More Drought Gifts

It’s just one damn thing after another with this drought. As if lugging water for unimpressed ewes and hosting ever-thirsty steers with our very own water supply isn’t enough, now I discover ‘toma’. I hope I am spelling it correctly but it is no simple matter.

It all started last Friday as I sat in the kitchen playing tickle bunny with Naavah.  Yael was busy making bread (yes, super woman actually makes bread every Friday. I need a nap just watching her.). Anyway, Yael casually asked me, “Did Dan warn you about tomas when you are walking in the paddocks?”

My head snapped up. “What’s a toma?”

“I think you call it a sink hole.”

Yes, folks I definitely call it a sink hole. And now I have to walk prodding the paddocks with my cane before stepping forth.  This drought – the worst in over 50 years – has so depleted the water table that our limestone based land is now filled with air holes rather than water holes.

Farmers are losing stock into these sink holes. I assume Dan is afraid he’ll lose stock and perhaps a mother at the same time. But the fact remains that he didn’t warn me. Yael did. Perhaps I need to remind him that I carry no life insurance.

The possums have become so daring that they actually climb onto the deck and eat my cherry tomatoes from my pot plants. They are hefty little devils too. The drought doesn’t seem to be bothering them! Perhaps they see this as an opportunity to expand their horizons; brave new world, aka the Lords' deck.

The birds, specifically my beloved doves, have left. I hear the larger birds like ravens and hawks but the gentle wrens, etc. are gone. I don’t know if they are victims of the drought or if they have gone in search of water farther south but gone they are. The rabbits are also gone. No great loss there!

The omnipresent rats are still around and more visible than ever. I was looking out the window and a rat sauntered by on the roof abutting my window. The next morning I opened the garage door and there was a rat; perhaps the same rat. I don’t know. We didn’t exchange visiting cards. I just screamed at it. It turned its head and surveyed me for a moment before deliberately turning its back to me and walking slowly off. Have I ever told you how much I hate rats? Well I do and now I have sink holes to hate as well. My cup runneth over. Thanks drought for the endless parade of gifts.

 

Bad News And Good

I have always wondered what types of people pick the bad news first as opposed to those who want the good news first. I think there’s a thesis in there for somebody.  I am in the bad news first category.” Get it over with”, I say.

 So in that spirit, my bad news (and it is very bad indeed) is that RAMbo is dead. We had been watching him decline, rally, decline, and rally for a while now but I think a combination of several fly strike attacks and the drought were too much for my old nemesis. I actually cried when Yael brought me the news. The place doesn’t seem the same without him. The ewes certainly aren’t the same. Well, part of it may be that we separated all 3 rams from the ewes. Anyway, whenever I traverse the ewes’ paddock, they stand their ground and just watch me. No more running away. Either they are wrapped up in their grief or they have finally realized that the Grim Reaper is a more serious adversary than I could ever be.

The rest of the bad news is that the drought continues to take a toll on everything including my garden. Dan had me put in 2 varieties

 of heritage tomatoes, Bloody Butcher (who thinks up these names?) and Black Krim.

Bloody Butcher has been producing well but the fruit is only slightly larger than the average cherry tomato. Our cherry tomatoes are only popping at about half their rate of last year. And then we have the laggardly Black Krim. I just got our first fruit yesterday. Four plants and we have gotten 4 tomatoes. They are normal sized but nothing to write home about (or blog about for that matter). What they are is gorgeous. I have included a picture of one next to 4 cherry tomatoes so you can see the difference in both size and color. I wish I could paint. They are striking in color and have a slightly bland, sweetish taste. I’ll try them again next year; hopefully without a drought.

 

Fashion Forward Farm Wear

Things have been super hectic here for the past few weeks. On the 10^th, Yael gave me my first grandson, Jesse. I was called down to Auckland at 2 am to take over with the girls and just sort of hung around for the next few weeks while baby and parents wrestled with feedings and sleepless nights.

I am back on the farm now and while I enjoyed the quiet, I missed the family. So after one whole day of aloneless up came all 5 Lords. And back into the chaos I jumped. I love every minute – well most of the minutes anyway.

Yael had brought me a present. It was a ‘thank you for all your hard work’ present and deeply appreciated. Throughout this blog I have complained about my wellies. The first pair – the purple ones – didn’t stand up to the rugged terrain. Into the trash went shredded purple rubber. The next pair, sturdy, heavy black boots didn’t fit right. Dan and I had scoured New Zealand but I couldn’t find a comfortable pair of wellies.

I had sounded off about this to Yael after I broke my toe. Wearing boots that are too big is an annoyance unless you’ve broken a toe, in which case it is painful. You see, my foot kept slipping around in the boot with the result that I was in constant agony.

So here I am with the only fashion forward farm footwear around. You can see the picture below. I look pretty darn snazzy in them. As long as you don’t lift your eyes beyond my knees. Above the knees, the view  reverts to grass stained khakis, crumpled T-shirts and floppy hats.

In case you were wondering, ‘yes’, we still have a drought and a scary thing it is too. But there are other liquids besides water that my wellies protect me from. Most of them abound in the paddocks and my dainty, well fitting wellies  are holding up well.

The Prime Minister has made it official. New Zealand is having a drought. Thanks to Dan’s obsessive water saving measures, we are doing well. The same cannot be said of our neighbors. One family will be buying water starting this coming week. We are now having forest fires (ring a bell, Prescott?). There is a ban on all outdoor fires. One massive fire was started by people target shooting. I’m not kidding, it is getting serious.

 In a country this small, the impact is huge. Food prices will first drop as farmers rush their stock to market since there isn’t enough water for them. Then, there won’t be the stock to sell later in the year. Prices on fresh produce are already zooming and I can see why. My tomatoes are small. Often I get only cherry sized ones from the vines that are supposed to be producing full sized tomatoes. The birds have left and ever more possums are coming down from the forests in search of food and water. Living on a farm has made nature’s impact very real and very immediate.

A Scientific Experiment

When I was in grade school/junior high, we had to do science projects for the school science fair. I was massively uninterested. Each year I dutifully drew the solar system or papier mached a volcano; accepted my “also showed” ribbon and moved on.

Now it is different and I wish I had paid more (well, any) attention to the basics of the scientific experiment. You see, I now have my very own science project and it has serious ramifications for my family’s future. I am engaged in learning what works best for growing things down under, aka, New Zealand. The sun is hotter, the droughts a scourge, the rains (in the rainy season) unending, and the soil pure clay.

Purely by accident, I have 3 raised garden beds – one in almost full shade, one in partial shade, and one in full sun. The soil is similar in each. Each is a possum cemetery holding two deceased predators and no I am not wrung with pity as I throw the dirt over the bodies. These suckers eat whole trees! I am not kidding and it is frightening to go out in the morning and see an entire orange tree denuded.

So similar conditions with only one variable (I am pretty sure that’s the correct term) and that is the amount of sun. All three hold tomato plants. The full sun one has been producing like billy-oh for three weeks now. The partial sun has two or three smallish tomatoes but a brilliant display of runner beans (delicious too!). The third drinks an enormous amount of water but has given us nothing so far.

My scientific conclusion is that the searing NZ sun is good for plants. I had been considering shading the big garden when it is built to block some of the sun but now I am rethinking the design. I may have screening over some of the garden for plants that need less sun, i.e., the runner beans but there is definitely going to be a full sun quadrant.

There may be something to this scientific experiment thing after all. Too bad I had to wait until I was 60 years past grade school to learn it.

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!