Stanton has never actually had a fitted kitchen in the engineering mode or in the culinary sense that we know and love. Mister Smeg and Monsieur Miele were never guests here.

Yes, over the years the house has witnessed the comings and goings of an assorted line up of fridges and the odd cooktop in the room downstairs we now use as an informal dining room, but nothing grand, imposing, or even inspirational.

We get by with a few benches that do their part as well as a stainless steel sink of 1980′s vintage that is an ageing reminder of washing up in the past. Until recent history two of the fireplaces still had attached swing out metal arms for holding up the rabbit stew.

The meals prepared at Stanton come off a 3 burner gas camping cooker mounted on a bench with its chum — a 44 gallon drum bbq — which sits next to an ex-metal room heater outside the spa house courtyard. Roasts are still done this way as well.

A well respected Brisbane architect, Margaret Ward, has designed us a simple yet sympathetic kitchen that will be beautiful when complete sometime in the future; the house will love this one. For now it is just us and a lot of very fine country smells inside and out.

Most of what we eat at Stanton comes from the property including the meat. I know we are fortunate in that we live well and have simple pleasures (quite a lot) to keep us going. Our newest arrivals, six Wyandote chicks and four Khaki Campbell ducks are not destined for the pot, rather they will have a long and chirpful/quacking life whereas one of our largest roosters will become Christmas dinner. What they say about home grown chicken is about to be tested poultry Mythbuster style.

The new outside pizza oven is made of stone sourced from the property and is quite imposing. It reminds me of a monument to some long forgotten explorer or perhaps an engineer who built a road through some unforgiving valley.

The original outside kitchen’s foundations are still evident where the spa house now stands, but it was not nearly as majestic as the new building which is much more fun and quite sinful.

Helen’s band SUNAS used to frolic in this bath house Roman style, it was the setting for a memorable musicians party where Helen wrote the piece about the oft absent host in the wide blue hat (me! I was a Policeman in Hobart).

The original wooden building was included in a 1912 painting of Stanton by Thomas Bone. This pleasant painting is depicted on the Stanton web site, alas the original has moved on and its whereabouts is unknown. At a stretch … a long one at that, the new pizza oven could be the outside equivalent of an old convict bakery.

December means Christmas . At Stanton this was a slow affair and quiet but it did happen. For the first time the man of the house (MOTH) did not spend Christmas in the house which may have rattled some of the ancients still here.

The MOTH finished his year early (he is a schoolteacher) and flew off to the Gold Coast where he enjoyed Christmas dinner with a new crowd of people he had never met before.

I hope some of these new friends will be able to visit Stanton next year and see the place for themselves. Living here is about letting people in, not keeping them out.

So, this is the final story about the year at Stanton. Not a tumultuous ending with fireworks and bubbles, no heroic conclusion, not even a cliffhanger with some lurking new event threatening the “status quo.”

Actually, there is no ending; it all just ebbs along from one season to another, one lifespan to the next only the observers change occasionally, such players presenting themselves then fading to history. Its all part of being here in the house, and the house is about the slow passing of time from 1817 to the present.

We understand quite a lot about what happened in the district, who the people were due to our books and technology. Can we assume that as we lived after them we know better and have richer lives as a result? With all the sophistication available at Stanton I would like to be able to approach the new year with as much courage, good humour and philosophy as the builders of Stanton did in 1817.

Thank you for living with us this past year. Now you can return to a more hectic world, enjoy.

It is raining. Has been on and off all day, just the drizzling type the birds love and you can tell by the noise they are making, unseen whistling in the Macrocarpas.

A group of plovers stroll across the newly mown lawn looking like they are determined to be somewhere on time. Down at the front dam the frogs seem to be in paradise; at least they are saying so.

It is a sea of green hue out there. Everything you get on the Dulux colour card of green is in front — framed against the shadow of tree and bough, but moving in the breeze. I didn’t believe native green had so much potential and could turn on such a show, particularly with help from many roses bursting from thin tendrils. Roses at Stanton have always taken on a pregnant air at this time of year; November.

To my right Back River winds unseen up towards Platform Peak the biggest of the Black hills now shrouded in swirling mist making it hard to tell where cloud and sky meet. It isn’t hot, about 17 deg, more of a NSW north coast winter lurking in a Tasmanian Spring.

