Day Before Yesterday

The day before yesterday (I know, I know: Two days ago; why didn’t she write her blog then? Just wait; all will be revealed) I promised my body that I would not force it up that thigh burning, calf crunching Paddock #1. We, my body and I, were going to take the day off and just observe the stock from the road.

To celebrate I put on my formal farm wear – purple wellies, ironed khaki scrub pants and rust-colored T-shirt with “Santa Fe, New Mexico” emblazoned across the back. Project Runway, are you listening? I am available. Then I strolled nonchalantly down to view the ram and ewe. On the way, I noted that one of the lambs was awfully close to the fence between Paddock #1 and Paddock #2. It even seemed as if she were caught in the stile. Couldn’t be. Not even a sheep could be that stupid.

So I did my daily staring contest with the ram. He won as usual. But both he and the ewe seemed to still be flystrike free. Back up the road and sure enough the lamb was still plastered to the fence. I called out repeatedly, hoping that she would bolt away from me. All the other sheep ran like blazes. But she remained stuck in the stile. So I had to go in. It was a struggle to force myself to climb over the first gate but nothing compared to the second one.

While I had to climb the first gate, the second can be opened but only by pulling back the wood planks that hold both sides of the gate in place. Did I remember to tell you that it had rained the night before? Well, it had. Given that this is New Zealand, you could almost bet on it raining at any time. When it rains, wood swells. This makes pulling planks almost impossible. I finally did it but managed to ding up my hands a bit and lost a nail. Still, I had 9 more.

I approach the paddock. I call out again. Still no movement. Miraculously both other paddocks are suddenly devoid of sheep. They have vanished over the hills and far away. I sigh and start slogging up Mt. Everest yet again. I keep calling. The lamb keeps not moving. When I am almost within reach, the lamb suddenly darts away and gambols up the hill. I can hear sheep snickers all around me. Suddenly I am not so conflicted about filling the chest freezer with lamb chops.

Later that afternoon, I figure I have to start the weeding and clipping in the side yard. If you look at the picture at the top of this blog, I am referring to the area on the left. We are having a birthday barbeque for Yael on Sunday and hopefully it won’t rain (ha, ha, ha) and we can all eat outdoors. So I pull myself away from the game I’m playing on my computer and change into my green scrub pants – grass stains show less on them.

Now, I am lazy. In fact, many years ago scientists formulated a theorem around me. It goes something like “A body at rest tends to stay at rest”. That’s me! But I love Yael and don’t want to disappoint her so off I go, clippers in hand. I am inching my way along the fence (you can see the uprights in the picture). Now it doesn’t look far down from the upper lawn to the lower paddock but looks are deceiving. That is tall grass down there. And it is pretty far down as I discover when I drop the clippers over the side and down into the mass of weeds.

I try to retrieve them but can’t reach those clippers. So around the fence I go. And then I try to remember where I dropped them. I think I have the general area since it must be somewhere near where the weeding ended. I am groping around in the weeds and reach one hand out to steady myself on one of the log uprights.

Unfortunately that upright is occupied. I become an intimate acquaintance of the wasps whose home it is. They are not pleased that I dropped in unannounced. And that is why I had to wait two days to write my blog. I was waiting for the swelling in my hand to go down.

Just Another Morning

By 8:20 am I had finished all my indoor chores – getting dressed, eating, gazing into space. And now I was ready to tackle the great outdoors. But first I had to deal with a wheelbarrow filled with garden rubbish. Until today I had blithely filled a plastic tub with clippings, dead plants, and various detritus and left it in the driveway for Dan to haul through the first gate, through the second gate, past the new barn, through the third gate and to the recently begun compost pile. You can see why I left it to him.

But today he had left a filled wheelbarrow in the garage for me to deal with. True, he had been a tad busy fighting flystrike, wrestling sheep, killing maggots, building corrals to separate said sheep, moving stock, cutting out thistles, repairing water troughs, and lugging a very heavy salt lick all over creation. All glorious fun. He had left this wheelbarrow for me to deal with and headed back to Auckland. Just because he had to get up at 4am to catch a plane to somewhere is no excuse.

