target="_blank"> the Captain's Galley Restaurant</a>, for Saturday night's supper. Distances in Scotland are not that far - Google will tell you that it's only around 5 hours' driving from Edinburgh to Thurso, which is like the drive from Toronto to Ottawa: done in a morning with one Timmies stop and not a big deal. Except that it's not at all like the drive from Toronto to Ottawa. The roads are narrow and winding, and maybe if you're in a small, responsive vehicle and very determined you could get close to the 5 hour mark. In a camper van, even if you took the most direct route, the trip takes closer to 8 hours, partly because you must drive slower in some places, and partly because you're on vacation and can't help but stop yourself along the highway to gawk at the breathtaking vistas. Drew and I said 'beautiful' so many times that we had to laugh at ourselves.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5HGN15EAQqsuwd62M7PnatUw6e9TsJo5cOUL5zz4IYCpCfRiIvfOZd5pv_SgiDUm6y4t53uchli2N1H6uhgyAbcba2NUPfQN0vpqs2ipZrBCt_C5JOaIc4vs0NwpA8RGpRaO911EPt1o/s1600/IMG_0093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5HGN15EAQqsuwd62M7PnatUw6e9TsJo5cOUL5zz4IYCpCfRiIvfOZd5pv_SgiDUm6y4t53uchli2N1H6uhgyAbcba2NUPfQN0vpqs2ipZrBCt_C5JOaIc4vs0NwpA8RGpRaO911EPt1o/s320/IMG_0093.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hands at 9 and 3</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, getting us to the Cairngorms from Edinburgh, just a little shy of a 3 hour drive, by nightfall seemed like a reasonable goal. And yet, I had only driven so large a vehicle once before, when we took a Uhaul from Montreal to Toronto, but that was on the right-hand side of the road on nice wide highways with plenty of visual space around them. In this case, I was driving on the left-hand side, something I had also only done once before, and I wasn't sure how the van would handle, how heavy it was and how quickly it could stop, or exactly where my mirrors were. Thus, I white-knuckled the van up the highway, and then onto ever smaller, narrower, more windy roads, never letting my eyes stray from the two lines marking my lane. It took us about an hour longer than Google said - partly my fault, but also partly attributable to the fact that it's not possible to take a large camper van up and down switchback roads at 60mph.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibxraeX1eh5xBSxAq5pSs5qFM81wnOIyp1jSJIP_jhYGJmoWHw6_OrqaRog8fk78uMUDDTV-emy1BG-OeZuLFQdRcyOR4izUdGyuV0qt7qJRcZ_DcpD1GiF4x5bPTYxVxY6rgtg5L8xDc/s1600/IMG_0122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibxraeX1eh5xBSxAq5pSs5qFM81wnOIyp1jSJIP_jhYGJmoWHw6_OrqaRog8fk78uMUDDTV-emy1BG-OeZuLFQdRcyOR4izUdGyuV0qt7qJRcZ_DcpD1GiF4x5bPTYxVxY6rgtg5L8xDc/s200/IMG_0122.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drew chefs it up in the van!</td></tr>
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That night I was exhausted, and it was pitch black, and there was nothing to do but eat some delicious food, drink some wine, listen to tunes, and snuggle into bed. The van (glorious vehicle) was equipped with two propane cylinders, an auxiliary battery for the cabin that was charged by the motor, and the separate motor battery so that you never drained that key power source. We stopped near Balmoral in a fairly sheltered pull-off near the road - since it's legal to 'wild camp' (camp outside of a campground) in Scotland, there are plenty of these pull-off areas all over the place, and especially in park reserves. We turned on the propane, got the heat going, and Drew cooked up a feast. The cabin of the van is heated (there's a thermostat), there's a two-burner stove and a fridge, and there is also hot water and a flushable toilet, so we had hot showers and hot meals, and got right cozy in there. With all of the van's blinds shut we were invisible from the road. In fact, that evening I stepped out of the van to see whether anyone could see it, and I felt like I had a blindfold on. The night was overcast, and there was no light coming from anywhere. I couldn't see a thing! I got back in and hit the lock button on the van's dash, and it was actually like being in a little bunker. It was so dark that night in the Cairngorms, and so cozy and safe in the van, that we fell asleep super early and had amazing sleeps.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhspFMzneOAOW1MJuow3-cfTiimQhIoEMTMiml2jEUp0g5GzzDjj0Xybm8kPa6nxB9vWSmG1McK9J8EJYpkzptgQzy1UgcXHTyIEvJMTdotOutwxArR3vMrt40y4iquaIFyCFX2Norg6sM/s1600/IMG_0143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhspFMzneOAOW1MJuow3-cfTiimQhIoEMTMiml2jEUp0g5GzzDjj0Xybm8kPa6nxB9vWSmG1McK9J8EJYpkzptgQzy1UgcXHTyIEvJMTdotOutwxArR3vMrt40y4iquaIFyCFX2Norg6sM/s320/IMG_0143.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking over Berriedale's hairpin curve - <br />
