So I Sang To The Steers

So I sang to the steers. And the next day, all the stock – steers and sheep – were diligently chowing down. I went back in the afternoon and they were still at it. I was pretty darned pleased with the response to my exhortations to eat, eat, eat. I could practically see the grass disappearing. I paid no attention to the other farmers who claimed that it was the sun drying the grass that encouraged our stock. Not my preaching. But since it has drizzled ever since and no four-legged friend has continued with the feeding frenzy, I reluctantly concede that those pooh-pooh farmers might be right.

It is holiday time and the whole family is here on the farm for two weeks which pleases me no end. Alessia and I are tending the vegetable garden. I pulled out the green beans which did not do well and have replaced them with squash for which I have high hopes. It has rained all night since so I have high hopes that the new seedlings settled in well.

Quarantine being over, Dan and Yael moved the 3 new steers to join the established 4 in paddock #3. I don’t know if I’ve described #3 to you. It is hilly but not as steep as #1. The really tricky part is that near the road, there is a deep gully lined with willow trees. Stock love it since it offers plenty of protection from the elements and lots of grass. The problem is that once they are in there, you can’t see them from the road so you have to hoof it over a fence, down the gully and start looking. Try that with 7 black steers. It is plenty dark down there.

I was pretty keen to keep up the sermonizing but my audience seems to have disappeared on me. Perhaps they are just adjusting to each other. Yael tells me that when the newbies were introduced that a lot of head butting went on. Nothing serious just simple statements of ownership of the domain. When I went down the next morning, all 7 were lying around together. Very little chewing was taking place. I tried discussing the prime directive with them – eat, eat, eat so others might feast – but they were singularly unresponsive.

We got another possum last night and the garage was invaded by what sounded like a horde of scavengers. We really must do something about that broken lattice. It is still raining and we are still waiting for the drought. Farming continues to be unpredictable and fascinating. I can’t wait to see what the new year will bring. Happy new year to you all!

A Well-Earned Promotion

As you know, I have been released from sheep and steer shifting duties due to my creative ideas on how the stock should be moved. Running them straight into my son was creative; unfortunately the sheep turned around and bolted up the hill. Not a pretty story but I did give my side of the story in an earlier blog.

Anyway, lately Yael has quietly slipped into my former position and for her the stock move efficiently into the designated paddocks. No fuss; no stubborn refusal to move, etc. etc. So I figured I was back to babysitting as a full time job. Interesting that they don't trust me with their stock but do with their offspring. Hmmm?

But yesterday I got my just reward! We took delivery of 3 additional black steers, bringing our total to 7 gorgeous, gentle bovines. Imagine my excitement when Dan explained that in order to keep these steers placid, they needed to be regularly exposed to human contact. Since everybody else in this family is back and forth to Auckland more than I am, guess who is the designated human.

Now the sheep and I have come to an understanding. I go stare at them twice a day. They stare back. I count them. They scatter, dodge, duck, and hide. I come away with a count (usually) of 11. Not bad out of 13. Sometimes more; on rainy days less.

I have talked to the cattle. They listen politely but I don't sense any true meeting of the minds. They chew their cud or let stalks of grass hang from their mouths, but no deep, meaningful rapport. So now that my audience has increased, I have been giving serious thought to topics that might be of interest to our herd.

I thought I might build audience involvement by giving them a daily briefing on how the rest of the farm is doing. For instance, I could tell them that we have been finding possum scat right on our front porch and that all trapping efforts have been fruitless. I think we have already killed off all the stupid possiums (a la Darwin) and now are left with the more cunning creatures. So far they are winning. Perhaps they would be wryly amused that I had the most beautiful potato plants in the world but no potatoes. I showed those potatoless plants; they are now contributing their mite to the compost pile.

Then I would move into the heart of the talk: the responsibilities of cattle toward their owners. I believe in positive reinforcement. I'll go with encouraging words on how well they are eating. I'll follow up with how important it is to move around the paddock and eat (and fertilize) all the area. The big finish will be when I discuss the adviseability of putting on poundage as quickly as possible. I will exhort them to remember the prime directive - eat so that others might feast. A tad tactless, you say? Perhaps you're right. I'm about to go out and give my first sermon. I'll let you know how it works out.

Country Silence

You know how they always refer to the sounds of the city and the silence of the country. I’m here to say that it ain’t necessarily so. I awaken at 5:15 or so to a full choir of birds all excited about a brand new day and a flurry of new attempts to raid my vegetable garden.

