Blackberry Pie, Rain, and a screaming baby.

If you were an alien being trying to follow the emotional nuances of human beings, you would do well to follow my school-holiday cooking schedule.
Last Night of Term: Comfort food spectacular for Brett (a 'well done honey!' feast).
1st week of Holidays: Serious Christmas Prep. Too much sugar, boring nightly menu.
2nd-4th weeks of Holidays: Blissful long-prep dishes that I don't have time for during term while single-handed baby-wrangling.
Last Day of Holidays: Some dish that screams 'home/comfort/care/love'.

It's possibly my last-ditch panicked attempt to help Brett (ahem) 'overlook' my new fashion...dishabille-without-the-innate-class, and give him one more extra-special treat before the dreaded TERM.
So, as it is summer and Portland is somewhat lax about Blackberry obliteration, there are tonnes and tonnes of shiny black berries just sitting there for the taking. This naturally results in Blackberry Pie (served with homemade vanilla bean icecream) and Blackberry Jam.

Last night my 8 month old son thought it would be amusing to be awake between 3 and 5am. This resulted in  a pretty dire version of me this morning, but I was determined to do my pie, so I headed over to Mum and Dad's to recruit blackberry-pickers.
Dad's hand is always the first to go up for foraging adventures, so off we trotted to my favourite 'patch' (opposite the produce store).

The berries on offer were quite small this time (due largely to the serious lack of rain over xmas), but we forged ahead. Dad's 80 year old skin took a bit of damage...a few spectacular scratches and rivulets of blood, but he was pretty determined to get his pie and simply dabbed with his hanky and continued!

It did begin to rain in earnest mid-forage, but there was no point in returning home with 'almost enough' berries, so we pressed on. In the meantime I discovered that picking berries in the rain, stomping down aggressive canes with my big gumboots and humming folksongs was actually a tremendously pleasant way to spend a morning. Just me and Dad, quietly plucking in the cool stillness and enjoying being quiet together.

 After an hour and a half of picking I finally had enough for my pie. Sadly, not enough for jam-making this time, but after the current rain, next weekend should see some nice big fat fellas ready for my jam pot!

So, while Brett headed off to have a looooong bath, Gabriel and I took to the kitchen to make pie.
Warning: this pastry is very VERY short. It results in a gorgeous, light, crumbly pie, but it isn't for the faint-of-heart (or the very tired....). After a few choice expletives, I did manage to get it together...well enough for the much-prized 'rustic' look anyway...

Pie filling                                                  Gabe 'helping'                                           Fresh berries

Of course, being a sleep-deprived mess with a baby that absolutely and resolutely REFUSED to nap this afternoon, I completely forgot to take a photo of the finished product before I raced it over to Dad. In Lockley tradition, Dad always gets the first slice (only fair after his foraging efforts), and then I collect the remainder for Brett.

PASTRY
2 cups plain flour
1/2 cup almond meal
1 cup unsalted butter
1 tsp salt
2 tsp brown sugar
6 -8 tbsp iced water
FILLING
4 cups fresh blackberries
1/2 cup white sugar
1/2 cup plain flour

"Hey Mumma...."                                      "I'ma gonna....."                                       "Getcha!!!".

 Not my pie, but this is pretty much exactly what you get!
Now to organise dinner and perchance, have a nice glass of wine...

TEOTWAWKI

Gabriel's having his afternoon nap, so I thought I'd do some searching on Doomsday psychology. It turns out there's an awful lot of stuff on various Doomsday scenarios, but not much (apart from, y'know books) on why end-of-the-worlders are so damned set on ending life-as-we-know-it.

So, in a brief and irreverent run-down, the nominees for Best Planet Destruction Event are:

(1) The Mayans. Their long-count calender (not their short one, or teensy one, or super-dooper long one) runs out tomorrow. Despite this, they didn't prophesy the end of the world. I guess that's because calenders don't signify anything other than ending of a period of time.

(2) Planet X/Nibiru. I love this one. HUGE planet hurtling towards us (by tomorrow) is apparently also an invisible planet...has been for ages too. Right now, we should be seeing something in the sky the size of the moon..at least. A while ago, a random astronomer or two probably should have seen something in their super-dooper observatory set-ups.

(3) Magnetic Pole shift (I sooo blame the 2012 movie for that one..I mean who wouldn't believe Dennis Quaid??)...for that matter, who wouldn't want to snuggle up with Jake Gyllenhaal in a library in front of a fire?

(4) Mega Sun Flares. Crispy us. Pesky scientists are assuring us that this is about as likely as me winning a Nobel prize, but what would they know? It's a conspiracy!

(5) The black hole in the middle of the universe is going to suck us all in...well, something has sucked a lot of people in, but it ain't a black hole (unless we're talking the intellectual variety...)

(6) The Rapture! Lots of Christians floating up into the sky (I assume Jesus has some kind of 'off-switch' on atmospheric conditions? I mean 8000m is currently touted the "death zone" on Everest, and I'm assuming Heaven is a bit higher than that?)...

I'm sure there are others, but I'm a bit over reading the bunkum and pifflery to be honest. What really interests me is why people really really want the world to end.
At first I assumed that said 'people' mustn't be very bright. It turns out though that various important surveys have been done and that Doomsdayers are often 'above average intelligence'. As measured by what?

So here's my theory (such as it is).
I think people are bloody overwhelmed.
It's a very big and very scary world out there. In 2012 we know far more about the various goings-on globally than we can reasonably manage to process.
I get overwhelmed. Like my recent ancestors, I have to live, provide for my family, pay taxes, work, laugh, dream, play, foster my mind/ambitions, act for my community and try to help others less fortunate. Unlike my recent ancestors, I am in constant contact with the whole world, it's massacres, it's wars, it's tsunami's and hurricanes, it's starving millions, it's disabled and elderly, it's struggling animal populations, it's human rights violations, it's religious manias, it's climate and environmental destruction.
It is definitely overwhelming. Where to help? What are my responsibilities? What can I reasonably expect to achieve here? I can 'Think Globally, Act Locally', but to be honest, between caring for a 6 month old and getting the dishes done, I don't do a whole lot of 'acting locally either.
On this point alone, if the WAWKI ends, I have far less to worry about.
In fact, I get to return to the basics really. Surviving.
Of course, doing that probably won't be quite as romantic and heroic as some might like to think. No water or electricity supply would put quite a dint in things...even if you were snuggling Jake Gyllenhaal in a library.

I think people really really fear death. Atheists and Theists alike. Perhaps there's something quite comforting in the idea of not 'getting old' ?. Perhaps it's even more comforting to imagine everyone going out together in one fell swoop? Perhaps only the belief that you can predict death (of yourself and the planet) makes you feel a bit better about it?. I mean, there's a Doomsday for everyone, but the trick is that you can't predict it.
I get that 'the Rapture' is quite comforting for Christians, -you actually get to avoid the 'death' bit entirely and just go straight to heaven where everything is just-lovely-thankyou, but it does seem a bit smug doesn't it? "Ooh, sorry everyone else! We did tell you...thanks for that delicious choccie cake last thursday, but I'm off to heaven. Enjoy your catastrophic destruction".

In fact, I think pretty much all Doomsday philosophies have quite a bit in common with religious belief (even if they're 'secular' in nature).

So, in my-very-own-doomsday scenario here's what happens;
The Magnetic poles shift and that effects the Atlantic Current thingy (toldya I like that movie). This means that I now live in a cold place, which is a jolly good thing.
The Government collapses and I no longer have to worry about tax/superannuation, buying a house, paying bills etc. This has no consequence other than freeing me from annoying obligations.
All my family members (well, OK some of my family members) survive, as well as the most excellent friends and we all manage to get together somehow.
No no, I have it figured. I've got a really good mix of scientists, medicos, artists, gardeners, tradies etc, so I get to have a cool micro-community full of people I like.
We grow vegetables, write new books and plays, save important bits of previous human culture, sing songs by firelight and go to bed early every night. Someone also figures out how to make great wine, and we storm some great property with heaps of arable land, lots of grape vines, an underground aquifer and a picturesque location. Maybe a lake nearby for fishing.
Eventually we may accept other tribes (for the sake of genetic diversity you understand), but it will all be peaceful and lovely and stuff.
Oh, and there'll be horses and goats and chickens and a huge stock of soy-bean seeds so I don't have to revert to caveman-style eating of dead creatures.
Yay apocolypse!