probably good fun in a small car</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The next day, we woke to a beautiful clear blue sky. The day's task was to get to Thurso, but not to do it at the expense of seeing the gorgeousness of Scotland. We tootled our way through the rest of the park, stopping at a little tea house to poke around and spend money, and then headed up past Inverness. Drew had found a classical radio station, and the dramatic music perfectly matched the landscape. It was perfect for me, too, because I didn't have to divide my attention between lyrics and driving. Like a new driver, I felt my attention entirely swallowed by the task of keeping us on the road. It wasn't until Sunday, day 3, that I felt I could relax and look around a little bit (to my credit, we put not a scratch on that van).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrUUYqjFYUxYMR9AyY_QY04BBPCloXxtBW23nG_Aa-bxO_Rpa9G6OyGNI1Uv-V3yuAlgfDB5VQX8cOJgB78IDMoc4t8hyphenhyphenxVvjzVd6njsWLf9U06GzGZ9C_gYC03xbxXTaOu4gEv22F7OM/s1600/IMG_5722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrUUYqjFYUxYMR9AyY_QY04BBPCloXxtBW23nG_Aa-bxO_Rpa9G6OyGNI1Uv-V3yuAlgfDB5VQX8cOJgB78IDMoc4t8hyphenhyphenxVvjzVd6njsWLf9U06GzGZ9C_gYC03xbxXTaOu4gEv22F7OM/s320/IMG_5722.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drew cheffing again! Lunchtime.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We stopped at Dornoch Firth to make some lunch in the van, and then swooped up along the coast. The landscape was ever-changing, from the Lunar landscape of Cairngorm park, to the rolling hills around Inverness, to the distant Caithness mountains and falling cliffs into the sea.<br />
<br />
The day was perfect. We arrived well before our supper reservation, and walked around Thurso, admiring the view of the North Sea and the Orkney Islands in the distance.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0NRt8n59fVDfThF3pcOR3U1Yt53F9YYysu0jmNmiogEJWH3H_oYgRN8crBTyj3d4oOcWlALDO4jwz0OD-fHIpXrU4vGUDK3cC0xk8q2r2CkAy9klScgEFO5EanPFsSlDrDdvfaEH44c/s1600/IMG_5736.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0NRt8n59fVDfThF3pcOR3U1Yt53F9YYysu0jmNmiogEJWH3H_oYgRN8crBTyj3d4oOcWlALDO4jwz0OD-fHIpXrU4vGUDK3cC0xk8q2r2CkAy9klScgEFO5EanPFsSlDrDdvfaEH44c/s200/IMG_5736.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drew enjoys a meal he<br />
did not have to cook</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our meal that night was outrageously good. I had been to the Captain's Galley ten years previous, to help paint it, in fact. I was friends with the son of the owners, Jim and Mary, and we got to work one weekend giving the bothy a sprucing. Jim and Mary remembered me, and we had a good blether before sitting down to eat. Drew and I both decided to get the set menu paired with wine. The Captain's Galley has won Sustainable Restaurant of the Year for the past years running in part because Jim buys sustainably caught fish fresh off the boats in Scrabster Harbour, so you get what's being caught when you go to eat there. Sample menus are available on their website, but one must be prepared to go with the catch of the day! Mary expertly pairs Jim's dishes with their selection of excellent wines, from appetizers to dessert. The meal was speckled with amuse-bouches as well, which were fun and refreshing. To top it off, Drew and I got to meet Jim and Mary's new doggie, Beau, before walking back to our van in Thurso. This restaurant was entirely worth every moment of the drive to get there, and the drive was so wonderful in itself that it would have been worth doing anyway. People! Dear readers! You must go.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEylg1GPYeebCLdzrv7qpaGPBDYoYOhqVlkeXNfSCS3_AeshUAExZerhgPg1YRx7fgkD36ghyq8tpIknpIMxAYfF0HRMr7lYwzIG_mFSQdjZfzdozC1IzZzhrJcZX0agiEh8-aXEtUs78/s1600/IMG_0145.