The Plunge Down Under

Cricket Instead of Football on Turkey Day

For many Americans, Thanksgiving is as much about football as it is about turkey and gratitude.  By football, I am referring of course to what is called gridiron in Australia.  When my thoughtful and generous cousin Suzanne sent me a Thanksgiving care package last year, she included green and brown football napkins along with the turkeys and the cornucopias.  I knew exactly why she did that. I well remember the backyard football games that were played at her house on Thanksgiving weekend.  I also remember the tension in our household when there was a big game between Ohio State and Michigan. As I recall, my dad would barely be able to watch the game even as he tried to convince the rest of us that the outcome did not really matter that much to him.

Gridiron football didn't really play a big part in our Thanksgiving weekend this year.  I know there are places we could have gone to watch one of the many games played those four days, but we aren't that devoted to gridiron.  Instead, our Thanksgiving was more about cricket than any other sport.  It began Friday night with the second half of a two day match for our older son.  I really struggle to follow what is going on out on the cricket pitch, but I made a decent effort on Friday night, and after four long hours, was rewarded with a fairly exciting ending in which C's team pulled off a win at the very last minute. This was the first win our son has celebrated in more than two years in cricket, so it was a pretty big deal.  

Here is a quote from C describing the finish:  "We ended our match with three maiden overs in a row.  Our best bowlers bowled nine overs each which got us the win.  The opposition was trying to force us to take a wicket so they could get their retired batter back in, but ultimately their strategy failed to secure the runs they needed."  

J had his turn the next morning when he participated in what is called "Milo Cricket" in these parts.  Milo cricket is a skills based training program for four to eight-year-olds.  The boys, and a smattering of little girls, learn how to hold the cricket bat, how to run back and forth between the stumps, and how to field and throw the ball.  

R took a few photos of J on his phone the first week that he had his gear.  He was feeling pretty pleased with himself.

On this particular Saturday, the day in which we planned our Thanksgiving feast, I went along to Milo cricket to take a few photos.  I was feeling reasonably well organized since I had spent Thursday and Friday cooking.  All that remained to cook was the turkey, which I planned to pick up around 10:30am.

The first lesson the boys learned was to pick up the ball and throw it to the wicket keeper rather than run with it.  This was surprisingly hard for some of them to grasp, particularly when the wicket keeper was climbing up on the stumps rather than paying attention to the ball.

Next they practiced running back and forth between the wickets while holding the bat sideways in their hands.  Eventually they were ready to have a go at batting the ball from its stand on the ground and running to the other end.

Partway through the morning J decided to have a rest.  Playing coach to these little guys takes quite a bit of patience, and I'm sure a sense of humor comes in handy as well.

He got up eventually and even managed to field a ball or two.  The more common occurrence was for it to go straight through the middle of his two legs.

We have realized that we should perhaps have started J learning cricket sooner. We hope he is not at too much of a disadvantage for having begun his career at the mature age of six.

After this start to the day, it was time to get the turkey in the oven.  I planned to have everyone sit down to eat about 6:30pm.  The 10 kilo turkey went in about 11:30 which I thought would give me plenty of time, but as it turned out, I needed most of those hours.  I wrapped it in foil after stuffing it with onions and slipping in lots of butter between the skin and the breast.  For the last thirty minutes I removed the top layer of foil, cranked the heat, and basted it every five minutes with herbed butter.  

It turned out deliciously moist, and for this, I breathed a big sigh of relief.  This is only the third turkey I have roasted in my life.

Before the turkey was finished, however, we turned our attention to the table decorations.  For this I enlisted the help of my favorite local expert, who did not disappoint, although she reckons she could have done a better job given more time to plan.  For my part, I was pleased with the result.

If you look carefully at the photo above, you can see that the men played a very traditional role in the preparations.

I have no more pictures from this point on until after everyone had eaten their fill, and the boys had started up a little backyard cricket.  R felt compelled to get out the football and give a few lessons in throwing it.  My guests insisted on doing all of the dishes, for which I was most grateful.  I am even more grateful, however, for friends willing to embrace our American tradition of giving thanks over turkey and stuffing.  Some even professed to enjoy the sweet potato casserole, cranberry salad, and pumpkin pie.  Those who did just might get invited back again ...