It's a very different world Mr Madison...

I was just one of many mothers around the world on Saturday 15th December 2012 that happened to switch on the news. I was one of thousands, if not millions, that listened with increasing horror and disbelief as reporters told us of 20 children and 6 adults shot by a suicidal gunman in Newtown, Connecticut.

I'm certain I wasn't alone in holding my little boy and telling him how much I loved him almost obsessively through the days that followed.

I am absolutely not alone in being one of many many people that have, and continue to search for a way to deal with it. It may be a need for 'answers', a need to feel 'safe', a need to be someone who helps in some small way, or just a Mother's need to 'arm' myself against this eventuality ever EVER applying to my family.

Some part of me knew that this would be an impossible task. I didn't even really know 'why' I was doing all this obsessive research, -and it's fair to assume that one is unlikely to find 'the answer' when one can't even formulate 'the question'.

The closest I could get was 'why?'.

Why what Cath? 

Why did that particular man choose to vent his frustrations on tiny children and teachers?

Why does the second amendment still exist?

Why do the NRA and [Republican] Americans hold to their 'right to bear arms' as obsessively as they hold to the Bible?

Why do people still insist that arming everyone (including teachers) is a BETTER option than doing away with guns entirely?

Why are a huge amount of people still petitioning God to come and save America instead of doing something?

I assure, this is only a very very small selection of the questions that have been on my mind. 

I pored over the second amendment (and its various commentaries) forever. . . And knew that once again, the same twisted voices would say, Oh, this had nothing to do with gun laws or the misuse of the Second Amendment or anything except some singular madman, of whom America for some reason seems to have a particularly dense sample.

I considered the definition of 'militia' both now and in the late 1700's. I pondered the psychology of a nation founded against the invading forces of British and French colonialists in conjunction with violent and bloody aboriginal conflict. 

I considered the social ramifications of a country still at war with various world nations, at the glorification of the 'Military', the reverence with which Americans and Australians treat their fallen Soldiers, the poetry of war, the clarity and 'peace' that many soldiers find through killing.... I wondered again about the prevalence of violence on our movie and game-screens and how much and what is filtering through the minds of our young ones.

I fielded voices as diverse as Morgan Freeman and Julie Bishop. I realised that I did in fact have some respect for John Howard and the Australian Governments swift and furious action following Port Arthur. 

And yet, each night as I fed, bathed and sang my son to sleep, all I could think about were the mothers and fathers of the world that have lost children. I can see and feel the unstoppable keening wail of a mother holding an empty blanket that still retains the scent of her dead child...and the blank empty silence that follows as she tries to remember to eat and live on. The pure hopelessness of a couple who aren't and never could have been equipped to deal with such a thing, and the way they will claw and rend at each other without wanting to. The useless but well-meant condolences that make you want to scream. The fury. The rage. 

How I longed for a proper brain. A book-writing, world-changing brain that could neatly compartmentalize and analyse violence and mental illness. I would even have settled for a brain that was capable of writing a thorough and incisive article. An article that helped.

As it turns out, I am not that person. 

I am simply one of millions on this planet that is continuously confused and horrified. I don't have answers. I have plenty of questions, but I suspect none of them are what I really wanted to ask.

As a singer/musician I, again, have to fall back on music to help me.

"My Precious One"

My precious one, my tiny one, lay down your pretty head.
My dearest one my sleepy one, its time to go to bed

My precious one, my darling one; don't let your lashes weep.
My cherished one, my weary one; it's time to go to sleep.

Just bow your head and give your cares to me.
Just close your eyes and fall into the sweetest dream, cause in my loving arms.
You're safe as you will ever be so hush my dear and sleep.

And in your dreams you'll ride on angels' wings.
Dance with the stars and touch the face of god
And if you should awake...

I'll kiss your little cheek
And underneath the smiling moon
I'll send you back to sleep.

Today's harvest = Tonight's Dinner

When you're on a [cough] 'budget' (read: no money to speak of), the humble legume becomes your very best friend, like, in the universe.
They're cheaper than chips, they're full of marvellous (but boring) vitamins and minerals, they're nutty and tasty, and thank jeebus, everyone in my family likes them.
So, today I whacked together a pot of my 'Posh Beans'.
See, what I actually served for dinner was beans-on-toast, but Posh beans on toasted sourdough with parmesan, spring onions, fresh peas and bitter greens sounds more appetising :-)

First, it was a quick trip to the garden to source the greens (Cos and Mizuna), peas, and spring onions..

Gabriel watched on in delight, squealing and wriggling on Daddy's lap while mummy picked green things.
Next step, washing. This is a 2 step process in my house as after you've washed all the leaves, you have to save and transport the dozen or so ladybugs floating in the sink water:-)

Washed and ready to go. It's probably just me being super romantic, but greens from my garden are much greener than other greens...:)
Then it was a simple toasting of sourdough slices under the griller, pile with chopped mixed greens, slap on a couple of ladlefulls of Posh beans, and top with parmesan, spring onions and fresh peas.

Posh Beans

3 tins cannelini beans, rinsed
1 brown onion, finely diced
2 celery stalks, finely diced
1 red capsicum, finely diced
1 small Aldi tin tomato paste
1 jar passata
1 tbsp massel chicken stock
1 passata jar of water

You can add as much or as little of the following as takes your fancy;
Cajun Spice
Chilli Flakes
Salt
Garlic granules
BBQ sauce
Worcestershire sauce
Savoury yeast flakes
basil
thyme
sage

If you like it a bit 'creamy' add 2 mashed potatoes to the sauce...I do.

In other news, my delightful little munchkin has just mastered the art of sitting up by himself. This means that we've put him down 3 times now for bed. Every time we check on him, he's sitting up in the middle of his cot grinning from ear to ear at how damned clever he is :)
Oh, and all my careful, considered baby-food smushing and mouli-ing...not as important as I thought.
The little fells sits next to Daddy while he eats, and was opening and closing his wee gob like a birdy with great intent this evening.
Focus on food, make birdy mouth, look pleadingly at Daddy.
Rock a bit.
repeat.
I finally relented and allowed Brett to feed him a teensy bit of the Posh beans...
I truly expected him to screw up his face and wail as the chilli burned his little tongue. But nope. It was 'thankyou-very-much-and-where's-the-next-helping?'.
I guess I may have ignored the 'one food at a time' and '4 days between new foods' thing just a bit....{BAD mumma, BAD BAD BAD!}.

The Accidental Lip-Smacker

Ohhhh, it's been a rough couple of days...well week really. On Friday last Brett came home from school and announced he 'wasn't very hungry'....[cue: alarm bells]...On Saturday he had developed the mother of all lergies. Sunday. Monday. Tuesday the curse-of-the-red-moon hits me hard...and Gabriel starts sniffling and sneezing. We take him to get his 6 month shots anyway. Wednesday,-Gabriel rubs at his gums frantically, sniffles, sneezes, coughs, frets, will not settle, will not sleep and has the attention span of a forgetful gnat (I chew Nurofen and curse being a woman for the gazillionth time).
 I also have a house-inspection, so between screaming fits (baby), cramping fits (me) and schiz-fits (cat) I attempt to clean the house from top to bottom. Yes yes, I 'know' Real Estate agents don't really care about the relative squalor of your life (as long as there's no damage to the property), but I get weird about these things. By the time Frau Inspektor arrives the house is luverly and smells welcoming, fresh flowers are in every room and I am in the garden casually picking peas in a basket.
'Look at my perfect life! Tra-le-la, -just picking some home-grown organic produce for my gastronomic spectacular this evening, just go on through and let me know if you need me!'
Cold sweat of panic well-hidden by charming floppy straw hat.
I should mention that screaming baby had been relocated to Mum and Dad's for an hour at this point (where he cooed, giggled and then promptly fell asleep like an angel...GRRRAAAAGGGHHHHH).
I am also developing quite a lovely sore throat and the most delightfully tap-drippy nose. Aching all over and can't get warm...so naturally, I decide that I've lied quite enough for one day thankyou-very-much and actually embark on a gastronomic spectacular.

