A pair of black swans flash their white wing tips against the indigo-grey sky. The weary limbs of apple-burdened trees hang low in the groves. The first hint of yellow in the poplars, and a hint of woodsmoke in the breeze. There’s snow on the mountain.
Autumn is a long drawn-out affair in Tasmania’s south. Does it start when the pears begin to drop? When the spiders and mice turn up on your doorstep seeking out some dry comfort? When it’s time to net the grapes or when you resume the hunt for where you stashed your fluffy slippers?
Autumn always comes with a sense of relief as the pace and urgency of summer starts to slow. It’s a season that suits my lackadaisical tendencies to put that thing off until tomorrow. That crop won’t fail if I don’t water it Right Now. The lawns can wait for another day. Outings with the dogs don’t have to be planned around the fierce heat of an afternoon. I can shape and trim and prune and get a sense of what exactly has happened in the garden over the riot of summer. There are still crops to look forward to and the wineries are in full force.
Speaking of wineries (of which there seem to be more every year down here – I’m not sure who will emerge victorious between the cherry orchards and the vineyards but it does keep the netting industries in business I guess), early March signals the return of the annual Southern Open Vineyards Weekend, a ‘self-guided journey through the iconic Tasmanian wine regions of the Derwent Valley, Coal River Valley and the Huon Valley / D’Entrecasteaux Channel’.
Some of that self guiding involves keeping a close track on how many standard drinks all those wine samples add up to as you negotiate a network of winding roads with terrifying speed limits and no shoulder, but it was significantly less hectic than the time I did a bicycle tour of New Zealand’s Marlborough region (not nearly as romantic or whimsical as a bunch of golden rolling misty tranquil mountain backdrop landscape promotional images might have you believe). And minus the hangover of a winery bus tour around the Sonoma Valley.
The cold, hard (with notes of peach and a zesty mineral finish) reality of winery touring is that you can only do so much in one day. Whether or not you’re the designated driver, if you’ve got the average amateur palate that I’m blessed with, everything starts to taste a bit the same after the third winery. And if you’ve also got an average amateur bank balance like I do, well…
Relieved of the constant demands for hydration and nutrition from my garden, autumn is also a time for mini-breaks and day drives; exploring New Norfolk’s bustling assortment of antique stores, taking in the rich Georgian architecture of southern midland towns like Ross or Oatlands, watching the fagus turn at Mount Field national park or taking the short ferry ride over to Bruny Island to devour a rich selection of cheeses (and where your dogs can hang out with you to remind you of how perpetually cheese-deprived they are).
I’ll be sure to tackle at least some of this travel writer selection of destinations eventually, not least of all to continue supporting the illusion of a windswept and interesting life that I’ve been carefully crafting over on the gram.
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