The Short Cycle of Birth and Death

Our oldest guinea pig, Toffee, gave birth early this morning. She had been gradually getting bigger and bigger until she looked unfeasibly large. Her daughter-in-law had her two babies a fortnight ago so we have been looking for babies every morning since.
Alas for Toffee there were four babies and all were dead. Probably cramped quarters inside had led to complications. One was almost complete but the rest were a sad and bloody tangle. Toffee has already had a successful litter and her son, Russell, is now a father himself so she should be right to start again. Such is life.
Guinea pigs are funny little creatures. We have learnt plenty of lessons from them - how they don't like cold or heat, can't stomach certain vegetables, like to escape out of tiny gaps right into the jaws of large canines and how fascinating they are to Archie, our Kelpie x Collie. They squeak to let you know their cage needs moving to fresh grass and defecate constantly.
Our two breeding pairs are slow moving lawnmowers who are supposed to breed enough offspring to put under our grapes to keep the vegetation down. So far we have had too many losses to set this up but it will happen later this year, barring another serious breach of security.
Having a farm necessitates dealing with death. Farm animals can have short lives and if they are not disposed of carefully they will often come back to haunt you - particularly the smell. Even if I can learn to be dispassionate about deaths necessary for our food; such as the visit to the chicken abattoir earlier this month - it still brings on a reflective and respectful mood such as dealing with Toffee's babies.
Toffee is back eating grass and lettuce and Archie is back staring. Life goes on.

Toffee eating lettuce in her cage within a cage

Archie staring at the other set of Guinea pigs

The Rain it Raineth Every Day

For an El Nino year it just keeps raining. Today there was forecast showers but they were pretty constant. As soon as a patch of blue sky appeared overhead it started to drizzle again. Not much chop for getting washing dry but not persistent enough to drive me indoors.
I'm happy it is raining and cold. This time last year we had a huge bushfire threat. Our other property was surrounded by fires and was on Emergency, Evacuate or Watch and Act for 75 days. The fire burned across the only access roads so it was impossible to get in to water the garden or pick the tomatoes for weeks. Eventually the fire stopped 80m from the house and we lost nothing except the understorey of almost all our 300 acres.

While we were not in the heart of it, the threat to our property and our neighbours and friends totally occupied our thoughts for months. The kids school was closed all term and lots of other services and routines were disrupted. Smoke hung around as a constant companion and reminder. On the worst day a 9km high phytocumulus cloud hung over Opportunity Farm and threatened to come crashing down. We took off and fortunately the cloud imploded back on to the fireground.

The fire cloud shortly before everything went black

Immediately after the fire passed through, there was eerie silence, bare earth and charred trunks. Now it is a riot of green, with ferns and epicormic growth bursting out in response.

So to have a gentle day, with water dripping off my hat, chipping out tussocks from the top fence line, was a blessing. The grass is still green and the dams and tanks are full. We had the wood heater on again last night - in January! - but its cosy warmth was appreciated. It can keep raining if it wants too - I can't complain.

Why do we have Goats?

When we bought Opportunity Farm it came with good fences and a flock of Wiltshire Horn sheep. The four paddocks were large, three had a dam and all had camps or remnant vegetation for shade and shelter. If we had stuck to sheep there would have been very little infrastructure needed. So why did we get goats?

Goats challenge fences. If there is a small gap or a hollow under the fence, a goat will explore the other side. For goats, the grass is always greener. They climb, they push and they ignore a little scratch from barbed wire if they can get fresh greens. They respect electric fencing but will keep testing to check it is on.
Goats are mountain creatures who are designed to roam a large area eating a very wide range of greenery - mainly different bushes and leaves. If they have trees in their paddock they will strip them of leaves and devour the bark until they are ring-barked.

It started with a desire for goat's milk and a phone call from a friend with a rejected kid needing someone mad enough to get up three times a night to bottle feed it. It seems that there are a lot of people who know we are suckers for that sort of a deal. We had just gained a poddy lamb so the two of them could grow up together and become pets. Then another 'friend' had an excess kid and the goat herd started. We bought a goat and kid who might have been a 'milker' but it was hard work to retrain her for not much milk. A Boer buck that had sore feet from wet pasture moved in because our goat paddock was drier and he stayed. The does had kids and then they and their kids had kids. Another cast off too good to miss and we have a herd of seventeen goats - three bucks, a wether and thirteen does.
We are supposed to eat the surplus kids but this doesn't happen as fast as the kids arrive. By the time they are dispatched they are more mature than preferred so the meat needs slow cooking!

