Eggling

During my wander of through Canelands Central on Thursday night, I couldn’t help but bring home an Eggling from Myer, the Australian equivalent of The Bay. So adorably Japanese, this mint Eggling has a new home among the plants of Hortus del Mar.

All you need is a spoon and water to ‘hatch’ Eggling.

Tapping the top of Eggling was nearly as satisfying as breaking the skin of crème brûlée. The only downside to Eggling, besides lacking in delicious custard, is the wait. It will be a few weeks before we can add mint to green tea coolers or mojitos.

After a generous drink of water, our Eggling ‘Harold the Minty’ was ready to bask in the sun on the ledge sink-side. Since we aren’t allowed four-legged friends in our townhouse, ‘Harold’ and the rest of the garden crew have become my wee, green children.

Harold wasn’t the only new addition. Today we planted beetroots, carrots, Black Russian tomatoes, heirloom capsicums, and parsley. Plus we transplanted our basil, chives and lemon tree to more comfortable pots. We await a bountiful harvest in the next 2-6 weeks.

Hortus del mar

Our house is nestled in a townhouse complex named ‘Domus del mar’, the house (not actually) by the sea. While we had 6 wee cacti in terra cotta pots on our back porch, this weekend truly marked the beginning of ‘Hortus del mar’, the garden (nowhere near) the sea. Thanks to the nursery down the road, we are now the proud parents of one basil plant, one chive plant and one lemon tree.

We’ve been looking forward to a garden for months. Living one block up from the Cypress Community Garden in the Kitsalano neighborhood of Vancouver,  BC last summer, Chris and I couldn’t help by day dream about heirloom tomatoes, organic rocket and frilly poppies.

As Chris lives in camp during the work week, I read The Edible Balcony by ABC personality Indira Naidoo during meals. She’s very good company. Thanks to The Edible Balcony, I learned that we can grow the following veggies and fruits year-long in Mackay: tomatoes, basil, lettuce, red peppers, mint, chives, eggplant, rainbow silverbeat, chillies, parsley, thyme, rosemary, borrage, sorrel, alfalfa sprouts, curry leaf tree, radishes, strawberries, lemons, lavender, oregano and beetroots!

We were blessed with three garden locations: a front terrace, a back terrace and a master-bedroom balcony. So far, we’ve tucked our plants into the back terrace for ease of access during kitchen time.

After stalked our basil, trimming our chives and watering our lemon tree, we had our first dish from the ‘Hortus del mar’: Basil Pesto from Naidoo’s Edible Balcony. While our plant only yielded a half-cup of basil, which resulted in a quarer-cup of pesto, we enjoyed every bite of the garlic-infused spread on naan bread.

‘Hortus del mar’ will only grow from here. A plan is in the works for many more plants, outdoor seating and a barebque. I’m crossing my fingers for a hammock among the lavender, strawberries and beetroots.

Hamilton Island

This year, Chris’ company Christmas party was on Hamilton Island, one of the most developed islands of the Whitsundays. Complete with an airport that receives jets from Sydney and Brisbane, Hamilton Island is the site of tropical luxury. We traveled to “Hammo”, as it’s affectionately known by the locals, on a Fantasea ferry. Arriving at the bustling marina, we were greeted by golf carts and commuter vans. We hopped a ride our accommodations on the mini bus, although the entire island is accessible on foot.

Leighton, always generous, put us up in the Reef View Hotel. With the vaulted driveway pagoda, open-air reception lounge, and outdoor glass elevators, I was reminded of Hawaiian resorts on Maui. Our suite was cozy, in a seaside kind of way. Although the furniture was well-loved, we felt at home. Our balcony overlooked the beach and hillside homes.

Arriving an hour before the party started, we spent the remainder of our afternoon primping for the beach-themed fete. At the Bougainvillea Marquee, we were welcomed with leis and Corona. I went without the latter, my throat sore with a summer cold. We spent the evening chatting with colleagues and enjoying the tapas stations. The fresh oysters and prawns were my highlight. Chris enjoyed the beach balls.

We enjoyed a slow Sunday morning, complete with a buffet breakfast at Sails Resort and a beach stroll. During our breakfast, we watched the cockatoos snatch leftover bacon and bread from abandoned plates. Cheeky buggers.

The beach was full of treasures. Coral, seeds, and colourful stones drifted up onto the shore. Beneath the warm water, rock formations glittered. Kids fished a few feet out from the sand.

After an afternoon of reading in a coffee shop, Chris and I went on an unfortgettable snorkeling excursion with H20 Sportz .