 

 

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Third Thanksgiving in Oz

Thoughts of Home

Third Thanksgiving in Oz

For a meal that took me the best part of three days to prepare, it sure was consumed in a hurry.  I certainly don't regret the enthusiasm with which the turkey, cranberry salad, sweet potatoes, stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, rolls, and rocket salad were greeted.  There are few things worse than watching your guests slowly and politely choke down food that you have prepared.  Nor do I regret the time invested in the preparation.  It isn't often that I  slow down enough to enjoy savoring the smells and the work involved in preparing several dishes from scratch.  It is not an easy thing to do in the world we find ourselves living in 2012.

If there ever is a time to slow down in the kitchen, however, Thanksgiving is the holiday for it.  With all of the shopping nearly completed by Thursday morning, I decided to begin cooking in earnest.  The sweet potatoes came out of the pantry first. I gave them a good scrub and popped them in a hot oven for roasting. 

Next came the turkey wings for the gravy.  They were also roasted in a hot oven with handfuls of onion wedges scattered over top.

 It didn't take long for the kitchen to start smelling like a good place to spend the remaining hours of the day.  With the sweet potatoes and turkey wings roasting, I cubed the sourdough rye bread for the stuffing.  The cubes went in the oven to be toasted when the turkey wings came out, adding the aroma of freshly baking bread to the environment.

I lost track of how many blocks of butter that went into the three days of cooking.  The first one was melted to saute the onions and celery for the Bacon, Onion and Rye Bread Stuffing.

The sweet potatoes came out at some point late morning:

As the onions and celery melted down into delicious softness in the butter, I began simmering the turkey gravy ingredients in a large stockpot. I didn't really think that the kitchen could smell any better, but then it was time to fry the bacon for the stuffing.  The aromas all combined together to form a little bit of heaven on earth.  

By the time I had mixed all of the stuffing ingredients together, I was famished.  I decided right then and there that we were having stuffing for dinner that night even though I had originally intended to save the stuffing for our big dinner on Saturday.

Afternoon school pick ups interrupted all of the cooking.  J came home wanting to read more books about Thanksgiving, and considering that twenty-four hours prior he had revealed, to my shock and dismay, that he had no idea at all what Thanksgiving was, I concluded I had better set aside thirty minutes to read to him.  In any case, I had already decided early that afternoon that my older children needed to contribute some man hours to the food preparation.  There were five kilos of potatoes on my countertop waiting to be peeled, and so they were sent there to get to work.  

C made it through six or so potatoes before he pleaded for mercy.  During that time had managed to injure himself and create a big mess.  I ended up releasing him from kitchen duty for the moment.  Thankfully his older sister took over, and even though she complained at one point about "feeling too Amish" working at the kitchen sink in her knee-length school dress, she finished off the first five pound bag before heading upstairs to do her homework.

J got his book time snuggled on the couch with me.  We both learned about Sarah Hale, and how she "saved Thanksgiving."  It was her campaign to make Thanksgiving a national holiday, tirelessly conducted over many decades and with pleas to numerous presidents, that prompted Abraham Lincoln to declare the fourth Thursday of November a national day of Thanksgiving in 1863.

Meanwhile, things were still happening in the kitchen.  After simmering, straining, and thickening, the gravy looked like this:

The sweet potatoes were mashed and mixed together with ingredients guaranteed to make them even more delicious.  They looked like this:

I had to use a pie dish because every single other baking dish was otherwise occupied.

Eventually, in between pick ups and drop offs for swimming for three separate children, the potatoes got mashed with copious amounts of cream cheese and sour cream, the stuffing and sweet potato casseroles were baked, and we all sat down about 7:30 for our first Thanksgiving feast.

