Buying an Entertainment book is a hem-haw wager. Are we sure we're not just dazzled by the possibilities, overlooking too many of the minimums and restrictions?
We took a chance this year, except Mike went with the new app version.
"I'm never getting the app version again," said Mike, after failing to convince the first restaurant employee of the app's powers. Even after Mike "redeemed" a coupon for a seafood restaurant to show how it worked, the guy still said, "Yes, but you are also supposed to have a book where we take the coupon and..." The road ahead looked long and steeply curved.
But then we experienced the magic of how the app updates with new offers from time to time, and that's how we discovered The Berry Farm, and things only got more magical from there.
Behold, my best friend, the New Holland Honeyeater:
Yes, that's my monotonal mutter of reverence that sounds like it segues into a long, unkind laugh about my various cousins' fear of birds; however, I swear I was only laughing about our little friend at the table because can you believe it?
All that joy came after an already-amazing platter, which looked like this:
And to think we had been content to admire the finches visiting abandoned tables in the gorgeous outdoor garden, which looked like this:
Look at that tongue:
Would we still have eaten every bite of those two delicious desserts if we'd known about the length of that tongue?
Of course. Would anyone insult this face?
It was our privilege to share. (Even if Mike did have me Google "bird flu" during the drive home.)
Farewell, birdie, hope to see you again soon.
The next day seemed about soon enough, but Life kept us away for about thirteen more sleeps, as the expression goes here.
Hello again, Berry Farm! Wonder if we'll see any birdies today. Ha ha ha. (Chuckle of assumptions.)
Actually, the photo above of the front of the cafe where you order (or sit inside, if you hate birds) was taken on the first visit. I was too enchanted by it all to take new pictures of things the second time around. Here's all you'll see of the similar-and-just-as-delicious platter for two, for example (cropped from a photo of... something else... can't reveal it yet):
Did a honeyeater come visit again? Yes!
"Hold on, this isn't dessert!" he says. Poor thing.
The honeyeater flew away for more powdery destinations, but no matter. Our attention was already elsewhere.
When I first traveled south of Bunbury, a few days after arriving in Australia, I was taken by the many mentions of the splendid fairywren, a plump, blue-as-can-be native little bird that makes its way onto a lot of gift shop merchandise throughout the southwest. Oh boy. I couldn't wait this allegedly ubiquitous creature!
Eighteen months and many trips down south later, I could count maybe three occasions of seeing something blue-ish flying around in the bush while on a nature walk. Maybe splendid fairywrens are great friends with the drop bears.
Well, it ought to be clear where this is going.
Yes, you may lick the pesto from my knife. You may lick all the pesto from my knife. (But no one will ever see the video of this because my boobs made a weird backdrop.)
Yep, plenty for your less-colourful but still ever-so-lovely mate, too. Help yourselves. We're best friends now, after all.
And now, a few pics chosen with the restraint I did not employ when uploading everything to Flickr:
At this point we can only return to The Berry Farm for the delicious food (which on this trip we realised extends to the tasting room at their cellar door - let me recommend the orange-vanilla bean butter and the onion marmalade), for the bird experience cannot be topped. Oh Splendid Fairywren!