Meantime the initial paddock became electrified - first solar then mains - with wire and outriggers and clamps and porcelain connectors. New skills and a new language to learn. A goat shed was constructed with a hay store, milking stand and a 'jug'. Three other paddocks were subdivided off and the electric infrastructure put in. Isolated trees were fenced out or in. It's a lot of work and expense for a few roasts.
Still the goat expansion increased until one mob needed to use one of the large paddocks. It worked well for a while but eventually the single strands of barb and wire were tested and the goats were getting out. Time to encircle it - and the stand of trees in the middle - with hinge joint. Three 200m rolls of wire at $260 a pop and plenty of tie wire and staples. It's a big job but once it is complete the goats will stay in and the boundary will be secure for a long time.

Today's completed fenceline - only 100m to go!

 

So why do we have goats and have all this hassle and expense? I reckon it is because goats have personality, intelligence and a zest for life that sheep just don't have. It may also be because we are suckers for a reject but one day.... one day we might get a decent milking goat, eat the excess kids when they are tasty and have a farm secured with goat-proof fences. Until then I'll keep on fencing. I think the goats are here to stay.

One of our herds with Cedric, the Boer buck, on the right.

The Battle with the Birds

Our orchard at Opportunity Farm has been there for decades. In the four and half years since we came we have not eaten a single piece of fruit from it. Long before any fruit is ripe the parrots and cockatoos descend and take a few bites out of each before discarding it to rot on the ground. Cherries, plums, apples all destroyed. Birds win, we lose.
This year looked like it might just be different. In Winter we fenced out the sheep, heavily pruned two apples and planted some new dwarf varieties. In Spring it rained regularly and the fruit started to swell. There was so much to eat in the bush around that the parrots stayed away. One large branch was so laden with fruit - and shocked by the pruning - that it snapped. The apples started to redden and the plums to go blue and I gathered about twenty fallers to ripen in the kitchen.

Coming back yesterday found the trees full of King Parrots and Crimson Rosellas. Today we gathered five buckets of chewed or knocked off fruit from under the branches. The plums are gone but there's a few apples left on one tree but the birds will be back.
This year I have shelves of fallers in the pantry for the pigs and the horses so it seems like a draw. Next year there will be more pruning, some nets and hopefully the dwarf trees will start to produce so just maybe we'll have a win and get to harvest some fruit off the tree.

Coming Back Down to Earth

Five days away with no animals to feed but myself. Glorious vegetarian food cooked by someone else with no dishes to do. Children looked after and entertained by other friendly adults. That's what I call a real holiday. I even sat still several times in the middle of the day!
No it's back to the farm and the daily routines. First we stopped to pick a full shopping bag of tomatoes, a feed bag full of enormous marrows for the pigs and to fill the small children with strawberries as we didn't have a suitable container. Then up onto the Plateau and close to home.
As we turned into the driveway I felt a sense of comfort creep over me as I checked on which animals were there and could see that they were in the right places.
Who could not feel happy to cause such excitement in animals - the dogs leapt and twirled on their chains, Hailey the cow called out and came running (the red bucket of feed may have helped there), the piglets squealed and the chickens ran up and down the pens.We had kept the arrival of Opal the pony a secret from the older girls so there was plenty of child excitement at coming home too.
It was good to be home. It was great to go away but even better to return to the joys of being on the farm.

Pony Podiatry

 

When you have ponies you also have a farrier. We are really lucky to have Josh, who visits as regular as clockwork. Unfortunately it is every six weeks or so and during that time I have usually forgotten when he is coming.
Josh arrives in his ute with all the paraphernalia required to make our ponies feet look uniform,with perfectly rounded hooves.  Out comes the little hoof stand, the knives and  the large file.
Josh puts on the leather chaps over his wranglers.

Opal is the first and she hasn't met Josh before. She fidgets and kicks a little and  nudges him with her head. Josh is very gentle and patiently gets on with the job. I hold Opal's head and keep an eye on her. She has been known to bite. The job takes only about ten minutes and then it's Harley's turn. Harley is an old hand at this but he still tries to wander off halfway through. The dogs sit watching expectantly. They know that they get to eat the shavings.