But I love my son so I shouldered the burden and wheeled my way to the compost pile. One problem. I couldn’t find it. We had not had the steers in that paddock for a while because they tended to eat the trees. Result: waist high, WET grass. I wandered around for a while and finally just dumped it in a likely location. Who knows, it could even be the right spot. Anyway, Dan doesn’t have time to read this blog, so if you don’t tell him, he’ll never know.

Back through the 3 gates. I briefly considered just pulling the gates to since there were no steers or sheep in the paddocks but I remembered the 1:30am sheep hunt in Dave’s front garden – the result of just pulling the gate to and not latching it. So I carefully latched them all.

Now I turned my attention to checking the ram and ewe who had flystrike and are sequestered in the quarantine paddock all the way down by the main road. Quite a hike but I am getting used to it. I just avoid it in the heat of the day. The sun is massively intense here in the Southern Hemisphere (and remember I come from Arizona).

I am sauntering down the road and here comes Steve whizzing by in his miniscule diesel car. He slows long enough to ask if I had seen any sheep. Interesting question since this is sheep country and they surround us, but I said no and learned that 7 or 8 of theirs had escaped and were being feverishly sought. Both he and his wife, Michelle, were dressed for work and obviously this was a wrinkle they really didn’t have time for. Hence the frenzied driving up and down the road in both the mini car and their truck (known here as a ute, for utility vehicle, I assume. Took me a while to puzzle that one out.)

I patted myself on the back for having diligently latched our gates. No wandering woollies would end up in our paddocks. So on down to view the flystrike victims. They must be better. Both were huddled in the shade as far from the road (and me) as possible. They were standing, there were no swarms of flies, and they were eating. I could give a good report back to Dan and Yael.

Next I headed back up the road to the red, red barn to check on the 3 lambs that had been separated from the flock. They were all healthy but it was time to fill the freezer and the lambs were the designated Sunday dinners for the next year or so.

The lambs had been herded into paddock #1. Dan will have his revenge! I couldn’t see them and the sun was getting hotter and hotter. And the remaining 7 sheep were in paddock #2. Six of them seemed fine but 1 kept herself burrowed in the (again!) wet grass and I needed to check her. So I made an executive decision and headed up the hill of paddock #2. The fact that this hill is marginally easier to climb than Mt. Everest (also known as paddock #1) had nothing to do with my choice. Or at least not much.

By the time I got there, sheep 1 was on her feet and scampering away from me. I watched her for a  while but there were no signs of flystrike so I headed for paddock #3 and the steers. Usually this is the easiest part of my morning routine. Steers are big and easy to spot. Except that they are black and love to lie in the deepest shade. Try and find them! Well, maybe you could, but I couldn’t. I saw one. I didn’t see the other 6. So up and down the hill I went. In the WET, WET grass. It is very tricky to hike in tall grass. I never know what the footing is like underneath. Still, I must be getting better at this hiking stuff; I didn’t fall once. Tripped a couple of times but no falling. Good on me.

I finally stumbled into the creek bed and looked up to see 7 black shadows munching benignly and eyeing me with quizzical looks. Okay, all the stock account for (I am assuming the lambs are eating on the other side of the hill.) Now to stagger back up the hill to the house. And clean, dry pants. In my room, I consider scurrying to the main house and the clean, dry pants that are hanging in the dining room.

Perhaps a short explanation is in order. Before I got sick, I had planned to go back home to Prescott so I don’t have many summer clothes here. As in almost none. I rotate 3 pairs of farm worthy pants and one was now wet, one was drying in the main house and one hadn’t been ironed. What could it hurt? No one could see me. My rooms descend into the garage and the bay doors were closed. From the garage it is straight into the house. And the dining room and my pants.

But that old Puritan training was too much for me. Into the unironed pants I went. And then into the main house. And there was Steve standing by the dining room window about to knock on the back door of the kitchen. Imagine if I hadn’t pulled on those pants. He would have gotten an eyeful of these legs of mine. Could have put him off his food for a couple of days. Another disaster averted. But don’t worry, I’m sure the next one is just around the corner

My Favorite Place

Once upon a time, in a faraway galaxy (Washington, DC) I was ‘management’. Perhaps the most ghastly part of being ‘management’ was the horrendous “team building” seminars to which we were all subjected. I eventually became so disenchanted that I ran away all the way to Arizona. But that’s a different story.

