We survived Christmas!

Thank you to our friends, families, and all the local businesses that have helped us get through this crazy time of year.

And thank YOU for your support and encouragement!

Best wishes for a wonderful season of fine food, wine, and friendships,
Eliza and Guy

P.S. See you at The Taste in Hobart from the 28th!

Pig farmers' Christmas

It’s September and the pigs are snuffling and nosing the soft spring dirt.

“Are you taking Christmas orders yet? We were too late last year.”

“Almost… we're not quite organised yet.”

It’s October (pigs are still snuffling) and the enquiries are increasing.

“Can you put us down for a ham? Are you taking orders yet?”

Alright. I give in: let’s open the floodgates.

It’s November and the orders are flowing like grain from the silos.

“Guy, when are we going to stop taking orders? How many pigs have we got?

“Guy, I want to have some spare. We missed out on a ham for ourselves last year.”

Guy stares at the paddock and stares at the spreadsheet.

And stares again at the paddock and again at the spreadsheet.

I think he grunted.

It’s December. Already.

What if we don’t have enough pigs? What if we lose an order? What if we lose two orders?

How many hams? How many hams? How many hams?

Bone-in, bone-out, half, whole, she’s having a charcuterie pack – with ham, no, without – three gourmet barbeque packs please, with an extra kilo of scotch, did you write that order down from the man who rang last night? What man?

I’m tired.

I’m more tired than you.

I’m wearing odd socks. I’m eating sausages for tea. Not sausages and mashed potato with gravy, just sausages.

I’m shocked when I see my arm muscles in the mirror. You don’t need a gym membership when you’ve got hams to hang.

Five days till Christmas.

           

So early this morning I sat outside on Cyril’s bed facing east and listened.

Cockatoos, roosters, crows, bush birds that I will learn the names of, one day.

And sleepy, snuffling pigs.

Who's the boss at Mount Gnomon Farm?

This is Dane, Guy's younger brother. Some people would say he's lost his marbles.

He's handed in his notice and started work this week as Mount Gnomon's first full time employee. He's working with pigs, and he's working with family. Crazy.

But we are so happy he hasn't come to his senses yet.

Dane is going to build our butchery and tourism centre. We're well underway with the plans now, but construction probably won't start for a good couple of months.

Until then, he's 'farm infrastructure manager': fixing and building fences, making repairs, putting up new stockyards, and sorting us out generally.

After only one day on the job, the grass has been cut, the electric fence is humming again, and the little piggies are eyeing the gateways nervously.

Guy's caught up on some paperwork, I've cleaned out one of the freezers (and even written a list of what's in it!) and I even had time to make a celebratory cake.

Welcome to the farm, Dane! We are so excited to have you formally on this journey with us.

Duck egg quiche excitement

Duck eggs generate a unique excitement among cooks that's just not seen with your run-of-the-mill chook eggs.

"You've got duck eggs?
"Have you got many duck eggs?
"I love duck eggs."

And we love them too.

We also love quiche - we're a quiche-loving-couple.
Here's my mum's onion quiche recipe that I've adapted.


Really Easy Shortcrust Pastry

2 cups of plain flour
1 tspn baking powder
1/2 tspn salt
125g butter OR lard OR bacon/ham fat
1/4 cup water
Squeeze of lemon juice

Mix dry ingredients, rub in butter/lard/cured fat, add water and lemon juice, and knead lightly till it's smooth.
I take the really easy option and put the dry ingredients and fat into a food processor, wizzy it up, then add the water and lemon. This recipe produces enough for two average-size quiches.


Really Yummy Duck Egg and Allium Quiche

2 big onions OR 1 big leek OR 10 little potato onions OR a combination
Two big, fresh, free range, happy-quacky duck eggs (or chooks eggs... I suppose... if you have to)
150ml cream
Double handful of grated chedder
Salt and pepper
1 tspn of mustard (wet or dry)

Cook the chopped up members of the allium family with a good knob of butter in a frypan on low heat. It can take a good 15-20 minutes to get them well-cooked and translucent. Leave to cool.

Roll out the pastry to fit your daggy op-shop quiche dish.

Spread the cooked alliums into the dish, and then pour over the well-mixed egg/cream/cheese mix. Try to spread it evenly, so no one ends up with too much cheese and not enough leek. Disastrous.

At this point, this time, I sprinkled over some cooked bacon pieces. You can add lots of bacon if you'd like - it's best to cook it in the frypan with the alliums.

Put your quiche into a nice hot oven (200 degrees) so the duck eggs puff up. When the top starts turning golden I turn it down to 180. Every oven is different, but my quiches take about 30 minutes to cook.

