Stanton

Autumn at Stanton seems to start when the clocks go back to their right time and then the light changes again to more sombre shades. It is still dark when shift workers start the 7am shift.

Stanton does not have to do the early starts anymore, it can wait for another hour. The clouds now try and do the grey linen look but Autumn is a magic time of the year at Stanton … things are changing.

There is a discreet tussle between wanting to stay indoors a little longer or choosing to venture forth to the golden hues outside. Mind and body are active now.
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March at Stanton is quiet, warm and moving slowly along a known path. the weeks between the hot month of February and the cooling Autumn of April go quickly without much to report.

Grass is growing prolifically everywhere and most things around the house have a green tinge it seems. Sam’s bones do as well, the one or two he remembers and thus finds while on a tour of the garden go down a treat.

Growing new grass, dead heading roses, and planting bulbs are the jobs to do but the main activity at Stanton is doing nothing at all for the time being as winter has been thought about already.
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February at Stanton is hot with drying winds coming from the North West. The ground is dry and brown though the black faced sheep standing in the field on every early morn appreciate the dewey coolness. later they seem to sit and talk under the low Macrocarpa boughs blending in with the shadows- Stantons silent sentinels.

Sam is under the potato vine doing the same thing. he lost his eye to sun cancer and he is not a silly pooch. Pete must be having a day off but I seem to hear him telling me to go to the orchard and pick up the fallen fruit so the orchard is hygenic. he would probably tell me to water the trees deeply, if he were here so I will do the right thing. The apple trees flourish as a green belt in an ocean of khaki and it is easy to be drawn towards the trees as a sort of curious fruit squeezer(nectarines beware)

Stanton has a goodly variety of apples by the way. the problem is no one here knows much about the subject so a bucket of assorteds went to the coffee shop for some local opinions. We at Stanton have been Baristas at the local coffee shop for years now and do we know our beans… but not our apples it seems.
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It is mid-January at Stanton and a pleasant 25 degrees . at 11:30am. A slight breeze is rustling the trees and nothing much is moving apart from dozens of butterflies zipping around the post and rail fence a few metres from the house. Occasionally a duck splashes on the bottom dam but it is only hal way interested in swimming today.

Sam is asleep under his potato vine bush while his former life interest — black-faced sheep hunker down under a huge Macrocarpa tree, but this is not Footrot Flats. Even the local tiger snake is not interested in playing. It is not preciously hot and curiously the sun does beckon one to venture forth from the shade, fronds from the willow slapping at face and ears urging a quicker departure.

The only sounds heard are a tractor cutting grass in a nearby paddock and birdsong coming from the Macrocarpa line not in opposition to each other, just there. The roses are out and so are the dandelions.
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I have a sad duty to perform and that is to announce to our old and not yet met friends around the world the recent death of Helen at her beloved Stanton. The breast cancer she was diagnosed with three years ago took her away and she will be missed by us all.

The house that awoke to the sound of Helen’s joyousness watched quietly as she passed into history and is not sad.

Stanton knows about time as she is one of the oldest Europeans in Australia but she thinks differently to you and I.

She has seen the laying out of life here to a daily routine, patiently and probably curiously musing over the juggling of time by convicts and modernists alike.

For nearly 200 years Stanton has watched the schedule of the earth, and strengthened the life of the spirit around her. The Stanton seasons will become a regular feature of the website as she deserves to be heard.

Often and again, through God’s grace,
Man and woman usher a child
Into the world and clothe him in gay colours;
They cherish him, and teach him as the seasons turn
Until his young bones strengthen,
His limbs lengthen …

The Fortunes of Men

By dint of its 188 years, the walls of Stanton have many stories to tell, the most dramatic probably concerning the day in 1843 when bushranger Martin Cash and friends arrived, held 16 people at gunpoint in the drawing room, relieved the house of its valuables, charmed the ladies present, and galloped off into the hills behind the house, where his hideout, ‘Cash’s Cave’ exists to this day.

We are fortunate in that the house has survived bushfires, storms, neglect and most damaging of all perhaps, ‘modernisation’, and hence retains its original simplicity and charm.

Stanton has 3 bedrooms, each with their own bathroom. The living room, dining room, extensive library, sun room, verandahs, spa house, licensed cellar, barbeque, gardens and orchards are all available to house guests.

