SETTLER AND SONS

Photos by Sophie Welton.

After weaving through the native gum landscape in fading light, we arrive at a magically staged clearing.

Gathered to celebrate the launch of Sophie Hanson’s A Basket by the Door cookbook, we excitedly enter the field before us.

Kirby Kaye is the creator and host of this open-air long-table experience, and it is her farm at Ballakaye where tonight’s event takes place. A long table adorned with olive branches greets us, with each place set with a box of Grounded Pleasures exquisite drinking chocolates and a copy of the rather lovely A Basket by the Door cookbook.

We head towards the majestic wooden bar that has been festooned with string lights and offerings from Amherst Winery.

Claiming our welcome glass of sparkling, we turn towards the warmth of the crackling fire and select from the produce platters currently being circulated. Each platter is a recipe from Sophie’s cookbook and adds a thoughtful touch to the evening. After some fireside chatter, it is time to take our place at the table and tuck into a feast of pulled lamb, slaw, roasted duck-fat potatoes and freshly baked sourdough bread. For sweets, we are served the most spectacular crumble drizzled with cream (all food served was from the cookbook). With a soft acoustic guitar playing and some fitting words regarding the occasion, our transportation to the Settler and Sons experience is complete.

A combination of locally produced food, great company and superb wine provides an unforgettable evening in rural Victoria. Details Location: Nowhere Creek. Getting there: An 80-minute bus ride from Ballarat. Toasted marshmallows: Grounded Pleasures.

Follow @settlerandsons for future long-table dining events.

Niplash

As a ten year old I was fascinated when my oldest sister brought her first baby home to the family for a visit. My mother, now newly minted ‘grandma’, fussed and coddled my sister as the baby cooed and cried.

Words by Brigid Moloney

Grandma, being the formidable matriarch of the family she is, can, by a slight inclination of her head, let you know just how well (or not) you are doing. As the baby was ratcheting up his crying, Grandma’s head tilting would increase in fervour until there was an, ‘everybody out’ vibe and the announcement would be made, “The baby needs to be fed”. In a mysterious move, Grandma isolated my sister in a room and then stood at the door to run interference if anyone tried to enter. Some strange voodoo was happening behind that closed door. I was at a loss as to how this would feed the baby. And then I was told. My sister’s breasts were feeding the baby. I mean whoa. 10-year-old mind blown.

It sounds like my childhood was in the Victorian times but we soon got colour TV and leapt into the modern world. Fast-forward to my third sister and the joke was that all her four children would need to meet her at recess for a quick top up. She was a complete natural at breastfeeding. It wasn’t awkward, it wasn’t taboo and it was acceptable for her to feed her babies in the presence of others. No Grandma head tilts noted.

One of the benefits of being the last of a family of six, as well as being born in a time of exponential technological change, was that I could cherry pick from my family’s experience and what I read online when it came to what I wanted in my own motherhood experience. So from the Victorian era-esque start to my childhood, I turned into quite an herbal adult. I was going to be a proud baby wearing, shameless breastfeeding, natural birthing, non-dummy using supermum. Everything was going to be organic and sourced within 100km from my house. You can laugh now.

For me, that was far from the reality when it actually came to breastfeeding my four boys (and pretty much every other aspect of motherhood). I’ve had interventions. I’ve had four caesareans. I don’t eat nearly enough organic food. I’ve spent endless hours looking for dummies. And breastfeeding, as it turns out, was really, REALLY hard. But I stuck to it like Grandma’s head tilts depended on it. The things about breastfeeding I got to know, in no particular order, were:

Your nipples. You will talk about them. You will expose them to complete strangers. You will slather them with grease. You will leave them out and proud to air dry. You will no longer recognise the shape of them as yours. Getting trussed up like a chicken. For the first four to six weeks, expect to need 30 more minutes to get dressed and then add another thirty if you are putting on anything other than PJs. There are pads and mesh that need to be in places that need the same sort of precision placement as the false eyelashes that you used to be bothered with. It takes time. The curious feeder. This is the baby who will grow up with 1000+ friends on Insta. They want to know everyone’s movements, investigate the loud noise from down the street and see what food Dad is putting in his mouth - all while they have a vice like grip on your nipple with their gummy little mouth.

The niplash. This is when the curious feeder is trying to see something just out of their eyesight and stretches your nipple so far it pings out of their mouth and then we are back to point ‘A’ where you expose your nipple to a complete stranger. The errant spray. When your milk ‘let down’ is so hard and fast that when the curious feeder performs the niplash manoeuver, the arc of milk sprays into the eye of the complete stranger to whom you have just exposed your nipple. The indecisive merry-go-round. This is where you have a crying baby and you start thinking... “I have no milk.” Or “I had a double shot macchiato today and the baby is having caffeine withdrawals.” Or “the baby doesn’t like the taste of asparagus...or maybe I should whack in a bottle of formula.” Or “perhaps I could just go rock in the corner.” The eye contactor. This is the beautiful moment when your baby will stare lovingly into your eyes and require your undivided attention. This is to be cherished. Except when you are trying to watch the cooking show just before school pick up and the chef is about to flambé, vital to know for that dinner party you may never have. There’s so much more to tell because in the four plus hours you might be breastfeeding in a day, stuff happens.

(From one mother to another, time your breastfeeding right around dishes and putting other kids to bed. Perfect excuse to compete with what we call in our household “tea towel bowel”. Do it. You deserve it.) I can now look back on my breastfeeding days and pat myself on the back in acknowledgement that they were hard days. I was not the picture of serenity that I so aspired to be, I was not that beautiful picture of Picasso’s with the Madonna-like-mother feeding her child. I was a trussed up chicken with a stubborn will to breastfeed my four boys.

And you know? After a recent chat, it appears that after all those years of assumed and imagined head tilts, Grandma could not have given a toss. Ah well. Run your own race mamas. Brigid Moloney is mum of four boys and co-founder with husband, Obstetrician Dr Patrick Moloney, of GrowMyBaby, an online pregnancy program helping women to have their best pregnancy. You can find more parenting stories plus a good dose of expert led pregnancy information from Dr Pat on Instagram @grow_my_baby or you can keep an eye out in iTunes for when they (finally) launch The Kick Pregnancy Podcast.