There is a story here. About my ever thoughtful friend, Sarah from Switzerland, sending me a surprise gift of a traditional, second-hand kouglof cake tin (or kougelhopf as it’s called on her side of the Rhine) and its arrival inspiring me to bake again. About a sweet summer memory I have of my first time ever picking real cherries from real cherry trees at Sarah’s parents’ house in a Swiss German village called Möhlin, some twelve years ago. About being ever so pleased by a country scene of cherry trees, cherry pickers and the abundance of cherries themselves, and all the possible ways to make use of them. About the current season and overflow of local cherries here in Australia, and men with their trucks and boxes full of this lush summer stone fruit, lining the side of roads all the way from the farm lands of Young, through to Canberra and over here to the South Coast. About simply knowing that despite the call for a traditional kouglof/kougelhopf recipe, I just had to make a cake, and cherries were the absolute fruit to put inside this cake tin. 

I had forgotten how much of a paradise playground the New South Wales South Coast is for foragers during early summer. Or perhaps my eyes have never been quite as open and glued to the car window as they are now. But it seems that everywhere, from the heathlands to the seashore, wild flowers are abundant and full of native splendor.

I don’t know what the opposite of Indian Summer is. But I know that it is here.  It is September, just. Spring looms, yet winter loiters a little. We are on the cusp.

l: kiama
c: australia
s: all four

Interview with dairy farmers Mahlah + Kel Grey from The Pines, Kiama.

l: bundanon trust
c: australia
s: winter

An old stone homestead and an artist’s studio. Paddock wanders. Wombat holes. Glowing wattle bathed in warming winter sun. A still, Shoalhaven river. Gritty river sand and a fire on the beach. With a fire pit full of coals to cook, fireside chairs to sit, sparkling wine to drink and oysters to eat. Many, many oysters.  This was how our Sunday afternoon was to be. A Sunday oyster roast.