bothy (noun. Scottish.) - a hut or small cottage.
A perfect day at the Butcher’s House...
It’s the dead of winter. A dusty shaft of early morning light shines through the crack where the timber shutters meet, it falls gently on your face; a delicate awakening. Your lover is gently stoking the last embers in the fireplace back to life.
Wrapped in an old tartan blanket you tiptoe into the kitchen, your breath visible in the fresh cold air. After preparing warm cups of tea you hurry back into bed, there you spend another languorous half hour or so watching the fire dance in the hearth while the rest of the house warms.
Time to make some porridge to enjoy while sitting at nana's scrubbed pine table. You watch the rabbits eat whatever is left in the garden, their cute as a button tails bobbing as they hop from one juicy morsel to another.
Around ten o'clock you head off to explore, you meander up and down the wide village streets marvelling at the curiosities in the neighbouring yards and at the beautiful colonial Georgian buildings dotted around the town. Snowy grey clouds hang in the sky and the air is crisp with a cold breeze.
Its not long before you arrive at Sealy’s Café and Store where you enjoy one of Roz’s home made scones and a mug of good coffee. Once again you amble along the village streets back to the Butcher’s House, the rabbits in the garden turn into little statues (they think you can’t see them).
Next is a drive in the beautiful Central Highlands taking one of the stunningly gorgeous back roads which lead to the highland lakes. The landscape quickly turns white; snow has been falling in the highlands during the night. Stopped at a highland lake, you rug up and brave the chill to walk around the icy lagoon, its so very quiet in winter, there isn’t another human in sight, which is perfect. Back in Bothwell you head to the Castle Hotel for early dinner; pizza or parmi, whatever is on offer and join the workers in their high viz for a coldy or glass of Tasmanian pinot.
After a hearty dinner you head back to the Butcher’s House, stoke the fire until its roaring, pour a glass of whisky and sink into the leather sofa in peaceful silence. Time now to draw a deep warm scented bath full of soothing salts, close the curtains and breath deeply. Sleep calls and the bedroom fire is crackling again, a gentle tendril of smoke hangs in the air. Snuggle in and dream up more adventures, perhaps fly fishing tomorrow…