Back to this story. I remember that at the start of one of these encounter weekends, we had to interview one of our fellow sufferers to get to know him/her better. My poor interviewer didn’t know what he was getting into. I was in a rebellious mood. I hated giving up my weekends so that I could learn to trust my team. I never trusted anyone enough to fall backwards and ‘trust’ that they would catch me.

So this guy innocently asked me, “What’s your favourite place in the whole world?” “A library”, I replied without having to stop to think. It wasn’t Rome, or London, or Shanghai, or even San Francisco. I had only been to one of them but to me nothing is quite as fascinating and soul reviving as a library.

“Unh, which library?” he gamely asked. “Any of them, in English of course since I am so poorly educated that I have never properly learnt any other language. Guess that eliminates the library in Alexandria,” I laughed.

“Why?” he asked, puzzled. “Because you don’t live in Virginia?” Yes, guys, there is an Alexandria, VA and I assume they have a library – perhaps more than one – but I had been referring to the one no longer in existence in ancient Egypt. I had been joking. You get the idea of why I didn’t fit in as ‘management’.

But I do fit in to the one here about 4 miles from the farm. In fact, I have never fit into any library better. The Kaipura Flats library is a national treasure which only 56 families seem to have ever heard of! This antique building is a private library for 56 families who cough up $10.00 a year to buy a key and unlimited access to a room filled with books, jigsaw puzzles, DVDs, toys for the kids, a window seat, a rocking chair, a small desk holding your checkout card and an immense amount of charm, nostalgia, and peace.

Anybody can join. You can leave puzzles, toys, and books as donations or you can check any of these out and return them when you are done. There is no return date, tho it is hoped that you don’t keep a book longer than 6 months.

You climb the 3 steps to the door and into another world. It is quiet. I mean really quiet. There is no air conditioning. I have never seen any other people there. My whole family is enchanted with the library. My granddaughters play quietly and contentedly in the toy corner while I browse the checkout section or meander through the reference section on local history. Dan never minds driving me there. He loves to just browse or sit and decompress. It’s that kind of place.

I like to check out books based on the title or the illustrations or just a ‘feeling’. Leads to some horrible reads but also to some fascinating finds. For example, I checked out a 1930’s English mystery from an author who had written over 40 books. It was pretty corny but I was interested enough to try the ‘real’ library in Auckland to see if I could get more of his work.

Hugh Cross wasn’t in the catalog. Amazon had never heard of him. Neither had Google. So I am left wondering, how did such an esoteric book end up in the Kaipura Flats library. It is such unexpected adventures that makes a library my favourite place in the whole world. And this library may well be my favourite of all. (I do not spell favourite this way but my spellcheck keeps changing it. One of the downsides of buying a computer outside the US.)

I am currently reading a book I stumbled across in my new favourite place on a family sheep ranch in Australia. I am also putting together a jigsaw puzzle minus one edge piece. Alessia is ‘reading’ a Frances book that was a classic when Dan was a child. I wish all of you could experience the Kaipura Flats library. Just don’t go at night. There is no electricity.

Flystrike Again

We almost lost the ram. My old adversary was near death from flystrike. Dan came up midmorning on Sunday and he and our neighbor Dave struggled for the rest of the day to save the ram. They both assured me that I did not want to see maggots swarming over the doughty warrior and I agreed with them. So I can't tell you firsthand how it was, but it was bad. We closed him off in a secluded corner of the paddock and he was treated onn Sunday, on Monday, and then Dan had to leave for Wellington for work and Dave took some of his precious vacation to treat the ram again on Tuesday.

The rest of the flock was also affected. Some of the ewes were showing early signs - head twitching, tail jerking, leaping around - so Dan decided to move them all down to the quarantine paddock to treat them. This meant that I would have to help. Why? Because our resident sheep whisperer is back in South Africa visiting her family. So here comes the second string off the bench.

I am proud to report that I did very well. I drove the car down to the paddock to use as a barrier to the main road. I shut gates. I stood behind the car and watched as the sheep trotted down. Perfect execution. I almost forgot! I also stood in the home paddock so the sheep wouldn't wheel around and bolt. Instead, they took one look at me and plodded along the fence line and out the gate.

I jumped in the car and passed them going down the hill. Nothing to it really. Just a matter of know-how. Dan herded them into the paddock and we were done. Of course, once they are flystrike free we have to move them back up but that is another story.