Eat hot or cold, with salad or without, and give thanks to the ducks.

Duck buddies

This is Roger, Dylan and Quack-Quack.

They live on the fringe of the flock: outcasts. They have baggage.

Every morning you'll find them under the dying blackwood tree talking quietly as they wash and forage. The other ducks chatter in the orchard, assimilated.

I raised Roger and Dylan in the bathroom of my house in town. They swam under the warmth of a desk lamp, and came out to watch the news on the couch.

When they moved outside we would play on the lawn. I'd lay on my tummy and they'd walk along my back and tinker with my earrings and tease my hair.

Their confidence grew. I'd step outside with the washing and they'd sprint to the line. Roger would aim for the skin behind my knees and latch on - so great was his affection.

I contemplated a 'Beware of the Ducks' sign.

Quack-Quack is a dumped duck. She was an only child and her owners thought she'd be better-off eating our grain.

She's of "mixed breed" and appears to cogitate a lot.

The three spend most of their days together, but the boys do need Roger and Dylan Time. They have a special bond, these two.

Roger and Quack-Quack slid under the fence into the shelter belt the other day. Dylan was beside himself, wondering what they were up to.

But when Quack-Quack goes under the conifer to lay her egg, the boys waddle and hide.

And Quack-Quack spends the afternoon by herself.

Dreams becoming a (slightly daunting) reality

If we’d won $100,000 in the lottery the feeling would be very different.

We’ve received a Federal Government grant, and while we’re elated and buoyed, there is a great sense of obligation.

As the apple farmer at the market told me, we’d better spend his tax dollars well.

The other thing is we’ve got to come up with matching funds.

A couple of months ago Guy spent a week writing a massive application for a T-QUAL grant. The grants are competitive and merit-based, and aim to boost the tourism industry in Australia.

As the post office staff starting locking the doors late one afternoon, we pushed 16,000 words into a post bag.

We’ve always wanted to move into farm tourism – and when 650 people turned up for our open day in April, we knew there was real demand.

We can all see the growing interest in real food, cooking, farmers’ markets, ethical production…. but research is showing people also want hands-on farm experiences, so they can get back to the roots of what they’re eating.

And that’s fantastic – because 85 per cent of Australians live in urbanised areas, and are so disconnected from farming.

Farm tourism is a big thing in Europe, the UK, and New Zealand, but it still hasn’t really caught on in Australia.

I imagine it might be because of lack of labour on farms, and lack of farmers’ confidence to market and promote what they do.

But if farmers want to keep their families and businesses going, they’ve got to diversify their incomes.

In Tasmania, 70 per cent of farmers have to work off-farm. From our experience, that’s really hard: you become torn between two jobs; you wish you were at home; and you become resentful.

Onlookers probably wonder why north-west Tasmanians haven’t embraced food tourism.

We grow and make so many products, and we have small farms with soils suited to niche production.

But we’ve been trying to compete on a global market with commodities – and we just can’t keep doing it.

We think food tourism is vital in building the brand of this region.

At the moment few tourists stop as they speed along the Bass highway heading for Strahan or Cradle Mountain.

We’ve got to give them a reason to stop – and not just one or two places offering good food and farm experiences.

We need a whole chain of businesses – farm stays, cooking schools, berry farms, wineries, cheese factories, restaurants using purely local ingredients – to make the trip worthwhile for visitors.

For our part, we’re planning a centre where visitors will learn about rare breeds; we’ll have a butchery and commercial kitchen; and there’ll be a focus on giving our visitors a full paddock-to-plate experience – gumboots included.

And for the full story on what we’re planning, you’ll just have to stay tuned...

The birth of Harvest - and Tasmania's farmers' market history

In 2001, I recall a close friend of Eliza and I being excited about the start of Tasmania’s first modern-era farmers’ market - in Burnie, on the north-west coast. An organic enthusiast, he anticipated farmers’ markets could solve many of the problems facing farming in Tasmania. They would be a way for farmers who were doing something against the norm to engage with the public, and the conscious shopper could source local food. Tasmania, with its abundant produce, would be a farmers’ market winner.

Our friend teamed up with a few other passionate locavores to present a case to the Burnie Show Society. The society was a logical place to start: it had an existing committee, a suitable venue, and the market proceeds could assist to keep the society running. The society accepted the proposal and the farmers’ market was born. It quickly became a success, with roughly 1,000 people wandering through the gates with their shopping bags every fortnight. The stallholder fees provided a much-needed injection of funds for the show society. The show societies of Wynyard, Devonport, and Launceston soon launched their own farmers’ markets, after seeing the success of Burnie.

