The wind is blowing ice off the Brindabellas; the frosts are coming to Murrumbateman.

I’ve pulled out my fingerless gloves and beanie. Yesterday we picked all the pumpkins, even those that aren’t quite ripe and don’t ring hollow when we tap them. For want of a wire rack to store them on, so that they don’t rot underneath, we stacked them on our old wooden clothes horse, and discovered an impromptu piece of modern art that will be dismantled when the first load of damp washing needs airing, probably tonight. We’ve picked the baby zucchinis, the chillis and most of the half-ripe tomatoes. The woodman arrived just in time with a truckload of yellow gum and red gum and we’ve had our first fires of the season. I’d forgotten just how gentle and welcoming the heat is from a wood stove, but the dogs remember it well; they’ve migrated across the room towards it, toasting each side in turn.

Photos: Alan Cadwallader