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEylg1GPYeebCLdzrv7qpaGPBDYoYOhqVlkeXNfSCS3_AeshUAExZerhgPg1YRx7fgkD36ghyq8tpIknpIMxAYfF0HRMr7lYwzIG_mFSQdjZfzdozC1IzZzhrJcZX0agiEh8-aXEtUs78/s320/IMG_0145.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking across the highlands near Thurso</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our next goal was to be in Falkirk by 18:30 on Monday, and so Sunday we found ourselves with an entire day to do whatever we wanted. I was at the wheel, and judged that we could probably go and check out Loch Ness, and then make our way back into Cairngorms, thereby giving ourselves Monday morning to taste Speyside scotch whiskey and still be in Falkirk for dinner. We took our time, indulging every urge to stop for photos or tea. I was aiming for Drumnadrochit - a little town on the side of Loch Ness, which has a Nessie shop and a little lunch spot. The GPS was aiming to get us there by the most direct route, and we forgot to tell it that we were in a large van. Thus, we approached Drumnadrochit overland, directly from the north, rather than scooting along the loch. I wasn't sure at moments whether we were going to manage it - we were muscling up and falling down the rolling hills that finally give way to the big drop into the loch. The van, however, was prepared for this kind of scenario; it is equipped not only with an optionally manual transmission, but also with engine braking. With the press of a button, the van was helping me to guide it safely down the twisting side of a steep hill in second gear.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ0UdVkJpe3ekEmAYRKomavRb8pVK2-as5ktLyENG1c0e4ztoIk4zGA8A2ffBa0IQCrK0zxWVdla4Je8jKj-pR931DzuxlYv_swA1FcZNypr8j1kX9R2csBdOt6a1nCobNatSM1g7VZBg/s1600/IMG_0166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ0UdVkJpe3ekEmAYRKomavRb8pVK2-as5ktLyENG1c0e4ztoIk4zGA8A2ffBa0IQCrK0zxWVdla4Je8jKj-pR931DzuxlYv_swA1FcZNypr8j1kX9R2csBdOt6a1nCobNatSM1g7VZBg/s320/IMG_0166.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Urquhart Castle and Loch Ness</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We made it to the loch in time for lunch and a wander up the road to Urquhart Castle. The sky was bright blue, the loch a deep and glossy black. Nessie-searching boats skimmed across the surface. It couldn't have been more gorgeous. From there, back into the wild Cairngorms, with a stop in Cawdor to see Macbeth's castle and enjoy a pint. That night was perfectly clear and perfectly dark. Every object in the sky revealed itself to us, and we could see the heart of the Milky Way with its black dust clouds and highway of stars. In the midst of this, I was extremely sad to be heading back south. I love northern places, and the Highlands especially - the ruggedness, the space. It makes my heart sing and my life feel appropriately small, giving a kind of freedom from importance.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPINszr0nxVaHpVqTzx71bi2wk2HyN33kCQvDHLC9RcTviugc0nyi0SIQ7_QofYqzM5bsdApgkbMeA2PL4xllaMbVjBjYa7POSHo3VBe5_AcHf04L7EUR2NnqTdy3HIalA-lVN-U4iM5o/s1600/IMG_5760.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPINszr0nxVaHpVqTzx71bi2wk2HyN33kCQvDHLC9RcTviugc0nyi0SIQ7_QofYqzM5bsdApgkbMeA2PL4xllaMbVjBjYa7POSHo3VBe5_AcHf04L7EUR2NnqTdy3HIalA-lVN-U4iM5o/s320/IMG_5760.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes there is traffic</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguwQ4jImrmyc7fU2XB4-1h7B5IS9XN_LpHi72Hjw5kkER_l5jQxMTvwM-1E0j6ab1fj0pip-9NE4OGErJ6I4MMuOou975JjB0ZsA9jSMN48XmszfqfNQfdtJitfa93qZ6uYtn7sgVpTJA/s1600/IMG_5758.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguwQ4jImrmyc7fU2XB4-1h7B5IS9XN_LpHi72Hjw5kkER_l5jQxMTvwM-1E0j6ab1fj0pip-9NE4OGErJ6I4MMuOou975JjB0ZsA9jSMN48XmszfqfNQfdtJitfa93qZ6uYtn7sgVpTJA/s320/IMG_5758.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Such a lovely frosty morning</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The next morning brought a heavy and gorgeous frost. The bright purple heather and green ferns were transformed into soft lavender and mint, and the rising sun sparkled on every tiny leaf as it filtered through the evergreens around us. We were so cozy in the van that we didn't notice the chill until opening the blinds and seeing the white-frosted world around us. Steaming hot cups of coffee and woolly sweaters helped us outdoors to enjoy the crisp air. It was with regret that we turned the propane off and started to drive out of our sheltered forest nook.