A small and scattered population made it challenging for all the markets to be a raging success. Initially, the rules were that stallholders had to produce everything they sold. Unfortunately, the reality was that northern Tasmania was a producer of commodities, and few farmers grew niche products or were interested in taking what they grew to market. For generations their job was to farm and let the processing companies sell what they delivered to them. Due to a shortage of farmers wanting to go to the markets, the committees began to allow producers to sell wholesalers’ products to ensure there was enough range for the customers.

The committees were also worried about the lack of produce farmers could grow in the Tasmanian winter, and as a result introduced the 80/20 rule, where stallholders could source 20 per cent of their items from other producers. Many people saw this as the decline of the markets, as the rule was hard to police and easily abused. All of a sudden supposedly local produce, like sweet potatoes and oranges, started appearing at coastal markets alongside cheap wholesale vegetables. Tourists travelling in the region would have left disappointed with the quality of some of the produce on offer, a situation that wouldn’t have helped grow the quality Tasmanian brand.

In hindsight, the cash-strapped show societies were perhaps not the best groups to run the markets, as they were more interested in collecting funds to repair their showgrounds, than care about running a true farmers’ market and ensuring it reflected the best produce of the region. Ten years on, Burnie is still going strong, the Wynyard and Devonport markets remain, but the original Launceston farmers’ market has folded.

In February this year a new farmers’ market was born in Launceston called Harvest. In contrast to the other farmers’ markets in the north, it was started by a couple of passionate foodies who, on moving to the region, couldn’t believe it was lacking a high quality farmers’ market. They had done their homework (a survey showed a high level of demand from the public), they had reviewed successful market structures and governance, and had lobbied the local council for a suitable venue.  Importantly, they had a long list of producers who were crying out for a suitable farmers’ market. They also had confidence that a genuine farmers ’ markets could be successful – in the south, the highly popular Farm Gate market had been running in Hobart for the past couple of years.

Harvest was launched on Festivale weekend by delicious magazine’s Vali Little and to date, has been a resounding success. Shoppers in Launceston can now access some of the best produce of the north. They have an opportunity to meet the farmers and form a greater connection with their food. Travelling tourists also get the chance to try a whole range of Tasmania’s finest produce in the one spot.

Harvest has been great for the stallholders too: instead of taking home a vehicle of produce, many are selling out and leaving the market with a smile on their face. The confidence of a reliable market has seen existing businesses expand and new businesses created. 

An unexpected benefit has been the chance for producers to get to know other each other and share information and skills. Collaboration among producers is an important step as the food culture in northern Tasmania develops, as food trails begin to emerge, and as the region begins to back its reputation as a food destination.

View our farmers' market schedule here.

Peering over the fence

Farmers in Australia have traditionally been pretty cagey about what information they share with other farmers. Perhaps they’re worried about competition, or perhaps they lack confidence in what they’re doing.

Either way, when they don’t share they miss the chance to solve problems and, ultimately, improve their farm businesses. And the chance to inspire and energise each other is also lost.

I’ve never been one for group work – Guy will back this up – but I love it when we meet farmers who are generous and free with their knowledge and experiences. (Guy loves group work so much he used to work as a facilitator getting farmers together to share their skills.)

John and Sandra are from Swallow Valley Farm in California. I suspect part of the reason we hit it off was because of the geographical distance between us. It’s a bit like the way you can have a deep and meaningful with a stranger on a plane.

John and Sandra were doing a talk to the ag researchers at the uni, and by chance I was introduced to them as they were walking into the lecture theatre.

John’s the farm manager and Sandy works off-farm for blocks of time as a presentation graphics designer.  When she’s not tied up with that, she’s working on the farm or at the markets (they do five markets a week).

Swallow Farm’s main business is a sheep milk cheesery – they milk East Friesians. But on the 130 acres they also produce rare breed lamb (Katahdin, a shedding breed), pork, poultry, soft fruits and vegetables… and there could be more that they didn’t mention.

We were really excited to find out they’d had a Mangalitza pig – the primitive-looking, curly-haired breed that you’d definitely not want to meet on your way to lock up the chooks at night. (I say had – the Manga’s now in the freezer, but it didn’t produce much meat).

They also had a Traditional Dairy Shorthorn, the rare breed of cattle we’ve just started processing and selling at the markets. It was good to hear that their ‘Bella’ – also in the freezer – was the best beef they’d ever eaten.

Guy now wants a chook tractor. Not the rabbit hutch-sized ones you see in gardening magazines, but the ones that house 80 birds (Guy just informed me he doesn’t want one, he wants many). John and Sandy have 400 hens and each night they put themselves to bed, with a solar-powered door automatically closing behind them at dusk. If the girls feel like staying out late they’re unlikely to see the morning thanks to the local coyote population.