Electric blue fish scurried away as we swam towards them, stinger suit hand clasped in stinger suit hand. White fish with brown jaguar spots camouflaged themselves against sand. Dark clown fish darted into their coral troves. Clams with midnight blue lips closed as we approached. I breathed out of my snorkel, sometimes tasting the salt water at Mackerel Bay. Chris dove without his snorkel while I watched, floating on the pool noodle that we shared for breaks. After a while, I took short dives too, getting a closer look at the amazing variety of coral and fish. Our hour and a half of snorkeling went by in a blink. At the end, my fingers and toes were numb, I think from too much floating and studying the life aquatic.

On our journey back, captain Max let me drive the boat for a half and hour. We swapped fishing and boating stories. I told him about Tyee fishing in Campbell River, he told me about losing the tip of his finger in a sailing accident, and then driving the ambulance boat himself. Chris was below deck when I took the helm. When he came up to find me and saw me steering our ship, he laughed, “Of course you are!”. It was a treat to be on the water again. I’ve been missing salmon fishing trips with my Dad.

We caught the ferry back to Airlie Beach that night after a dinner of pizza at Manta Ray cafe. We’ll certainly return to dive, to explore the bush, and to revel in the island decadence.

Our First Tyre Change

While not as charming as “our first kiss” or “our first date”, our first tyre change was quite the adventure.

First to clarify for North American readers: Australians use “tyre” instead of “tire”, after the British. The alternative spelling was one of the first things I called home about. Now, to our tyre change. Chris and I were driving to Coppabella, as we have gotten into the habit of doing on Monday mornings. Previously, Chris had hitched a ride with his American colleague, but since she started going in on Sunday afternoons, I’ve been driving Chris into camp so we get a bit more time together during the weekend.

We were motoring along, using cruise control to keep from speeding, and playing life trivia to keep alert. Life trivia consists of asking the other person ridiculous questions about yourself to see how well they’ve been paying attention all these years. Questions included:  “What was the first programming language I learned?” and “What was the name of my brother’s girlfriend when we first met?” Then, seemingly out of thin air, a massive pothole appeared on the highway. Despite his good intentions, Chris swerved right into it, damaging our left front tyre. Pulling over to inspect the tyre, we saw that it had a bump in the shape of cartoon goose egg and could burst at a moment’s notice.

Spirits slightly dampened, we drove to camp and pulled out our spare tyre complete with a tool kit. I removed the bolt caps and Chris loosened the bolts, but we mostly puzzled about how to use the mini jack lift included with the car. Thankfully, a kind plumber by the name of Danny stopped to lend a hand. With a few tyre changes under his belt, Danny went straight to work quickly removing the busted tyre and screwing on the spare. We thanked him profusely and I drove back to Mackay to spend lots of money at a repair shop. Now that I’ve seen Danny do it, I think we could manage a tyre change without much hassle. In the mean time, we’re keeping our fingers crossed that this morning will be our first, and only, tyre change.

The Beachcombers: Mackay edition

While taking ‘long walks on the beach’ is cliché, it is truly one my preferred pastimes. Growing up in Campbell River, I spent plenty of time in the surf with the seaweed and sand. I’ve unabashedly collected sea glass, shells, and rocks through-out my life and made my fair share of driftwood forts. With the river in my backyard, the Georgia Straight down the road, and Dad watching The Beachcombers on CBC, it’s a wonder I didn’t start going fins.
I’ve always felt compelled to see the shore. One of the first things I did when I moved to Vancouver to attend UBC was visit Wreck Beach, my piece of the ocean away from home. Since we’ve been downunder, I’ve been waiting patiently to take in the other ocean, otherwise known as ‘The Coral Sea.’ After viewing another house this morning, I took to the nearest beach.

It was a comfort to see this flock of seagulls trolling for bugs and vulnerable crustaceans, not to mention your typical beach-goer left overs.

The driftwood is much smaller here, and mixed with dried leaves. Shells are small to mid-size.

This plastic tyre (as they spell it in Oz and Britain) was one of the few pieces of sea-debris on the shore.

This must be a (huge) clam hole. Dad used to take my brother and I clam digging at Saratoga Beach. We used a retro-fitted piece of house-hold pipe to bore into the sand and sucked them up to the surface.

Up on the shaded road, I chatted with two older Aussie men who told me these islands are named ‘flat top’ and ’round top’, respectively. When I told them I was from Vancouver Island,  one them remarked,  “That’s the most beautiful place in the world!” I replied that Mackay is most definitely a contender when it comes to ‘the most charming sea-side town.’ I feel quite at home already.