Later in the morning I walk down to the paddocks to check the steers and sheep serenaded by Benny the Bull. His long, mournful bellows echo across the hills. Benny is a young bull just approaching his prime. I’d say he is about 17 yrs old in human terms. He doesn’t have any idea why he gets so hot and bothered all the time but has some vague suspicion that he has to do with all those receptive cows in the next paddock – none of whom seem to be available to him.

Benny is a registered Angus bull and as such in great demand to stud. Or should be. He was scheduled to join a herd of Angus ladies a few miles off but the farmer already had one bull and after viewing Benny the roisterous one (and listening to him) the deal was off. So Benny is as ready as he’ll ever be and so far the bell has not tolled for him.

Instead Benny spends his days (and his nights) bellowing his frustrations to the wind, the hills and to me. Occasionally there is a bull across the valley who bellows right back and I get the baffled fury in stereo. Lucky me!

But Benny and the birds are not the only sounds. We have train tracks just the other side of the road from our property, about a mile away. Trains actually use them – not like the States where I almost never see a train any more. And don’t forget the flying school and airport about 4 miles away. We seem to be in their flight path. And of course there are the quad bikes.

I am the only farmer on the mountain without one and I walk everywhere. No one else does. They all ride and noisily too. No that is not indignation that you hear in this blog but pure envy. I WANT one. I want one bad. To sail over the hills astride my modern steed seems perfection to me. Particularly on days like today when it rains and rains and rains and the winds howl around me as I make my twice daily trek the check the stock.

But the serenity of the countryside is also assaulted by tractors, trucks, and seasonal machinery such as haying thrashers, lawn mowers, etc. Sometimes I think that the city couldn’t be much louder. Then I think again. The quantity of sound might be similar but the quality is very different.

I don’t hear sqealing brakes, screaming teenagers, drunks arguing at 4 am outside my window. Come to think of it, Benny is sounding pretty good to me right now.

Mountain Falling

Since Sir Edmund Hillary took the top of Mt. Everest and became the classic mountain climber, I have taken the bottom of Paddock #1 and therefore have become the classic mountain faller.

It really wasn’t my fault. Oh, I may have been a contributing factor; all right THE factor but I steadfastly claim that the cow paddy deserves some of the censure.

It all started about 4:30am when high winds blew in lashing rain. I congratulated myself on escaping the dreaded orchard watering for yet another week and went back to sleep. Now I check our livestock twice a day – sometimes more. This morning was no exception. But it was windy, chilly, and wet, wet, wet. So I set off down to the red, red barn paddocks to check the steers and the sheep.

The sheep were fine. Probably discussing whether Godot ever arrived or something else beyond me. But I couldn’t find the steers. Not that I looked too hard. I assumed that they were in the little corral by the barn and turned for the trek back up to the house.

Now that probably was my first contributing factor – my laziness. And my dislike for being cold and wet. I should have ventured into the paddock to make sure all 4 black steers were present. I didn’t. Instead I crept back to the house and my dry room and exciting book.

But my sins of omission tend to catch up with me. It had quit raining by the time I went for my afternoon bed check but it was cold and damp so I wore my parka (the only smart thing I did all day). Sure enough, there were the sheep, happily munching away. But where were the steers?  I could see over 2/3 of the paddock and no steers. Groaning I prepared to scale Paddock no. ! to check down the ravine on the other side. Now remember I had no hiking equipment, no Sherpas, no grappling hooks. Just me against nature. An unequal contest.

By procrastinating in the morning, I ensured that I had to hike up the mountain through chest high grass that was also wet chest high grass. Just a little bonus for my laziness. I got to the top and sure enough there were the steers down the other side. They looked at me and started to come toward me, Rusty in the lead as usual. So I turned to go down the way I had come up but somehow managed to step in a wet, slippery cow paddy and away I went.

I tumbled, I slid on my backside, I rolled onto my front side, I twisted and turned but I kept on my downward trajectory. I think it was all that wet grass but it was a bit like a sled ride. Luckily for me I was wearing my parka so all I have are a few bruises. The worst ‘injury’ is getting my glasses jammed into the bridge of my nose. Otherwise, not too bad.

So I am now the classic mountain faller! Autographs anyone?

Silly Sheep

When I told Alessia (aged 2)  about our adventures moving the sheep on Sunday, she giggled and kept repeating “silly sheep” as the tale unfolded. I’m not too sure who was sillier, the 13 sheep or the 2 humans trying to move them to another paddock.

