Steering Steers

We have inaugurated a new steer system. Since it is early Spring and there is very little new grass as yet, Dan has decided to feed the steers on the verge.

As you know, our farm stretches finger-like from the house at the top of the mountain down to the main road. I say it is a mile in length, Dan claims it is much less. When I am hiking it back up as I do twice a day, I’d swear it’s 5 miles. Whatever, it’s a hike.  But on either side of the one-lane road that services the 4 farms, is a verge. Since the road was cut through our property, the verge belongs to us. And there is grass on it.

So Dan decided to fence off a part of the verge with the portable electrified fencing and let the steers munch away. This was fine with me since they had been in the quarantine paddock all the way at the base of our finger and I was getting tired of the hike.

The first time Dan moved them by himself since all the steers had to do was amble through the gate and presto! they were in the verge. They stayed placidly there all day. Dan hauled water to them; all our neighbors drove by to congratulate us on finally ‘mowing’ the verge down; and each of us wandered down to admire the grazing.

Then Dan chatted with our resident expert on all farming matters and learned that it was perfectly safe to leave the steers out overnight. I wasn’t so sure. “At least, shut the gate to the main road”, I begged. New Zealand has this imminently sane law that any damage done by your stock is your responsibility. So I envisioned car hitting steer; big bucks going to repair car.

The gate remained open. All of us were very hesitant about not having the steers safely behind our stout wooden fences. And have I mentioned that we have had a crime wave of rustling out here in our wild, wild North? Yep, folks – rustlers! I left Arizona to come to Warkworth, New Zealand and battle rustlers. Go figure!

So I went to bed. I was reading this great mystery set in Greece and didn’t reach over to turn out the light until almost 11. Just as my fingers touched the switch, I heard the baritone tones of my only child waft up the staircase. “Mom, can you come help me move the steers?”

Well, I could of course. Turns out he and Yael had fretted away the evening and Dan finally decided discretion was the better part of valor. Naturally Dan had the quad bike loaded with equipment so I was elected to walk down to the verge to help. Try it some time at 11 at night, no street lights, and cataracts clouding your vision. All I can say is that a benevolent God gave me a full moon or I’d still be out there stumbling away.

The steers were somewhat puzzled to be awakened in the middle of the night. They are early risers and need their beauty sleep. But they eventually got the idea. As usual Sir Single Digit (as in IQ) refused to move. He may be stupid but he wasn’t stupid enough to go anywhere until the path was forged by someone else. Preferably everyone else. I shouted, I urged, I threatened. Finally I took my cow wand and very gently prodded his backside. I don’t think he even felt it. I admit it, he is a very big cow and I am a tad intimidated by him.

So Dan stomped back through the mud and the steer decided he’d rather move than tangle with a wet, irritated Dan in the middle of the night. Also, the moon was covered with clouds and even a dumb animal can’t see in the dark. The moment was now.

Finally they were bedded down and so were we. And the dawn came. And the rains came. And Dan came to tell me we needed to shift the steers onto another tasty bit of verge.

So once again I hiked down while he rode the quad. My task was to go up paddock #1 (see picture of view from halfway up paddock  #1 to get an idea of the heighth). Then I was to steer the steers down the paddock, through the first 2 gates, through the orchard without allowing them to stop and nibble a few fruit trees, through the final gate and onto a pristine verge.

This worked well for the first 4 steers who pretty much knew the drill by now. Not so well for #104 aka Sir Single Digit. So I’m stuck on the top of paddock #1 with dumbo who refuses to move a step. I repeat my antics of the night before. Nothing. Finally I give up and start down to swap places with Dan. Guess who decides to follow? So I have learned another farm fact: the best way to steer steers is from the front.

Busy, Busy, Busy

Well, it’s Spring! And the living is busy, busy, busy. We now have 5 lambs; twin brownies, a tan one, a white one, and a very new black lamb (to replace the deceased Livingston).  So 6 of our 9 ewes gave birth. I can’t help but feel that RAMbo’s indifferent performance could be due to his fly strike earlier this year. He was very sick for a long time.

So watching the lambs, which I do frequently and for long periods of time, has reminded me that it is spring. It is now time to start my garden. But not just our run-of-the-mill raised bed garden. Oh no! Dan and I have decided to convert the front paddock (the one you see in front of the house) into an orchard and veggie garden. Yael, concerned about the character of the property, urges restraint. We have compromised. We will put the garden on the right and the orchard on the left. This will not compromise the fabulous views from the kitchen or dining room. From these rooms we see all the way down to our neighbor’s lake which is complete with ducks, rimmed with stately pine trees, and crystal clear.