While all this is going on we talk about horse breeds, temperament, discipline and Latin. Then he's finished and we part with next times appointment. We are  really lucky to have this wonderful service.

Awaiting The Storm

Sitting on the verandah after such a hot day there is nothing else for it. A beer, a pencil and a notebook to jot down a few musings. Here they are:


Oppressive.
Humidity and heat.
Brain crushing air pressure.
Invisible forces aiding gravity to drag....
Drag you down.
With all the plans you had for the day.
You watch them go down the drain,
Along with your desires, good intentions, optimism and energy.
The afternoon crawls at the same pace as you complete your chores.
The pressure in your head reaches a climax.
And just when you feel you can endure it no longer,
Something breaks.
It arrives with gentle rumblings,
Darkening skies and welcome, restorative breeze.
Two black cockatoos pass overhead,
Harbingers,
'Squwaaaaking' at intervals 
Now is the time to sit on the verandah and await the majesty,
Of the storm.

House work

While it is nice to be in the great outdoors working in your garden, on fences or feeding and caring for your stock, there are times when you have to rush through the farm chores and catch up on some house work. So while the kids are away that was what was on for today.

I decided to tackle the task room by room. The little girl's first. So many teddies, so many dollies in various stages of undress and so many little knicky-knacky objects that probably should be filled in the round file. Then there is the numerous pairs of pajamas under pillows and other items of clothing, some clean, others dirty, under beds. Books that have slid behind cupboards and oh so many hair bands.

Moving onto the older girls room and the dollies and teddies have been replaced by even more knicky-knacky items. To chuck or not to chuck? That is the question. One of my daughters is a bed hoarder. She doesn't hoard beds but rather she hoards books, clothes and every other piece of paraphernalia  in her bed. I really don't know how she sleeps in it.

After many fatiguing hours we make it to our son's recently 'moved into' room. A little tidying and some vacuuming. But the darn thing won't suck. Why is it every time I use it I have to empty it. Two kilograms of dirt and grime removed and its still not a sucker. Why is it that every time I need to use the vacuum cleaner its filters also need cleaning?

 So after four loads of washing and that's just the sheets, dolls clothes, dress ups and found clothes items,(not what is actually waiting in the laundry basket) and lots of sorting, dusting and vacuuming; plus two bags of rubbish, the kids' rooms are looking pretty tidy. Tomorrow I can sort through my own room and its detritus. 

 

 

Precious being not much help.

Happy Holidays and Over Fed Pigs

Keeping things going on a small holding is impossible if you're absent. Animals are a joy and their by-products a blessing. Having to care for animals is a daily occupation. Therefore breaks from the farm have to be short and well organised.

The family are on retreat this week. We have gone at this time, for the last seven years. This year there is a difference however. We have too many animals in our care to all go. So I'm staying home to keep everyone fed, watered  and milked.

I was thinking that this may be an opportunity to have a little time on my own and get my thoughts together for the quickly approaching school year. Yes like most families of working age, an off-farm income is required to help sustain us in those other non food aspects of our life; the running of the cars, the rates, insurance and kids shoes etc. So I have been getting my head around teaching school.
I spent the day after the farm chores at work oganising my classroom. The jobs not done and we won't even talk about my curriculum planning, but its a start. I got home this evening more than a little weary to rain, rain, rain.

After a quick cup of tea to revive my spirits I donned my raincoat and gumboots and headed down to the piggies to give them their second feed for the day. Imagine my disgust to find that they have not eaten all of their breakfast and are not coming squealing and wagging their little tails to meet me. The three were in each others trottered embrace snoozing in their little house. Even when my call of "piggy, piggy!" woke them I saw only one acknowledge me by raising her head a moment and then close her eyes and return to slumber. It all probably could have waited till morning and I needn't have got quite so wet.

This should have been a photo of the pigs sleeping but I was too wet and disgusted to take any charming photos of them. The goats with their kiddles look nice don't you think?

