Woolsheds, paddocks and places in the heart.

I
I love the bush, the countryside, whatever you want to call it, depending on where you come from.

I grew up with the poetry of Banjo Patterson about the Australian bush, and have spent nearly all my life in small rural towns where farming is the identity of the place.

Yesterday I drove up to the Waikato, through the Awakino Gorge and past the Mokau River at sunrise, on into the King Country, where the Great New Zealand Muster is about to take place today. They run a mob of sheep through the main street of Te Kuiti! It turned to mayhem last year I think when there were several breakaway mobs down the side streets!!!

The drive to the Waikato in the autumn is particularly pretty, as all the poplar trees and English oaks etc turn all those shades of yellow and russet. I stopped to talk to a few friends on the way.

I have a passion for woolsheds. Hubby and I plan to build a house one day that references woolshed vernacular, and reminds me of the landscapes of my childhood. He was a bit alarmed at first because he thought I wanted to convert an actual woolshed like they do on those English TV shows with old cow byres etc. He was worried about the smell. Believe me, half a century of nitrogenous sheep waste is not something you could live with! So I reassured him that it would be entirely without smell, and he was just as captivated with the idea. We've spent quite a while researching it and finding things in magazines. I have small portfolio of woolshed ideas squirrelled away for the future.