It is a stretch at the moment to see the verandah shaded by hops that have recently been planted, just itching to climb up the strings onto the railing outside the main room. They will do this with great gusto around February emulating their colleagues at Bushy Park. We now have to be patient.

Stanton’s hops are not Tasmanian when you get down to it. They are here because they will thrive and be loved despite coming from across the seas. Every beer drinker should have hops growing on the verandah where they sip, it is … company!

The beer of choice at Stanton is a Two Metre Tall Forester or a Boags Premium, definitely not with bottles clinking at one’s feet. As an aside to this a great beer divide exists in Tasmania, a classic tale of North and South, but that is for another time.

Hop varieties have intriguing names that suggest a sort of befuddlement from the start. Wine makers don’t seem to be as laid back as beer brewers but a cavalier attitude towards brewing won’t do, there is more to it than you think.

A wondrous hop name to me is “Fuggle”, a famous English hop. Another grown at Bushy Park is called “Jungle”.

A premier English hop is named “Golding” said to have originated in East Kent villages in the UK.

A research trip to a microbrewery or three in Kent would be a satisfactory holiday indeed. Two Metre Tall use “Hallertau” and “Pride of Ringwood” hops to make their ale. It is now available on the Gold Coast for those wanting something different.

Stanton’s international contribution to flavour consists of the following guests:

Cluster (US)
Chinook (US)
Fuggle (UK)
Golding (UK)
Mount Hood (US)
Nugget (US)
Saaz (Ger)
Northdown (UK)
Super Alpha (NZ)
Hersbrucker (Ger)

I’m sure they will be sociable types in the true beer spirit.

Stanton has had other guests over the years and one group has stayed the distance. The bees at Stanton have been here forever and have done their thing quietly and efficiently ever since. An apiarist who comes here periodically talks about them as ” the girls” with quite some affection.

We at Stanton have now converted to the faith and from now on there is no holding back. Playing with bees is entirely satisfying and what a result!

From the visor of my white astronaut suit I see the friendly smiles on their faces and I contemplate ditching the protection and going “au naturel,” showing my endearing nature so to speak.

Just Kidding!

The white suit is a uniform like no other when you look at it. If you wore it to Woolies people would associate you with great worth to the country and so look at you with admiration. Perhaps they will buy chocolate for you … or they may not.

At Stanton our honey goes lavishly on porridge next to the King Island cream and the raspberry compote.

November has been a wet part of Spring but this is beneficial. If it keeps producing fine sprays of moisture in quantity every flower, leaf, vegetable, fruit, and the hop will be ready to enjoy in the new year.

But first, starting next week, Summer will show how blue goes with the green.
Perhaps we need a painter to capture this on canvas.

Time passing is what I’m thinking about now and I will write something about that on this, the remains of October. It seems easy to write about time at Stanton as the place drips in it. Not so much the sort of hurried schoolmother sort of progress through the day, more the passing of the seasons I’ve reflected on before.

It has now been nearly two years since Helen left Stanton to reside on the red hill above Bushy Park and her presence there is marked by a traditional stone piece, simple yet perfect made by master craftsmen, John McDiarmid & Sons of Sydney.

It is of Tasmanian sandstone and I’m sure it will look better as it ages. For almost a year only a bare Huon pine cross made by Stanton’s cabinet maker alerted any passing council worker to a nearby soul. There was no need to rush though, everything has unfolded as it should.

Stanton has changed in subtle ways over the past year. It has rained more and retained a green edge to the land. Stanton is not a big property although the trees plants and flowers here complement each other and they do uplift the spirit when observed from the verandah. It is a pleasing scene.

As we move towards November the frosts loom as a potential cherry bud threat that could wreck the winter’s work of pruning and grooming the cherry and apple orchard but this makes for activity in itself. Looking forward each day to seeing how things are going down there refreshes the mind and makes for eager steps.

Then there is the chicken shed.

“Stanton Ovation” has finally been built and now stands impressively amidships in the apple orchard. It is a fine structure by any farm measure; cosy in winter and a base for chicken free range heaven. It is home to 13 happy birds including Australorps, Wyandots, Barnebelders, Isa Browns, and a white leghorn all supervised by three roosters.

The character among the boys has been named Stu or Stewart as he gets amongst it. Every house needs chooks. They are likely planet savers and beautiful to watch each evening with a glass of red in hand.

We like red wine at Stanton. Here it is drunk as wine should be; with passion, gusto, and … quantity. Bottles of the red stuff are opened for no particular reason and enjoyed on the go, European style with corkless bottles clinking at your feet.