Slow Tractor Work

Our slowest tractor is the pig tractor. Our three piglets, Blanche, Petunia and Maud, are sisters with surprisingly different looks. It helps to be able to tell the difference. We bought them when they were ten weeks old and they will live off scraps and pig nuts until about the end of March when they reach a good weight for a trip to the abattoir in Orbost.



I really like pigs. For the next few months - twice a day - I get to commune with my porcine friends. When I call out to them when I approach with a high-pitched "Piggy, Piggy, Piggy!" they squeal with delight and start to run up and down their enclosure. They throw their heads back with excitement and once I step over the fence they start to nibble at my trouser legs, boots and anything they can reach. I always regret it if I approach wearing crocs!
The food is poured into their trough and they snort and squeal and snuffle, then run back to me to see if they is anything else on offer, then back to ecstasy of devouring.
Pigs are very friendly, intelligent and curious animals. Their eyes are very expressive and seem almost human. I have to wait for several minutes while their water container fills up and I enjoy observing them. Their little tails straighten, twirl and wave while their soft noses are constantly checking out their surroundings.
We have sited them in a boggy corner of a paddock which is filled with tussock and cutty grass. The idea is that over time the pigs rooting and the added manure will improve the vegetation growing there. This is the third year we have fattened piglets and where we have placed their enclosure in the past is growing good grass, a few thistles and is greatly favoured by the goats.
The enclosure is made of 6m lengths of mesh, tie-wired to star pickets and lined with a single electric strand from a solar powered energizer. We used to only have four lengths and so we moved them every three weeks or so. This year we have eight so the space is three times as large.
Today was the first time we moved the enclosure in eight weeks. By moving the one end length in it frees enough lengths to set up a new section on the other end. The pigs stay put but once they have fresh soil to turn and grass to eat the heads go down and the tails wag.
This move should keep them happy 'as a pig in shit' for a few weeks. It's slow work to improve the pasture but I can't think of a more joyful way to do it.

 

Room for Two Ponies?

Harley the pony was lonely. And small. Too small for a growing ten-year old. When our daughter was the oldest child at Pony Club riding the smallest pony then the time was approaching to look for an upgrade. There are also several younger siblings 'chomping the bit' to have a tilt at Pony Club. Then we hear a neighbour has a grandson whose just not 'eager' enough to be a pony rider. "Come and have a look at his pony."
Opal is very stocky, sturdy and with fine feet. Two hands may make light work but in pony sizes they can make all the difference. Just what we need - a gentle pony just a bit bigger than Harley. Local and delivered. We'll take her.

We returned from our other property to find Opal already at home and certainly telling Harley who the boss is. Now we just have to work her a bit to get her used to us and wait for our horse-mad daughter to return from her holiday and find out. Then two kids can ride at once and while there will be more horse poo to collect the responsibility can be spread wider. It seems very important to make living in the backblocks a positive experience for our children and having another pony may help achieve just that. They may not be many friends to have over, no television or iphones but Opal and Harley are real living friends who can provide hours of entertainment and don't need a wireless connection. Yes, we have room for two ponies.

Moving the Tractor

There are quite a number of tractors on Opportunity Farm apart from Michelle's red Fergie. This morning we had to move our chook tractor. This is its story:
A friend was cleaning up and asked me to tow an old trailer full of rubbish and leave it at the tip. It hadn't moved in a decade and the tyres were flat. Pumped up they looked good for the windy 35km trip to the tip. Once I had sorted what was really rubbish and what might be useful the trailer still looked good. So I took the trailer home to become a new mobile home for some of our chooks.

The angle-grinder cut out the steel bottom and this was replaced with steel mesh so the chook shit would fall through and fertilise the ground. Then I built a chook house on the top fully equipped with bi-level perches, nesting box accessed from outside, sliding lockable door for chook entry set in a larger hinged door for human entry and a ladder to assist the tired hen to get home.  

Surrounded by a 100m roll out electric chook netting fence, powered by a solar energizer, it is so far fox and dog-proof and contains the chooks (provided one wing is clipped).

We target the chooks in places where the larger animals have been. The chooks clean up the shit and they get rid of the worms. Once the chook tractor has moved on the animals can move back. The chooks get fresh pasture and fresh bugs as well as their layer mix and we get lots of eggs and clean paddocks.

In the photo you can also see another of our tractors - the pig tractor. Not all tractors need diesel!

