Mild Obsession

My name is Therese and I collect mid-century crockery. I've said it. I admit I'm a recovering addict of sorts, obsessive, if you will.
My obsession began when I made my first breathless purchase, a gift to myself for getting my fashion degree, in the late 1980s. There was a cool little shop selling retro fashion and knick-knacks on my route between the town centre and the college campus, and I ogled the window as I passed by every day. During the frantic weeks of preparation before the final collections were due, I promised myself the gorgeous set of 1950's ceramic storage containers in the window if I achieved my goal. I willed myself on and prayed the set would not be sold before the final results were received. I can still taste the thrill of possessing that first set. I see it every day and I still love it.

My first (crockery) love. We've been together almost as long as me and Mr. B.

I can remember where each piece came from, and how I felt when my eyes settled on it. Each piece feels like treasure to me, though most of it is worth absolutely nothing in money terms. I have found pieces at antiques fairs, charity shops, retro-vintage stores and garage sales. I have pieces designed in England, Scandinavia, Japan and  Australia. I have sets collected bit by bit, from all over the place, stand-alone statement pieces, and several odd saucers - I love them all.

Homemaker - I've collected this set for years; Parisienne - discovered last year in Portobello Road Market; Stardust - bought from an antiques fair at Alexandra Palace (Ally Pally) in the early 90's. Don't you just love the names!

We found this stunning piece by Rathjen in a little store off Chapel St.; One of my most treasured - found in an Op-shop for $5. I use it as a fruit bowl.

Most of the collection is from the UK and was eagerly sent for from storage in my sister-in-law's attic after we settled in Australia in 1997. It felt much more like home once they were here, like having my family around me. I feel oddly emotional about my crockery collection.
I had 2 tiny matching saucers that didn't make it out to Australia with the rest. Bought in a second-hand shop, they had been at the back of the cupboard under the sink in my parent's kitchen since 1991, when Mr.B and I left for Hong Kong. They were hand painted with a charming leaf design called Palma Nova, and made by Broadhurst of Staffordshire in the late 1950s. Over the years I would covet them whenever I was visiting. Mum often said I should take them home with me to Australia. Last year when the whole family were together at my parents house I decided I would this time. They made their final appearance during afternoon tea in the garden, when Dad, bless him, got his foot stuck under the table whilst handing out biscuits. One of those precious saucers flew high into the air, in slow motion, and smashed into smithereens in front of my horrified family. I tried to make light of it for my Dad's sake, but I brought every tiny particle back with me, wrapped in bubble wrap - a bit late for that. I tried to stick it back together, without success. I don't know why I should be so upset, I hadn't had it with me for over 20 years and it probably cost about 10p.

Gorgeously quirky platters; Odd saucers - I use these friendly little things for tea and biscuits. From front: the rather lonely survivor - Palma Nova, Kingston, Jamboree

Although I'm not a purist and I don't follow particular designers or manufacturers there does seem to be a common aesthetic to my collection. I'm not sure what it is - maybe colour, pattern, shape?
They come out sometimes if we're having dinner guests, or more often when there are tasty comestibles being served with drinks. They are not contemporary, minimalist or chic and I sometimes wonder if people think we can't afford nice things, or have terrible taste. Not everyone appreciates their quirky beauty.
These days the collecting has slowed down to almost nothing, mostly due to lack of space and hunter-gathering time. Maybe it's because I haven't spied the perfect piece lately. Whatever the reason, it's a tantalising thought that I could find something amazing in any place at any time. Maybe I have my addiction under control . . . and maybe not quite.

Full to capacity, and there's loads more in the kitchen.

The Olive Harvest

A few weeks ago I finally harvested the olives from our back yard trees. It was tricky this year, with loads still green and unripe when the first ones were ready, and we had perfect, sunny days. Then there was a long run of rainy weather where ladder climbing would have been reckless. So frustrating! Birds made off with the biggest, juiciest olives whilst I looked on, crossly.
Finally we had the perfect olives coinciding with the perfect weather, but not before much of the booty had been pilfered.

Finally! The perfect day for harvesting.



Beautiful luscious fruit, ripe for the picking.

