For Sale

Our farm is on the open market. 

Each time I say it, my eyes fill with tears I refuse to shed. Yet, as I type this, I can’t see the screen clearly, as a few unruly tears escape. 

Selling the farm is breaking Daryl’s heart, therefore I break too. 

My parents bought the farm in 1974. I was four years old. I don’t remember moving in, but I remember the old house. It reminded me of a very old lady.  Grey, weathered and unkempt. Over 100 years old, she creaked anytime someone walked through the hallways, the floors were uneven as the foundations began to sink, wind swirled under the doorways well-worn from footsteps running in and out, and the windows were naked without coverings until my mother made some. They matched the god-awful wallpaper she hung on every crooked wall! But at least they added colour and kept the summer heat out. The combustion stove was lit 365 days a year as it heated the hot water system; stifling on the hot summer days is an understatement. There was no air-conditioning back then, not even a fan. Our front door was situated under the bullnosed verandah and was known as the formal entry – it was rarely used but did provide some respite from the sun and the perfect hiding place for the snakes. I always used the back door.

My mother bought the farm while dad was working off-shore – quite the surprise when he returned. 

She was like that. Impulsive, hot headed and determined. Together, they worked as if possessed to make the farm a success. They were eccentric and suspicious of most people, yet they poured everything they had into their land - money, sweat and raised voices.  My brother and I were the ‘apprentices’. 

The farm was as success, a well-oiled business, for many years. After much bickering, the new house was finally built, and I remember the process in intricate detail. We moved out from the old lady house and into our fresh new brick home. 

Fast forward. My parents have both passed on. The farm fell into disrepair following years of ill health for both my parents before Daryl and I bought the farm. After eight years, the property has been revived. The soulless brick house, I moved into when I was 12, is now a warm inviting home that has been renovated to bring joy and comfort. Its walls hold so many stories; memories it will harbour forever.

The farm has been totally rebuilt. It is low maintenance and if you take a walk down through the bushland it's magical. This is Daryl’s favourite place – the one he will miss the most.

The hard work has been done. And we are preparing to say goodbye. 

Our plan was to ‘retire’ from the farm when we got close to 60.

Our plan was to enjoy the low maintenance farm life for the next five years or so.

Our plan has been smashed into little, tiny pieces by cancer.

We now are making new plans. 

We are trying to see beyond our current circumstances.

We are working on moving forward.

We are not always very good at this, sometimes we just go backwards.

We get slammed but then we get back up and go again.

Selling the farm signifies so much in our little piece of the universe. 

Daryl fell in love with farming in a heartbeat; the moment I reluctantly agreed to go back. 

Daryl thrived amongst the gum trees, the summer haze, winter frosts, newborn calves, and tonnes of firewood.

Daryl found solace in his darkest days amongst the magic of the morass.

After 48 years of being a part of my family, I hope the new owners will embrace Rivergum and make it their own.

After 48 years it is hard to imagine this place will soon be part of our past. 

After 48 years I’m not sure how to say goodbye…but I suspect there may be a few tears.

Until next time,

N

Filed

When life feels out of control, what do you do? 

Well, this afternoon we cleaned out the filing cabinet! I can highly recommend this activity. The alternate was to make more zucchini relish (it is indeed the season for it) but Daryl already had the zucchinis soaking and seriously how much relish can you eat? 

The filing cabinet stands stoically in the corner of our study and is a silent reminder of the many ‘must do’s’ I have on my list. Although it never raises its voice above silence, I can hear it, feel it call me to sort it out and lighten the bulging drawers. 

Why did today choose to be the winner of this particular task? I have no idea. Maybe because driving to Melbourne to pick up some books and the proverbial kitchen sink was not enough of a distraction yesterday. Maybe, there is no explanation, and on a whim we started. I must admit Daryl was coerced into the exercise but willingly looked through files while resting on my favourite red chair. Our filing cabinet, like many of its kind, holds secrets and treasures of its own. It is indeed the keeper of our memories long forgotten, the holder of our decisions made many years before, it is also the reminder of time passing by. Each document releases a memory, a recollection, a time of joy, expense or regret and this moment is hurled back into the present for us to savour or discard. Sometimes the dust that flies from the pages is a little suffocating, other times I felt like I needed to wash my hands. I sustained only one paper-cut. We found old report cards, letters to sports stars, many works of art, receipts for small purchases and others much larger - like our trip to the UK a few years ago. Legal documents, financial statements, all crammed the files despite having no purpose now. Some days I feel just like those documents, taking up space with little purpose. 