Strawberry Fields

I love the taste of strawberries. For me it is the taste of summer. Being brought up in the South midlands of England, Summer was often all too brief and rain-soaked. However there was often a couple of weeks in June when the sun shone. My father used to take us to a pick-your-own berry farm to gather enough to freeze and for the annual jam creation. I was too small and lazy to enjoy picking raspberries but sitting between the rows of strawberries gorging myself on the beautiful red fruit was my kind of chore.
Now we have several patches of strawberries. As long as the water is consistent and the sun shines these succulent fruits produce from late November through to March. They just keep coming. As long as you pick the fruit they make more. Other berries and currants have their season - a mad picking of huge proportions and plenty of freezer bags - but strawberries are the marathon runners. Some seasons the blue-tongues or the dogs get a decent share but this year we've pretty much had them to ourselves.

Today was no exception. A trip down to our bush property to water and pick. Lots of orange and red tomatoes, a box of zucchinis, squash, carrot and apple fallers for the pigs and a large bowl of strawberries. A quick bubble on the stove and some homemade yoghurt. Delicious dessert. Yum.

Separation Anxiety

Comet, the Jersey/Dexter calf, loves milk. So do we. Sharing is the only way to keep us all happy.
Every evening one of the chores is to separate Comet from her mother, Hailey.
The winter of 1986 found me fencing dams in back-blocks NSW for the Soil Conservation Authority.  Night after night we scoured the sky to see a glimpse of Halley's comet. After weeks of frustration we finally met someone who knew where to look and we could then enjoy the spectacle.
So when our Jersey heifer Hailey produce a calf, it seemed logical to call her Comet.
If Comet stays with her mum then it is not worth milking. If we remove Comet altogether and wean her then when we want to go away for a night we would have to find a stand-in milker (which we don't have) or milk production would really start to wane.

When I first started milking it was most convenient to milk in the late afternoon but now we are in the pattern of milking in the morning, generally between about 9 and 10. So during about eight daylight hours Comet gets milk and during the rest Hailey produces milk for us. It seems a good arrangement from our part but Comet would love to stay with those teats. Every night she attempts to thwart our plans, but so far - with some ingenuity, cursing and some help from the kelpie - we've managed to keep them apart. The end result is Comet is growing well and we haven't bought milk for months.

Slashing the Paddocks

When we purchased Opportunity Farm it came with a tractor. Not just any tractor but a Red Fergie! It has become Michelle's special joy to rumble about the paddocks at the pace of a Clydesdale.
In Spring and Summer our sheep are given small sections of our large front paddock to eat through. We keep them in by means of two portable roll-out electric fences. This is similar to the ideas of pasture management espoused so passionately by Joel Salatin. By restricting the area the sheep get to roam and chomp on, the rest of the paddock is left to grow and recover from the impacts of grazing. This improves the range of wild grasses that can thrive, increases the soil nutrients, reduces weed infestations and feeds the stock grass at its optimum fertility.
Unlike Joel, whose cows are moved daily we move our sheep about every fortnight into strips about 100m long and 40m wide. The front paddock is divided into seven of these strips and so far this season they are one section away from visiting each strip twice.
By this time of year the grass has seeded and can be quite tall. The sheep don't eat this tall brown grass by choice but would prefer the green clover that is still growing underneath. So we slash.
First the fence lines are slashed so the electric fence doesn't short out. Then when the sheep move on the vacated strip is slashed to let the new growth thrive.

After a successful day clearing blocked pipes and emptying a water tank of maggots and dead possums what better way to relax than sit on a Fergie and do some tractor work.

Causing a bit of a stink.