I realized too late that we had nothing green to go on the plate, but never mind.  I figured a one day break from greens wouldn't matter too much.  The stuffing was declared a success, and I began to relax a little more about cooking for seventeen people on Saturday.  As an extra bonus, Gillian came by on Thursday evening insisting on lending a hand, and she ended up peeling the remaining bag of potatoes. By the time these had cooked sufficiently I concluded I was too tired to mash them.  So I drained them and let them sit overnight hoping they would be none the worse for it.

On Friday morning, as the children got ready for school, I looked at the clock and realized that my family had probably eaten their Thanksgiving dinner and were sitting around in turkey-induced comas. We decided to skype them, and sure enough, they answered.  The cousins all got to see one another and say hello.  It was a slightly chaotic and rather short interchange, but it warmed our hearts, particularly the delight of my two-year-old niece pointing excitedly to us on the screen.

I returned from school drop off newly energized and determined to make a homemade apple dessert of one kind or another (see Thoughts of Home for my reasons for doing this).  A short walk to the grocery store later, I began making pastry and peeling apples for Danish Apple Bars.  They came together very nicely, somewhat to my surprise, and I think this is a recipe that I will be repeating often.

Friday I also made another double batch of stuffing (more sourdough rye, more butter, more onions, more bacon ...), mashed a second batch of potatoes, and made the cranberry salad.  It was all finished by school pick up time, more or less, which was a good thing as Cameron needed to be rushed to his cricket match, and Sophie had to be driven to the all-important speech night at her junior school.  I can't remember if I have mentioned this in my blog before, but Aussies love their speeches, and many schools have something called "speech night" or presentation night toward the end of the year.  Ross had the privilege of going the first year, I went last year, and this year, we drew straws. Ross lost, so he took her, and I ended up watching Cameron at cricket, something I still don't really understand or appreciate.  I comforted myself by reflecting that I was at least outdoors on a beautiful evening.

Stay tuned for what happened on Saturday, our official Wilkin turkey day for 2012 ...

 

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Thoughts of Home

Thoughts of Home

It's Wednesday in Melbourne as I begin this post, and not just any old Wednesday.  It is the Wednesday before my favorite holiday, the Thursday in which Americans celebrate Thanksgiving.  I could list any number of things for which I am thankful, but at this moment I am most grateful that I am not where I was last year on this same day, that is with the throngs of my fellow expatriates at the Melbourne Costco.  Instead, I am comfortably seated at home, having made arrangements with my favorite delivery guy to have our turkey and various other necessary items to be dropped off later today.  Not only do I avoid paying tolls, driving in heavy traffic, fighting for a parking space, and waiting in several lengthy queues, this also means that I have time to work on a blog post.  

My thoughts have largely been with our family members back in North America during the past week or so.  I never like to miss celebrating Thanksgiving with them, but I often have had to do so during the twenty years of my married life.  Given that we have lived in four different countries, or five if you count Texas as a separate country (we do), it is understandable.  It is too close to Christmas really to justify a separate, costly trip, and the fact that it falls on a Thursday makes it all the harder.  

Rather than wallow too much in self pity, I have been busy planning our own feast.  I am not cooking for seventy-five this year, only seventeen.  Much as I enjoyed doing that last year, I concluded it was not practical this year.  Still, seventeen requires some planning and plotting for coming up with the right ingredients and making sure everything gets heated properly on the right time schedule.   I have turkey wings for the make-ahead gravy waiting their turn in the fridge, frozen whole cranberries in the freezer, and somewhat to the children's dismay, Aussie marshmallows on the pantry shelf. My kids felt I really should make a separate trip to the American food store for proper American marshmallows, but I concluded it wasn't work the extra effort and cost.  The marshmallows, by the way, are for the cranberry salad and possibly the sweet potato casserole, and they just might be the ingredient that causes the most head-scratching amongst our friends down under.  