My friend and I drove to the city last night, on a whim. We both had items to pick up as mentioned previously (seriously, a kitchen sink and books) that I might add a more logical minded male, known well to us, pointed out could easily have been delivered via a courier. He is correct, they could have, saving several hours of our time and significant fuel but when my friend and I were having this conversation, something in me stirred and I saw an opportunity. Albeit odd, irrational, illogical - an opportunity should never be ignored. 

We spent six hours on the road, two hours dissecting an ordinary dinner in a Fitzroy café, collected our respective items and never was there a moment of silence as we devoured the chance to share our inner worlds – the one we keep hidden, protected - the one that makes us vulnerable and a little (somedays, a lot) out of control. It is a friendship that has spanned more than two decades, and to an outsider it’s probably a bit weird, but it works. Distinctly different in every way, we complete each other – but never in the way of self-help books or a standard arc, plans or plot lines and that’s perfectly ok. 

We didn’t solve anything, we didn’t make any grand plans, we didn’t really do anything spectacular – but I heard my friend, I saw her, and what did she do for me? Exactly the same. In those hours we stopped feeling invisible. 

Much like our troublesome filing cabinet I have closed the drawers again, less encumbered than before. Daryl has gone back to making zucchini relish, my nose is smarting from the strong smell of vinegar filling the kitchen, my eyes are stinging as the chilly simmers on the stove. I know he is contented to be back and being useful. While he can’t control the chaos of his health concerns, he can cook up a damn fine relish. 

Until next time,

N

Feels Like Home

The soulful tunes of Norah Jones’s “Feels Like Home” is playing softly in the background on the antiquated CD player, a freshly poured glass of gin and tonic is pleasant company along with sounds of the ocean conversing with the sands situated just beyond the caravan park and with my feet up, seated outside the van, I am alone but certainly not lonely.

The gin is a Christmas gift from Daryl, purchased and then imported from England, it is a subtle reminder of good times in my recent memory. The beach, certainly the sounds emanating from its shore, fills me with a sense of belonging, peace and permission to indulge in the world of words whether it be through reading a novel or three or tapping away at my laptop as I am doing now. A perfect way to begin a brief sojourn from the real world. I am most fortunate and a little selfish, to be here. Daryl has just driven back towards the farm, with work commitments making his stay brief but I hope he would say enjoyable. Just the two of us, kids and friends were banned and we took 24 hours out of ordinary life. Later my longtime friend and her two young teens will arrive, tomorrow, my twin sons and daughter, with little people in tow, will join me and the van will be full of stuff and noise once again. I am looking forward to it all, but for now, I will relish in the serenity.  

Hot on the tail of a busy Christmas day, last night we strolled on the beach, watched the sunset and spoke with family from England, whose day was just about to begin. It is so easy now to keep in touch and we were thrilled they were home, albeit rugged up to fend away the winter chill, while we were in shorts and thongs. Our own day was filled with family festivities beginning on Christmas eve as we prepared our contributions to the day in the form of pavlova’s (Daryl's specialty) and roast turkey (my specialty), all the while entertaining two granddaughters so their parents could prepare and assemble gifts too big to fit under the Christmas tree. Celebrations began in the early afternoon, with a visit across the road where the cats will be holidaying for a week, their placement was the perfect opportunity to share a drink and gifts with our neighbour and some of her family, visiting from interstate. The little girls were very happy to play with two other girls and made fast friends. The cats settled, although I doubt they will thank me for their temporary relocation. The catch ups continued to Churchill and ended at the traditional Christmas eve dinner with most of Daryl’s family. Loads of food, kids running amuck is usual and a visit from Santa on his firetruck was a treat for all the little ones. The biggest treat however, by far, was the surprise appearance of my son Damien, who showed up from sunny Queensland, rendering me speechless for a few moments. With my eyes stinging with tears, I thought my legs would give way as I went to him, hugging him so tightly, we could barely breathe. I miss him so much and his unexpected visit seems to have been a carefully guarded secret within my own clan. As I prepared for Christmas morning, knowing all my babies would all be present was a priceless gift, and I couldn’t help smiling as we stuffed stockings well past midnight in readiness for an early start. Despite the fact my youngest baby is 19, they still get a childish buzz out of their Santa stockings, which is now carried onto their own children (without relinquishing their own!). Continuing with family traditions Christmas breakfast was a feast shared with special friends, who