The normal comforts of home are all here – electric heating, tea and coffee making, bar fridge, electric blanket, hair dryer, television, DVD, stereo, but also the things you go on holidays for – beautiful rooms filled with antique furniture, open fires, fresh flowers, wonderful breakfast served on lace clothes and Wedgwood china, silverware and crystal, (but most importantly, cooked by someone else and with no washing up), and all the time in the world to enjoy the pervading peace and tranquility of a time past (without the bushrangers!)

A pleasant surprise in today’s Sunday Tasmanian — a full-page article on Stanton Bed and Breakfast by Alison Ribbon and photographer Amy Brown.

With all these ‘lists’, one could be forgiven for thinking that Stanton is merely a paradise of lost hours, lying around reading, listening to music, watching movies, smelling the flowers, munching on fresh produce.

Well, you’d be right, of course, there is an awful lot of that goes on, but this summer has been probably our busiest period since opening, and despite early mornings, late nights, copious quantities of wine consumed with guests, snowy white mountains of washing, the ache of clean shower recesses, and the complete inability to keep up with the triffid-infested expanses of garden, we’ve actually had a brilliant time.

Not only that — our guests appear to have enjoyed themselves too!

From impromptu picnics on the front terrace overlooking the dam at sunset, to intermittent giggling and splashing in the champagne-sodden spa house, to late breakfasts that threatened to continue until lunchtime, to a quiet glass of port in the library, or a quiet walk (with Sam the faithful) through the back paddocks at dawn, every visitor seems to have found something to gladden their heart or feed their soul.

Books we’ve read during January: Nicholas Shakespeare’s In Tasmania (constantly amazed by this wondrous island, its history and secrets); Vikram Seth’s Two Lives (terrific Christmas present); Artemis Fowl (likewise Christmas present, but wouldn’t it make a good movie?!); Simon Jenkins’ England’s 1000 Best Houses(inspiration/envy factor), JK Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (able to speak with some authority with the young fry); Joanne Harris’ Jigs and Reels (’cause anything she writes is okay by me); Jacquie French’s Chook Book (3 guesses what the main winter project is going to be this year?); William Dalrymple’s From the Holy Mountain (travel writers have always fascinated and this one’s no exception).

Inside the CD player this month: lots of Kate Rusby (young northern English folk singer — do yourself a favour), The Waifs, Sting, Dougie Maclean (Scottish legend — 25 years ago he was responsible for me turning to the dark side — folk music …), The Wailing Jennies (Canadian group — 4 incredibly talented women with voices to die for), Red Hot Chilli Peppers (Mark’s Christmas present — don’t ask me), Albinoni Oboe Concertos, played by Anthony Camden; Jessye Norman singing Richard Strauss — yum; Carlos Santana — VERY loud it blocks out Sam’s barking when I do the vacuuming; Bach’s Brandenburg Concertos — helps with the Sudoku somehow — going to try it out on the bookkeeping …

DVD acquisitions/gifts: Richard Curtis’ Love Actually; Northern Exposure 2nd series; House of Elliot 1st series; Elizabeth (a la Cate Blanchett); Battle of Britain (oldie but a goodie with a stellar cast); Sense and Sensibility (just love costume dramas).

Garden goodies harvested this month: giant rhubarb, silverbeet, English spinach, broccoli, beetroot, tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, carrots, all sorts of lettuce, cabbages, strawberries, raspberries.

The ‘bloomin’ garden (sorry Peter Cundall) is currently awash with roses, lavender, Oriental lilliums, hydrangeas (those that haven’t been burnt by a few nasty hot windy days — yes, we get them), dahlias, daisies, penstamon, Californian tree poppies (can’t remember their proper name, but they’re as big as dinner plates!), pelargonums, alstromeria, Japanese wind flowers, carnations, salvia, sage of many different varieties, and all the usual little visitors — alyssum, poppies, violas (and lots of pretty weeds!)

Thought we’d include a few shots of the unusually green gardens of December/January — so many people visit Tasmania in the summer and wonder why it is so brown. We had unexpected but very welcome rain very late this year, and so, no water restrictions, and green grass! Hooray!