I always imagined spring to be a productive time where everything was in abundance, when flowers of many colours lined country roads, where a warm breeze gives the hint of summer, and baby farm animals fill straw-lined barns and lush green paddocks.
After years of striving to be self-sufficient I’ve realised the picture is not so romantic. Sure on certain days the sun comes out, teases you like a flirt, then disappears as fast as it arrived. Spring isn’t necessarily a happy flower-filled time, it’s a season of transition.
This transitional season can make growing food tricky. As a veg grower and provider for my family I know spring can be as lean as winter, especially if the weather plays mean. I didn’t choose to live here (in the Central Highlands of Victoria) based on its climatic ability to grow food, I moved here for family reasons. This means I simply have to contend with whatever nature dishes out, the joys of peasant living.
The old farmhouse we rent is positioned significantly higher in altitude than Melbourne which is at sea level. It’s also exposed, sitting in a paddock with little shelter from prevailing winds. This means my veg plants are always a few months behind what’s happening in the city gardens. Via social media I watch my city friends who grow backyard food and inevitably get jealous seeing the advanced progress of their spring broad beans, peas and broccoli.
I tell myself to be patient, only another month and I’ll be there. I wish for a week of sunny weather to give my plants a much needed lift out of winter torpor. Often, the sun decides it’s not ready for a warm spring day, the grey clouds roll in and it starts to drizzle. This happens every year, almost without fail, and being prepared means having something else to eat other than spring vegetables.
Thankfully the system of squirrelling away summer produce in my larder keeps my family fed every year from winter to when the first crops of late spring are ready to harvest. It’s in this colder period that I tend to cook a lot of meaty meals, digging in to my reserves in the freezer. The excess corn, peas, broad beans of the summer are gobbled up first, then come the stodgy meals like venison stews, duck ragu and braised goose, all served with winter staples such as beans, kale, chard, potatoes, onions and carrots.
I do love these meals this time of year though. I reckon they complement the weather perfectly. We huddle in the room with the wood heater, talk about the day at school, work updates or family news as we slurp our stews or twirl our ragu pasta. But at the end of this cold season the novelty of this style of eating begins to wane. There is notably less excitement from the girls when they ask me what I’m cooking for dinner and the answer is venison. We start to crave other food, something with fresh vegetables and maybe lighter.
In an effort to provide the illusion of variety I’ll call up a farming mate and organise a meat trade. “Anything but venison” – the kids plead. I dig deep into my chest freezer, pull out some of the last cuts of venison and head down the road, hopeful to trade for lamb or pork. Springtime on the farm is just as I imagine, the paddocks are almost glowing with high green grass, the dams are full with winter rain and clean lambs greet me at the fence thinking I’ll provide them with a feed of bottle milk. Their eyes are large and inquisitive, their wool, pure and fresh. It’s hard to not fall in love with them. I just want to pick them up and give them a big cuddle, however they rarely react well to my affectionate intentions.
Each spring from August through to September baby lambs arrive into this world. If the farmer is diligent, many of them survive, but sadly many don’t make it through the evenings of extreme cold weather. There’s often a delivery complication, the lamb comes out the wrong way, it’s not breathing or it’s the smallest of triplets and struggles to get a fair go at that all important mother’s milk. Sometimes the ewe doesn’t bond with the offspring and a lamb is left to fend for itself. In this case the farmer takes on the role of mum, hence the bottlefed lambs greeting me at the fence.
As the weather warms up, the fodder crops of lucerne, clover and brassica continue to grow thick and lush, providing feed for milk-making mums and hungry maturing lambs. By the end of summer the lambs are much larger, they’ve thrived in the warm conditions just as my vegetable garden does. Come autumn and it’s time for the lambs to go off to slaughter and feed the masses. It’s a hard reality to grasp for many, and many opt for alternative dietary approaches. Growing up on a farm I have accepted the process and understand the realities. Through observation of the cycles of the seasons, I have a realistic understanding of what’s involved in food production, more so than if I simply met all my food on a supermarket shelf.
I really value that I get to experience these annual cycles of food production. Whether it’s food I’ve grown, hunted or raised or whether it’s food my friends have raised on farms. Whatever the case might be, I value what it’s taught me over the years. I value the joy each new type of food brings to my family as it arrives each year in its designated seasonal spot, and I respect the ideology of living with what the seasons provide, even if it sometimes means another venison stew.