we count as family, a visit from twin Santa’s and the exchanging of many gifts and letters. It is my choice to write each of the grandchildren a letter each Christmas, although they cannot yet read, I hope this will be something they will cherish many years down the track. The reality of feeding 30 odd people is never easy but I have to say my son and his partner did a sterling job getting it all together, and with a little help from the rest of us, we enjoyed copious amounts of fare and a drop of celebratory sparkles and ale. Onward, we arrived at the next feast sharing this part with Daryl’s son’s in-laws. A quieter affair it was just lovely, especially with the addition of their first child, who at only six weeks of age, was oblivious to all the fuss around him.

It was then time to pack and make our way to the van. Our place of rest and relaxation (interspersed with a few housekeeping jobs here and there). It had taken some convincing to get Daryl here for only one night, but he did and it was a good idea.

Sitting here now, I am part way through my drink, the air is slightly cooler and the families around me are filling the air with the fragrance of camp food, namely sausages on the barbeque. The magpies are attentive in the hope of an easy feed, while I can hear the hammering of pegs into the ground where the newest arrivals set up their campsites. Despite the third year of drought, the parks ground is relatively easy to hammer into, and we also spent a short time getting our outdoor flooring and gazebo in place earlier today, providing us shelter but also privacy and protection from the westerly winds, known to rise up and batter sites at its will.

I will see the New Year in from here and will be joined by Daryl, some friends and anyone else who chooses to come up. It will be a causal event, with a roast on the Weber, drinks and a game or two of cards. I expect we will see the New Year fireworks from the shores of Red Bluff and will ignore the crowds who will gather at Lakes Entrance. This is my kind of party, with as little fuss and fanfare as possible in the company of good friends and family. If you’re wondering who looks after the farm while we do all this relaxing, despair not, the animals are well tendered to with our trusty farm-sitter employed to watch over the ever-browning grass, the flock of hens, their protector alpacas and our small herd of cows with their young calves, in our absence. At last count we had 15 young babies running around, kicking up a lot of dust, so before we left the morass was opened and they all hoofed it down the paddock to feed on the green grass amongst the gum trees that will provide them with ample shelter in the upcoming days of heat. Temperatures forecast in the low 40’s are becoming more common and with bushfires already burning across thousands of hectares of Australia we are always mindful of the risks during the summer season. This year our fire season started early, interstate, with a ferocity we have not experienced for some years. For now, we are fine but vigilant.

The opportunity to take a break also gives a chance to put the paint brushes down and leave the chaos of house renovations for a time. They are coming along with the new kitchen now functional and I must say, looking fabulous, with our red gum bench tops and new oven. The laundry has also had a makeover and is not only more pleasing to the eye, it is far more functional. Never a fan of painting, I am enduring the process and grateful for every moment of assistance from family and friends. The process, like many major life events, has been the catalyst of a few flared tempers and fiery exchanges between Daryl and I in recent weeks fuelled by the end of the year fatigue and my resignation from my job, I am pleased to say we have made it through relatively unscathed. Leaving my former employer of three years was another major decision but I have no doubt it was a good choice given the instant relief of tension from my body and mind once I said a final farewell. Blessed to have secured another job I am excited about a different future.

With a new decade knocking on our figurative door, I am hopeful 2020 will bring opportunities for change, challenge and contemplation. I turn 50 next year and while this is not a significant event for some – it is for me.

Whatever 2020 means for you I hope it is just perfect.

Until next time,

N

October 8th - 5,270,400 seconds

It is exactly two months or eight weeks or 61 days, 1464 hours, 87,840 minutes or 5,270,400 seconds since we returned home from our holiday adventure to the U.K. Exactly the same period of time we spent touring around and living the proverbial dream. 

With grand plans to create a photo memory book, write letters back to our family and a number of other activities to record and relive those magical memories, our reality is quite different.
Returning home, exhausted from the long-haul flight we spent the night in Melbourne, barely slept before being picked up by family for the final drive to the farm.