1. Shell all the peas. This was only accomplished because my Dad came over and sat Gabe on his knee for some Grandpa singing-time.

 2. Read recipe again. Realise that although you have 7 different varieties of salt on your shelf, you're out of sea-salt. Beg Grandpa to stay 10 more minutes while you run down to the shops.

 3. Smashy smashy bang bang on the mint and salt, and turn into a paste with a splooshy sploosh of Olive Oil

 4. Husband comes home with emergency ingredients but has bought snow-peas instead of sugar-snaps. Resist temptation to cry because now it won't be exactly like Donna Hay's version. Co-opt husband into adding stock and stirring risotto while I pop back out to the garden for tender pea tendrils...tender pea tendrils fer chrissake!

Donna Hay's Pea and Mint Risotto with Creme Fraiche

Gabriel FINALLY goes to sleep...sort of, and we settle down to watch 'Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter' with our dinner. Am so congested I can't taste anything but exhaustion. Snap at bewildered husband/get upset/play dumb Fspazbook games/Go to bed.

Today. Wake up completely at 5am. Husband and son still sleeping.

Exhaustion/heinous cramps/family crisis/...leftover creme fraiche...

I hate leftover ingredients like creme fraiche. It's not exactly a common ingredient in my usual culinary parlance. It would annoy me no end to have it just go off in the fridge.

Dear friend Karen has sent me a link to a picture of a chickpea and zucchini burger that looked amazing....

Grab baby and sit him in Bumbo on the kitchen floor. Hand him old pot and wooden spoon.

So I buzzed around the kitchen for an hour making patties, chopping onions, reducing relish and explaining every step to my delighted audience of one. In point of fact, his delight was so damned infectious that I started singing to him. Chop the onions..'Un bel di vedremo!...', mash the chickpeas...'Le Fille de Cadiz'...(ok, I stopped cooking for a bit and used one of his muslin squares to do a frightful matador thing)...still feeling like a truck had hit me and then the driver had gotten out and pulled out my uterus with a coat-hanger but quite a bit jollier mentally:-)

7pm. I serve chickpea and zucchini patties on sourdough with chargrilled kumera, onion and capsicum relish, bitter greens and creme fraiche. On the side, potato roasties with a great combination of chicken seasoning, cajun spice, garlic powder and salt.

Husband says 'dlshus!!', which is what 'delicious' sounds like if you say it mid-mouthful.

For an off-the-cuff 'what-am-I-going-to-do-with-leftover-creme-fraiche-burger' it was jolly good...JOLLY good :-)

The pattie recipe can be found at Chickpea and Zucchini Patties

Dodgy But Yummy Relish
1 large brown onion (half-rings)
1 red capsicum (strips)
allspice
chilli flakes
sweet chilli sauce
BBQ sauce
vegeta seasoning
dash balsamic vinegar

Fry veges in oil til soft. Add other stuff, simmer for a bit until gluggy-ish and the sauce is doing the nice coaty thing instead of the swimming pool thing.
9.05pm. I have glass of wine.