 Last year, a lovely lady from our dog walking group suggested I give it a go, and even brought me a recipe for preserving olives. I'd never even considered it. Preserving your own olives seemed to me something only experienced Greek or Italian Nonas should attempt. I felt like a fraud.
I faced my misgivings and had a go anyway. We had 4 spindly, young trees that had been planted no more than 3 years previously, in our tiny courtyard along the fence line to screen out next door's house. They were laden with fruit. I picked an incredible 9.5 kilos of fabulous, enormous kalamata olives, followed the recipe to the letter, and was rewarded by the most delicious olives we'd ever tasted. I was unbelievably excited and proud. You should have seen me strutting about - veggies, eggs and now our own olives. It made me disproportionately happy! Mr.B was putting them out on platters whenever anyone dropped by - garnished with sprigs of thyme from the garden. I think he felt like the gentleman farmer for a moment. There was even a nano-second where he thought getting our own bee-hive was a good idea!
This year the harvest wasn't nearly as bountiful, but they were pretty big and juicy. I harvested only 3.5 kilos this time - those birds must have been pretty happy with the bad weather!

3.5 kilos of the finest Kalamata olives from The Urban Nest Estate! ; Washing; Slitting down each side of each olive.

So we have 12 jars of treasure sitting in a dark, cool cupboard. They'll be there for a while until they're ready for the next stage, and then I'll break open the extra virgin olive oil, herbs, chillies, spices and any other fancy, gourmet trappings I can think of. I can't wait. Why don't you drop by in a few months, and we'll open a bottle of wine and try them.

Olives slit both sides; Last year's harvest being bottled; I can report these olives with lemon, fennel seeds, garlic and chilli were amazing!

Bad Hair Days and Woolly Jumpers.

Winter has arrived here in Melbourne, and with the first cold snap our poor chooks started moulting. It's an annual happening that has me worrying like an old mother hen every year. The weather turns cold, the nights draw in and right when it's coldest, the chooks drop their feathers and become naked and miserable. They look as ugly as it's possible to look, feathers patchy, naked bits on show, crest fallen (literally). Peaky plumage - bad hair days.

Not looking their best - Selma and Chickpea feeling crest-fallen

The first time it happened, 4 years ago, I was taken by surprise. Selma dropped all her feathers one cold night. When I let her out in the morning she was starkers except for her head. I fought back an urge to rush her straight to the vet, and anxiously Googled instead. Thanks goodness, just the annual moult. I worried that she was cold. She certainly looked chilly and despondent. What could I do to help? I decided to knit. I Googled again and came up with a knitting pattern for hen jumpers from the UK. She didn't like the jumper at all. Ungrateful - like all children who score home knitted jumpers from well-meaning mums and aunties. So I made her another little jacket out of some super soft and rather tasteful grey and black striped velour I had left over from an Edenstar dress. She liked that one better, or disliked it less - not as itchy I think. My neighbour and her little girl came over to feed the hens one afternoon. They had their own key and let themselves in. Surprise! Selma was wearing the same as her daughter.Two stylish chicks.
Well, last week both Selma and Chickpea started moulting simultaneously, and now Saffron is showing the first signs too. Bocconcini is looking the most miserable - sympathy I guess as she seems fully feathered.
I went straight to our local wool shop. They were delighted when they heard about my project, and showed me around enthusiastically. I chose 100% wool with a crepe feel that they assured me was not itchy. Only the best for my girls. The ladies in the shop have insisted that I email photos.
I was inspired by a little jumper I knitted for miss S when she was tiny. It was a multi-coloured striped affair that I sort of made up as I went along. I have employed the same technical precision for this project too. I used the pattern from Little Red Hen rescue but there's also a Penguin Foundation pattern I'd like to customise when I get a moment.

I loved knitting these little jumpers. I do like a bit of craft. The misses S and E prefer to call it witchcraft - sounds so much cooler than knitting.
Well, I've finished 2 jumpers and I couldn't wait to try them on the girls. It was fun and games in the back yard this morning trying to catch suspicious chickens for a modelling assignment. Cue the Benny Hill music. I'm afraid I can't report that they like them any more than the previous ones, but I think they looked very stylish.

Selma models her new jumper. Nice colours for the red head don't you think?

 

"I'm ready for my close-up Mr. De Mille." Bocconcini steps in to save the day when Chick-pea won't have a bar of it.