Since Steve went back to work two months ago, one of the biggest changes to our lives has been the busyness of our weekends. Like most families, weekends are when we do the grocery/ market shopping, clean the house and maintain the garden. We share these tasks and take it in turns to look after the babies so we don’t have the stress of trying to look after them as well and can get it all done. By the time we have also taken it in turns to sleep in and Steve has given me a couple of hours to myself every weekend, there’s not much time for anything else.
Hence when Daylight Savings ended and we had an extra hour we took the precious time to spend as a family. It was a perfect early autumn day – the leaves were starting to turn yellow and red but were only tinged with colour, and they had not yet created the mess that late autumn brings. It was sunny and still when we left the house at 3pm on Sunday, and I felt like a student again, snatching some time from all the obligations in the middle of the long weeks of term time, satisfied that I had earnt it: not because my studies were up to date but because the house was clean and stocked with food and at least one corner of the garden was weeded. We were off to an apple harvest festival in the country.
We thought we were off to an apple harvest festival. I used the GPS on my phone to direct us there but there was no sign of any festival. If there was one, they hadn’t even bothered to put a sign up at the turnoff and the farm gate also had no signs of any festivities. I checked the brochure (yes, I should have done this before we left). The festival had been the day before.
No matter, we decided to drive in to the neighbouring small town, there should be a market there on the first Sunday of every month and I had wanted to go for a long time. We had a coffee and cake in the town’s old-fashioned tea shop and looked vainly for any signs of a large market. I looked it up on my i-phone. The market was indeed on the first Sunday of every month, but it finished at 3pm. It was now nearly 4. It was not shaping up to be a very successful day.
Luckily, someone had left a brochure on the table next to us about a wine festival in the region, and there seemed to be some wineries still open. We decided to go to one of them which promised wine in stunning scenery with panoramic mountain views. Fifteen minutes later, we were there.
The winery was elevated and small, set beside a stone farmhouse that could have been in England. Deciduous trees and lawns surrounded it, bordered by a low stone wall that looked across at eucalypts and mountains for many kilometres in the distance, purple and green in the late afternoon haze. There was a jazz band playing in one corner and oak barrels with lounge chairs dotted the lawn; as well as white tables, chairs and shade umbrellas; taken up by a few couples and one or two larger groups enjoying the wine, music and scenery. The food had run out long before but the party was still going.
We tasted the wine and chose a glass of red to drink while soaking up the atmosphere. We took the babies out of their pram and sat with them on the thick grass. We don’t have grass at home, except on the nature strip, and we realised that at nine months of age this was the babies’ first experience of it. Rhea was delighted and picked up tiny handfuls to chew on. Lara was a little more wary, but she too was enjoying the late afternoon sun, smiling in her quiet way then uttering her trademark high-pitched squeals. I danced to the music with each of them in turn. It felt like time stood still.
We spent less than an hour sitting there, the warm sun on our backs, enjoying our babies, the wine, the magnificent view and everything that a lazy Sunday afternoon is.
Precious time all together. We’ll have to find it more often.
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