Herding Cattle

Well, I've been in New Zealand for a month now and my old life seems pretty far away. It is cool and damp here while the Prescott weather sounds heavenly. I have a hard time getting my mind around the fact that we are in late Fall here entering into Winter. It is more obvious on the farm where I see dying grass, leaves changing, and heavier coats on the lifestock. I have spent about half my time at the farm which is great. I love it there but it is very different.

New Zealand has a tremendous problem with possums. There are about 20 million of them and only 4 million humans. The humans are serious about saving the trees, the nature, the environment in general. The vastly over populated possums are intent on destroying anything that grows. Dan has about 20 acres of protected woodland which is quickly being destroyed by the tree eating possums (they start with the bark and eat in and up). I won't even mention in the impossibility of harvesting anything from our vegetable garden or fruit trees. Literally not a single morsel has been left for us unless we want to eat the half chawed fruit contemptuously tossed on the ground. So Dan bought a trap. A trap that kills. Not a nice politically correct trap that allows us to move them to another area. There is no other area. So, here we have this bright yellow trap that kills the critters (instantly and humanely if killing can so be described). But Dan is only on the farm for one or two days a week. Who is to empty the trap, bury the carcess and reset the trap? Guess! So far I have accounted for 7 possums in 7 days. And this is not in the woods - oh no, it is literally on the sidewalk running around our house. So here I am in the driving rain digging yet another grave. Did you know that dirt is very heavy when it is wet? I didn't; I do now. Possums are inordinately fond of apple slices sprinkled with cinnamon. Which reminds me, I'll be at the farm for most of next week and should go to the store and buy more cinnamon. Have I moved beyond my old theory of never killing anything? Yes and it took New Zealand to do it. Starting with that white tail spider that almost cost me my leg and moving through the bee and wasp stings and now watching the oranges, grapefruit, figs (I love figs) all eaten by possums, I have decided that I will embrace the them or me philosophy.

Lest you think that I have turned into a slavering killer of all of Mother Nature's creatures, I have to tell you that I have bonded with the cows. All 8 of them. When we got them I was still in Prescott. But I heard the stories. The cows were supposed to have been hand reared and easily led. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Every farmer on the mountain has made it a point to tell me between gales of laughter of Dan and Yael "herding" all 8 cows to pasture. It took over 3 hours and the cows continually bolted off down to the main road and had to be gathered again. The kids were in their car seats with the car parked across the driveway so the cows could not actually get into the main thoroughfare. Dan still doesn't think it funny and Yael somehow managed to stay in Auckland the day Dan and I moved them to new pastures. One of the farmers had told me that I needed to get the cows used to me. Remember I am all alone on the farm and if I have to "shift" the cows (local jargon), I need them to trust me. So every rainy, cold day, I walked a mile down to the far pasture with an armful of hay singing 'Bossie, Bossie". The first day they almost crashed through the fence trying to get away from me (I refuse to believe it could have been my singing.) But after a few days, they accepted me and would edge toward the hay and start eating as soon as I began the trudge up the road to the house. Why is it that a mile down is so much faster than a mile up? Don't answer. I would like to think of that as one of the great riddles of the modern age. By the end of the week, they would come up to me while I still had hay in my hand. All except one. I didn't fool her for a second. She stood off to one side waiting for her sisters to collapse from the poisoned hay.

So finally it is Sunday and here comes my son and heir.  We are going to shift the cows. They see Dan, and skitter away from him but in the right direction up the road. My job is to get behind them and nudge them up ever up toward the higher pasture. Dan will make sure they don't go too far or veer off the roadway. Sound simple? May I remind you that I have been handing out tasty bovine treats all week. Well, I would never leave that hand that gave me Godiva chocolates and those cows weren't leaving me. Except for old sour puss who continued to act as if I were Typhoid Mary. She walked over to the tall grass and started chowing down. Exit cow, stage left. The rest wouldn't move for love or money. Stick with Terry, she has to have the hay somewhere. So down comes Dan, disgusted with my lack of herding skills. They see him. They run. All the way down to the main road. Luckily we have shut the gates. Repeat. Several times. Finally sour puss takes off up the hill and almost all the cows follow. I thought Dan would be pleased but it seems that it is the kiss of death for the herd to separate. I finally have to lightly tap my most fervent admirer to get him (castrated bull) to move. He keeps looking behind him to make sure I am close enough. Yes, the old lady is following; but no hay. He bellows to express displeasure and dumps a load right next to my feet. I spring lithely aside but the romance is over. No more hay. I have become too accepted and they won't heed their leader. So no more Mrs. Nice Guy. I'd rather be obeyed than loved. Particularly considering the type of gifts I have received (or would have if I hadn't jumped).

So, we are recruiting for two week stays on the farm. All are welcome. Come catch a possum, bond with a cow, get rained on. Whichever is your pleasure, we can make it happen for you. Oddly enough, I am having the time of my life. Serious life altering events.