Interestingly, at Swallow Farm they can process up to 10,000 head of poultry each year without having to deal with painful red tape. So they kill turkeys, chickens, ducks and geese and sell them at the farmers’ markets. The exemption from the rules comes about because of the value placed on the cultural practice of killing turkeys for Thanksgiving. Perhaps we could compare it with mutton bird harvesting?

We also heard little bits about their animal welfare and bee friendly accreditation, their plans to produce biochar from their eucalypt (!) plantation, and their involvement in a new CSA – a community supported agriculture enterprise where the public subscribes to a regular delivery of produce.



Californian farmers Sandra and John

They face the same challenges as we do: reliance on outside meat processing, free range labelling inconsistencies, and trying to re-educate consumers who see the price, but not the value. 



After listening to John and Sandra’s presentation I asked them to park their camper in our yard and have dinner with us. They stayed two nights, we shared our home-grown meat and vegetables, and we said goodbye feeling so fortunate to have spent some time together.

There is so much we can learn from elsewhere in the world – why do we think we have to battle through without asking advice, or having a look at how someone else does things?

Last week I was selected for a Churchill Fellowship to spend six weeks overseas looking at farm tourism, value-adding (such as charcuterie), and how food-producing regions put themselves on the discerning tourist’s map.

I’m planning to spend time in France, Italy, Spain, and the UK – it’ll be my first time out of Australia, so I’m a little nervous, but very excited.

We think Tasmania, and the north-west especially, has amazing potential to provide visitors with genuine, earthy, and top-class experiences that combine real food with really stunning scenery.

So let’s do it!

Journalist packs in job to go pig farming

“Your dad would be proud you’ve become a farmer’s wife,” the man said in the post office.

The day had been going well: the weight of full-time work had been knocked from my shoulders, and I was enjoying pottering around town ticking off jobs.

But now my cheeks were hot.

I rocked forward on my toes and looked at him.

“We’re not married,” I said.

Generally, the reaction to me leaving the ABC to go farming has been encouraging.

Mum, obviously, was upset she wouldn’t be able to listen to me in the mornings anymore. I told her she could ring me from time to time, just to hear my voice.

Guy’s upset I can no longer be quietened with the volume control, or silenced with the snooze button.

I’ve noticed some discomfort in people when they ask about my plans for the future.

“So you’re going to be a farmer?” they’ll say.

“Just farming?”

And then I feel I have to justify it by telling them about the part time job I’ve picked up at the uni.

“Oh that’ll be interesting.” They look relieved.

No wonder farmers are becoming a rare breed, especially young ones.

It was a big decision for us when Guy decided to stop full-time work, but his heart and head was always with the pigs.

It was an even bigger move for me. I’d been a rural reporter with the ABC for six-and-a-half years. The pay and conditions were good, and the job itself was fantastic. I felt like I sort-of knew what I was doing each day.

I started there where I was 21, and until the last year or so I always thought of myself as ‘Eliza Wood from the ABC’, not just, ‘Eliza Wood’. My identity was completely wrapped around my job.

But you can only survive on adrenalin and mid-morning powernaps for so long. I was tired, and the personal compromises I made in order to work for the ABC had become too much, and I felt my real passion being quashed.

I can now put ‘pig farmer’ [pronounced pug FAAR-mer] on my business card – and proudly.

I have not stepped down the ladder to become a farmer’s partner*.

Dad would be proud of me – not because I’ve paired up with a good-looking bloke who loves animals as much as he did - but because I’m having a go at being Eliza Wood: pig farmer, writer, composter, supreme carrot grower– whoever I want to be.  

*(Guy, I really don’t like that term, can we fix that?)

To be confronted is to learn

When I walked into the restaurant cuddling a piglet, it didn't occur to me it could put people off their pork belly.

Despite the trend towards knowing where your food comes from, it seems not everyone is happy to share a dining room with a future meal.

Last night we devoured five courses of Mount Gnomon pork at Drift's Pig Out dinner. Chef Tom Dicker took us around the world with dishes inspired by France, Asia, the United States, and Italy.

We had pork hock terrines, rillettes, spicy salads, pulled pork burgers and dagwood dogs, cheek ragu, and of course, rich pork belly. Dessert was an heirloom apple and cinnamon tart - and the pastry was made with our lard.

We set up a piglet pen at the entrance of the restaurant. The piglets were clean, silky, and well-behaved. They snuggled into their straw while we tucked into our meal.