The best quiche recipe EVER

Ooooh, -what a claim! Really? The best?...Oh yes, it is most definitely THE UTMOSTEST BRILLIANTEST quiche recipe on the planet. I am sooooo very qualified to make this claim because my husband only has two great food loves in this world, -Pizza and Quiche. Naturally, in order to remain married, I have had to become reasonably adept at creating both, y'know, properly and from-scratch and all that.
Now, this is a real and proper quiche. No low-fat diet-friendly monster this. It uses full cream, a fair whack of tasty cheese and whole eggs (not to mention, 'twould be bloomin' marvellous with crispy dead pig and chorizo...if you're into that sort of thing). I get around the calorie count by having a modest slice and a LOT of salad on the side :-)
And let's face it, Quiche and salad is precisely the right meal for these sultry summer nights. I assure you, real men do eat quiche, and head off to work with large slices of leftovers looking quite smug.

Ingredients
* 2 tsp olive oil
* 1 onion, finely chopped
* 100g vegetarian bacon
* 100g baby spinach leaves
* 1/2 a tin of corn kernels
* 4-5 medium button mushrooms
* 4 eggs
* 3/4 cup cream
* 1/2 cup soy milk
* 1/3 cup shredded parmesan
* 1/2 cup grated tasty cheese
* smoked paprika
* salt and pepper

Pastry
* 2 cups plain flour
* 150g butter, chilled, cubed
* Pinch salt
* 1 egg
* 4-5 tbsps iced water

Method
1. For pastry. whack butter and flour in a food-processor until mixture forms crumbs. Add egg and water until dough is formed, knead until smooth, cling-wrap and pop in fridge for 10 mins.
2. Blind-bake pastry at 190 degrees for 10 mins
3. Saute onions, bacon and mushrooms until soft and drain off any excess moisture.
4. Spread veges on cooked pastry base, adding spinach leaves and corn kernels and pour your eggy mixture on top.
5. Sprinkle with cheeses and some smoked paprika and bake 30 minutes at 190.

Of course, you could cheat and use store-bought pastry, but then you'd be a big fat faker and your marriage will probably fall apart as a result...your choice though :-)
If you want to get all cheffy about it, sprinkle the finished product with microgreens and torn up chive flowers before serving, and/or arrange some impressive thinly sliced heirloom tomato slices on the top...whatevs rocks your boat.
You could also serve it with a kick-ass homemade spicy tomato relish...
Now, excuse me while I go and eat a whole packet of Nurofen. My bloody teeth!!!!

Mayfield Follies

As any mother of a 5 month old baby will tell you, the excitement of going out for a day (with others there to help you with baby-wrangling) is NOT to be sneered at.
Some weeks ago, Brett had casually asked me if I'd like to see the famed 'Mayfield Gardens' in Oberon. Now imagine your dogs face when you're holding his favourite stick, -just about to throw it...Dog=Cath! Whoohoo! Not just any old outing, certainly not the bog-standard "I get to go and buy groceries on saturdays which is peachy and lovely because it means I get out of the goddammned house", but a genuine NEW thing. A real, proper adventure to a stately garden complete with picnic and visit to Farmer's markets.

As is quite usual with amassed Lockley-adventures, I offer to put together the picnic side of things. This is because (a) my mother is famous for stating that she has 'tonnes of food', when in fact, she has a jar of pickles and a mandarin and (b) If this was going to be a proper outing, it required a proper picnic, i.e. one that I would look forward to eating. So Friday saw me at Woolies buying enough ingredients to feed your average army regiment and Saturday morning saw me whistling in my kitchen assembling sammiches, coleslaw, seasoned vine tomatoes, fruit salad etc. Rule of thumb being; if you're feeding four, cater for 89 people at least.
The only thing that worried me was that it was suddenly BLOODY cold, and that the skies loomed threateningly...
Worry #1: Would it actually dare to rain? On my outing day? Really???????
Worry #2: I was packing a summery-picnic. A wintery-picnic is quite a different animal and requires thermoses of steaming hot soup/crusty bread etc...

But of course, now that I am a MUM, I am awfully philosphical about such things, and take all obstacles in my firm but nurturing stride, all the while ensuring that my family is happy and content....I certainly don't have mini-meltdowns or anything like that........

