D. J. Blackmore


I have milked cows and made cheese. I bartered my Gouda for wine at a boutique vineyard near our home in the Hunter Valley, New South Wales.

I have collected eggs barefoot from the hen-house. Reared babies and Border Collies. A short stint with horses saw me falling off, concussing myself in the process. I broke my best arm. 

So now instead you’ll see me keeping company in the comparative safety of the colony, because there’s nothing more relaxing that the sound of sixty thousand bees busily making honey.