After the fourth course I thought it was time to introduce one of them to our table of friends.

But from the horrified looks darting across the room, apparently piglet patting at a pig out is not the done thing.

I think it's curious that it's quite acceptable to be in the same room as a dead pig, but not a grunting, chubby live pig.

Maybe not everyone is as enthusiastic about paddock-to-plate experiences as I am - but I stand firm in my belief that if we want to eat meat, we stop telling ourselves porkies, and accept where it comes from.

I am heartened though in knowing that the 70 people at last night's dinner are now fully aware that pork = pigs.

Our Rare Day Out farm open day on April 1 demonstrated there are many people in our community willing to learn about how we raise our pigs, sheep, and cattle, and that they want a grass roots experience.

We had 650 people visit us - that's right! 650! I can't think of a bigger farm field day in Tasmania other than Agfest (and I think it will be a while before we aim to attract 80,000 people).

The weather was stunning, the atmosphere relaxed. While Guy and I took groups around the farm our guests munched on pulled pork tortillas, sausages in sourdough, and slurped local beer and cider, and ethical coffee.

Kids spent hours cuddling (and squeezing) piglets and went home with animals painted on their faces.

Despite exhaustion, Guy and I couldn't sleep that night. Instead, we got up and read the blogs our visitors had already posted, and looked at the incredible number of photos on facebook and twitter.

The energy and inspiration generated on that day is still brightening our eyes and hearts.

Our thanks goes to: Guy's brother Dane for getting the farm into shape for our visitors; to Drift for crafting and serving the food; to Seven Sheds and Ritual Coffee for the drinks; to our neighbours, friends, and family who volunteered on the day; and to you - who supported us and enabled us to donate $3,000 to our causes. Thank you.

*Our causes were: Landcare Tasmania, the Rare Breeds Trust of Australia, Learn <> Grown, and Lucy's Holiday.

Taking responsibility

It’s unfortunate that the biggest agricultural news to make the mainstream media lately has been the finding that three-quarters of Australian grade six students think cotton socks come from animals.

And while the image of a sheep (sizes 5 - 7) or a cow (sizes 8 - 10) rolling its socks off at harvest time is rather sweet, it’s all a bit of a worry.

Only half the kids surveyed recognised the bread, cheese and banana in their lunch boxes as farm products. I’ll give them a bit of slack - because mould-resistant bread, un-meltable cheese and banana dried and covered in sugar are pretty unrecognisable as hearty farm fare.

The farm lobby groups were outraged by the survey, of course. There were the expected reactions: “we must educate people where their food comes from”, “we must bridge the gap”, “primary industries must be taught in schools”, “teachers need to learn more about farming”…

Really? Teachers? Are they the ones responsible for bridging the gap?

When will the farmers who constantly complain about the disconnection between consumers and food producers actually take some responsibility?

(Maybe there could have been another survey of farmers asking, “what are you doing to ‘educate’ consumers?”, “when did you last visit your local school to talk farming?”)

At Mount Gnomon Farm, in an effort to show that bacon really does come from Canada – oops, PIGS – we’re having an open day!

It’s on April 1 and we’d love you all to come.

We’ve been putting it off, because as a perfectionist I hate people seeing things half done. But after three years of non-stop work, I’ve realised the farm will never be done: there will always be fences to mend and trees to plant.

We’re bearing-all for a number of reasons:

1. We really love showing-off our animals and we think we live in one of the most beautiful places on earth
2. We want our customers to see that yes, our pigs really are happy and live outside with mountain and sea views
3. Children should have the chance to spend time cuddling piglets, hearing a turkey gobble, and then eat ham for lunch and know exactly who it came from
4. And because we want consumers and farmers alike to understand that we are part of a community chain supporting each other – we do not work in isolation.

So, if you’d like to come for a Rare Day Out, let us know by ringing (03) 6437 1106 or emailing by March 25.

What: Farm open day, Mount Gnomon Farm. Farm tours, gourmet porky lunch by Drift’s Tom Dicker, Seven Sheds brewery, Ritual Coffee, kids’ traditional games and face painting. We’ll be talking about rare breeds (not just pigs!), farm biodiversity, and our farming philosophy.
Where: 886 Ironcliffe Rd, Penguin, Tasmania.
When: 11am – 2pm Sunday April 1, 2012.
Admission: $5 adults, U16 free. Gate fees and profits from the food stall to local charities.

We look forward to seeing you!

* Want to read more about how yoghurt grows on trees? Head to the Primary Industries Education Foundation.

* And while we're talking about communication - have you 'liked' us on facebook, or do you 'follow' us on twitter? Please do!