I hope you fared well in all that crazy weather over the weekend. This week, if you receive a weird-looking vegetable that resembles coral from the reef—well, it’s actually from a traditional Asian garden., Song Cauliflower is a unique, loose-curd variety with long, tender green stems and a naturally sweet, mild flavor. Unlike the dense white heads you’re used to, Song grows in elegant florets, perfect for quick cooking and beautiful plating. It’s delicious raw, lightly steamed, roasted, or tossed into stir-fries—no peeling, no fuss. Think cauliflower with a snap and sweetness that kids and foodies both love. I’d like to thank everyone who has emailed me in response to the recent chapters. I’ve greatly enjoyed reading them and responding. The reason I finally decided to write a book was to help process my inner journey. This farming journey has stirred up so many things I thought I had settled. I believe writing will help me render what is most faithful. 

And here I am, six years later—feeling that ancient impulse again. The same one. The one that says: Explore. Because service is more comforting than exploration. I’ve read many books that claim a life of service is the path to true inner peace. Maybe that’s true for some. But for me, that runway was too short. Or maybe I just didn’t stick the landing. I speak only from personal experience—because I know that for many, service brings fulfillment. I’ve seen it. I’ve felt the warm embrace from acts of service. I tried to embody that ethos: growing food, tending the land, caring for something beyond myself. And it does feel good. But if I’m honest—it didn’t satisfy me. Not completely.

As soon as your self-worth is tied to how others see you, you’ve built a cage, and locked it from the inside.

One of the most memorable times on the farm started with a phone call. A guy named Lochie rang me out of the blue. He’d just returned from a trip around Italy and told me he didn’t quite know what he was meant to do with his life. He said he loved food, though, and figured farming might be a good place to start—to explore that love and maybe find something that would not only pay the bills, but also bring some purpose. At first, I was reluctant. I’d already trained a few people and, honestly, I was just looking for someone who already knew what they were doing. So I told him to come for a week—just to get some experience—and that I could put him in touch with other farmers afterward. But by the end of that week, we hit it off.

I was doing veg deliveries last week. I stopped at a house and delivered their box. As I made my way back to the van, a lady ran out of the adjacent house. She had been reading these newsletters and said it was about time I wrote a book. Over the years I’ve been encouraged by some of you to write a book. I’m not quite sure I know how, but I have been writing down my thoughts and experiences. Maybe one day they will make it into a book. And if they do, it will be thanks to all of you that have encouraged me along the way. As of now, I’m going to start sharing what might be called ‘chapters’ of this book with you. Given it is you who have encouraged me to write, why not try and somehow write this book with all your help. I’m sure the encouragement won’t go astray when I’m feeling unmotivated or stuck.

Emily got back from deliveries this week and told me “Susan said she wouldn’t buy our veggies if you don’t write your weekly newsletter”. What a great compliment, it certainly put a lot of wind in my sails. This farming journey has made me realise I enjoy writing, and I’m thrilled that others enjoy reading it! This week I passed our vegetable fields as I motored past on the tractor. All I can see now is a field of weeds. Nature has taken back what was once neat, productive rows of mixed vegetables. Something I thought was so permanent—something I believed would last forever—has all but disappeared.

Sorry for the lack of newsletters the past two weeks. I have lacked inspiration and cannot write just for the sake of it. All is well here on the farm, but naturally, when the mind and the heart pull you in a different direction, they often turn your world upside down. And with this comes an emotional ride consisting of fast and exciting rapids, mixed with slow meandering bends which naturally lead to time for introspection. The highs, the excitement — well, they are the easy parts. They are the times when you feel confident and surefooted that the decision you’re making is the right one. In those moments, you feel as if the strongest gale-force wind could not knock you off course. And yet, as irony would have it, it is when the sea is calm and still, like a sheet of glass, when doubt bubbles up from the depths, and we are left sitting in our canoe with nothing but the negative thoughts that try and convince us we are mad or just plain silly.

Somehow—miraculously—we managed to get all but 15 veg boxes delivered to you all. The messages of support, the offers to donate veggie boxes to people who’ve lost everything, and the general outpouring of kindness reminded us of why we keep doing this. Thank you. Truly. We feel incredibly lucky to be part of a community like this. Our hearts go out to those who’ve lost homes, animals, and loved ones. The floods were devastating. And the road to rebuilding—physically, emotionally, spiritually—will demand resilience most of us can barely imagine.

This week I’m not going to talk about the weather. We are all over it, so let us not dwell on it. But what I want to talk about is your body’s ecosystem. Yes, ecosystem! Something I have come to understand along this farming journey is the relationship between a rich and diverse living soil and the microbiome within our body. You see, just as the soil beneath our feet is alive—with billions of microorganisms teeming through every handful—so too is our gut. It’s a landscape of its own, made up of bacteria, fungi, and other microbes that play a vital role in digestion, immunity, mental clarity, and overall well-being. What’s truly incredible is how connected these two worlds are.

The past few weeks has seen a persistent pattern of showers, and the forecast for the next seven days promises even more. The ground is saturated, our vegetables are barely holding on, and those that do survive are stunted, producing far less than usual. We haven’t been able to prepare new ground, weed, or plant any new crops—everything has come to a halt. Thankfully, we still have two to three weeks’ worth of veggies that were planted months ago, which should carry us through for a little while. But beyond that, we’re likely to see a significant gap in supply from our farm. With winter approaching and the days growing shorter, even if the rain does stop and the ground dries out, most farmers along the east coast will struggle to produce a decent crop over the coming months; most won't have anything decent until Spring. Cold and short days slow everything down.

Since announcing that we are selling the farm. I’ve been asked many times: Why are you selling the farm? What made you want to pack everything up and hit the road with your family? To be honest, each time I was asked, I still didn’t fully understand why. Six years ago, we packed our bags, left the city, left our comfort zone, and embarked on this farming journey. Are we doing the same thing now or is it different this time? I came to this farm chasing a dream — the romantic idea of a quiet, simple life in the countryside. I pictured a few chickens, some farm animals, kids running barefoot under a golden sunset. That warm, gentle glow of rural life — I thought that was it. I thought I had found my utopia. The first 12 months shattered that illusion.

We can now say without doubt: this model works. Technology has allowed our family to bypass the supermarkets and connect directly with YOU. I sincerely don’t think we fully grasp the full potential of what’s been unlocked. Over the past few weeks, our family has been deep in discussion—reflecting on what we’ve learned, what we know works, what doesn’t work and where we go from here. Now, we feel ready. Ready to share it. Six years ago, we left our jobs in search of something we couldn’t yet quite understand. But we do now, what we desired deep down was simple, it was freedom. Along the way, we’ve experienced the full spectrum of human emotions, crashing over us as frequently as waves along the shore. Like a river finding its way to the sea, we’ve braved the chaotic rapids and gut-wrenching waterfalls—and now find ourselves drifting peacefully along the meandering bends.

It’s 3pm, Monday, April 7th. Autumn’s finally decided to show up. The sky is blue again, clear and still, until a gust of wind kicks up dust and dead leaves. I squint as it rushes past, and for the first time in weeks, I feel grateful just to be dry. After all the mud and dying plants, it’s a relief to be squatting in the sun. I’m picking capsicums with my daughters under a big old camphor laurel. A flock of white-headed pigeons are up in the branches, tearing into the ripening black fruit. Every now and then a hawk passes overhead and the whole tree erupts—branches shaking, birds panicking, wings flapping into leaves and branches. Then somehow, within seconds, they’re gliding in perfect formation, like a scene from a fighter jet movie. It’s wild how quickly chaos becomes harmony.