{coffee cherries, ripe and ready}
It's coffee picking time on the farm.
When my Dad retired from dairying just over ten years ago now, he put in some coffee trees. 100 in fact. A hobby. Because if you've ever met a retired dairy farmer sitting around drinking tea or playing bowls I'll eat my hat.
Our place, the south coast of NSW being temperate, has a very long coffee picking season unlike northern NSW where it ripens all at once. Which works well when Dad's crop is non commercial and the pickers are friends who gather more for the conversation than the pay (unlimited fresh roasted coffee beans.)
As Adam and I have been out of the state for the last three seasons you'd think we'd be running low on Buena Vista beans but no, Dad has kept us in coffee beans the whole time. I don't think we've been a very good investment.
So Adam spent a wet hot day on Saturday picking like a champion. With Dad of course. The kids helped by ringing the workers bell for morning tea and lunch, which Mum prepares and serves with lots of cold drinks.And a good strong espresso, of course.
{Really, I'll take any chance to photograph Adam's bum.}
{This is Dad, not playing bowls or cards or going fishing.}
{Henry on a swing that Dad hung in the gate to the coffee, in an attempt to distract him from the mad running game through the trees. Too big to sit in a pram while I pick (which he used to) and too small to be pick usefully for longer than five minutes.}
{Tilly helpfully picking leaves instead of cherries}
{Drying out the processed beans on big trays.}
Now if only he could reach the espresso machine to froth the milk we'd be in business...
xxx
