Mother Nature Lends A Hand

In my last posting I discussed the onerous job of watering the newly planted trees. Well, Mother Nature (a fervent fan of this blog) stepped in for me this past week. The whole week I was in Auckland we had sunny skies and NO rain. Coming up on Thursday night, it rained!! And it rained on Friday; and on Saturday...you get the picture. Mother Nature lends a hand so I don't have to. Keep on reading, M.N. you are deeply appreciated.

So since I didn't have to spend several hours lugging water, I turned to my seedlings. What remained of them. The rabbits and insects have pretty much destroyed most of my beautiful spinach, beans, peas, and coriander. Indeed, I can't even find where I planted that coriander. It was eaten down to the roots and beyond. I hope the rabbits ate far enough to encounter the possum carcess under the plants. Possibly the smell will make them think twice about returning for seconds.

This rabbit thing is pretty interesting. According to local yore, the previous owners' son had pet rabbits which escaped and now are eagerly populating across the countryside. Needless to say, the farmers are not pleased!

Also interesting is running an organic farm. This means no insecticides. Okay, I get it. But the corollary is that it also means many insects chowing down on my seedlings. I am busy investigating which plants would repel which insects but it seems to me to be a never ending cycle. If I plant, say Marigolds, to keep away beetles, then up comes some other creepy crawly who happens to adore Marigolds so then I have to plant something to keep them away. And in the meantime, back come the beetles to eat my spinach. I am seriously considering soapy water. No honestly, I am. No one wants to eat soapy water, not even insects. And the soap would be biodegradable, organic soap. I promise.

Since I had plenty of spare time at the farm this weekend, I started cleaning the wool. Dan built me the most elegant trestle table with room for the wool bags and everything I needed. He set me up in the garage where there was good ventilation and I could be out of the rain (once again, thanks Mother N.). My task was to take the wool, cut away the unusable parts (i.e., the poo drenched parts) and keep the rest for cleaning, carding, and ultimately becoming part of a duvet. We have 3 1/2bags full. It took me 1 1/2 hours to do 1/3 of a bag.

This is a major time investment. But the work is pleasant enough. I don't like the feel of wool lanolin on my hands so I bought rubber gloves. I was cheerfully snipping away when I realized that I had also snipped my fingertips. After some massive mental persuasion, I convinced myself that I wasn't really rummaging around in sheep poo; my fingers were mostly covered and the fingertips didn't count. I still have more than 3 bags to go and I don't know what my reaction will be to the next load of shit but I'll try for the power of positive thinking. If that doesn't work, I guess I'll grit my teeth and bear it.

L3

It’s been a great week for sheep. L3 (lamb no. 3 for those of you who haven’t read the earlier blogs) arrived Thursday. We got up to the farm in the later afternoon and there he/she was. Up and around; no worries; as acclimated as if she/he were 3 or 4 days old. I later found the birth remains and our quiet brown ewe had chosen to give birth halfway up the hill with no shelter at all except for the rest of the hill towering behind her. Some people say sheep are stupid; I don’t think so. But I do know that sheep are hardy survivors.

L3 is a dead ringer for L1 aka Starlight. So now we have two black sheep and proof that our ram knows his duty. When you consider that he was performing with a badly inflamed foot it makes you even prouder of him.

We only need one ram for our small flock so Snowball, the baby ram, is due for an alternate placement. Read that as on our dinner table come the Xmas season. I don’t yet know what L3 is. I haven’t gotten close enough to investigate; actually I never get close enough. First, the sheep run at the sight of me opening the paddock gate, and second, I can’t quite picture myself squatting behind some lamb’s hindquarters and lifting the tail to take a peek.

We had to switch the flock to another paddock and that went fairly well. Dan and I did it alone while Yael goofed off taking care of two kids, making dinner, starting laundry, stoking up the wood stove, etc. We moved them from paddock #1 to paddock #2 which was right next door. I confess that I thoroughly dislike paddock #1. It is straight up touching the sky about 150 ft above where it starts. Not to be climbed lightly. I didn’t climb lightly at all; I fell heavily. Speaking from personal experience, I can tell you that rain, grass, dirt and sheep poo make a powerful combination – and really really slick.

I have tried to remember those golden days when I wore my professional garb – suits, coordinated separates, dresses with jackets. Now I wear an old parka I literally rescued from my scraps bag, some cargo pants I bought second hand at a thrift shop and whatever tee shirt is relatively clean at the moment. And I can honestly say that I am overdressed for farm work. My purple wellies are my signature piece in attire and I top it all off with a bush hat in khaki that protects me from the New Zealand lethal sun.

Luckily I have never been particularly good looking (passable would be the best I could hope for) so I don't mourn my lost beauty but there are moments when I remember Professional Terry with a small sigh of regret. And then I remember all those bum numbing meetings I had to sit through and I slap on my bush hat and saunter out into the farmyard; a happy camper once again.

Dan is still struggling to get in all the trees he bought and has finally winnowed the lot down to only 4 to go. I am smiling a lot because it rains every day now and I haven’t had to lug industrial sized watering cans filled to the brim with water to give the thirsty saplings a drink. Try making that trip 15 times and see if you can get your arms to move. I  could barely stagger to my bed and excused myself from brushing my teeth since my arms were too sore to hold the toothbrush.

But Spring is here; my seeds have sprouted; the rabbits have eaten all my coriander, lettuce, parsley, and spinach. Ah, life on the farm. Can anything beat it?

Dan shearing sheep!

Shear Bliss

The big day finally arrived! The shearers came and we hope to have wool aplenty and discuss the possibility of lamb chops in our future freezer. But first. Of course “but first”. First, we had to get the sheep down to the red, red barn to await the promised shearers’ arrival. This involved rounding up the sheep from the front paddock and moving them down the roadway about a mile to the holding pen.

I discovered something very profound in this roundup. The Lord family is composed of all Sheriffs and no posse. Each one of us automatically took charge. (Well, actually the sheep were in charge but you know what I mean.) Dan yelled to me, “Mom move to your right.” Yael yelled to me, “Terry move to your left.” I surveyed the rampaging sheep and yelled to both Dan and Yael to execute a flanking action. We continued to yell conflicting commands to each other and the sheep continued to run in every direction but the direction of the gate. Finally, I quit yelling and Dan and Yael just stood looking at each other. The sheep looked at us as if we were crazy and decided to scramble through the gate and down the road.

Yael took the car and the kids to block the sheep from going all the way down to the main road. Dan followed the sheep and I lagged behind. Far behind. By the time I got there, our sheep were cutting a wide swath around the roadway, the shearers were there, our neighbor Dave was there and it appeared to be chaos. But we had the expertise of a sheep dog.

I have never seen anything like it. One ewe started charging toward me and when she was only about 4 yards away, this streak of black fur threw himself into the air and hit the ewe on the side of her head with his body. The ewe, understandably startled, blinked at me and obediently turned around and headed back to the flock.

This marvelous dog is called Flight and I could see why. He flew up and down the roadway herding those sheep. He barked at them, he ran at them, he zipped through their legs and the sheep, who never paid any attention to human desires, meekly crowded into the holding pen and awaited the shears. I now want a Flight of my own. Even more than I want a quad bike, which is saying something. John and Paula says a trained dog will run over $4,000 which is a tad out of my league which runs more to a mutt from the pound. Oh, Flight is officially retired at the tender age of 12. He was just along for the day's outing. I guess sheepherding instincts are bred to last.

John and Paula sheared our sheep. They are a husband and wife couple who bore with our endless questions patiently and gently but firmly took off all the wool. For all that effort we got three bags of usable wool and a bag and a half of dreck (Yiddish term for junk wool from around the tail area, etc.). We also got the flock tailed (for health purposes) and checked out the nails. A complete going over. The best news was that the ram is in good health but has something like athlete’s foot which they treated.

What kind, generous people these Kiwis are. Dave let us use his holding pens and even gave us his wool. We plan to use it for insulation and the dreck we will bury to help our soil which is very clay-like. John and Paula spent an inordinate amount of extra time just showing us the basics of sheep and giving us a host of tips that will make us slightly less inept.

I have been researching how to clean wool (yep, the old book learning once again) and hope to start next weekend. Three bags isn’t much but it’s more than enough to learn with. I hope to get enough to stuff a duvet with and each season I will add to my knowledge and the kids will get another duvet. It seems that John and Paula had a claim on Dave’s wool which they graciously ceded to me. In exchange I promised to give them the results of all my research. Let’s hope I can keep up my end of the bargain so that they don’t feel ripped off. I feel a genuine sense of responsibility in this. They have been wonderful and I would hate to come up short. So, if anybody knows anything about wool cleaning, carding, or uses. Please get in touch. Thanks in advance.

The Phalanx

The Phalanx

See the sheep? That’s the famous ovine phalanx with which they greet me whenever I come near. I don’t know where they learned the phalanx. I know it is described in Caesar’s Gallic Wars writings but I can’t think where they would have learnt Latin. Still, it is intimidating to me. But Thursday night I persevered and opened the gate to the front paddock.

Friday there were 12 happy sheep cavorting around the fresh grass. I have never seen them playing head butt, doing acrobatics over the ewes’ backs, and running for the sheer joy of it. I think it was mostly the grass but it was also that it wasn’t raining and there was a warm sun. Their fleeces are drying out and it is definitely time for the shearers to arrive.

The weather stayed perfect all weekend and when the family arrived Saturday night, Dan had brought me a present. A magnolia tree! I had one outside my window as a kid and still remember the marvelous fragrance. I can’t wait for this one to bloom. He also bought some fruit trees, nut trees and a stately oak (or it will be stately in about 10 years) perhaps they’ll plant me under it since my warranty should be up about then.

We had a great time figuring out where to put them and then actually putting them there. Dan also brought some lavender plants to replace some dead bushes around the house and I put them in. I don’t know what it is about plants, but the farm feels more ours now that we are investing in it long term with trees that will only reach maturity in 10 or 15 years. A great long term vision.

I planted the lavender and we all planted the trees and felt deliciously tired. Dan tossed my Raising Chickens for Dummies book into my lap and told me to get ready. Perhaps we’ll get some ‘chooks’ (local jargon) in a few months. My transition from city girl to country gal is almost complete. Anyone have a strand of hay for me to chaw down on? No. Oh, I forgot, I doused the hay with polyeurethane. So I guess I’ll just settle for the mental image. Til next time, folks.

The Season Switch

In New Zealand, it is time to set out seedlings. I haven’t even started my seeds yet. I think its because I haven’t gotten a grasp on the seasons here. My mind is still twisted into four seasons and the proper order of things has July a summer month not a winter one.

We are in the midst of a ‘polar’ storm here and I had to yank my brain back to the southern hemisphere after vocally wondering how the storm could come down all the way to New Zealand. It didn’t. It came up from the South Pole.

So that gives you an idea of my brain fry. I read in my gardening magazine that strawberry plants are being set out.  I’ll have to get on my bike. And I try. I really try. I go to the potting shed (also known as the Ram’s Retreat) to see what I need to do to make it usable. The first thing I notice is that I need a door. Bunnies are cute (and plentiful) but I don’t plan to feed them. Next is a screen over a window that has lost its glass. Third is to clean, clean, clean. My heart is willing but my hands say, ‘wait a minute’. No cleaning until I get the approval from Dan to spend the money on fixing this up.

I ask Dan. I am crafty enough to talk about setting my seeds up in my room. With my arthritic hands Dan can just picture the water spillage. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he says. “I am worried about the floors” which are unfinished plywood. Next I murmur about the garage and its double window. “Perfect”, I enthuse. He looks at me and queries “What about the potting shed. That’s what it’s for isn’t it?” I try not to agree too quickly. So this coming weekend we’ll make a plan for the restoration of the shed.

In the meantime I have a lot to do. With or without a proper shed, I need to get the seeds in the potting soil. I bought these seeds online and naturally my eyes were bigger than my plot of ground. That may be because this much vaunted ‘garden’ only exists in my mind. I have selected the verge running next to the driveway down to the new barn. It gets full sun and is not in a paddock used for livestock.

Only one hitch, but a major one. It is covered with weeds and grass. The weeds are fairly easy to handle but the grass is another matter. I pull on a clump of grass and a horizontal root over 10 feet long comes with it. If I’m lucky. If not, I have to keep yanking. And yanking. My hands don’t work too well so I limit myself to weeding for about 45 minutes twice a day. Not much gets accomplished that way. But I have instructed Dan to bury the possums in a trench along there. This is for the nutrient value and so that Dan has the pleasure of doing the digging for the plants. A pleasure I willingly forego.; particularly in the rain. And remember, it is always raining here.

Dan came back to the kitchen after his first funeral somewhat irritated. It seems that this creeping grass covers a multitude of sins. Namely, that the driveway extends under the grass to the fence. It is ‘only’ a gravel driveway but digging in it is problematic to say the least.

A second problem is that we seem to have depleted the stupid possum population. The bright yellow trap stands empty day after day. The fruit is still eaten but no more carcasses  to feed my seeds. Maybe I’ll have to switch baits.  I’ll try banana this coming weekend. I’ll also get those seeds planted and measure for the door. Then I have to figure out what tools Dan’ll need to build the door. Right now I am thinking solid panel lower half and screen for the upper. I’ll keep you posted.

Caveat Emptor

When Dan bought the cows and sheep, he went to a ‘reputable’ organic purveyor who was going to guide him through the process. Dan picked out his cows and his sheep in person with this organic farmer. He even paid a premium for pregnant ewes – 9 of them.

When the cows were delivered, Dan discovered that they weren’t the cows he had selected.  The cows were mad, bad, and dangerous from day one. So dangerous that the delivery driver refused to come near them. But we stuck it out for 2 and ½ months, trying vainly to get a grasp on what was wrong. When we returned them, they had grown bigger and fatter on our grass but our paddocks were horribly torn up.

In the meantime, we reveled in our sheep. True, they were not the sheep Dan had selected. As an example, he had chosen a dark brown ram and we got an ecru colored one. He was also lame. We have had the vet out but the limping continues. This is one expensive ram. The ewes are pretty much interchangeable in looks except for the black one but they were all supposed to be pregnant with the start of our increased flock. They weren’t. Well, 2 were but the rest were not.

We thought at first that they might have had still births and/or aborted but we carefully walked the paddocks day after day and there was no sign of anything like that.

The sheep also had not been shorn and we couldn’t do it with winter around the corner. So we wait and those poor sheep drag heavy coats sodden with rain around with them. It breaks my heart to see them.

Our neighbors tell us that what we should have done is either buy the livestock and take possession right then or write down the number tags on the selected cows and match them at delivery. For the sheep, we need to spray them with paint on the belly to mark them but it is always safer to take delivery at once.

I think where we went wrong was in assuming that people who professed similar life style beliefs to ours would be similarly ethical. Caveat emptor!

The Potting Shed Revisited

We came up to the farm late Thursday evening. Friday was a perfect day for shifting sheep - sort of warm, sort of dry, and occasionally sunny. But Dan was working flat out all day (I'm pretty sure I saw him with a cracker in his teeth) and didn't have time to sit down to eat. So Friday kept its great weather and the sheep stayed shiftless. Saturday was out, so Sunday was nominated Sheep Shifting Day. It was also cold, wet, and very overcast. Just what I had been hoping for!!

So by midday the flock was in the lower pasture and I went to alert Dan and Yael that we should move those sheep now before they clambered back into the woods or the third paddock. Off we went. Sure enough 10 sheep were in the lower paddock but Starlight and his mom were up in the woods. Alternate Plan #1 was ruthlessly put into action. Get the two sheep in wth the rest of the flock and move them as one. Not a bad plan as plans go but we forgot to consult the sheep. Remember Starlight's mom is the one who was never enamored with the joys of motherhood.

After a spirited romp through the woods with Starlight struggling to keep up, Mom Ewe charged through the fence leaving Starlight to his fate. Mommy ended up in the final destination paddock and Starlight led Dan a merry chase over roots, under branches and through the woods. Finally he (the lamb I mean) streaked for the flock in the lower paddock. And back came Mom, herded by Yael. Remember we have been adhering to Alternate Plan #1 which was to keep the flock together. I watched in puzzlement but wisely decided to save my questions for later.

Back in the lower paddock, the flock is streaming swiftly up and down dodging Dan. I sigh and head through another wet, hip-high grass filled, pockmarked  paddock, not even trying to avoid the sheep turds and cow paddies. My wellies have seen it.all. The long, serious sheep faces watch warily as I plod up the hill toward them. I decide to sing to them as I go. "I love lamb chops, I love meat. Leg of lamb is good to eat." They are not music lovers. They bolt. Eventually we get the flock running full tilt for the correct paddock. BUT and you knew there'd be a but, the ram sees his old sanctuary, the potting shed, and runs straight in. Luckily he was the tail end of the procession.

Dan and I swerve to intercept him but he is too fast for us. So while we try to coax a reluctant ram out of hiding, Yael is left to move the rest of them by herself. She does this magnificently. So well in fact, that I think she should take this sheep shifting chore on as her own personal task. I hope she reads this blog and takes the hint!

Then Dan and I concentrate on the ram. We bang the building, we poke sticks in the doorway, we order him out, we beg him to come out. Sounds pretty pathetic doesn't it? Well, how about this for pathos, Dan tries to lasso him. I will forever treasure the picture of Dan trying to loop a rope over the ram's head. The ram waited patiently until the last possible second and then dipped his head and smirked as the noose dropped forlornly to the ground.

I relay my previous experiences with the ram and his potting shed and we decide to leave the poor beast alone until he comes out on his own. Yael checked him later, so did I, but whenever he saw us, he ducked back into the shed. Once we saw him far down the driveway but he had scurried back to the shed by the time we could get out to shut the gates. Finally as the day was ending, the ram had wandered up the driveway again looking for his harem.

I stayed with the kids (again) and Dan and Yael, went out closing gates and edging the ram toward the one remaining gate which would open into the first paddock. Yael went down and opened the second paddock gate and Dan tried to muscle the ram in the first gate. He dodged in the trees, skipped around the car and eventually ran in the first paddock. Then he ran up and down the fence trying to find a place to jump. Dan and Yael both saw the danger and sped toward the ram. The ram sped away from the fence and those two crazy humans.

Then it started to really rain. It had drizzled off and on but this was a massive downpour. The ram seemed to enjoy it, particularly the part about the humans getting soaked. He ran into the woods and watched as Dan and Yael hunkered down inside their sweaters and resolutely followed. Now they were out of my view and I waited to see the outcome. And I waited. And then I waited. It took a while but back came the drenched humans and Yael went to move the car and Dan came in, reported that the ram was in the second paddock and began to make tea and a fire. In that order. I guess we can call them true Kiwis now.