Summer sunset

Ah, summer.

39 degrees.
New Year's Day, like Christmas and Boxing Day, has a total fire ban and vehicle movement ban, which means no harvesting, no driving around paddocks, no real farmwork. But that was lifted on Friday, which meant R could get back to fencing and spraying and other fun stuff, while J and I were stuck at home in the cool house to lie on the couch and splash in a bathtub on the verandah. It was tough.



One of my favourites things about summer has always been walking the dogs in the long evenings, once the sea breeze comes in. The sun melts down onto the horizon, pulling the light into warm golden strands like toffee, the night air settles cool on our skin and the earth seems to glow underfoot. I feel like walking into tomorrow.



Of course now we have daylight saving (boo!) and a toddler, so the evenings teeter between getting things done and getting a cranky farmboy into bed before he self-combusts.

Apparently now he's too big to ride in the pram:


He has legs, he can walk:




And run!




We worry about him getting skittled by the pack, but they seem to be fairly careful with him:


"Mine, all mine!":


Boylee Angus, aka Spanky Angie, the token huntaway:


Yarralonga Charlie:


Blue, red dog, red light:


and practising his gormless expression:


Jim, asking me to throw the ball. Unfortunately he's Scottish, so I have no idea what he's on about. I'll just nod and agree:


Harry, who is now fluent in both Australian and Scottish, could translate for Jim, but is too busy harrassing Sybil or Bill...


Boylee Fred:


Being a loon:






Pinky, Fred and Bill:


Finbar, probably saying something a bit insolent to his uncle Murphy:


And harrassing his Uncle Bill:


Bart on Ziggy, Fin on Bill:


The dam's just full of filthy Boylee dogs
(Fin, Bart, Ziggy and Fred and Bill):


More filthy dogs- Tom and Murphy:


Pinky and JJ: