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!

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.

An Ovine Adventure - Part II

First a quick recap. Dan suspected fly strike in the sheep so Yael and I corralled them in front of the red, red barn and I waited for our sheep expert, John, to come and evaluate them.

And I waited. In fact, I waited all day. I finally called Auckland at twilight to report that John had never called. See, the idea was that John would call when he got near our farm and I would go down to the corral and meet him. No John. At least, so I thought. During my phone call to Dan we agreed that I would go to Dave's place (sheep savvy neighbor) and get him to look at the flock.

Off I went. No Dave. Nobody home at his farm so I was on my own. Now I am not comfortable making major decisions, indeed, life changing decisions, on my own when these are not my sheep. But needs must. Climb the gate, walk very slowly to the corral and observe. Nothing! Only one ewe who twitched slightly. No head buttings, no twitching, no flies, etc. etc. So I follow plan C which is to release the sheep back to paddock #2. The corral is small and they have been there all day. They need space and fresh grass. BUT, there is one ewe that might have fly strike. I will need to keep her in the corral.

Now, how do you let 16 sheep out of a corral, up a rope line and into a paddock while simultaneously keeping one frantic ewe (and a mother no less!) from going with them? I didn't have a clue; I just knew that that was what I had to do. And do alone! I felt pretty much like a Survivor contestant. I am happy to relate that I rose to the challenge.

I had two things going for me. The first, the sheep wanted nothing to do with me. Wherever I was, they weren't. Second, they desperately wanted out of that corral. The gate to the rope line is long, wooden, wet and heavy. I could not swing it from near the hinges, I had to be out in the corral near the open end. But if I did that then the sheep wouldn't come near the gate because I was there. It took a few futile attempts but I managed to run with the gate back and forth, letting just a few sheep out at a time. All this while I am keeping on eye on the possibly infected ewe and trying to hustle her to the back of the queue.

Each time 2 or 3 scooted through, I had to shut the gate and scurry after them to chase them past the rope line and up far into the paddock. Then back to gate swinging duty and isolating of the "sick" ewe. Eventually it was all done. The 16 sheep were huddled around a tree halfway up paddock #2 telling war stories of their escape from Stalag 17. The one remaining ewe was standing huddled in the far corner of the corral too dispirited to even look at me.

I went home and called Auckland to report. "I couldn't find any sign of fly strike." I began. "But there was one ewe that was iffy so I kept her and released the rest back into the paddock." I was nervous. This was a major decision to make on my own. "Good news", Yael reported back. "John dropped by and didn't see any sign of fly strike either."

Yeah it was good news. Better news would have been if John had called me and we had met up at the corral. I could have let all 17 back into the paddock and not frantically worried about getting it wrong. So that poor, pent ewe was trapped in isolation. I thought about her all night. And scampered down to the corral at daybreak to let her out. Her baby was still calling for her and she was so frazzled that she bolted right by me, right through the rope line, and into the wrong paddock.

I tried to move her but the steers were in paddock #1 with her so I couldn't leave the gate between 1 and 2 open. She was totally berserk and I finally gave up. When Dan gets back, he and I can move her together. So for another 48 hours she and baby lamb will be separated. But at least the lamb is weaned and the ewe can move freely around the paddock.

And that it what she did. She hung close to the fence between 1 and 2 and seemed relatively content. That is until Dan and I came to move her. And that will be the third and final episode of my Ovine Adventure. Stay tuned.

An Ovine Adventure - Part I

I can say without fear of contradiction that I am not RAMbo’s favorite person. And yet he was cooperation itself in my latest ovine adventure. Before going down to Auckland, Dan inspected the flock and came back to the kitchen with an ominous concern. He thought he had seen evidence of fly strike in 2 of the ewes and one of the new rams.

What to do? What to do? There is only one thing to do. Gather the flock in the red, red barn’s corral and call in an ovine specialist. Our first line of defense is always Dave, our neighbor and stock specialist. Unfortunately Dave was at work. So then we turn to our sheep  specialists: the John and Paula team of sheep shearers and we rely on both of them for our information. Then if necessary we call in the vet.

So Dan called John who is very busy this time of year with shearing but agreed to drop by and take a look. But (a big but) he didn’t have time to hike paddock #2 and check out 17 sheep. They would have to be corralled for a concentrated viewing.

Since Dan had to work, It was necessary to fall back on the second team – Yael and me! Now I like being needed. I am always half afraid that I’ll do something particularly stupid (Yes even more stupid than those acts recorded in this blog) and I’ll be booted out of paradise.

So I accepted the challenge and Yael and I gathered a rope to make a guide line to usher the sheep through Paddock #1 (which for some reason you have to go through to get to the gate to #2.) Down we go and Yael doesn’t even hesitate at the broken gate but climbs over. I follow suit. Then we decide that I should circle up paddock #1, open the upper gate and drive the sheep down to the rope line where Yael will escort them to the corral.

It looks so nice and neat written that way in my Ariel font. Reality is a lot messier. First it had rained, making climbing steep hills a whole lot of fun. Second, the sheep weren’t too enthusiastic about leaving paddock #2. Actually it was probably more that they weren’t enthusiastic about anything I wanted them to do. But I kept at it. I zigzagged back and forth trying to keep the flock together. No such luck. They insisted on splitting into factions.

One faction would hug the fence line and the other would trot smartly across the entire paddock and hug the other fence line. Then they would swap sides. Finally, they stood waiting for King RAMbo to amble down and lead the way. In this fashion I finally got them down to within sniffing distance of the gate, Yael, and the rope line. At which point they turned and ran back up the paddock.

I waited for a few sour words to leave my mouth, softly so I wouldn’t offend Yael whose biggest curse is “sugar” and that rarely. Back up I went. This time Yael entered the paddock and I gestured her to stand point at the far fence to  prevent flock splitting. Our next concern was that the sheep would bolt down the paddock, through the rope line and mingle with the steers in paddock #1.

I am happy to report that none of that happened. The sheep whirled away from Yael (and me) and followed a determined ewe down the paddock, along the rope line and into the corral as slick as you please. Yael and I scampered down to close gates, push our way through 17 sheep in one small corral, and return to the kitchen to report progress.

Then Yael and Dan packed up the girls and headed down to Auckland and I went back to my room to read and wait for John to call. And that will be my next blog. The adventure continues! Just like an old Pearl White continuing cliff hanger. The only difference is that mine is real. Talk to you soon.

And Yet Another Challenge

Just when I thought it was safe to meander through the pastures, Dan came up with yet another new challenge. It was a doozy; at least to me. The steers are in paddock 1, the sheep are in paddock 2. Switch them!

I spent some sleepless nights (okay 2 sleepless nights) trying to figure out what combination of gates, running up and down Mt. Everest, scare tactics on the steers (RAMbo leads a guerilla trained flock so no scaring them) and blind luck will I need to "switch them".

At the outset I have to tell you that I am exceedingly proud of myself. I did it with no harm to any living animal. Well, unless you count the bump on my forehead and the three puncture wounds in the same area. Don't worry, they quit bleeding within the hour.

Here's how it went. We have gates at the top and bottom of the fence between the 2 paddocks. My 'plan' was dependent on where the two sets of animals were when I shouldered my way through those recalcitrant 3 wooden gates. I was in luck: the steers were at the bottom of 2. So I opened the lower gate and started shooing them through. Very slowly and very gently since steers can be quirky. Four went through easily. Guess which one ambled in the other direction?

But I stuck to my plan. I ignored #104 and slugged my way up to the top gate. My path took me past Mr. Stupid and he moseyed the other way, which happened to be down the hill toward the gate. Notice I did not  say "through the gate". That would be too easy. A part of me hoped that he would still be in 2 when RAMbo showed up. RAMbo could get that steer through that gate at the speed of light. Of course, then RAMbo would go too and I'd have to try to round him up again.

Anyway, the next step in my plan was to find the sheep and herd them through the upper gate. Then I would go down the hill and close the lower gate. This is obviously dependent on #104 having moved his tail into 1 and the other 4 staying in 1. But I didn't have to worry about that yet. A quick glance down the hill showed Mr. Stupid grazing literally in the gateway. The other 4 had wandered farther away from the gate and were munching nicely.

Okay! Where are the sheep? Can't see them. Deep grass and gullies abound on the far side of paddock 1 (also known as Mt. Everest). So I figure out where I think they must be and attempt a flanking manuever to keep them from moving down the hill away from the upper gate. It is almost impossible for one person to execute an effective flanking manuever. I would have succeeded except that I was so elated at spotting the sheep that I forgot to look where I was going and slipped on wet, poo grass and slid down into a tree branch. That is how I got the puncture wounds. The knot on my forehead was (I think) administered when my forward propulsion sent me headfirst into the tree trunk.

This, needless to say, startled the sheep. Startled them sufficiently that they moved to the right in the general direction of paddock 2. All I had to do was keep them on the crest of the hill and moving in the right direction.

Have I told you before that I love my parka? Well, I do and I certainly missed it as I was shepherding sheep. I didn't have a sleeve to swipe away the blood trickling steadily down my face. I used my T-shirt. I'm pretty sure that shirt is doomed now. Funny how blood stains continue to look like blood stains no matter what you do. I don't want to scare anyone to death or get arrested as a female Freddie Kruger so I think the rag bag will get another contribution.

While I was tending my wounds, RAMbo was herded his flock across the line and into 2. No fuss, no hassle and no steers! I was home free. Almost. I shut the upper gate. I hurried down and shut the lower gate. Mission accomplished! I'm getting pretty good at this farming gig. Now if I could just learn not to bang myself up each time I'm faced with a new challenge. The psychologist side of me is shrieking that this is subconscious avoidance manifesting as physical pain. Right! Whatever. I'm feeling pretty darn proud of myself.