Rainy Days = Planning

Before any words, I thank God for your safe deliverance from the huge tornado that swept through beloved neighborhoods in our homeland of Little Rock, Arkansas. Our tears, prayers, and hopes are with you all and for those who suffered injury and death. Our hearts hurt for your suffering.

It rained steadily all day today on the farm in Evandale, Tasmania.  It must have been an event for celebration here.  The golden grasses here seem to beg to become green again.  The rain that came down probably laid down an inch of water onto the parched great round rolling hills of the Heartlands but the sorry weather gave us an excuse to stay home and plan.  I wore PJs all day as we buckled down to work.  After hours of searching Airbnb, Booking.com, and transportation methods, all our stays in Hawaii are locked in.  We know where we are staying on the Big Island and Kauai for two weeks following the cruise from Sydney to Hawaii.  The cruise ends on May 24 at which time we originally planned to hang out in Hawaii for two weeks, then fly to Atlanta with a couple of US stops along the way.  But instead, our frugal sense kicked in.  Since we will be in the Pacific during our time in Hawaii and since we also hoped to go to Japan and Korea this year or next, why not make that trip now from Hawaii?  Our fly-time will be greatly reduced.

Tokyo, here we come on or about May 24, but that’s another story.

In the meantime, there are lots of great sites to explore along the way.  Stay tuned.

The rain stopped overnight and the sky was crisp and clear the next morning.  The birds were celebrating.  They joyously darted about, here and there, foraging and calling.  There are so many wild birds here on this beautiful farm that I am amazed.  Many Aussie birds are songbirds.  I’d love to record their melodies and play them for you.  Yes, some screech, but some sing tunes so filled with beautiful harmonious notes, they make me think someone is playing a pan harp.

This week we are living in a beautiful, well-furnished guest house on a farm just minutes outside of Evandale.  To reach the guest house, the drive is through fields of grape vines, but the owner of our house raises sheep – as do many ranchers here in the heartlands of northern and central Tasmania.  The guest house is a dream with big windows, amazing kitchen appliances, a lux bed, and glorious views.  Stan and I could easily live here.  It looks out across a golden valley of fields with mountains on the horizon, and in the back, a handful of fat red, black, and white speckled chickens in a pen come running toward us cooing and clucking when we walk their way.  I talk to them; they talk back. 

We watch wild birds dive in and out of thick evergreen trees and we can meander through a garden of big pots of flowers and seed catalog picture-perfect vegetables growing in huge raised garden boxes.  Our hosts, Rick and Trudi, are friendly, engaging, and fun company.  It’s as if we have known each other for a long time. Like so many Tasmanian hosts, they understand real hospitality.  When we entered the house, we found it stocked with things that made us feel special and welcome.  The pantry held basics like olive oil, S&P, and spices but the owners also presented us with tiny pretty jars of jams and tomato relish made by our hostess, fragrant and tangy wild honey from a neighbor’s hives, eggs from the backyard chickens, homegrown tomatoes and items like milk, bread, butter, yogurt, and raspberries.  Wow!  What a treat!  What we know as “Southern hospitality” rules here. These hosts are not the only ones; in our other stays here, hosts left bowls of fresh fruit or wine and basics like milk, sugar, tea, and coffee, enough to get the week’s stay started. 

In contrast, we were absentee owners when we had our beach house and could not apply a personal touch for our many guests.  Management companies we used throughout our 15 years of ownership, all used the same model.  Guests at our beach house were treated to the bare minimum in the way of disposable supplies– hotel-size bath soap, tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner, one roll of paper towels for the kitchen, two rolls of tissue for each bathroom, and nada basic cooking ingredients, not even salt.  If any of our guests left any usable items for the next guests, they were tossed.  I’m sorry.

The village, Evandale is just outside Launceston.  Launceston is the second largest city in Tasmania with all of 77,000 people.  Visiting the tiny historic village of Evandale is like viewing a snapshot in time.  With its picturesque cottages, antique shops, and pastoral setting, the community is a reflection of northeastern 1800s US towns or quaint old English gentry towns set in fields of barley.  It is dear to see.

We lunched at the Clarendon Arms Hotel circa 1847.  The restaurant looks like a rustic hunting lodge with multiple rooms, brick floors, a stone fireplace, full-bodied deer mounts, and ram busts, but no, it was built as a hotel.  Just outside its door is the Clarendon Beer Garden where crowds surely gather on warm nights. Right now, the season here is heading quickly into winter – there will be no active beer gardens on Saturday nights in this part of Tasmania for the next few months.  We missed the village’s most famous event, the annual National Penny Farthing Competition which takes place each February.  What a sight that would have been watching people race through the village streets on the old-fashioned High Wheeler bicycle.

As we walked through the tiny streets of Evandale, we spotted the ancientt cemetery behind the town’s earliest church. We stopped to look at each tombstone. Many markers were unreadable and some were broken. As we stood in front of the tall marker of the MacKennon family plot a slim, beautiful lady greeted us. She said she lives in Melbourne today, but she said “This is my family’s plot. I will be buried here someday. Can you see how the MacKennons married the Russells and then married the Ralstons?” We listened to her and learned. It was a very sweet moment in our lives that can never be repeated.

Inspired by the area’s history, we set out to find one of the preserved Tasmanian rural residences just a few miles out of town.  We found it but it was not open for tours mid-week.  But guess what we did find on the dirt road to old Clarendon Hall?  Huge ripe blackberries!!!  When Stan and I find them; we pick them.  Huge Tasmanian wild blackberries with yogurt are on tap for tomorrow’s breakfast.