Dave joined Dan and they spent Monday treated the whole flock. And Dave treated them by himself on Tuesday. I can't figure out how he can stand it. This treatment is a poison so powerful that Dan was sick for 2 days just from his administering it to the sheep. Farm neighbors are the best! That is a lot of work to do when you have your own farm to manage, your own sheep to see to (flystrike is endemic right now), and you have a demanding job as well. Yet Dave is always good humored and kind. Very kind, Dan mentioned that he was at a loss as to how to treat the sheep and Dave reassured him that it took years to learn everything. And I'm sure he's right but it is daunting to realize that I haven't got those years. Still, Dan does so all is not lost.

We came back to the farm last night because we were too worried to stay in Auckland once Dan got back from his business trip. He had to go back down to the city for work today but the kids and I are here and I just love to go out to the paddock and watch our healthy ram sneer at the sight of me. The rest of the flock are still frolicking in the bottom paddock. I guess the second string will be called in to carry the ball on Sunday when Dan can move them back up the hill. I hope its not as onerous for me as moving them down. Driving a car a mile or more really takes it out of you.

RIP Snowball's Mom

The fly strike struck. Remember how I said I could only count 12 sheep that rainy weekend. I tried and tried but always came up one short. Now we know why. Snowball's mom was down with the dreaded fly strike and died without me even knowing. Dan found her a few days later. Of course we moved the rest of the flock but it was a bit unsettling for us. Sad, really.

Fly strike comes in with the wet, warm weather. Nasty little maggots burrow in the wool, reach the skin and literally eat the sheep to death. Very little warning, great pain, and dead in a couple of days. Dan was pretty sickened by the sight. I didn't look but the look on his face was enough.

So we moved the sheep and then couldn't find the ram. Dan tramped the paddock. I tramped the paddock. We tramped the paddock together. Either the wily ram had made a bolt for freedom and we didn't notice or he was buried in the deep grass. Either way we were frantic. We drove around all the farms on the mountain. No ram.

I swapped chores with Yael and she went to search with Dan. And naturally our sheep whisperer found him. He had been hiding behind a tree down in the tall grass. With his coloring he was almost invisible in the shade. But he perked up when she arrived and stood to greet her. Who would have guessed that this Johannesburg chic lady would have such an affinity for livestock. The steers love her too.

So now I am on the farm by myself and I headed out to get the mail and check the stock. We are trying something new this week. We put the steers and sheep in the same paddock and used our electrified tape to seal off the barn and the hay. They have all settled down well together and the grass is practically disappearing before my eyes. Pretty soon the ram won't be able to hide in the long grass.

Obviously he has figured this out because once again I couldn't find him. I walked all over the place. No ram. I was wondering what the odds were of some ram thief taking him but doubted it. He was way too mean to go with anybody but Yael. So I decided to walk the perimeter and check the live tape. I did this. Starting on my right and going around the whole paddock. I finally came within 2 yards of my starting point and there was the ram. I could have saved myself 20 minutes by turning left instead of right. Lesson learned.

And where was the ram, you ask. Guess! He was inside the electrified tape zone, snuggled down in the hay in the barn. He is the exact color of hay so if I weren't on top of him, I'd never see him. Plus, I mentally ignored the barn thinking he couldn't get there without electrocuting himself. I don't know how he did it but he did. And now I get to call Dan and tell him that the experiment has unanticipated side effects.

Progress Report

So I tried the mint. I’m not too optimistic since the flies buzzed around me as I brought the cuttings into the house. I left doors and windows open for them to escape the pungent mint smell but they were noticeably loathe to venture outdoors. They are definitely house flies; not farm flies. Perhaps we inadvertently brought them with us from Auckland.

Anyway, things progress. My tomatoes are close to becoming table food, the squash are doing well, and nothing else is growing. Even the garlic is dying off and I thought nothing got to garlic. Perhaps we have vampire insects.

We have one of the most beautiful Pohutukawa trees I have ever seen. These trees from the Myrtle family have multiple trunks and the splashiest red brushy flowers you’ve ever seen. This tree was planted several owners ago and sits in the perfect position outside our dining room window.