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOLYJAZOixxNaD4490lKm39ScW_ixtGZy8UC8hThgZmsOLE4gxAmErIC9deBn1EzoNLWLp3EysjA6mxP4cDVKZHmlhBX80NgY5NOBYNm0rxOfqUQ7k2Hmb4QkFykpcn8Ho8iH12DqpOE0/s1600/IMG_5784.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOLYJAZOixxNaD4490lKm39ScW_ixtGZy8UC8hThgZmsOLE4gxAmErIC9deBn1EzoNLWLp3EysjA6mxP4cDVKZHmlhBX80NgY5NOBYNm0rxOfqUQ7k2Hmb4QkFykpcn8Ho8iH12DqpOE0/s200/IMG_5784.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drew screams for<br />
ice cream!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We were, however, very excited to visit the Speyside distilleries. There are a critical mass of them all to the north-east of the park. We only visited a handful, but I believe we chose wisely: Cardhu, Macallan, and Aberlour among them. We made our way south, again joining larger and larger roads. We stopped at Stewart Tower for ice cream and a break, and made it to Falkirk in time to wander down to see the Kelpies before dinner.<br />
<br />
<br />
The next morning we had to give the van back. We were sad to see it go. I believe in returning it that I set one of my favourite socks free as well. All bad. On the train back to Birmingham, we watched the landscape become green, flat, and dense with towns. Gone were the rocky outcrops, heather-covered mountains and long stretches of emptiness. Back to civilization.<br />
<br />Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-10467839682207834372016-10-11T17:28:00.000-04:002016-10-11T17:28:13.112-04:00That Sinking Feeling<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">I had just
had a meeting with my supervisor at a café on New Street, and was taking Drew
to see the university. We were going to do work and I was going
to attend a talk. I was carrying my brand-new MacBook Pro, which I both adored
and still felt guilty about buying because they’re so expensive. Drew was riding
my roommate’s bike, and I was excited to take him along the canals for the
first time. The canals are one of my favourite things about Birmingham, and I
ride along them daily to and from the university, so I was looking forward to
sharing their awesomeness with Drew. But let's be clear about one thing at the outset: no one wants to actually *go into* the canals; no one wants the water upon their person (even though we're told it's clean). The idea of one's body being submerged, partially or entirely, in the canal is terrifying. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">It was a
beautiful October day – warm in the sun, but cool in the shade, with a
surprisingly blue sky. It was the perfect day to ride under the trees, through
spackled sunlight. We were just into our ride, just outside of what you might
consider the centre of the canal system and heading along the canal that leads
to Worcester, when it happened. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">I was in
the lead on my bike, and as we approached the (wide, modern) Five Ways
underpass, I suddenly and mysteriously† wobbled and felt myself lose control of
my bike. Having ridden along the canals for some time now, I have had a plan in
case of such an emergency: bail as quickly as possible onto the ground, to
avoid falling into the water. This, I did. But it did not help. Momentum was
not on my side, and though my knee struck the ground (and Drew had time to
think I was going to stay on land) I felt with horror as my bike, and I upon it,
still somehow mostly upright, plunged into the water.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">My entire
being had one feeling at that moment, and it formed itself and whispered in my ears:
No.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">But yes! I
saw the surface break, saw my hands brace out as if I could stop myself from
going under, felt my bike sink away from me, and saw the water wash over my
glasses. I was under water for the briefest moment, and yet my body had time to
register the temperature (warm compared to the air), smell (clean and wet-rock,
like a river), appearance (clear), and depth (greater than I had been led to