All our pipes are smelly on Opportunity Farm today. The kitchen grey water pipe has backed up with an incomplete blockage. The water takes minutes to drain from the kitchen sink only to rise with 'bits' in the hand washbasin. Just when you think our plumbing cannot get more deficient the water coming through the taps is 'a bit whiffy'. I noticed it first as I was taking a shower. No it was not the backed up laundry tub and No, there was no torpedo shaped objects left floating in the toilet bowl. It was definitely our lovely farm fresh rain water. But how? Our tanks were all sealed. Our house having been renovated by a pedant.
So next day, after waking with a dodgy tummy, we went on the search for the source of the stink. The  house and shed tanks were closed up like Fort Knox so it had to be the header tanks. Up the hill at the back of the house with stilsons, screwdriver, ladder and net. First tank was fine. The second tank had obviously suffered from a fallen branch and there was a hole in the top. Not huge, but big enough. The smell could certainly escape.
Matthew gingerly unscrewed the lid and holding his breath peered inside. .....
We had the trifecta. Two dead possums in advanced state of decay with accompanying maggots. Mathew managed to net out 95% of one possum. We isolated the tank and unscrewed the stop cock. We would ask our friendly neighbourhood septic pumper to see if he could get rid of the rest.
Next smelly job was in closer quarters. Matthew crawled into the small cavity beneath the house to access the grey water pipes. Luckily there were some access points, but Matthew had to crawl on his tummy to get to them.  Then with careful manoeuvring he managed  to blast water using a high pressure cleaner minus the gun down the pipe. He did about four metres before he retired soggy to blast again another day, probably tomorrow. So our water still whiffs and we are boiling it and the drain is still partially blocked but there is always tomorrow and the septic cleaning guy.

 

'Selfie' after Mudbath

The Tyranny of Two Addresses

We have two addresses. Our 'Opportunity Farm' on the edge of the Monaro, up at 900metres above sea level and 'Sennacharib', down in the mountain forests of Far East Gippsland at 300m above sea level.  As far as growing fruit and vegies the two addresses are ideal. Opportunity Farm is in the green tomato pickles belt. That means that inevitably the first frost of the season robs you of  your luscious red tomatoes, so you have to settle for pickles. But up here in the high country you can grow cherries, sweet carrots and your brassicas and lettuce are less likely to bolt prematurely. At Sennacharib we grow citrus, oodles of tomatoes, more zucchini than one family and their pigs will ever devour and pumpkins.  So what is the problem?

Two houses 34km apart, two of everything, constant moving and not appreciating being in just one home. Sennacharib we built ourselves; mud brick, local timber and roofing iron. It is three hundred acres of bush surrounded by Errinundra and Snowy River National Parks. Technology free as you can get. We only have three small solar panels and these do; lights, a car stereo, portable esky fridge and a tiny 120 watt inverter. A generator runs the washing machine and vacuum cleaner.  Despite only missing being burnt in last years 285,000 ha bushfire by eighty metres, it is in a beautiful forested valley out of sight of neighbours and any other signs of civilization. It is the spiritual home Matthew and I built along with our marriage and five children. But I have ties North:

My three children from my previous marriage.A house I owned before Matthew and I married. A community I felt apart of. Access to high school and  proximity to my children's Dad.

There was also the small problem of Logging town versus Greenie town. My three kids wanted to stay where their friends were and where they felt politically comfortable. It was very very hard walking that line when they were younger and my extended family also had their prejudices and have not been supportive.

But now the last of my oldest three children have flown the coop. The timber industry is all but dead and both communities have diminished in population to such an extent that they 'almost' huddle together for support. Times change, but we still have the conundrum. Two homes we love. We spend more time on Opportunity Farm because we have animals that need care. Sennacharib has only wild wombats, wallabies, roos and an increasing population of deer. They do not require any support from us. The garden does require tending, and watering can be a challenge but can be managed with the support of wonderful neighbours. When we are on Sennacharib we are loathe to leave and ditto when we return to Opportunity Farm.  This will remain an ongoing saga.

Sennacharib

Cockerels or Hens?

September was chicken incubating time. I had been after some fertilized Light Sussex eggs and managed to get some from a local farmer. Nine eggs fit into our device which turns the eggs and maintains the right temperature and humidity. There are few interventions needed except to decrease the temperature once and increase the water when there are a few days to go. Three weeks of waiting and they started to hatch. Six successful chicks. Into the brooder box for a few more weeks with plenty of intervention - feeding, watering and cleaning out the box. I began to fantasize that they were six hens and no roosters. I even lined up someone's spare rooster for eventually fertilizing their eggs for more incubating. Since mid-October these six beautiful chicks have been out in the yard. But how many hens and how many roosters?
Firstly I noticed that four had grey legs and two had yellow legs but otherwise they were identical. What did that mean? Trawling the net gave the answer. Pure-bred Sussex have grey legs - add a bit of mongrel chicken and the legs are yellow. They grew a bit more and some started to develop combs. I still hoped for hens.
One suggestion for telling the difference was their response when you throw a hat above them. Males will instinctively look up to meet the danger and females will crouch down. They all crouched down. Maybe I was lucky.
Then three started to get taller, have bigger combs and more upright tails. Could these be roosters?
More research proved inconclusive. While these characteristics are more often male ones, in Sussex chooks it does not mean anything. So how many are hens?
Then I found a more definitive answer. If you look at their 'saddle' feathers - those below their 'hackle' feathers the males have pointed ones and the females more rounded.