The item on the menu that is currently causing me the most misgivings, however, is the apple pie.  We are having pumpkin pie, of course, but since pumpkin pie is a dessert that is generally not very well appreciated outside of North America, I felt I should offer an alternative.  The problem with the apple pie is that I have ordered it from Costco.  The deed has been done, and I can no longer un-order it, but I am contemplating making one from scratch in the next couple of days to replace it. I am pretty sure my mother and grandmother never thought they would live to see the day when a descendent of theirs would order a bakery apple pie.  My grandmother and my mother, much as I hate to disappoint them however, are not even the main reason I might go to the extra effort.  Nor am I really thinking about my guests, all of whom have assured me that they will be happy to eat a bakery pie. The main reason would be my girls.

Earlier this year both girls were asked by their respective art teachers to consider what came to mind when they thought about the word home.  At Home was to be the theme of the art show at their school, and all the students in the various year levels contributed several items each to the show. What was fascinating to me, and what I did not realize until I showed up one day to tour the most impressive display, was that both girls, without discussing the topic with each other, chose the theme of apples for their artwork.  When I questioned them later about their choice, they both affirmed that they picked apples because of my mom, their grandmother, who often serves us homemade apple pie, and who has the apple motif running throughout her kitchen.  She is also famous world-wide for her applesauce, as is my grandmother, and indeed, the constant supply of homemade applesauce is one of the many things that we miss in Australia.

Here you have the famous cooks, and I have no doubt that when I took this photo nearly two years ago, I stopped them from cooking, quite possibly with apples:

Katie's primary contribution to the artshow was a pillow that she designed and stitched herself.  Here are a couple of photos of it that I took just now:

Next is a button, again designed by our eldest:

Following are some photos I took on the day of the art show.  The auditorium had been divided into various rooms, each designed around a particular room in a house.  Katie's pillow ended up in a living room.

For her primary contribution, Sophie designed a refrigerator magnet in the shape of an apple pie.  This from a girl who does not eat any kind of pie containing fruit, nor apples in any shape or form except in Grandma's special applesauce, but who decided that apple pie was what most made her think of home. 

Her artwork ended up, not surprisingly, in the kitchen area of the art show:

Just for fun, I found and scanned this picture of Sophie sitting in her papa's apple orchard when she was two years old:

Peaches and mangoes, not apples, are the fruits currently in season in Melbourne, but during a week when our thoughts are constantly drawn homeward, perhaps I should just hunt down a few and bake an apple pie.  

I would love to hear from some of you, my readers, either about what most makes you think of home, or about your plans for Thanksgiving.  Also, if anyone has a great stuffing recipe that does not contain sausage, please send me a link!  We will be waiting until Saturday for our feast so I still have a couple of days to locate a recipe. Wishing you all a very happy Thursday during this special week.

 

Pretty in Pink

Who knew that looking for specific colors could be so much fun?  As we are still in the full swing of spring, pink was the obvious choice for the next photo series.  The rose bushes have come into full bloom, and it appears to be a wonderful year for them so far.  They make taking a stroll through the nearby streets a pleasure for the senses.  I have included a mixture of camera phone and dslr photos.   Please let me know if you have a favorite.

A Gem of an Island

Kangaroo Island is not the place that comes to mind when most Australians consider planning an island vacation, or at least that is what my guidebook tells me.  Instead they head off to any one of a number of beautiful tropical islands near the Great Barrier Reef, and for that I cannot blame them in the slightest.  We, however, as have many of our fellow overseas tourists, found the very name of Kangaroo Island intriguing, and a little bit of research only heightened our desire to visit.  So visit we did this past weekend, and I am happy to report that it more than lived up to our expectations.  With the exception of a stormy return trip on the ferry, the weather was all we hoped it would be as well.  It more than made of for the three days of rain we experienced last year on this same weekend at Ayers Rock.

We packed numerous activities into our three days, perhaps too many for a family with four children, including two nocturnal hikes to see fairy penguins, koalas, wallabies, kangaroos, possums, and echidnas, an hour's stroll along Pennington Bay, two visits to Remarkable Rocks, an excursion to Admirals Arch to examine the New Zealand Fur Seals, an underground tour of Kellys Hill Caves, and a nature walk on the beach to view the rare Australian sea lions.While our kids did truly appreciate each activity, they would have preferred to spread them out over a week's time with some rest periods in between.  I reminded them that they would likely never return to this particular place, however, and that we needed to make the most of our time.  For the most part they acquiesced with grace and good humor, indulging both their father's interest in wildlife and their mother's in photography.  

