away for the wet

You may have wondered where we are: have we disappeared down the crab hole of tropical torpor or into the heart of a deep green barrel, never to return from the bliss of the present moment? Fear not, we are in our summer residence in Western Australia, frolicking under days of cloudless blue skies while our island home sleeps through the wet season. The presence of Cyclone Christine last month whipped up a few waves and strong winds, but other than a couple of broken light bulbs we believe the house is at ease. The garden will be doing its wild wet season thing, and hopefully we will return to a six foot mango tree and fruiting papaya. More likely a tangle of creepers, weeds and a few goat eaten sticks. 

We are leaving Australia in less than a month for a long anticipated trip to Sri Lanka, then back to Indonesia for the barefoot season of 2014. There are some big plans and crazy ideas coming up this year; I hope you can paddle in for the ride.  Thanks for being patient with the infrequent posts; with the lack of internet connection last year, it was difficult to sustain a continuous online presence.

A happy new year to everyone, I declare it is still ok to wish this throughout January. Some of us take a while to warm up.

back on island time

Welcome to the barefoot season. We are home in the tropics after four months interlude in WA. The wet season has waned, leaving a tinge of green grass and humid conditions. The trade winds are on cue, grooming the swell in Aquaman's office. We are in residence until Christmas; so get you bikini, boardies and quiver ready for the long dry season.  

If you have been following us for a while, you'll know that each year the arrival is a shock. Eyes that have grown accustomed to Australian standards over the summer are assaulted by exposed wiring, busted fences, rubbish and decay (in contrast, when returning to Australia everything looks so neat and correct as to seem stale).  Our cleaner had knocked the top off four months of gecko shit, coconut matter and rampant vines blocking the back door, but we still had to spend two full days with rags, mops and secateurs to regain a respectable level of dignity. The pump was seized, leaving us without water for the first 30 hours (and the locals had drained the tank long ago). I couldn't even flush my beloved new toilet.  White ants had a nibble on the bathroom steps, and a light bulb went missing, but otherwise the camp is sound. The house was void of fresh food, and with market day still five days away, we dipped into our precious imported oats and dates for a porridge dinner.  Word of our arrival spread quickly through the village and by next morning bananas and pumpkin had appeared from a friends garden. 

The internet connection is painfully slow this year, and even google home page can take ten minutes to load, if at all. It is infuriating, and many days my attempts at blogging are derailed by dial-up. In between times I have started posting photos on Instagram @sallymaymills (which also appear on my FB page) and send the odd tweet @sallymaymills

The swell is picking up for the first big waves of the season, I still have the lagoon swimming pool to myself, and we have slipped quickly back into a state of voluntary simplicity that we relish. I look forward to sharing words and pictures from our island home.  Thanks for being here.  

flush and store: the new pavilion

Our humble shack has rocketed up the star rating with completion of the new pavilion. This tin clad beauty of Australian aesthetics features a undercover push button flush toilet with a door, a tap with running water into a sink, and a walk-in dust proof board room.  All tied down to a waterproofed slab with a proud fly roof. Going to the toilet is no longer a death risk.  The old toilet area is being removed and relocated to a local's house up the road. If he can dig it out, he can have it.  

Aquaman crafted the sink and bench from concrete, using our biggest stainless steel salad bowl as a form. The surface was polished by hand with diamond pads, then finished with  a layer of savon noir (an olive hull exract).  I made the light fittings from an enamel bowl and giant mug I found at the markets. The pavilion creates a courtyard between my studio and the garden, and the love seat has been moved and offers a private spot to catch morning sun and peruse the veggie patch, with ocean views beyond the bedroom. 

Inside the store room is a wall of labelled switches and knobs - the engine room of our power system - our old fridge serving as a tool box, various long handled implements, and a rack for the quiver.  

This my friends, is the final post for this season. We are currently under the boundless blue sky of a Western Australian summer, enjoying time in our other simple home. There is all day power and more expensive bananas, soy lattes and stone fruit, and neighbours that don't know our names. We will be back in Indonesia in March or April for season 2013. Thank you for sharing another season in the tropics, I look forward to welcoming you back on the ferry as soon as the trade winds kick in. 

Until then, you can follow our Australian capers at Treacle for Stickybeaks and find a great coffee at Crema and Crumbs.

happy new year 

sun, dirt & water

Unless you have arrived directly from Saudi Arabia or the Great Sandy Desert, our island is shockingly dry at this time of year. It is now over five months since the last rain drop, and the colours of the landscape are muted by dust and thirst. Coming from a rare visit to Australia in spring, via the rich surrounds of Ubud, where green claims a new intensity, our little garden with its lemongrass, sand and rock statements is harsh reality under the blazing sunshine. 

The goats snuck in the back door while I was away (and Aquaman was napping on the job), and smashes the basil, silverbeet and papaya. At sometime during their feast they had a conscience and left the three precious sunflowers untouched. Now, standing proud in the red dirt is a beacon of yellow, a huge smile from nature, my first sunflower. 

spring morning

There aren't any tulips, daffodils or cherry blossom to mark the first day of spring, but the season has a hint of change. We are coming to the end of our short "winter", when we reach for a blanket in the early hours, and I sport a scarf with a bikini. The last rain was on the 21st May, and the days are warm and dry.  Not enough humidity to induce lethargy, but enough to keep my skin from cracking. An onshore mist has veiled the lagoon each morning this week and its water laden air condenses to a dew which quickly evaporates after sunrise. 