We have the parameters, Dan has staked off the garden and we are ready to go?  Not yet. Dan is rethinking the garden placement. I am arguing that 9 hours of sun a day is enough and think that shade in the late afternoon is a good thing. After all, the Kiwi sun is hectically hot. Dan is thinking of the shorter days of spring and fall. Who’s vision will prevail? Stay tuned.

In the meantime, Dan has ordered the lumber for the base of the garden and we have picked up the chicken wire for the sides. That was fun; the tiny Alto was filled with my stuff from a 4 day visit to Auckland but we jammed in the chicken wire and I ended up holding miscellaneous items including some seedlings which “I just had to have” right then. The bird netting is in the garage and now we wait for the land to dry out enough to be able to build the sides, cover the ground with cardboard (to kill the grass), layer in the hay, and order the 2+ truckloads of top soil.

I am filling my time with setting out flats of seeds. Dan has bought several heritage packets of tomatoes, beans, and squash. I have some flowers. And the girls and I planted our green beans several weeks ago. They have shot up unbelievably and yesterday I transplanted them into the raised bed and tied them to the chicken wire sides.

While all this is going on, the water is still not back to its pre-poison state. I tried it about a week ago and got sick again. So Dan spends a major part of his time here draining the tanks, cleaning the tanks, refilling the tanks, etc. Now we are going to actually climb down into the tank (well, Dan is anyway) and clean it from the inside. In the meantime, he lugs bottled water up to me each week.

And of course, the house painting goes on. In between rains that it is. Poor Colin and his guys will probably make this their retirement project. They figure it will take a month! So I am busy at the farm but far from lonely. I have the sheep, the steers, and the painting crew. What more could anyone ask for?

Life and Death

Life and death are very real, very close here on the farm. I am still getting used to that. Two weeks ago we had two lambs and were faltering badly in the local lamb marathon. Then we had twins. Our very first twins here on the farm. Adorable doesn’t even begin to describe them. You can see their picture below. And they aren’t afraid of me – yet. I am sure that Dad will teach them caution soon enough but for now they caper gladly toward me while their mum stands stoically and watch.

I am entranced with them. I watch them for hours every day. I love to see them each nursing from a different side of the ewe, tails wagging fiercely and mum continuing to graze. And the older two black lambs grow bigger and more independent every day. They jump, they cavort, they occasionally nurse but more and more their appetites are stimulated by grass.

One afternoon as I was coming back from checking the steers (all present and accounted for) I heard this bleating from our pasture. I watched the white ewe call for her black lamb. She wandered all over the paddock. She repeatedly entered the horse stalls, her plaintive bleats echoing through the rafters.

I thought perhaps the lamb had wandered into the next paddock. The other sheep were slow to move into the forest paddock but I had left the gate open and knew that sooner or later they would become more adventurous and enter. Perhaps the black lamb had led the way and mum didn’t realize it. So I donned my boots (long, long grass in that paddock) and set off to find Livingston. I walked every inch of the forest paddock. No lamb. I then widened my search to the barn paddock where the flock were grazing. No lamb. Finally I entered the horse stalls and found Livingston.

He was lying between two bales of hay and looked asleep but had died. There was a white bubble around his nostrils. From this I surmised that he had been inadvertently smothered, probably by his mother when she rolled over on him during the night.

He had grown so big that I had to drag him out. I couldn’t carry him, or perhaps I didn’t want to. He had been so cute and cuddly and everything a lamb should be. It made me very sad to see him dead. I understand livestock death in the abstract but for some reason it really hurts my heart when I see the reality.

Anyway, I reported to command central for instructions. Dan said that he couldn’t get up to the farm for several days so I would have to bury Livingston. All right but where? It has rained for a month solid and I walk through swamp land with every step. Not ideal for digging. We settle on a spot and I get the wheelbarrow and wrestle the lamb in for his final ride.

The hole digging was as hard as I had imagined but it got done and I did my best for the lamb. But his mother’s cries continued all day and into the night and I couldn’t sleep. I feel as if I am growing more aware of the natural world around me as I grow older rather than cocooning as so many pundits say we do as we approach our “declining” years. The big 70 is approaching and I feel as if I know less rather than more now.