I have not entirely decided which parts of our trip to cover in greater detail in future posts.  I thought I would share my top twenty photos with you and give you the chance to tell me which ones you would like to know more about.  I have more than 400 photos that I could share, so don't by shy in letting me know if there is a particular animal or part of Kangaroo Island that you woud like me to describe further. 

Here is our happy crew at Remarkable Rocks, the hands-down favorite spot of our kids on Kangaroo Island:

Approaching the ferry wharf in Penneshaw:

Beautiful waves and beach at Pennington Bay, located near American River:

The Australian Pelican with various cormorants for companions:

A gigantic ant we found by the side of the road when we were searching for goannas:

This koala is holding a five-month-old joey.  He peeked out at us a few times, but only briefly and I didn't manage to get his face on camera.

Remarkable Rocks:

New Zealand Fur Seals:

Cameron finally got a close up view of a goanna, something he was desperately hoping to see.  Much to his dismay, we never did come across one of the numerous, deadly tiger snakes that live on Kangaroo Island.

Second Trip to Remarkable Rocks:

The sub-species of wallaby on Kangaroo Island is called the Tammar Wallaby.  Island residents assured us that it is much cuter than its mainland cousins.

This shy echidna kept its face hidden from us when we spotted him by the side of the road.

Plunging down into the coolness of Kelly Hill Caves felt wonderful, and our kids were absolutely amazed at the stunning display of stalactites and stalagmites.  What does this stalactite one remind you of?

Our last stop before heading back to Adelaide was Seal Bay, where we were led down onto the beach by a nature guide that kept us a safe distance from the magnificent sea lions.  Storm clouds were gathering in the west, adding to the drama, and making for a most memorable afternoon.

If you enjoy stunning coastal scenery, appreciate viewing wildlife in its natural habitat, and don't mind a break from wifi and mobile phone reception, then I can highly recommend Kangaroo Island for your next vacation.  

 

Halloween Birthday

There is at least one advantage to having a birthday that falls on Halloween.  It is easy for others to remember.  Throughout my childhood I endured the predictable jokes about being born on a day associated with witches, but at the same time I received lots of cards in the mail from relatives, far more than my brothers ever did. On the occasions when I was permitted to go trick-or-treating, it was certainly a boon to have an extra stash of candy, although I do have a vivid memory of catching my dad one time reaching into my hidden candy bag.  It was one of those aha moments when I realized that parents do that sort of thing when they think their kids aren't watching.  I have been scarred ever since. Actually, I made a mental note and have done exactly the same with my own children.

I can't remember exactly when I realized that I no longer looked forward to the approach of my birthday.  It probably happened around the age of thirty.  It did not help that birthdays for me  during the entire decade of my thirties were almost completely eclipsed by trick-or-treat and the stress of getting our children outfitted in costumes, and then having to spend the evening either escorting them through the neighborhood or handing out candy.  Of course I enjoyed their delight in the whole process, but truth be told, I would have rather gone out to dinner. 

For that reason alone, my forties have been an improvement, and yesterday was no exception. Although momentum is growing for importing the whole American way of doing Halloween, it is still mostly a non-event in Australia, and there are no complaints from me.  James did put up a bit of a protest over not wearing a costume and not going with his friends to beg for candy, and a very tiny part of me felt a bit guilty since his siblings have all had the opportunity to do so.  I ignored this guilt however, and proceeded with the plan to go out for dinner.  I was aided and abetted by the older children, who all agreed that it didn't really feel like Halloween anyway what with the spring-green leaves and blossoms everywhere, the long-lasting daylight, and the warm temperatures.

Somewhat to my surprise, turning forty-two has been a fun experience.  It may help that I drastically lowered my expectations for birthdays at some point after we started having children, but this particular birthday has been filled with the things that I appreciate most:  cards, messages, and phone calls from loved ones far away, time spent with loved ones close by, delicious food, and chocolate.

