The curate's egg ...
The first academic paper that I published appeared in 1991. Although it is now over 30 years ago, I can still remember the opening line of the very first referee report I ever received that made up part of the long process leading to the appearance of the paper in print. It said, “This paper is very much like the curate’s egg … good in parts!”. Of course, I had no idea what the referee meant, so with a little research I discovered that this description could be traced back to a cartoon published in a Punch magazine issue on 9 November 1895, drawn by George du Maurier. In the cartoon, a nervous curate is eating an egg at the bishop’s table. The bishop expresses concern that the curate has received a bad egg. The curate doesn’t wish to trouble or offend the bishop so he replies, “Oh, no, my Lord, I assure you that parts of it are excellent!”
I remember being terribly upset that someone could dismiss part of my work as bad! I must admit that I have not matured much since then, at least in terms of referee reports. I still feel the pain like a punch in the solar plexus every time a negative report comes in – and mostly I would welcome a report based on the idea of the curate’s egg, meaning that at least part of my work had merit! I have never quite managed to take the advice of my middle son who, when about to embark on a voyage of discovery in the finance sector in New York with a company famous for unfiltered feedback, told me that the key was to separate your ego from the criticism. The critic was not telling you that you were a bad person, but merely suggesting that aspects of your work needed attention. Although I was able to acknowledge the fact that the advice was distinctly profound especially coming from one so young, I regret to report that I have been singularly unsuccessful in following it!
Okay, so what has the curate’s egg got to do with life at Cracroft farm? Our visit this time has fallen into two very distinct parts and I will leave you to decide on the attribution of the segments of the egg. For the first two days we lived entirely for pleasure. We indulged ourselves with two incredible, leisurely lunches - one (6 courses) at the Agrarian Kitchen in New Norfolk just north of Hobart and one at the Port Cygnet Cannery (4 courses) about 40 minutes across the river from us. Both establishments are leading examples of "paddock to plate" in that all the items on the menu are sourced from their own gardens and farms. This dalliance with decadence was driven by the fact that we really needed a break from the daily grind in Brisbane.
Of course, the other part of the egg was lurking close at hand, and, right on cue, the next two days have been really hard work. We have planted 14 new shrubs in unrelenting, compacted, clay soil with the odd rock thrown in for good measure, we have made wire cages for these newly-planted shrubs, we have watered, we have weeded, we have slashed onion grass, we have worked on our compost, to name but some of the jobs needing to be ticked off. By 8pm we find ourselves sitting in a daze in front of the fire thinking of bed – of course the fire is a not quite a necessity at this time of year, but it is wonderfully comforting.
Although the evenings are drawing in now that summertime is over, the reward for all this hard work has been that the Valley has been at its lyrical best. This evening, the sky was a vibrant red just at sunset and there was a fleeting moment of magic. I was in the orchard pretty tired out from a long day when I happened to look up and caught the fire in the western sky behind our magnificent gum tree.
Yesterday was quite a different evening. Looking north east instead of west, the Valley was in a dreamy mood, with a half moon shining brightly over what we call the misty mountains (with apologies to J.R.R. Tolkien).
As you start to get into tune with the Valley you realise that micro climate is so important. I used to dismiss the concept of micro climate as a delusion dreamt up by wine connoisseurs who had nothing of substance to say, so they droned on at length on the importance of 'terroir' in forming the character of the wine. I have already accepted, however, that micro climate is very real. Our poplar trees are only just starting to turn (see also the picture in the post of 5 April 2021, "An unexpected reprieve ..."), but simply driving the 14kms from our place to Huonville and beyond reveals significant differences in how far advanced the poplars are on their autumn journey.
And so tomorrow it is back to Brisbane and hustle and bustle of city life. Perhaps our newly-planted shrubs will survive the onslaught from the local fauna until we get down again. Hopefully it's not a case of the curate's egg all over again with some good news and some bad ...
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