The Not So Golden Pond

New Zealand is having a drought. Water is being rationed; particularly here at the farm. We are timing our showers and flushing only when absolutely necessary. Dan and Yael go down to Auckland once a week and do some laundry. There are fires here in the North Island, crops are drooping or dead, and the stock are thirsty.

We water our four far pastures and the quarantine paddock from our pond next to the red, red barn. About a week ago the pond ran dry. We can manage hauling water for the sheep – they aren’t big drinkers. The steers are another story. Boy do they swill the stuff. There is never enough. So we sold off 3 of the steers. And the other 2 went berserk! They jumped the fence; they charged the electric tape; they sulked. Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking that cows are placid. They knew what the meat truck meant and they freaked out!

We moved them to the new barn paddock and they settled down. So Dan turned his attention to the pond. It was all silted up and the cattails were growing over 10’ high. Being Dan, he decided to dredge the pond himself. So in he went and up and down he dredged by hand, and pulled up cattails, and when he finally emerged many hours later he looked like the tar baby. Oh, and he had only cleared about 1/4^th of the pond.

So we hired Merv and his digger to do the work. Dan and Merv started 9 hours ago and are still at it as I write this. The sad part is that even with all that effort, they can’t get the pond clear enough to rely on for watering the paddocks. We will have to go to plan B which involves buying another water tank and installing it at the red, red barn to catch the roof runoff. Sounds good but water tanks are expensive, very expensive, and there’s no rain anyway so what do we do in the meantime?

We haul water. That’s what we do. Just like the pioneers. This may be the 21^st century but a drought is still a drought and all human ingenuity can’t make it rain (or cure the common cold, for that matter). I guess we still have a ways to go.

Epilogue

Just when I thought I was finished with sheep for the foreseeable future, along came the epilogue. Remember how a week earlier Dan had thought he saw fly strike on several of the sheep? John (the sheep expert) and I saw nothing. And there we left it for a week.

The following Friday Dan came into the kitchen to announce that he was fairly certain that at least 3 of the sheep had fly strike. I didn’t say anything; it was up to him, but honestly, I still hadn’t seen any signs. But Dan called John who agreed to shoehorn us in to his very busy schedule the next day. You have to love these Kiwis. They have to be the nicest people on the planet. It was left that John would call about lunch time and give us a rough idea of his arrival time and we would have the sheep corralled for him.

Come lunch time, so did John. No phone call, just John. Dan had gone for a walk to show the farm to a friend from Auckland and John was very clear that he had no time to waste. I was afraid that he would hurry off to his next shearing so without getting my cane (essential for traversing the paddocks or my hat) I took off to shepherd the sheep.

John would go down to the red, red barn, aka the wool shed, and get set up while I opened the gates and started the sheep moving. When John was finished, he and his sheep dogs would come help me. I was also to keep calling for Dan so he could participate.

So here I am hatless in the broiling sun, struggling manfully up the paddock without my cane and shouting “Dan” into the face of strong winds. A picture to remember. But I was sticking with it. The Lords never say ‘die’ or something like that. The only problem is that I can’t find the sheep.

They aren’t in paddock #4, or #3 and I am stumped until I come over the rise and see them docilely filing into the corral. And who is that behind them? Dan. His friend is already seated in the front row bleachers (the fence).  Something seems a little strange about him but I am too far away to see properly. Up close is a different story. He is soaked from the knees down. He was chasing a lamb and fell into one of our infamous brooks. So I’m not the only one.

I join the party but the men are all horrified that I am risking sun stroke and so I walk (in the sun) back up to the house and drink a ton of water. Dan later comes in and informs us that 3 ewes were severely stricken with fly strike and RAMbo and another ewe were in the early stages. I have to give kudos to my son. He knew when the rest of us didn’t. I asked him how he could find fly strike when neither John nor I could. “I stood and watched them for almost an hour. I just felt that there was something wrong.” Now that’s a farmer!

An Ovine Adventure - Part III

Okay. Here goes. The sheep (with 1 exception) are in paddock #2. The lone ewe is in paddock #1 with the steers. Our mission is to reunite the 17 sheep and move them to paddock #4 which involves shepherding them through 2 and 3. Then we will move the steers across the road and up to the paddock in front of the new barn.

Dan heads up paddock #1 to find the ewe and scoot her to her buddies. I cross the paddocks opening the gates to 4, 3, and then 2. By this time the ewe and lamb are engaged in an ecstatic reunion and the rest of the sheep are obediently moving toward the gate to 3. Then they see me emerging from that gate into THEIR paddock. They are not pleased. They flank Dan and run down the paddock as far from me as possible.

Dan shoots me a look and follows them. I continue to the steers who are marginally less irritated by my presence than the sheep. The sheep, seeing that I have abandoned my post, docilely amble through 3 and into 4. I don't know what power Dan has over them, but I can guarantee that they would never, ever be so compliant for me.

Now I try to get the steers gathered by the gate to the corral. They saw what happened to the sheep two daysago and are pretty darned determined not to share the sheep's fate. They refuse to move. In any direction. Okay, you try and get them to hoof it (pun intended). I couldn't.

By this time Dan has arrived. The sheep are settled in #4 and he has come to help. He takes in the situation at a glance. The steers are not moving. I am helpless. I get another look. Dan croons to the steers and they walk down to the gate and wait for him to open it. Into the corral they go. "What nice little steers we are. Just keep that mean momma away from us."

They pause to nibble a peach tree in the orchard. Again, my fault. I didn't shout loudly enough to startle them away from the tasty buds. A few words are exchanged with my son and heir. We finally agree that from now on we won't move the steers through that taste-tempting orchard but through the paddocks instead. The same route the sheep took.

Now we are in the road and the cows are scattered, eating off the verge. Dan is trying to lead them on the quad bike. I am prodding from behind; huffing and puffing all the while. I think those cows moved just to get away from me. If I was going to have a stroke, they didn't want to be anywhere around. And so we finally successfully get them into the new barn paddock. They seemed happy enough and I was thrilled that the whole adventure was over.