view of river from ridgeAll those months waiting for rain in the autumn, and now we have too much. Continue reading



The Big Wilt has finally come.  Every year when the frosts arrive, the summer plants die back and make way for the ones that can take the cold.

This year we waited a long time for the changeover.  In some ways it was a vindication of my messy, lazy style of vegetable gardening, the one where I keep sticking in new things, but don’t pull out the old ones until after they’ve gone to seed and died. Continue reading


Even in the dark I can tell when the river has started to flood.  I love to hear the normal soft rushing sound at night, a little like distant traffic.  This is more.  It’s a freeway roar that means big standing waves crashing against the rocks.  Big water on the move is magnificent.

Whole islands disappear, leaving just a set of scrambling waves, rushing to get past. Continue reading


From our verandah lookout at the bottom of the river valley, it often seems that summer storms pass us by on either side.  Whenever the weather report says “showers” I assume that means “rain for other people”.

We look up at the ridgeline of Adnamira and see the clouds tumbling past on their way to Canberra.

When there’s rumbling and groaning from the sky, I hope it doesn’t mean fires started by lightning strikes.    With almost daily thunderstorms, there have been dozens of small fires and a few big ones.  Luckily we’ve had no storms that are completely dry around here… lately. Continue reading


Things are blowing and banging around here.  Trees lean over, the grass on the Adnamira hills ripples in patterns reminding me of a sandy sea bed.   The hatch for our new guinea fowl house clatters every time a gust comes through. The irises in the garden flutter, no wonder they call them “flags”.  IMG_1877

Somehow, it’s remarkably irritating.  Tiring also, on the eyes and the ears.

Spring is the windy time of year here.  At other times of year we often get still mornings and a breezy afternoon, but  in the spring we can get day after day of wind whipping up the river valley from the northwest.

Although we had a millimetre of rain last night, there’s no sign of it.  The ground is dry again and baking hard where there’s bare dirt.  There’s nothing like wind for taking away soil moisture.   The hills are turning from green to yellow almost as I watch, first the northwest facing slopes, and the ridges, then the more protected sides. Continue reading