Dan and I moved the steers to the infamous no. 1 paddock with no trouble other than my wheezing and puffing as I scaled the Mt. Everest of our farm’s paddocks. Anyway, Dan got them moving at a brisk trot and off they went, right through the gate.

Feeling pretty good about our herding skills, we drove back up to the paddock in front of the main house which had been home to our beloved sheep for a week. This paddock is really not in shape for livestock but we felt all that good grass shouldn’t go to waste. So there they were. We shut all the gates, positioned the car as a barrier, moved the fence slats, etc. We were ready to move ‘em out.

Unfortunately they weren’t ready to be moved. They scampered off down to the woods. And back. And back down to the woods. And back. Get the pattern? I was of very little help but no real hindrance. My time would come; it always does.

Dan and I finally get the boss ram and three of his flock out of the paddock and heading down to no. 2 paddock. The rest swirl around in ever increasingly panicked mode. Finally a few more figure out how to get out and off they go. And we are left with 4 including Snowball, our adolescent ram.

We had heard that keeping 2 rams might cause the flock to split allegiances and ours certainly did. We had planned to send Snowball to greener pastures around the end of the year. This experience has caused us to move up our timetable.

Snowball bolts out of the paddock and turns left not right. Left, directly past the car blocking (hah, hah) his path. Down the driveway, along the sidewalk past my precious garden, around the house and onto the patio. Here he starts investigating our shrubs, flowers, and barbeque.

Now because of the configuration of our land, our main house and patio sit about 4 feet above the paddock. There is a wood retaining wall around it. Normally there is also electrified tape above that but the rampant cows took that out a few months ago and we hadn’t gotten around to replacing it.

Taking advantage of the opportunity, Snowball calls his accolates and up and over the wall jumps one of the ewes. The other two bleat forelornly and race around the paddock making huge springy jumps over nothing at all. Dan gamely heads off after Snowball and accolate. I stay standing where I have been positioned.

The 2 sheep jump back into the paddock urged on by Dan and his trusty wand. Then they start racing up and down again. I stand. Dan goes up and down after them. Finally they begin to tire, and more slowly move up toward the driveway. Very slowly Dan shuffles them toward the opening and they are through! And heading down toward the main herd.

Are our troubles over? Of course not. Dan gets the car to go past them and block off the road past the entrance to paddock no. 2. I walk after the sheep to keep them moving ever downward.

Now in my defense, I was worrying about getting those sheep past the orchard, past the red, red barn and into paddock no. 2. There is no barrier to keep them from running into any of the 3 aforementioned diversions.

The sheep defy logic and keep wanting to walk up the hill and not take the easy road down. So I have my hands full turning them around and moving them back. Dan has given me his wand and I have a lot of fun waving it in slow, wide arcs. The sheep don’t seem impressed.

They gather in a corner near where the fence makes two sides of a triangle and seem perfectly content to camp there forever. The grass is good, I have trouble with the footing so that weird wand isn’t waving about in their faces. Life is good.

Just one problem, they aren’t in paddock no. 2. So Dan starts hiking up from the gate to help me shift the sheep. But tho I see him, it doesn’t really register. Perhaps a senior moment? I’ll try that as an excuse when the time is right. I make a surge – wand in hand – at the sheep. They rush away from the fence and get back to the road. They have two choices, left and up the hill or right and down into Dan’s face. They pick left. And run up out of sight. Dan looks for one long moment at me and then bends over, hands on knees and sighs.

Up he goes to the top of the hill. I obey orders and go down the hill to stand by the car. It takes a while but here come the sheep and Dan. He calls to me to get behind the car (less visible and less apt to screw things up again).

All my worries about the orchard, the barn, and the no. 1 paddock are for naught. The sheep see the car (and probably me) and make a sharp right turn into the lane to the correct paddock, trot right pass the diversions and into no. 2 paddock.

So all’s well that ends well? Right, Dan? And I leave it to you to decide. Who’s sillier, the sheep or me?

Herd Mentality

I spent a lot of time walking around Auckland yesterday and I was amazed at the similarities between it and the farm.

At the farm, the steers gather for the morning coffee klatch, the noon break, the afternoon tea, dinner, and then snooze. They wear basic black and seem very content to circle the tree butt to nose so each of the four directions finds a steer with the tree as the center of the compass.

