Photo Op

I have received a lot of feedback about my 'picture' of the sink hole: none of it good So I checked myself and sure enough, even I couldn't find it in that sea of green and I knew where it was. So, here is another shot. If you look directly below the fence on the right side, you can see a bit of the drop off.

Then I decided I might as well give you all a pictorial tour of the new stock here on the farm.

These are our 4 brand new yearlings (and the shadow of my Aussie-inspired hat). The little boys are yearlings, Angus of course and as  gentle as my grandson which is saying a lot. Right now they are in the quarantine paddock, which as you can see, is the only level paddock on the whole farm. We should move them up to another inaccessible mountain this weekend.

And these are our new, Suffolk sheep. We just bought them from a neighboring farmer and are very excited about them. They have a tendency to have twins, give a leaner meat, and have narrow shoulders which help them lamb more easily. All in all, they should be winners. We will wait until next year to breed them (they're still teenagers).

I have purposely not included the 2 steers and 2 rams ready for the home kill guy out of respect for their privacy in their last days of life. And our Romney sheep (Rambo's old flock) wouldn't let me get close enough to take a picture. Some things never change!

Death Spiral

Tuesday has now morphed into Wednesday and there is no improvement. Since I am to check the water tank every day, I did so today. It was losing water. I was instructed how to look for the leak and I did so and found one. Then it was up to the tank, climb over the fence and turn the valve.

Have you ever tried climbing a fence situated in a hillside where the ground beneath you is significantly lower than the fence rails? I have and I can’t do it. I pondered this a while and finally walked around the tank to the upper side, climbed on the fence and inched my way around and then dropped down inside next to the valve. All in the know how, folks, all in the know how.

I haven’t been feeling to knowledgeable lately. I still can’t find my gardening gloves and have to do things like climb fences bare handed. Not good for the manicure. Just joking; even I’m not crazy enough to pay money for a manicure given what these hands go through each day. I am still priming wood and my hands, and fingernails, are a bright, shiny white. And I didn’t have to pay a dime!

Dan asked me to move the 2 steers from #4 to #2. Sounds simple; only 2 steers and they’re both pussycats. Of course it’s not simple. Nothing is simple for me on the farm. First, I am obsessed with the idea of sink holes and stomp my cane through the paddocks as I gingerly pick my way toward the steers. Don’t laugh, there was an ancient city called Ubar in Southern Oman that fell into a gigantic sink hole when its underground caverns collapsed. It could happen here! Hence, my shuffle like walk.

This weird walk disconcerts the steers and they refuse to move gently into #2. Actually, they refuse to do anything I want. Instead they race merrily up and down the hill, sprinting, leaping, and in general acting as if it were Spring not Fall. So, after 6 gallant attempts up and down the paddock, I concede and go call Dan.

Up comes Dan with the much appreciated orange juice (yes, I have ANOTHER cold) and I plod around opening gates while Dan cajoles the steers meekly into the proper paddock.

It is while on gate duty that I see another dead sheep. We are fast mounting the death board around here. I know she was fine on Saturday but I didn’t check them Sunday since I was playing grandma all day with the girls. Monday morning I just looked up the hill but didn’t go into the paddock. I defy anyone to tell a dead sheep from all the surrounding sheep who are also lying down.

Anyway, Dan and I inspect the sheep. Now that was fun! We can’t see any obvious cause of death. She had been put with the ram so she might have been pregnant and aborted but there is no evidence of that. I don’t say this to Dan, but I think she could have died of a broken heart. It was one of her twin lambs who died in the sink hole. That nasty ole sink hole once again.

We ended up putting the steers in paddock #1 and they spent a significant amount of time inspecting the fence around the sink hole. It is said that cows rarely fall into sink holes but our guys looked as if they were challenging the local lore. Anyway, thanks to Dan’s prompt action, the sink hole is fenced off (see below) and we, hopefully, won’t have any more broken hearted mothers lying down and dying. In fact, I would just love it if this death spiral were to end. Right now!

 

Tuesdays

I always liked Tuesdays. Mainly because Tuesday meant that the dreaded Monday was a full week away. Wednesdays were always called ‘hump’ day. Big deal! That only meant that I had as many days of servitude to spend as I had already put in. Thursdays suffered because I always wished they were Fridays. And then the long-anticipated Fridays arrived. But it was too much pressure for me. What if all my weekend plans didn’t meet my expectations? What if (Horrors!) I had to work? Fridays were too anxiety provoking for me. Give me quiet, little Tuesdays.

No more. This Tuesday has made Job’s tribulations fade by comparison. Dan and I are sharing the painting duties for the new porch floor (see picture). So far I have not covered myself with glory in the painting department. It seems I have not covered the boards with a thick enough coat of primer. So today I have been concentrating on doing it right. If my hands are any indication, those boards have a very, very thick coat.

 

While waiting for paint to dry (my new favorite occupation), I unloaded the possum traps and put 2 more in the possum cemetery. Then I took a turn around paddock #4 to see if the water tank was leaking. This was the high point of my day. It was a beautiful, soft Autumn day and I was away from the paint fumes. I could feel my sinuses opening up with delight.

But then, back to reality. The paint still wasn’t dry so I tackled cleaning the oven. Now my father, Col. Lord of Patton’s cavalry, always said “Never volunteer”. Words to live by and I have. Up until now, I guess. I really don’t remember volunteering but here I was up to my elbows in oven grease. This whole task was a distinct shock to me. In the States, I push a button and my oven self-cleans overnight. No fuss, no fumes, no mess.

The house here is over 100 years old and I’m pretty sure the oven isn’t that old but it’s definitely pushing 50 and never been cleaned. I won’t claim it was a perfect job but given my arthritis (I always have another excuse or two up my sleeve), the fumes, the mess, the endless scraping, etc. I think I did pretty well.

While writing this blog, it occurred to me that I should give Mondays a break. They were only horrible when I had weekends off but now that I am ‘retired’, I work every day so Mondays are just like every other day. Okay, Mondays, you’re off the hook.

Crisis After Crisis

One thing about living on a farm: there is never enough time to contemplate your successes or failures. It is on to the next problem. Don’t look back; absorb the sink hole death of the ram, and move on to the next problem. In my urban life I had time to make plans to avoid any such mishaps in the future and then ease into the next crisis.

Not so here. While Dan was having the sink hole fenced off, he was simultaneously building a stockade around a rampant creek on the roadway and moving ahead with the massive garden project. You can see the size of the garden in the picture below. He seems to take it all in stride. Perhaps that’s youth (a new definition) or it could just be his temperament.

 

However, an old problem has come back to bite us and it’s a doozy. The water lines to feed all the paddocks across the road are being drained due to some kind of leak. Dan has spent literally days trying to find the leak. Finally he called up the reserves: the man who used to own this property several owners ago. Can you believe this guy? He actually took time off his job and his life to drive several hours down to help Dan find the leak.

I wish I could tell you that they found it. But they didn’t. Dan will have to continue his search while rebuilding the front porch and moving ahead with the garden. See what I mean? There is always something old, something new, and the weather. Never forget the weather. It is now the rainy season and good luck at finding a leak in muddy paddocks with torrential rains pouring down.

I never cease to wonder at people who choose farming as a life style. Don’t get me wrong, I’m deeply grateful but puzzled. As the winds whip around at 100 kilometers and the rains smash against my windows, I am very, very puzzled. But grateful. Never forget the grateful part!

Dan and a neighbour building the creek blockade. There never seem to be any small projects on this farm. Just big, bigger and beats us.