believe). </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">A single thought: COMPUTER.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirb_-OAOrLWc38pJVXDz0vilSdGK-qaBCClJXHzjQXP7cDkCF2PZGvuPtLTRbut1Fo4dlCr_cK9w2eJE6qU2rAz3GNzjuTRjAYbwXB4YOtn9d6wZ_N3TAxwb7T9WMr7O2SUBkA1G4-VPQ/s1600/IMG_5697.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirb_-OAOrLWc38pJVXDz0vilSdGK-qaBCClJXHzjQXP7cDkCF2PZGvuPtLTRbut1Fo4dlCr_cK9w2eJE6qU2rAz3GNzjuTRjAYbwXB4YOtn9d6wZ_N3TAxwb7T9WMr7O2SUBkA1G4-VPQ/s320/IMG_5697.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drenched in wool and leather</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">I surfaced,
full-panic. Quoth I, “NAAAGH! NGAAGH! NAAAGH!” as I kicked and paddled, grabbed
the side of the canal and launched myself up and onto the path. I frantically cried “Oh my god!
Drew! My computer!” as I tried, legs still submerged and wriggling like a seal,
to shake my soaking backpack off my drenched and clingy leather jacket. Drew
was already in action, pulling my backpack off and taking out my things. I
hauled myself fully out of the water, near-hysterical, and stood stock-still repeating
phrases like ‘Oh my god,’ ‘I can’t believe that just happened,’ and ‘My bike.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">To his immense credit, Drew was looking at me with the most concerned and sympathetic eyes. I may have been dying with laughter if our roles were reversed. Two women
who were walking by at the time got to see the entire spectacle. One of them
asked if I was alright, but the other was straight-up impressed. “I’ve never
actually seen anyone do that,” she said. I was congratulated on getting myself
out of the water; “most people can’t get out.” Satisfied that all the damage
was emotional, they went on their way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">My bike was
gone. By some absolute miracle, my computer was dry. My phone, too, had but the
slightest hint of moisture on its case. Drew tucked both of these into
his warm and dry backpack, as I stood dripping. With those things safe, I was permitted to turn my thoughts to my poor, poor bike. My trusty, German-made,
puncture-proof tyred, fully-fendered, wicker-basketed bike! It was down there
in the water – just down, right down there. I stripped off my jacket and told
Drew I was going back in for it. I put my jacket back on and told Drew that was
totally insane I wasn’t going back in. My boots squelched. I took them off and
squeezed out my socks, put them back on, and started trudging, with Drew, back
home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBIkWhKrKwSmI03BVNCrHQ15bbpd_wvdeToon6oytz2o1y76_J5AM5jjSyFmA9ZaxH-inLeeuMBBXfSWQdEi37sLP0V6vPIHyztyAezwBblFKyITU0YZCHwl8g-SGoGeRGlVJLug6jTk/s1600/IMG_5699.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYBIkWhKrKwSmI03BVNCrHQ15bbpd_wvdeToon6oytz2o1y76_J5AM5jjSyFmA9ZaxH-inLeeuMBBXfSWQdEi37sLP0V6vPIHyztyAezwBblFKyITU0YZCHwl8g-SGoGeRGlVJLug6jTk/s320/IMG_5699.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Haha just kidding</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">I was swinging between lamenting my loss of bike and general sogginess, and oddly unsettling laughter. We had to walk all the way along the canals to home,
passing groups of people and police officers, and not once did anyone comment
on my clearly sodden and bedraggled appearance. Brits! It would have been so
much less embarrassing if someone had commiserated or made a joke with me, but
everyone was straight-faced.</span><br />
<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">Thanks to the Canal & River Trust, I got my bike back. Two men
with a long hooked stick dragged it out of the water (after first chancing upon
some bags of trash). In the end, everything came through intact. The only
things left to mark the event are my personal trauma and Drew’s memories, and now this story. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-CA" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">† Leading theories of what caused the wobble include: </span></div>
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">• Five Ways Bridge trolls, exacting their price</span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">• Tow-path elves, playing tricks</span><br />