Anyway anyway, 8.30am saw us in the car with a summery picnic heading down the picturesque Diamond Swamp Road to Oberon in convoy. Mum and Dad took the lead, which meant I had a grumbly husband (for whom 60km/hr is rarely an acceptable rate of progress) and ensured a few wrong turns with us chasing them, beeping the horn, flashing the lights and making frantic phone-calls...
"Mum, you're going down the wrong road.."
"Nonsense catherine, I've been to Oberon this way TONNES of times!"
erm, no you haven't..
"The left turn through Tarana is a bit quicker though Mum.."
"Oh well,...I suppose we'll turn around then...."

Miraculously, we arrived in Oberon at about 9.30am and trotted into the grounds of St.Barnabas for the monthly Farmer's market...at which we managed to purchase eggs and asparagus. Not quite the haul I was hoping for, but I comforted myself with the fact that at least none of the stallholders were pretending they had any fresh produce this early in the season...unlike Bathurst FM...with Bananas and Tomatoes "picked this morning"...(in a pig's eye!).
It was bloomin' FREEZING too. Dad started making grumpy noises about it not being a pleasant enough kind of day to visit the gardens, -maybe he'd just stay in the car etc...WHAT?? NO! My perfect outing will NOT unravel!!!...No, you will NOT be heading home, yes you WILL get your bony bum out of the car and into Mayfield...and NO, I will NOT be brooking any arguments in this regard....here, hold the baby...

20 minutes later we were on the way to the gardens. I didn't actually hear the rest of the grumping (being in a seperate car) but I know it happened, not least because the entry price at Mayfield is $25 per adult, and no-one wants to pay that to be cold, wet and miserable, especially not pensioners on a pretty tight financial leash...

After driving quite a long way out of Oberon (at one point I sincerely questioned the property address...surely 'outskirts-of-Goulburn' would have been more accurate?), we ARRIVE. Oddly, in this field in the middle of nowhere there are literally hundreds of cars and people! and although I would have sworn there were no other cars on that back road, here they come behind us in a festive convoy! I start to get that bubbly-excited-tummy thing...this must be some kinda special garden!

In we trot through stone walls and mass plantings of rhododendrons. We are 10 metres into our 100 acre romp and already my mind is reeling with just how ridonkulously wealthy these people must be. the entrance passage alone must have cost about the equal of 10 normal residential properties...at a conservative estimate.

First stop, -coffee shop. Anyone who knows my Mum will appreciate that this was inevitable. It is still cold and overcast though, so a big Earl Grey and a plate of scones was quite appropriate. It also gave us a chance to feed the monkey. Vittles complete, we follow follow follow follow the yellow-brick road (which was neither yellow nor brick, but I was getting the distinct feeling that we were most definitely NOT in kansas anymore) to the first installment of "Oooohs and Aaaahs!"...The Obelisk.

This alone should reinforce my previous observation of just how damned rich these people are. Who, I ask you, has their own bloody Obelisk? complete with a gold filigree spire? WHO?
Around another immaculately designed corner and you come to the WATER GARDEN.

 This little 'folly' is about the size of the Japanese gardens at Darling Harbour. And it's just the entree.
Gardener: "Excuse me Lord and Master, how many Lilies would you like in the water garden?"
Owner: (loftily and with a slightly distracted air) "Oh, I don't know...every kind? how many would that be, do you think?"
Gardener: "About 2 million m'lud"
Owner: "Golly. How much will that cost?"
Gardener: " The GDP of a small nation?"
Owner: "Proceed underling".
I can only imagine the conversation that must have happened around the hundreds of azaleas, rhododendrons, blueberries, silver birches, stone bridges and bloody waterfalls...the SOIL...the MULCH...as you can probably surmise, my poor little low-income brain was already starting to seize.

At intervals, there are expensive signs informing one of the inspirations behind each 'folly'. No, not signs. Zoo's have signs...these were more than signs...Apparently the Lady-Of-the-House has been rather inspired by the Royal gardens of Europe. Y'know little ol' Versailles and Sandringham and such. So she's pretty much set about recreating the bang lot. I know I keep harping on about the money but when someone has enough to merrily recreate gardens that Kings and Queens would be OK with...we're talking mind-blowing wealth.

