It’s official! Our one New Years resolution when it comes to blogging (we won’t bore you with all the improbable, impractical or just plain impossible ones that generally centre around the depth of the dent we leave in the gravel path each morning) is to take more photos. We are utterly ashamed at our slap-dashery in this department to date which has resulted in what appears to be the blogosphere’s cardinal sin: we have only one shot of the entire festive season.
Oh, the humiliation! Not only is it taken at the very end of our celebrating, Homesteader’s Only Boxing Day, but two of us are still wearing our farm gear and there’s nothing styly or pretty about our table setting. Lucky we’re all friends here.
Like many people, the celebrating of Christmas goes on for a while. We start on Christmas Eve with a pot luck dinner, a Santa-spotting stroll, and secret Santa gifts around the tree at Oma and Pop’s house. That there is now no one that fully believes any more is immaterial; eyes still scan the sky for that tell-tale sleigh and reindeer silhouette whatever the age. You just never know.
We Homesteaders have never been morning folk. Not once have we had one of those Christmas Days that is all finished before the sun wakes up and this year was no exception; The Goat Herd and Milk Maid managed to polish-off the morning chores before the others had even registered the presence of stocking on bed-end.
With loot opened there was just time to spruce ourselves up a bit before The Ezekiel Tigerlilys appeared at the gate-in-the-fence for coffee, cake and redelivery of a couple of wayward presents. Even Santa is allowed a slip up or two with the kind of working day he puts in; besides he probably knew the two recipients were scheduled to visit on the big day.
This year it was the Homestead’s turn to host the family brunch barbeque which all went without a hitch. The new oven combined with the antiquated barbeque allowed us to churn out a goodly table-load and digestion was aided by a Farm Girl (and assorted bit players) after dinner recital that would not be out of place in a Jane Austen novel.
Thus followed a mad cross-town dash to share seasons greetings (and dessert!) with the convivial, genial and, considering how late we were, gracious Clan Doherty and The Elders. The quality of the desserts on offer (home made ice cream and a pavlova of exquisite proportions) ensured we remained mum about our earlier efforts – besides it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.
All this by way of explaining why our eyes are bugged, our smiles slightly lopsided and our presentation sloppy in that one existing photograph. We truly promise we’ll try harder next year and thank you all from the bottom of our haphazard hearts for taking the time to stop by and read this year’s offerings.