Tonight, I am sitting here, reflecting and wishing we were wandering around the Scottish Highlands, even though I suspect it would be rather chilly. Instead we are slowly preparing for our kitchen renovation, set for the first week in November, along with a laundry rebuild, painting and reflooring of the west end of the house.  The cupboards, stove, sinks and fittings have been selected, most purchased before our trip to ensure we were ready to go. Paint options are still up for discussion as are splash backs, fan styles and floor colours. Keeping in the theme of renovations and repairs, the beach van continues to get a facelift and it is quickly becoming a place of choice, drawing me to the ocean air and sandy shores; washing away the gradual build-up of melancholy and confliction which continues to cover me, like a fine mist, that I don’t notice until my clothes are damp. The van is slowly, with the help of friends, transforming into a place of solace, rest and rejuvenation. One of my good decisions.

One of our not so good decisions however, recently included running cattle through the yards in strong winds. Behaving a little crazy, we noticed their heightened behaviour as we herded them into the cattle yards. They kicked and yahooed, bovine style, eventually conceding defeat as we shut the gate behind the last one. Unfortunately, our dramas did not end there. After dealing with infected injections sites, squeezing puss from swollen lumps and repeatedly avoiding slamming the crush bar into my face, the worse was still to come. The guttural scream emitted from Daryl as he was slammed against the steel fence by one of our Angus cows, weighing approximately 500 kgs. sent shivers down my spine and I felt the tightening of my heart, for a brief, eternal moment, as I expected the worse. Relieved to see he had been released by the quick thinking of our friend Zac, Daryl was scarred but not permanently damaged. I realised at that I had lost my courage, for working stock and fear instead, had set in. Previously, in Daryl’s absence I had started trying to funnel the herd into the race, each time they turned I was acutely aware of my own frailty, I knew I couldn’t get out of the way quick enough, I can no longer jump onto the yard railings to escape their hard heads, or side step a quick strike from their back legs as they refuse to walk down towards the crush. Despite my large length of poly-pipe I was stuck and fearful for my safety. Redundant really, at least, as a farmer of cows. 

 Perception is without doubt a powerful potent. 

The paddocks are green, at least from a distance, they look lush but as we walk through them, it is evident the drought is not over and the patches of dirt unable to produce a blade of grass remind us of the effects of the dry. Funnily the morass is flooded and the mosquitoes are in a frenzied space. No amount of repellent will keep the critters away, leaving us with welts to thank us for venturing out. The snakes are also on the move and I suspect we shall see more of them as the temperatures rise.

 On a brighter note, we have replenished our flock of hens and it is most enjoyable to have them run to us and say hello anytime we go into their pen. Slowly the egg count is building and we look forward to sharing our lovely produce with family, friends and acquaintances. 

It’s now the start of Spring and I have celebrated another birthday, we have well and truly settled back into normality and the frustrations and joys of our daily lives fill each moment. The bees survived winter and they are busily filling their hive with pollen and making sweet nectar for us to collect in due course. The fruit trees that survived the bitter frosts are now in bud, although it appears we have lost two more and all our citrus. Our tractor is fixed and our All-Terrain Vehicle has been given a thorough check up. The motorbike is still temperamental and only works with a lot of help, but the ride-on mower is at least now working again after tire issues. We have purchased a run around car and the old Ford ute now rests in the hayshed, used only for farm functions. The increasing cost of fuel was a driving factor to change the way we commute.

Our youngest is finishing her final year of school, exam prep is well and well truly underway. Her determination and drive to succeed is reminiscent of a younger version of myself and I am so very proud of her. She is also in the final stages of preparation for another extended adventure overseas in the new year. How I miss the enthusiasm of youth and the energy that springs from hope. Today, I feel older than my years, clouded in my views, and small, despite my expanded holiday-waistline.  Maybe in another 5,270,400 seconds things will be different. 

Until next time,

N

A season in time

My arms are stinging as I write today, not from typing overload, but from cutting back out-of-control rose bushes and ground covers that reach to my navel instead of crawling along the ground as advertised. I have cleaned up the blood trails from my forearms and wiped the dust from my eyes. I look at this patch of garden and inwardly I groan. It has been a rose garden since I was a little tacker. I remember planting the thorny bastards and in the following years they have stood firm during frosts, winds and rain not to mention the dry and neglect.
When we moved back here, a few years ago, I added more roses, most of them given to us for significant reasons - to mark the death of my mother, to mark a friendship, now also dead, and finally to mark the death of my father. There's something strange about giving a living gift to mark the end of a life. Do we do this to remember the life that has gone by seeing new growth? I'm not entirely sure, but I understand the sentiment. For me it's the aroma. Anytime I smell roses, I remember. So many memories to be found in the familiarity of fragrance.
Recently, however, many of these roses have grown woody and tough, they send out weird tangled shoots, there are so many they bite me anytime I go to pick the flowers or trim them back. So I had decided to cull them and today, I finally finished the task.