Tasmanian Pinot is now world famous and rightly so, I never miss a Kelvedon Pinot when I am at Salamanca just watching the waterfront work and play. Here at Stanton our favourite sociable drop is a Volupta Montepulciano d’ Abruzzo from Tuscany imported in bulk by Ashleigh Huntington, the larger than life brewer at Two Metre Tall Real Ale company at Hayes just up the road.

Lubricated conviviality has always been a way of life here and as time passes this essence has not changed although the people at Stanton have.

Asclepius is a Veterinary surgeon from the North Island and has brought to Stanton a love of organic agriculture and the humble pleasures of growing your own food in the backyard veggie patch. The Stanton vegie patch has been neglected for some time and I have lamented the lack of a Peter Cundall type to breath life back to what is a very basic and important activity; growing it yourself. The Derwent Valley, I believe should be Tasmania’s leading example of how to do things organically.

Asclepius, (not her real name) possesses agricultural knowledge that is theoretically and practically based and has been here a while now. She rides an Andalusian Stallion on an arena marked out on the top paddock while every mare within sight looks on intently, admiringly. A short distance away the house watches this scene periodically and approves.

Asclepius has a partner here at Stanton who loves her and shares her passion for food. he is a software Engineer, also from the North Island.

Heracles (not his real name) can turn his hand to any activity and has transformed the look of Stanton into what is now a well maintained property. His clear eye for mechanical detail will bring to Stanton the oil needed to keep the house moving along as it were. Stanton is old and beautiful but she does have a lot of baggage for an ageing lady and she requires a lot of upkeep. Heracles is a thinking woman’s practical man.

He could move from the world of computing to any restaurant kitchen, or to the engineer’s workshop, or even back to the 1820′s and be Stanton’s overseer. Energy and order have been delivered to the Back River farm and it will be the better for it.

Then there is Lisa!

Lisa has come to Stanton as my partner and the love of my life. One day I will marry her. I have always suspected that the house was a semi-asleep watchful being of a sort that welcomed people into its heart and then nurtured the lot for a long time. I speak of it as such. Recent events seem to make for this belief and sentiment. I like the idea of bringing people in, not keeping them out. The world that is Stanton now has three new people to play in it and they will go eventually as we do with the passing of the ages.

Lisa has an educated mind. Her opinions are based on knowledge and the views of others. She is considerate of those around her, she knows herself and her soul. She has emotional strength the envy of many and she is sophisticated, attractive and funny. What man would shun such a person? To me, she has come on the lifeboat for Stanton and it won’t be pushed away.

Lisa accompanied me to a ceremony recently that remembered my father, a NSW police officer slain in the course of his duties. It was a glimpse of time that has passed but is still accessible in one’s memory. Some of it is still painful even after many years. At the house there are some sad memories from a few years ago, but not many.

If I were a minister writing a few words on a wet Saturday morning with Stanton in mind I would choose Ecclestastes, Chap 3, verse 4:

To everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heavens…a time to weep, and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.

For the four caretakers of Stanton now is the time to dance.

Two pine trees grew up together after they were planted 70 metres from the house in 1919. An old man who once lived at Back River and walked past Stanton on his way to Back River school as a boy remembered seeing them as small trees. He is still alive, now in his early 90′s as when I last saw him he was the human equivalent of the other still standing pine; gnarled, solid, wizened and healthy. As things go around here both of them will follow the first tree into the next life, its inevitable but that’s ok.

The fallen tree as it turned out was senescent and a hazard to man and beast. At 27 metres it was making a big statement about its position here at Stanton and I am mildly smirkful (I like this strange word) when thinking about myself being a menace to the public at age 91. Still. I didn’t want him killing my neighbours in the night; one of whom is Nathan our cabinet maker. Another is new this month, freshly arrived from Kalgoorlie, WA. Do they have trees there?

My thoughts about the two old men of Stanton watching over its entrance are possibly incorrect but they make sense to me. Most of the trees here at Stanton are Macrocarpa but these two boys are Radiata, very different lads indeed. Moreover, the white cockatoos clamour about the Macrocarpa while the black cockatoos prefer to squark in the Radiata. Some things are perhaps black and white after all. I believe it would have been a great gesture if these two odd trees were planted here together during 1919 in remembrance of those men from the New Norfolk area who did not return from a war few people understood but clearly presented to all painful memories shared around a small country town. No one can explain why the trees are, or were together out in the open. I like my idea about it all.