Lately I have noticed small branches, and fair sized twigs scattered all over the ground. Tui birds attack this gorgeous tree and savage it. I have seen the tree tremble all over as these black and white birds hop around twisting branches in their beaks. They are beautiful birds but very destructive. They are also not fans of man. They dive bomb us. I wave my hands and scream at them (not very effective) but I worry about my tiny grandchildren. Yet another reason this over-protective Grandma goes outside when the wee ones do.

I looked up the Pohutukawa tree and found out that it is slowly disappearing from New Zealand. Part of it is that there is more farm land than before but a major problem is my old friend the possum. Yet again these varmints come up on the top of my Most Wanted list.

The steers have finally decided to graze on this side of the paddock. I must have ruined their bucolic sanctuary for them when I hiked the paddock yesterday to see if they were all right. Now this paddock isn’t Mt. Everest, or even the dreaded Paddock #1 but its steep enough to be going on with. I appeared on the crest and 14 brown eyes raised themselves from the grass to watch as I lurched down among them. I don’t want to say that they’re nonchalant about me, but not a one of them moved. I could have touched them as I wove my way to the far gate. A far cry from those cows from Hell we had before.

I approached the sheep paddock from the far side and saw some of the flock gathered in the gully with the willow trees. They love it there. They never seem to come out. I don’t know if there is enough grass down there for them or if they have some sort of sentry who warns them when I come down the driveway and they all beat feet for the gully. Whichever it is, I will take it on faith that they’re all right. I’ll let our sheep whisperer, Yael, count them when she moves them on Sunday.

Our freezer was delivered today. It’s huge! I made some joke about storing a body in there and the delivery man told me that they referred to it as the ‘coffin’. Eventually it will be the coffin for some sheep and probably a  steer as well. I haven’t sorted out my feelings on that yet. I’ll let you know.

Flies

I don’t like flies! I have never liked flies and I never will. There are lots of flies in New Zealand. So many that my favourite magazine here – NZ Gardener – just had a full page article on how to get rid of flies. First the author listed a number of ways that don’t work and then suggested growing mint and putting the pots in all the fly-infested rooms. Flies don’t like mint and will leave. If they don’t, then tickle the mint to increase the amount of fragrance they give off.

Now I plan to try this. I will take cuttings from my garden mint and start the process tomorrow. But! A question springs to mind. What’s the matter with screens? Why have the Kiwis not climbed on the screened window/door bandwagon? I understand why the older homes like our house at the farm don’t have screens. They were built when screens were either not invented or too expensive.

But what about now? My quarters over the garage are a pretty new addition and I have one window in each room that has one stationary side and one with a screen. The other two sets of windows don’t have screens! Why? What is the rationale behind this? Are the flies supposed to be deterred by the one screened window and give up?

 My experience is that they generally come up the staircase from the garage. Perhaps they are socially correct flies and wouldn’t dream of dropping in through a window. Following that logic, there should be no screens in my windows; all they do is keep the flies in. However, having been raised in a house with screens, I automatically leave those windows open and keep the others closed. Still it beats counting sheep for something to think about during my frequent bouts of insomnia.

There are an abundance of flies on a farm. Dan tells me not to worry about them; that fly-borne diseases don’t make it to rural areas. Oh yeah! What about flies visiting sheep or cow poo and then coming to visit us? Don’t tell me that there are no bacteria/germs making the trip to the big house.

Besides carrying unwanted germs (I have enough of my own, thank you very much), they are very annoying. They swarm around your head making vile whining noises (I get all the whining I need from a hungry 3-year-old’s “Why isn’t it ready yet” repeated endlessly until actually biting down on afternoon tea). And they leave little specks of fly poo all over that make you look as if you’ve never cleaned that room in your life.

I suppose in fairness I should state here that they are an excellent source of protein. Naavah, my 1-year-old granddaughter, is an avid scavenger of dead flies. She hears our electronic fly zapper go off and she crawls at the speed of light for the delicious, fried fly that will soon drift down like manna from heaven. And is she fast! She always manages to get at least get the fly in her mouth before I can reach her. It has gotten so bad that she automatically turns away when she sees me coming so that she can swallow in peace.

But aside from cutting down on the baby food bill, there is nothing good to be said for flies. They are major league pests  and I am on a campaign to introduce screens to this otherwise incredibly civilized country. Who knows, I may get a statue in Auckland Harbor as a result. Or they may look at me with that strained tolerance I know so well and deftly turn the subject. We’ll see.