The death markers are still there, they are younger and produce stunning flowers, fragrant and rich in colour. In the height of the flowering season, the blooms are always cut and I fill the vases inside, which in turn fills the house with a sweet scent infused with emotion and memory.

Of course this time of year the rose bushes are bare, its getting cool and finally the fires are being lit. The sweet scent is now replaced by the smokey, woody warmth that wraps around you the moment you enter the front door. The chimney gives away the warmth inside, the plumes of smoke ascend high into the sky and the wind plays with it, sending it east and west, at its will. There is comfort in seeing this as I drive down the road that leads home. During winter I am guilty of keeping the home fires very well

stacked, a jumper is never needed in our place. I can only do this thanks to Daryl's wood cutting efforts and his diligent gathering of fuel. He and his Dad have spent many hours during the past few weeks filling our shed full of red gum. Despite his advancing years, my father-in-law is fiercely independent and active, hauling wood, using the splitter and even the chainsaw. I hope we have many more seasons with him, although the time may come soon when he needs to leave the job of chainsawing to the young ones.

Occasionally, others have helped out and even helped themselves to fill their own sheds. Daryl says he enjoys it. I have not had the chance to help this year, apart from the odd collection of wood from the bush. I haven't contributed much at all. I rationalise this by the knowledge that Daryl and his Dad are spending time together, creating unbreakable bonds and memories that are more precious than gold.

With every season there are tasks to be completed, preparations made, the cycle never ends. Like every day, today is just a moment in time, a season, an opportunity. Make it worthy and take a moment to breathe deeply, enjoying the sounds and smells of today, they will be the memories of your yesterdays for all of our tomorrows.

"Nothing is more memorable than a smell. One scent can be unexpected, momentary and fleeting, yet conjure up a childhood summer beside a lake in the mountains; another, a moonlit beach; a third, a family dinner of pot roast and sweet potatoes during a myrtle-mad August in a Midwestern town. Smells detonate softly in our memory like poignant land mines hidden under the weedy mass of years. Hit a tripwire of smell and memories explode all at once. A complex vision leaps out of the undergrowth."-  Diane Ackerman


Until next time,
N

Life...

Most nights I think about not having a glass of wine; most nights I end up pouring a glass of claret and often a second. It is one way of slowing the thinking process, slowing the heart beat and ultimately relaxing into a warm, happy place where life moves a little slower, the noises are a little duller and my responses are a little softer.
In my world, I have learnt this is a good way to end the day. I doubt I am alone in my strategies to get through and I suspect many people have more than a drink or two, and I've decided this is ok. Rebuilding a farm, working full-time, studying, managing the affairs of a demented relative and worrying about our very large brood, can fill up a person's day. Lately, I have watched Daryl work himself to exhaustion, gallantly trying complete numerous farm projects and support me as I try to help transform and keep the farm flourishing. I have watched him battling to reign in his own emotions as he tries to reconcile his reality, with the infinite hope we all have as parents. The frustration, the hurt, the disappointment  he feels is worked through with a shovel, shotgun and a lot of sweat. I manage by writing, reading and generally escaping in words. For two people who seem to have such differing coping mechanisms we are well matched. We share common ideals and goals, we share a dream invested in this land, and we hope for a future filled with our ever growing family and friends.

Unbreakable bonds

Farming, for those that have never experienced it, can seem like an endless list of jobs, never ending tasks that need fixing and 24 hour responsibilities for the welfare of animals. They are right, but there is also the satisfaction of achievement, of being close to nature and forming bonds with our stock and pets. There is the sense of space, freedom and a million stars twinkling down at you on a clear night. It never gets tiring. These are the same stars that used to look down on my parents. They ran this farm for more than 30 years, poorly towards the end but stubbornly attempted to hang on to it, regardless. They no longer see the twinkling stars. Next month will be four years since my mother died and my father doesn't remember what day of the week it is, or who I am on any given day. While we did not share a positive parental relationship, I cannot help but feel empathy for him in his current state and some days I think I understand my mum better, these days, than I ever did growing up. I suspect she suffered some serious mental health issues and my brother and I paid the price for it. My father, absent and distant during our formative years, has returned to this state thanks to a stroke impairing his cognitive function and exacerbating the Alzheimers Dementia that had already invaded his brain. He will spend his last days contending with declining physical health and reducing cognitive function. Health care staff will make him as comfortable as possible, keep him fed and cleaned and medicated. I will make the decisions effecting every aspect of his remaining life. My