<span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-CA;">• A kelpie, attempting to eat me (though I'm not sure they live in England)</span>Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-63395254294878238402016-08-09T05:36:00.001-04:002016-08-14T16:49:58.869-04:00A Four-Year Watch<div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #222222; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today I have a watch that used to belong to my grandfather. I never met him. The watch is an unfussy stainless steel Timex wind-up affair from the mid-70s, with glow-in-the-dark panels on the hour and minute hands, and a window to tell the date. The numbers printed on the watch’s face hint at the digital while being entirely analogue. It feels like an office man’s watch, and my grandfather was an office man. I imagine him putting on his brown or blue suit and wide 1970s tie, setting a hat over his pure-white hair, getting into his shiny gold 1970s Chrysler Newport, and as he steers out of the driveway of his tidy, stucco, 1970s home, I see the silver flash of steel on his wrist. I know him only through a few stories, a few photos and the watch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One day the watch stopped winding. I sent it to Timex to see if they could fix it, but they sent it back to me with a note: unfortunately, there was nothing they could do, because they had stopped making the movements for this era of watch some years ago. I checked with some other watch-fixing folks – jewelers and watch-makers – who told me similarly that they didn’t have and couldn’t get the parts for it. It seemed like the watch’s time had run out for good. Then, on a weekend in a small town for a friend’s wedding, I spotted yet another watch-maker’s sign, and decided to take the number down to ask yet again if the watch could be fixed. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This time, I was in luck. The man on the phone said that he could fix it; he would find a movement for the watch, or he would make one if he had to. I was elated. I mailed the watch to him, and waited. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Time went by. I called the watch-maker and he said that the watch was working and he was going to put it back in the mail for me. We would settle up once I received the watch again. Time went by. I called the watch-maker and he said that the watch had stopped working and he was going to put a new movement in it for me. He’d let me know when he had it in the mail. Time went by. I called the watch-maker and he said that the watch had been working but now had stopped. He’d make another movement for it. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQDFq37Bqu__FFNdd8xcz7RNSIGLWlrwfgzcP_ddwMuN73VeP9eXfki2AMt-pNMx4-JTJ1CenslzPwINsFbsrEbHgzYEQQL_lYKRRBQu43h6-LLLcpKT1zzKSa8_jD35DEVJJDtre3vJc/s1600/IMG_5232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQDFq37Bqu__FFNdd8xcz7RNSIGLWlrwfgzcP_ddwMuN73VeP9eXfki2AMt-pNMx4-JTJ1CenslzPwINsFbsrEbHgzYEQQL_lYKRRBQu43h6-LLLcpKT1zzKSa8_jD35DEVJJDtre3vJc/s320/IMG_5232.jpg" width="292" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Time went by. Months passed, and then years. I quit a job and started a PhD. My partner started and finished a professional program. My sister got married. I spent time in England. I thought about the watch every so often, but not that often. Every few months I would call the watch-maker. He would tell me that the watch was working or not working, going in the mail this week or going in the mail soon. I seemed to think about the watch most on Fridays, which was a bad day to think about it since the mail doesn’t run on weekends. If the watch-maker was going to put the watch in the mail, it wouldn’t be on a Friday, so I tried not to call on Fridays. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Every time the watch-maker said the watch was going in the mail this week, I believed him. Then every time, I forgot about what he had said and when we had spoken. Weeks would pass before I thought about the watch-maker again and wonder where the watch was. Sometimes I would let myself get worked into a kind of outrage about how much time it was taking to fix the watch, because I missed it. I started to think that maybe I wanted it back, even if it wasn’t working. Sometimes I thought about telling the watch-maker these things, but I never did. His friendly assurances made my stern words evaporate on my tongue. I never worried it was lost; I always thought the watch was still sitting on the work-bench. I imagined the silver steel catching rays of light, glinting among the tools and wooden surfaces, sparkling in the dim with the boxes of gears and springs. <u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Over time, the watch must have gotten to know the watch-maker well, much more than I did. They must have developed a relationship, the watch-maker peering at the watch, the watch watching back. The watch-maker replaced the insides of the watch countless times, tinkering with its movements and scrutinizing the spinning cogs and wheels. The watch was staid throughout repeated examinations, placid, waiting to catch up with the world outside of the workshop.<u></u><u></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Last week I got a brown paper envelope in the mail. The watch-maker’s address was marked at the top. I tore it open and my watch slid out, the second-hand happily ticking away the minutes. The watch-maker has returned my watch to me, working. Now, nearly four years since I sent it away, my grandfather’s watch sits steely on my wrist, moving through the world and keeping time with me again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">********</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">As appears in the Globe and Mail, Facts and Arguments column, entitled <a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/facts-and-arguments/watch-and-wait/article31328953/" target="_blank">"</a></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "prattregular" , "georgia" , "palatino" , "book antiqua" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small; letter-spacing: -0.6px;"><a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/facts-and-arguments/watch-and-wait/article31328953/" target="_blank">As years ticked by at the watchmaker, my grandfather's timepiece stood still,"</a> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Tuesday August 9, 2016</span></div>
Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5130538200510104909.post-11307090470424357122016-08-08T17:01:00.003-04:002016-08-08T17:03:04.959-04:00Abyss in August<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
One day Philosophy sent a spark into my brain. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It was a small speck of light, and it settled inside my head and it started to grow. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It swirled and glowed, all white and gold. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What at first I took to be a star, I soon realized was a black hole. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It shimmered with light and energy on the surface, but only because it was sucking in the thoughts and ideas around it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That was over a decade ago. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Philosophy's abyss in my brain is about marble-sized now,<br />
one of the big throwing marbles. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It grows quite slowly. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But it still has the power to suck in parts of the goodness around it<br />
when it gets close enough. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It can still take a swipe at parts of my life that I think are meaningful, and leave them smeared like a ruined galaxy, all dust and smashed planets. </div>
<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhncA5bwDiyvJdr_-EQrvXc7pSskRBFidWqosircDDqGDh1OkSEQOFgfrMqNMPrfhZatlICFRgMz5a3h1LyEitDiZfoiQlc-t6kS_fghy3D3WSL-L74rRX1asmovv13kycBQKEdk2O0kk0/s1600/Hubble-Image-of-Colliding-Galaxies-Nicknamed-The-Mice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhncA5bwDiyvJdr_-EQrvXc7pSskRBFidWqosircDDqGDh1OkSEQOFgfrMqNMPrfhZatlICFRgMz5a3h1LyEitDiZfoiQlc-t6kS_fghy3D3WSL-L74rRX1asmovv13kycBQKEdk2O0kk0/s400/Hubble-Image-of-Colliding-Galaxies-Nicknamed-The-Mice.jpg" title="The Mice - Hubble" width="400" /></a></div>
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Kate MacKayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15648082724834683853noreply@blogger.com0