There is a certain friend of mine who lives somewhere in North America that I have teased over making sure her birthday lasts for an entire month rather than for just one day.  I have felt a bit smug in comparison over restricting my need to celebrate to a twenty-four hour period.  This year, however, I feel like it's been closer to a month-long celebration.  It started when Ross arrived back from his business trip to the U.S. at the beginning of the month bearing a present from my parents.

This may not look very exciting, and I confess to being a bit skeptical myself when I opened it, but I have grown quite attached to my Fitbit.  It attaches easily to whatever article of clothing I might be wearing, and keeps track of steps taken each day, calories burned, and staircases climbed.  It also sporadically greets me with messages such as, "You rock Christie," or "Climb it Christie."  I don't hear those sorts of things on a regular basis from any other source.

I have been very much surprised at how motivating it is to have a little device such as this recording my level of activity.  Instead of avoiding the stairs, I now invent reasons to go up and down.  Rather than drive two miles to the hair salon, I am much more likely to choose to walk. It also helps to receive updates comparing my level of activity to that of my dad and my brother.  

Shortly after the arrival of the Fitbit, I began noticing guarded conversations and text messaging in which I was not invited to participate.  Plans for a grown-ups only dinner out were being concocted, and I had absolutely no objections.  For reasons unknown to anyone including himself, Ross chose the 20th of October for the big night out.  We dressed up, headed into the city with our friends David and Gillian, and ended up at a Middle Eastern restaurant with the name of Maha.  Unfortunately we took no photos of each other, but we did take several of the delicious fare. We opted for four courses chosen by the chef.  I appreciated not having to make any choices of my own, but rather to just sit back and enjoy what the waiters brought out for us.

Somehow we missed the main course, a delicious lamb dish slow-cooked for twenty-three hours.

Mint tea to finish:

Sunday evening the 29th of October brought the traditional chocolate cake and singing of Happy Birthday at our church, followed by another cake, homemade this time, shared with the ladies Bible study.  I hosted the whole group at our house for both the study and lunch, and was showered with a pile of presents in return.

Tuesday brought with it a delightful-if-short shopping expedition and cafe lunch, compliments of Ross's parents, shared with Gillian during her teaching break, and then on Wednesday morning I was greeted very early in the morning with a big smile and a "Happy Birthday" from my nearly-fourteen-year old daughter.  Those with daughters around this age can appreciate that this cheerful greeting in the morning was a gift in and of itself.

On Wednesday evening, the 31st, I chose a local pizza joint for dinner mostly because I thought it would be the easiest thing with four children on a school night.  I opened their gifts as we waited for our food.  Each child had chosen a different type of chocolate.  Chocolates are a very popular gift in our household.  They have the dual benefit of being affordable and share-able.  The children know better than to ask me for a piece of what they gave me, at least all but James, but I suspect there are some hopes that I will share the bounty at some stage.  I had better, given the amount I received, or I won't be able to log enough steps on the Fitbit to compensate.

The quality in these camera photos is not great, but I love the action in the above photo.  It is typical of our family I would say.  Cameron told me later that he couldn't help but overhear the conversation between the lady in the turquoise headscarf and her husband as they were sitting quite close to him. They were discussing her cancer treatment, and at one point, he saw her lips tremble and her eyes fill with tears. Celebration at one table, sorrow at the next.  It was a sobering moment for Cameron and a good reminder that we don't know what might be around the corner.

It wouldn't be a proper night out for the Wilkin family without a visit to Trampoline.  Who needs more birthday cake when there is passion fruit yoghurt gelato on offer?

Today, the 1st of November (how did that happen?), the birthday messages have continued to roll in.  That is one benefit of being fifteen hours ahead of North America. Unlike yesterday, the weather is cool, rainy, and windy, and so I decided to remain indoors and to have a little fun with my stash of gifts and the camera.  I counted my blessings while doing so, for the presents, yes, but mostly for the wonderful family members and friends who have immeasurably enriched my life.  For each one I am more grateful than I know how to express.