Quite the team

husband supports me as I do this. We are a good team.
The wine does not dissolve any of the disappointment, solve any of the challenges or wipe away memories, but it does symbolise celebration and enjoyment of life. So here is a toast to all that life offers. May the stars keep twinkling above you and remind you that each day is a gift.

Until next time,

N

10,9,8.........Happy New Year!!!!

Baby WillyWag Tails

Happy New Year's Eve.   

It's that time of year again when we are either jubilant, relieved or indifferent. At the stroke of midnight we shall all move from 2016 to 2017 and in a heartbeat we will start the cycle of a new year once again. For some of us, we will merrily countdown 10, 9, 8 .... you know the drill, and then kiss anything that breathes, others will dream through the whole event, some of us will sit and reflect on a year that has been, while others will look forward to achieving those fabulous new year's resolutions.  So how are you bringing in the new year?  For me I am home alone (abandoned by my shift-worker husband and partying teenage daughter), tapping away at this keyboard, savouring a glass of red, and musing about what 2017 may have in store. I've never been a new year's resolution kind of girl, I prefer to work with whatever is thrown my way, and this year is no different. In fact, I don't think I could have wished for the past year and even tried to pre-empt the many challenges we faced; nor could I have imagined the highs and lows we have experienced. But we have thrived and definitely survived with the help of special friends, neighbours and the internet! 

Freshly cut hay

We have finished the year with hay cut, sold and the remaining bales safely stacked away; calves have been weaned from their mothers (despite much objection from mothers and babes alike) and the chicken pen is now complete (except for where the calves jumped through the fence trying to get back for their mother's milk) - so lucky they are not steaks right now!! The landscape is rapidly changing with the grass growth slowing and the once luscious green having now turned a pale yellow colour, crunching underfoot as the harsh summer sun dries the paddocks out. With increasing temperatures, water is a priority for the animals and it will be a relief when an efficient watering system is put in place.  

Bumper season

The farm has undertaken quite a transformation since we moved in and I have no doubt it will continue to thrive and develop into 2017 but the reality is without time (and an endless bank account) it is a slow and sometimes heartbreaking process. Farming, whether on a small or large scale is not for the feint hearted, it is however, for the determined and brave-hearted, it is a wonderful lifestyle (except when there's a heatwave-then it's the pits). Speaking of heatwaves, the lead up to Christmas saw us all stretched a little more than usual with fatigue our best friend. For me, undertaking seven weeks of intensive training for a new role, finishing a few days before Christmas and then launching into the realms of shift work with 12 hour days, during a heatwave, was hardly blissful. Christmas day started early with the animals' welfare a major consideration when the forecast announced 37 degrees and for once they were not wrong - scorching sun was the order of the day, making it a hot sticky affair. We knew we would be away all day so it was important they would be ok. Despite the forecast, my dad ventured out from the nursing home and lasted until mid afternoon before needing a rest, not bad when your 82. The day was filled with festivities, food and gifts. Celebrating at three different locations the day ended here, around small campfire under millions of stars. It was just beautiful.

Scooby(Ruby), Mia and Penny

 We also introduced a new pup into the mix this week - Ruby (otherwise affectionately called Scooby so as not to confuse her with the neighbours dog) is a small bundle of five-month old cuteness. A combination of Border Collie and Jack Russell she is happily running amok with Penny and Mia. Having already mastered the ride on the quad bike she is a quick learner and already showing signs of a good farm dog.   

Scooby and D

So here I am, me, the two cats and three dogs, sharing this calm, balmy new year's eve night together, sending messages of thankfulness and best wishes to the special people in my world and thinking of those who have left us. I am not melancholy but content in the knowledge that I am blessed beyond measure. Whatever 2017 brings, it will be ok.  So, whatever it is you are doing right now, however you choose to bring in the New Year, I wish you happiness and joy the whole year through.  

Thank you for sharing our Rivergum journey and I look forward to writing to you all throughout 2017. 

Happy New Year 

Until next time,

N