Around this time the inhabitants of Stanton were probably more interested In Richmond winning the Premiership of the VFL comp. They would have been alert to the goings on at the relatively new production facility Henry Jones’ IXL company had set up in New Norfolk.

Apricots from Stanton were grown for tinning at this new Derwent Valley factory, previously they were taken to the IXL site in Hobart then sent as jam to Australian forces overseas during the First World War. The IXL site in Hobart is now a nationally known waterfront hotel and holds a new and pleasant memory for me.

Here at Stanton life was of the rural flavour and will be once again with an exciting new adventure planned for the future.

Back then when the young boy and the sapling trees were looking at each other not thinking about their very long life ahead people here may not have been mindful of other worldly events … that Mahatma Gandhi was about to emerge as a nation’s inspiration to advance, or that Australia had just become the original member of the league of Nations. Such things were Secondary to the seasons and the work calendar dictating effort during these times.

People who come to Stanton oft see history in a new light.

The downed pine is now causing a new vibrancy of colour to be thrown on Stanton and its neighbours in an arc of sunshine that no one in Back River has seen in recent history. Afternoon sun once more streams onto the house, and into the rooms. It is almost hot at times. The airy feel to the new vista is welcome. Not a bad look, not a sad sight. It all went down quickly and very quietly. Indeed there was no noise at all in the vicinity.

Taking down a tree and doing traffic control is a four man job but only one does the felling. He is usually older and wears a more faded orange shirt, more importantly he has a face that tells you he has done this before. It is a face of experience and so with ease it places you. The smiling assassin image of old movies comes to mind; or the friendly butcher who flirts a lot in his shop just as he is about to chop up the family pet Bambi for steak on Sunday.

Cutting down an old tree can’t be good for the soul and it may not get you into Botanical heaven, but there are times when it is necessary.

Two years was long enough. The lone figure at the bottom of the tree was thorough and professional, not boastful. He left us with a massive round table top for the house which should last us until the new tree spreads its limbs, and another small boy walking past growing into a man.

I think it will be an oak.

Jan was a guest at Stanton a few years ago. He said that we were all blessed living in the Derwent Valley as we do. The air is different and the light picks out the green on the hills blending it with the purple sky. He lives in Sydney so I listened attentively.

We were at the Two Metre Tall Real Ale farm bar on one of those winter Saturdays where it is chilly but clear, then moving to a change of mood later on … it reminded me of the conviviality of the Trout Inn near Oxford, UK on an English winter’s day.

Everyone was at the brewery including Jan. He said he liked winter in Europe as it was a busy time with much to prepare for the new seasons ahead; the reward for effort being veggies and vines that actually work and give you something back.

He spoke like a farmer. I don’t think he is going to be a full time wine export manager in Sydney’s CBD for a great length of time. I’m glad such fellows as Jan and Ashleigh inhabit our world as talking to them provides me with mind flavour in a sometimes routine week.

This year it was frustrating to get winter organised the way it should, the normal winter jobs at Stanton were not flowing freely and it was wet.

August was a very drizzly month with the stuff coming up out of the ground as little springs. The winter rivulet known here as Cash’s Rivulet (Martin Cash the bushranger) has run strong since June and still has more to go.

I have renamed it Breakfast Brook as there is a nice spot under the trees for a lazy Sunday brunch. But not this time.

Rain constantly falling for a month on end turned us into window pane gazers looking out upon a scene of damp mist with centre stage a sodden horse who, just recently arrived from Queensland was probably wondering if they have summer here.

He will love it in November when Spring is full blown and the grass is juicy.

Staying inside for a month is hard to do. We pruned the soggy orchard, that will make us happy in March next year when the apples come on plus we will be ready for the European wasps when they turn up as well.

The cherries were also cut back sufficiently to allow for a fair supply of heaven’s best fruit.

To top it off a trip to Bushy Park was accomplished returning with ample used hop poles that will support the netting over a 30×30 metre cherry orchard.

Staying indoors for weeks by the fire makes you think too much really. Most of it forms into grand plans for something or another so taking you to a place that is both enticing and frustrating.

The chook shed is going to be made more comfortable for the girls with better lining, sturdier roof, a big run to keep them occupied before going free range at 3pm every day. The roosters have a job to do with this as they will be in charge.