This basic black theme is repeated in the endless stream of cafes with black-clad patrons sitting there for morning coffee, noon break, tea, and dinner. I assume they go home to sleep. I can't  figure it out. New Zealand is dazzlingly gorgeous with thousands of greens (trees and bushes), blues and grays (water from two oceans plus a multitude of rivers and streams). And yet the Kiwis dress in very muted colors - black and gray.. I stand out like the proverbial sore thumb. I wear Khaki, Red, Yellow, etc.

Now the sheep also cluster. They are several colors but the overall theme remains the same. Gather under the trees, exchange all the gossip, snooze, and occasionally amble off for a few blades of grass. The real difference between the two herds is that one talks incessantly to the other diners but also talks on the cell phone at the same time. How do they do that? Don't the real live humans at the table resent the extra conversations? Actually probably not since they're on the phones too. The four-legged herds seem to be more contemplative; more ready to watch the world go by. Probably not an ulcer among them.

All our livestock is doing well. The steers come when called, go through gates as if sirloin steaks wait for them on the other side (oops, well you know what I mean). The sheep also have chilled out. I can walk through the paddocks with only a few heads raised and a few perfunctory semi-ambles out of my way. Except for the ram, of course. It is a duel to the death between us two.

My garden is finally in. Just in time for the drought which seems to have started this past week. It is a seasonal thing and each year there are dire warnings that this will be the worst drought season yet. If what is happening in Texas is any indication, this year the doom and gloom guys could be right. Anyway, I have volunteered to give up one shower a week so that I can use the water to nourish our plants. Not too much of a sacrifice for me but a definite sacrifice for those around me.

Enhancing the Resume

I used to be secretly rather proud of my resume. Varied experience, upward mobility, awards - the whole deal. But now! I can add meter reader to that list. How many psychologists will have that on their resumes? Not many; I may be the only one.

It all started when I announced an early departure back to the farm. "Aha," thought my son, "She'll have additional time to spend on all those tasks I never get around to." So, he made a list. I don't know if the list made it onto the whiteboard but it made it onto my 'to do' list.

So yesterday afternoon, I started at the top of the list and hiked to the far paddock to check the steers and their water trough. Everything was fine there. I think I told you that all 4 steers are pure black. Not quite true; one has a rust colored ring around his mouth. Yes, I got close enough to see it. Actually, he got close enough to me. He followed me all the way to the gate and then hung forlornly around hoping I'd return. I don't know what it is with me and bovines but Romeo was the first and now here I have another fervent admirer.

So now I'm in the sheep paddock and true to form, they scatter when they see me. I begin to stomp through the tall grass to check their water troughs when I notice that the ram, in his haste to avoid me, has run under a curved branch that is lying on the ground. And he is stuck. For a brief, glorious moment I watch and think that revenge is indeed a dish best served cold. But then I remember that he sires the flock and I go to rescue him. With a marvellous ballet move, the ram throws himself backward into the air, bringing the branch with him. The branch slides to the ground and he is free. For one brief, glorious moment he contemplates lowering his horns and coming after me but then realizes that I control water and food. He turns into the woods and I continue to the water troughs.

Now I'm no engineer but common sense would tell you that one water trough with two sections should hold the same amount of water. But it doesn't. The left is filled nicely; the right is almost empty. I will email Dan and let him put that puzzle on his to do list.

It's getting dark so I decide to leave reading the meters until the morning. I awake at 6:30 to a howling wind and spritzing rain. I roll over. I wake up again at 7:30 and figure out that this is the day I have to deal with. By 8 I am reading the meter at the new barn. I slosh through the driveway past the sheep who turn their backs on me and 4 start pooing me. Quite the little send off. Down the 3/4 mile road to the red, red barn. Climb the fence (I still can't get the gate open) and through the orchard to the next paddock and gate and then into the shed to read the second meter. Smart me! I brought a flashlight and am able to read the meter, close everything back up and reshut the gate to that paddock.

Interesting fact: this gate is made of wood and you close it by sliding wood planks through slits in the gate and the fence. Pretty straightforward so far. Try it when it is raining - hard. The wood is wet and swollen and my knuckles are skinned from wrestling those planks into place.

Since I am already in the orchard, I bring out my trowel and start weeding around the newly planted fruit trees. I do most of them but the grass is up to my belly button and the rain is coming down harder than ever. I decide to plead old age and climb the fence again and head up the road. Now the road down is 3/4 of a mile but the road up the hill is 7 miles long (or at least it feels that way).

I have just had my shower, nursed my knuckles and am surveying my latest lot of library books for the perfect companion to curling up in my dry, warm room and doing nothing much at all. And it's only 11:30. What a life!