About outing sprouts

There’s great rivalry between Tasmania’s south and its north. Each has its own big city (well, big for Tasmania), its own beer brand, and its own football competition. Likewise Melbourne and Sydney are rivals. And, I suspect, a similar process explains why Canadians decry being mistaken for Americans. Me? The only ways I can tell them apart is by looking for an explanatory flag or maple leaf; and by the pronunciation of out words, e.g. out, about. And sprout. Segueing along, I’m into sprouting. Darling Meg started me off when she was here in October. It’s really easy [1, 2]. And it’s fun to watch the sprouts sprout; and then lengthen day-by-day to become a delicious tangle. I use a jar that contained olives in its previous life; and I cover the jar’s opening with a square of muslin held on by a rubber band. I started by sprouting mung beans. Then Sweetheart Vivienne bought me a sprouting mix of various beans and seeds – for a dollar. Meg says that each day’s liquid runoff’s highly nutritious. So far I haven’t been courageous enough to drink even a drop of it. Rather I pour it on the herb garden. Also, sprouting can be done all year round. So what’s not to like? It’s easy, it’s fun, it’s nutritious, it’s perennial, and it’s inexpensive. Give it a try. You won’t regret it. And if you’re a Canadian, telling people about it will ensure you’re not mistaken for an American.

Bravo, Stevo

I have some Canadian friends: there’s Mark, Maya, Marina and Mateus (who’ve visited me in Mole Creek [1]), Dieter (Maya’s father, who’s currently here [2]) and my cyberfriends Chrows25 [3] and Wordsmith [4] (whom I’m yet to meet in person). I wonder if they know that last Monday and Tuesday in the Canadian Parliamentary Buildings in Ottawa, their country hosted the Inter-parliamentary Coalition for Combating Antisemitism’s [5] second annual conference [6]. I don’t know what they think of their current prime minister Stephen Harper [7], but I reckon the speech he gave to the conference [8, 9] was honest and honourable. He said that ‘when Israel, the only country in the world whose very existence is under attack, is consistently and conspicuously singled out for condemnation, I believe we are morally obligated to take a stand’. He added that though Israel is not beyond fair criticism, Canada must oppose demonisation, double standards and de-legitimisation ‘Not just because it is the right thing to do, but because history shows us, and the ideology of the anti-Israel mob tell us all too well, that those who threaten the existence of the Jewish people are in the longer term a threat to all of us’. He added that Canada did not secure a UN Security Council seat [10] due to its failure to ‘go along with this anti-Israel rhetoric’. How brave of Canada to put principle above self-interest. Bravo, Mr Harper. And bravo Canada. I salute you.

Welcome, Dieter

Today’s ‘Positive and Optimistic Sunday’. Meet Dieter. He’s a sprightly 75-year-old German-Canadian. He lives in Ottawa. And he’s come all the way from there (with transit stops in Vancouver, Sydney and Melbourne) to stay with us in Mole Creek for three weeks. A retired precision toolmaker and then schoolteacher, he’s the father of Maya [1]. And with Maya and Mark he visited here in December 2006. He liked this part of the world – and maybe Sweetheart Vivienne and me too – so much that he’s returned for this visit. I met him at Launceston Airport last Friday afternoon. He came loaded with gifts – a Canadian fossil rock, an Ottawa Police t-shirt (as a tribute to how much I love all police [2, 3]), a bottle of home-made elderberry jelly and one of quince honey, and a giant carton of Lebkuchen-Schmidt delicacies [4]. He had quite a small suitcase and backpack, so minus these items he couldn’t have brought many clothes. But he says he has ‘three of everything but only two pairs of boots’. He adds that he’s come to work and help out. I doubt we’ll disappoint him. There’s plenty to do around here – especially as he’s handy with a chainsaw. Whilst the gifts are thoughtful and lovely, our biggest gift is having Dieter here. Welcome, mate.

farmdoc's blog post number 676

In my life (so far) of over 62½ years, I’ve witnessed many unforeseeable changes. Today’s post’s about one of them. Last Monday I wrote of our Canadian friends Mark and Maya who recently visited us along with their (pictured) children Marina (aka my sous-chef) and Mateus (aka Pug, and The Boy Wonder). I’ve known for some time that the children’s surname is their mother’s maiden name. I’d never come across this before. When they were here in Mole Creek, I forgot to ask Mark and Maya why they’d done this. Two days ago I discussed it with Sweetheart Vivienne. Then, lo and behold, in yesterday’s Age Catherine Deveny wrote this article about precisely this topic. Talk about synchronicity. When I was a lad, all children were assigned their father’s surname. Routinely. No ifs or buts. I assume this ritual continued until recently. For example my granddaughters, born between 2000 and 2007, all have their father’s surname (albeit their mother’s maiden name as their middle name). I just don’t know how I’d feel if any of my daughters’ children had their mothers’ maiden name (i.e. my surname) as theirs. In one way it’d be nice because as the father of daughters my surname wouldn’t otherwise make it to the next generation. But a child’s surname being its mother’s maiden name’s still strange to me – even though Ms Deveny’s article helped explain the rationale. Again I feel like a sheep man in cattle country. Ho hum.

farmdoc's blog post number 673

They’re gone. And it’s quiet again. Our house guests arrived on 2 February, stayed with Sweetheart Vivienne and me for a week, spent a week in Hobart, then returned to stay with me for a week. Until yesterday. They’re Canadians from Ottawa. We met almost a decade ago. Via Save Albert Park. Mark, a Professor of Communications, is an expert on the effects of major events. Maya’s a Police Officer. This was their third visit to us in Mole Creek. In late 2006 Marina was two years old. Now she’s a five-year-old teenager. This was the debut Mole Creek visit for Mateus – who maintains the M alliteration but is better suited to his nickname: Pug (i.e. an abbreviation of Puggle). I don’t know if Pug’s your typical Terrible Two, but if not then he comes close. When he’s good he’s very very good, but when he’s bad (i.e. exhausted) he’s horrid. During their 15 days in Mole Creek we did much: reminisced, laughed, joked, walked, sightsaw, farmed, and fed goats/sheep/Petey Boy/ourselves. But a 2-year-old inevitably curtails holiday aims. I hope The Canadians had a great time here – as would befit our wonderful friendship. And if they didn’t, I hope the fault wasn’t mine. When les Canadiens were here, I wondered if the noise (90% due to Pug) would ever stop. Now they’ve gone. And it’s quiet again. And it doesn’t feel good. I hope we see them again. Soon. But not before Pug turns three.