The Stanton pine tree is another plan that will come along soon. But not this month. First we have to find another way of obtaining a new and continuous supply of dry firewood.

Stanton does not have gum trees so no charging out the back and loading up a ute load or two, it has to be brought in from further up the valley and this year it just wasn’t coming down as it should.

The cosy making stuff has to be dry, preferably two years in the process.

For now we will sift through a neighbours ex shed that is now hidden by blackberries and use the best to build something … perhaps a stylish chookshed.

August has not finished yet. There are a few days left in which to hoe out a new vegetable patch that will contain pink eyes, Dutch creams, broadbeans, tomatooes and corn.

I might have mentioned this to Jan, he will remember for sure, probably as he is looking at the Sydney skyline from his office window.

Outside we go! If the Europeans can do it …!

Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart.

The house named Stanton at the Back River, near New Norfolk, Tasmania has certainly taken hold of the souls who live in this place and we do accept this nurturing, motherly building as fate would have it.

The people who have stayed or called at Stanton have chosen to come here because they were in my mind drawn to it, enticed by the place which is all of a home, a business and a piece of Australia’s history.

To everyone, from the first guest to the final special person who stayed here, you had our heart from the time you said “Hello”.

But now I am saying goodbye and closing Stanton as a Bed and Breakfast. I cannot do it all and I have to accept this for now. Its fate, I presume.

The above opening quote was attributed to Marcus Aurelius; Roman Emperor, Soldier, Philosopher and, I believe a man who was trying to find his way through life in uncertain times.

His Cosmos suits Stanton, I would have liked to have invited him over for dinner and talked to him about his stoic philosophy and what his tips are for a true life. Maybe we would have got along … putting aside him being an Emperor and all that.

I may come back, I would like to. After my orchards have been tended in the fashion of a retiring legionary and stories told of long ago service to the nation.

I like Stanton, I like my world and life itself. But, I’m going to have a break for a while and then come back and talk to you … I hope you don’t mind.
— Mark McDiarmid

The trees tell you it is winter though and the fires are going day and night, the tell tale spirals of smoke from chimneys, and the art work that goes into stacking firewood.

Firewood is never just stacked, it is sculpted, particularly in Maydena.

Winter has the most blissful pasttime to be enjoyed by all. Sleeping. The uninterrupted, sound sleeping to be done in a warm doona-laden bed is just magic, particularly if it is windy and raining outside. If sleep does not come easy then try an old house in winter.

Stanton is more of a drowser than a full blown sleeper; a nodder in a leather chair; a nana napper by choice not quite a watchful sentry more of a curious aged guardian. Just watching.

You can tell the character of an old house by the way it wakes up with people. Here in 2010 the house is still not weary from sending visitors and workers alike off to toil somewhere, that is her life at the Back River.

She will certainly not send you fleeing during the night either as she is at peace with the people who have lived and died within her walls.

Thomas Shone died at Stanton in 1862, 73 years after being christened at Stanton-on-Hine Heath, Shropshire, England. He gave the farm its name Stanton . His wife Susannah Westlake died at Stanton in 1882.

Thomas Allen Shone died on the farm in 1913. Eliza Cockerill, his wife died in 1920 also at the house. So did her sons Thomas Henry Shone (1891), Henric Stanton Shone (1956), Albert Charles Shone (1881).

More recently, Helen McDiarmid (2009), and Sam Stanton (sheepdog. Rtd, 2010).

The Stanton work calendar was suspended for a few days in July so that time off could be arranged and then enjoyed. Where would be the perfect place to rest up and recharge? Not the warm hills of a tropical island.

No, not at all! Cradle mountain is the answer, of course.

They have log fires, mist, rain and snow — nature at its best. A bit like Stanton.

It is with sadness that I announce to everyone who has stayed at Stanton the recent death of Sam the one-eyed sheepdog.

Sam was a working sheepdog at Stanton all his life (16 years) and his life here was not all that pleasant until Helen (the other Stanton legend) came along and brought him in from the cold. These two were inseparable and if they can be together now I would wish it be so.

Sam had the sort of personality many adult humans only aspire to and he will be sadly missed, but he is still here at Stanton under the potato vine near the house.

How many guests have taken photographs of Sam is not known, but I am glad you did this and keep them with my warmest regards. If you have one of Sam and wish to share it with us all then please add it to the Stanton web site

Goodbye Sam and thank you.