We are finally getting some results in our garden, having out-witted the hermit crabs with a corrugated iron barrier fence. It's too slippery for them to climb and they can't jump.  Silverbeet, basil, parsley and rocket are all powering, and we should be picking our first papaya in a couple of months.  I even have some white alyssum for a cottage garden touch. We are a long way off being self sufficient, but picking a few salad greens each day is a start.  

becca & axel's garden

Becca and Axel are a young couple that have grown up in Bali to European parents, and embraced voluntary simplicity even younger than myself and Aquaman. They live ten kilometres south of us over a very rough road that doubles as a ditch in the wet season and a rocky dust bowl in the dry. Their small house is tucked into a hillside with sweeping ocean views and fertile red soil. They are fortunate to have none of the hermit crab and gutless sand challenges of us down here at sea level, and have established an eclectic garden of herbs, flowers and veggies.  It is a favourite morning outing to borrow a motorbike and bounce down the road for a fresh plunger of coffee and a poke around the pots. Last week I took a few cuttings and have been gifted some seeds, so let's see if I can get some floral action at our place.  I'm not one for laying about in hammocks - they are an overrated icon of the tropical island dream that make me sea sick - but I I have been known to make a short exception on Axel's verandah as the morning rays tickle my cheeks. 

backyard garden diaries

Last year we arrived to a wilderness garden in the back yard and I spend the first month hacking away vines before I could access the keyhole beds. This season we arrived to a bare yard save for the hardy lemongrass.  This was not so much thanks to our appointed "gardener", but to her inability to patch up the fence or organise anyone to do so. The goats had a fat time chewing anything fleshy and green, providing us with bare sand,  perfect for site works for the new toilet and tank stand.  

We dismantled the smaller keyhole bed and added the rocks to the larger one with concrete reinforcement.  The extra depth on top of the orange plastic tarp guards against the invasion of coconut roots, and provides a deep bed of soil on top of the gutless beach sand. I dug in aged horse manure and planted basil, cherry tomatoes, silverbeet, beetroot and giant sunflowers. In shaded pots I have parsley, rocket, perpetual spinach and green oak leaf lettuce.  Coconut fronds give dappled light to the keyhole garden - this isn't a mild summer in England - however there is no way of protecting the seedlings from hermit crabs.  I went to bed last night excited by the emergence of seven sunflower sprouts, and awoke to only three. 

I am inspired by this excellent guide to tropical permaculture from a lady growing a wide range of fruit and veggies in the Kimberley region of Western Australia.  If she can do it, so can I...but does she have crabs?

the final days

We left our home at the end of the long dry season, before the dump of monsoonal rain (that continues to fall, along with cyclonic onshore winds), and we are currently under cloudless autumn skies at home in WA.  The shut down procedure took a couple of days, and hopefully it has protected our beach shack from weather and intruders - both two and four legged.  The final days brought a heightened sense of presence and gratitude, along with excitement and a dash of trepidation about our migration.   

  

another rock in the wall

Part of our back fence took a tumble while we were on our visa run. It is only dry stone with a concrete capping, so is vulnerable to Humpty Dumpty moments. We rallied the rock monkeys for a days work before the whole thing fell down.  The foreman said they would start at 8am, but they turned up keen to start at 6.45am -  who knew rubber time works in both directions?

The team endured the morning heat with constant chip and chat. They used the public path as the cement mixing zone and added a token course of mud through the middle of the wall to add strength.  Lunch was a few little fish cooked whole over the open fire, a cigarette and a glass of water. 

The team boss is Pak Lance, a jovial and avuncular character who maintains his svelte figure climbing by lontar palms and chewing betel nut in between meagre meals.  He offers a sideline in "sports massage" which includes free exfoliation from his hard working hands.  Check out his amazing curved feet in the next post.

late arvo glass off

The late afternoon glass off is a surfer's panacea to an ordinary day. Not that we consider any days here to be ordinary.  This time of year, as the winds dance, rest, then swing, we can be treated to a cool onshore or becalmed in a steamy stillness. Despite a deluge on the mainland, the rain is still eluding our pocket of the island.  Cloud banks build and subside, and the quality of the light changes in intensity and warmth as we spin eastward toward the golden glow of sunset.

salad patch

The local vegetable plots are in full production, and a source of much envy and admiration to this lazy gardener.  Carrots, spring onions, tomatoes, eggplant, lettuce, chilli, basil and a variety of Asian leafy greens. All organic, watered by hand and eaten  within hours of harvest. Every Tuesday baskets are walked to the weekly markets. This is carbon negative food with zero food miles and an abundance of available nutrients. Super fuel for Aquamen, lontar climbers and wordsmiths.

sculpture garden

My vision of a simple sculpture garden in the front yard is beginning to take shape, with vignettes of found objects and aloe, inspired by the Derek Jarman's scree garden and the environmental installations of Andy Goldsworthy.

I have vague ideas for some large scale driftwood pieces, but as yet, the form and structure evade me. 

To see what other creative outbursts we have been having, have a look here.