Further we trot, mouths agape, much like the kiddies in Willy Wonka's factory. Incredibly the water-garden section turns out to be a bit 'tame' compared to the next bit. Gently sloping forests of Birch, japanese maple and chestnut, underplanted with rare azaleas, solomon's seal, water-lilies nestled in artistic rivulets, lawns of emerald, columbines, rare iris varietals...it's the kind of garden you kind of thought might be possible when you were 7. The kind of garden that I sincerely doubt any spider or creepy-thing would even DARE to think about residing in.

Then, winking through the trees, you get your first glimpse of the house...residence...palace....whatever. And yes, I felt rather like Elizabeth Bennett seeing Pemberly...exceptin' that I don't even know, let alone yearn for it's son and heir, but I digress.

And because looking over bazillion dollar water-gardens and birch-forests would, let's face it, get a trifle dull dahling, you would need to build a cascading water-temple and 30-tier graded fountain out-back, just for balance, you understand...

And while we're at it, how's about a wee Japanese pagoda on a massive lake?

Orchards? Check. A maze? Check. A formal topiary garden? Check. A croquet court with bronze lions and trailing white wisteria? Check.

And dahlink, I've always wanted to live in the country and have some chooks like the simple folk, -shall we have a little choook house 'round the side?....check.

4 chooks per house...I can confidently say that I have never before seen a chicken look smug. Mind you, we did catch an enormously impressive rooster doing the spring-fling with a rather teensy penny-hen...so it wasn't all unrestrained elegance...
At this point, after 2 and a half hours of walking, or tummies were starting to scream 'picnic', so we headed back past the 'aviary' (iron and gilt palace for birds), private family chapel (think Sacre Couer) and the amphitheatre...yes, amphitheatre.

By this stage, I had stopped obsessively photographing every nook, on account of the fact that I was feeling a little faint from the fairly constant cost-calculations that my brain had been indulging in..but a little bit pleased that my brother's "Symphony of Australia" is to be performed in this amphitheatre next year. This will be a good thing as I can rock up on the day and be 'the sister of the composer' which will make me feel a little less of a plebian impostor in the land of the so-wealthy-it-makes-your-eyes-bleed.

Oops, I almost neglected to note the (ahem) 'Greenhouse' the size of a 6 bedroom dwelling, with only 12 varieties of lemon tree, limes, tomatoes, ponds etc and the quaint walled pottager and vegetable garden complete with espaliered apples and pears.

By this stage, I was so impressed I was nearly dead. Truly. And I looked at the gradient of the path leading up to the family chapel and decided to see that another day. Final stop at the toilets and we're off to our picnic! It's 2.20pm...but as luck would have it, just near the dunnies there is a courtesy-bus to take lazy sods up to the chapel, so Brett and I wait in the carpark-field while Mum and Dad whiz off to the chapel...where Mum (shockingly) decides to delight fellow visitors with an impromptu performance of Gavin's 'Pie Jesu'...I guess 2013 won't technically be a Lockley premiere at Mayfield after all....Does anyone else (I mean like, in the universe) have a mother that randomly sings in public places? Or am I just lucky?....:-)

So, we pick-a-nicked in a far humbler Oberon park, and headed home...and oh how HUMBLE appeared my paltry gardening efforts that day.
My gorgeous 5 month old son slept through the whole thing :-)

So, here's what I got from 3 hours trekking through Mayfield Gardens, Oberon NSW;
(1) You can't take in a picnic.
(2) Allow 3hrs + to walk about...this isn't a 'garden' (despite the tricksy name) it's an estate grande.
(3) I am not very wealthy at all.
(4) I know where I'm headed if there's a Zombie apocolypse ('cos they're rich people, it's probably just a country-house, therefore they probably won't be home, and quite frankly, even if I couldn't find the keys, I could live in a chook-house very comfortably)
(5) Despite their reasonably ostentatious display of mind-boggling wealth, there's something very admirable in a person who pours their fortune into a garden.