Sometimes the cold fog just gives it to you, nature in the face, take it or leave it. This is winter doing what it does best.

Winter in Tasmania is about looks. The look tells you what you may be in for and what you will get if it does become real. The night, before it snows seems warmer than the day before, mist swirling close to the ground telling all what is going to happen on the morrow.

Weather in Tasmania is different than that on the North Island. It is a constantly changing entity season by season, day by day, guiding a way of life and such a life is spent observing weather that changes hour by hour.

Call it instinct but it is more likely to be knowledge gained from observing the environment.

Everyone participates in this great community activity and it is surprising how good you can get at it, schoolchildren do it in Tasmania to perfection.

Stanton guests have been known to embrace weather predicting in the morning with a passion and mused over their success upon returning later that evening.

June at Stanton is the Hawthorn tree. Hawthorn trees are sturdy, defiant, hard, and absolutely gorgeous. A kindred spirit with the Irish nationals who gave their love to a new land?

A stretch perhaps but these trees are everywhere in the Derwent Valley and the Southern Highlands, and if Tasmania’s famous Irish political prisoners were to come back they would be engaged in chatting about the frost and the Hawthorns.

Stanton’s Hawthorns are on the National Register. The house by now is probably comfortable with their changing moods; green in summer, red berries in Autumn, cold bare limbs in winter, and white blossoms in Spring.

Companions who are going to be around for a long time fit with the Stanton ethos; Hawthorns are here to stay.

June is the working month at Stanton. Each year our cabinet maker, Nathan Stewart applies his craft and adds to the built environment so continuing a seasonal programme that goes back a bit now.

His most recent achievement is the building of a door, not an ordinary door but something that allows the world to enter Stanton, keeping things out is not what Stanton does best.

Motivation is high at Stanton during June despite winter setting in and early evening feeling like the middle of the night. A trip through Bushy Park to Maydena and the South West is a must but it will not be happening early and definitely will not be fast and furious.

Rain is not likely to be your companion in June, bidding you keep head down in a huddle of concentration. More likely the fine cold air will lift your eyes to view beautiful snow-tipped mountains and so make a day out longer than intended.

Coming home to Stanton and its log fires will compensate for extra time outside.

Winter in Tasmania is always bracing, invigorating , and definitely illuminating.

The orchard has been pruned the stems now bare and prickly like a school boys haircut. The resultant prunings collected, heaped and burnt in a larger field fire adding to a simple yet exhilirating country pleasure, that of the open air, cold night bonfire under the stars.

May at Stanton starts always with an illumination of the pine trees on the first day of May. Each year a bonfire worthy into a Lord of the Rings script is constructed and lit to highlight a certain person’s pagan birthday inclinations and to bring friends together with a red wine in a rural atmosphere.

Stanton knows the smell of woodsmoke in the air. Her seven chimneys twitch when sensing the new outdoor smell; an arousing mixture of smoke and fog carrying sounds of joyous conversation around the house

Some souls just stand and stare at the embers or the dancing flames alone with their thoughts: convicts would have done the same 200 years ago on May Day in this remote outpost of Georgian England.

They were creating a new life at Stanton, now we are maintaining and cultivating an existing life here with friends and guests.

Pruning of roses is a practical endeavour in May and the Stanton roses are the essence of the place. Trimming and shaping them is a cheerful job albeit a painful one at times plans are afootnow to order new Hybrid tea and Floribunda varieties with a view to planting a new rose garden overlooking the vegie patch and the chook house (called ‘Stanton Ovation’).

Corby grubs and aphids are noticeable around the house and will be the focus of a campaign to make them uncomfortable.

A start is to be made with plenty of detergent and water plus vegie oil, water and a hard working blender. If Peter Cundall were here he would be in “garden Army” mode just hearing about it all.

A new line of Tasmanian blue gums now squats at the Eastern end of the cherry orchard giving an Australian flavour to an English scene.

Trees in Tasmania are not placed singly as lonely sentries to a property, more phalanx-like as statements of an ordered world. Perhaps a line of majestic oak may be a Stanton look for its next 200 years.

May is an intriguing month as the end of Autumn comes in fast catching the unprepared. Winter is not far off and with it the fog and frosty mornings. Nathan, Stanton’s carpenter has a project to undertake before this grey weather sets in, turning a conceptual idea into an imposing wooden fixture. Winter is always about motivation and zest for life.