Well people: today is the seventh anniversary of my Mum’s death. She was just short of 91 years when she died and in excellent health until about three months before she passed. Thankfully, the downhill slide was very quick. I try not to dwell on things when these anniversaries come around (like February 5 for my Dad).

So in this spirit, I move on to tell you that we experienced a dusting of white stuff last week. Snow. And more than a dusting really. The forecast was for wet flurries but, as we woke up around 6.00am and I headed out to feed the horses, I was met with the quiet scene of snow lying on the ground.

All very exciting, yeah sure. But after four years of snow, the excitement has worn off. Growing up in Sydney, there was no snow and the only time I ever saw snow was when my Dad took me to the Snowy Mountains and Mt Kosciuszko when I was about 10 years old. Oh, I lie: I saw a ton of snow in Moscow when I visited in 1992 or thereabouts.

Zsa Zsa was perplexed about the white stuff on the ground. You could see her thinking do I get my paws wet if I step on this white stuff?

Thankfully, it stopped snowing later that morning but then, of course, you get the melting snow. Which equals mud and slush. The horses weren’t very happy at all.


Zsa Zsa wonders what the white stuff is.


You can see the raised vege garden covered in snow.


Zsa Zsa finally braved the snow.