  
Rooster with Pointed Saddle Feathers

Hen with Rounded Saddle Feathers

The final answer - three rooster and three hens.
 

 

Green Harvest

Brocolli is one vegetable that is hard to grow in summer. Every year the moths come and eat all the leaves and there is no chance of it growing a decent head. So this year we built a garden bed and put bird netting on a frame over it.

 

In went the broccoli, cauliflower seedlings and pea seeds. Up they came - in came a rabbit under the shed wall at the back and more seedlings were needed. Several months later the first broccoli head was ready - yum. The great thing about picking broccoli is that it cuts and comes again. So two weeks of harvesting and there is more to pick than there was before. Same goes for peas. Another job for small willing helpers - picking and shelling. Compared to buying frozen peas from the supermarket it is a lot of effort, but that's not the point. Munching on vegetables that have travelled just a few metres and have their roots in healthy soil is not only better for the body but best for the soul.

The Proof is in the Eating

Eighty days after the arrival at Opportunity Farm of 25 one-day old chicks, tonight we sat down to the first roast. As an inexperienced chook cook I consulted several Google pages to assist me in this adventure. Settling on 'Foolproof Roast Chicken' due to the confident title I noticed that this recipe, in common with all the others, was for a little chook - somewhere in the order of 1.6kg to 2kg - and mine was 3kg. By increasing the time proportionally I think I'll have it on the table by 6pm. Shame the gas went out in the middle! Still by 6.45pm we are ready for the moment of chookness. Served with homegrown roast potatoes and garlic, supported by our own broccoli and cauliflower and some carrot sticks and washed down with redcurrant champagne, it tastes great. Succulent soft breast that melts in your mouth. Tasty skin and flesh that falls off the bone. I may have waited forty-seven years to cook my own roast, but it was worth the wait.
One down, eighteen to go!

Rainy Day Musings

Woke up to gentle drizzle, had lunch with showers, dinner with a downpour and the rain is still drumming lightly on the roof. Good soaking rain but 50km to the north it was dry all day and the children had swimming lessons in the outdoor pool no worries.
Hailey the cow was sheltering in the dairy hoping to be fed rather than having to stand dripping in the paddock searching for palatable grass. Apart from forays to feed those animals that can't feed themselves (and an interstate trip out to the local swimming pool) it was an indoors day. Change of plan from tidying the yard - time to cut a door from the back bedroom into the warmer part of the house.
This house is close to 75 years old. Over the years it has had a few changes with rooms added and the back verandah filled in. Previous occupants have told stories of how they would head outside to the bathroom in winter and come back in with their hair frozen. When the family it was built for rented it out they locked up some of the rooms and turned the carpets over to save on wear and tear from tenants. The two back rooms were very cold and one was very dark. A skylight helped reduce the dim but they needed doors that would allow the heat from the fire in the lounge room to raise the temperature in winter. One doorway was done a few months back so today the second doorway was cut through. The main problem is the age of the house means that most of the walls are asbestos. Lots of vacuuming and wearing masks later the job is done and more room changing can take place. Like the circle of life, the house at the centre of life on this farm is ever-changing.

Heading to Meat Chook Heaven

Seventy-eight may be a good innings for an English cricketer but in days of life for a commercial meat chook it is mere fantasy - two lifetimes in one. Conventionally turned into a 1kg broiler at 35-40 days our aged chooks were well past their use-by-date. However since the rainy period ended last weekend, all nineteen remaining chooks staggered successfully through to today.
Up at 5am I headed for the chook run to attempt to catch all of them ,put them in plastic boxes and stow them in the back of the ute. I knew that running away was not as prized a genetic trait as flabby breasts but I was still concerned that I might have do a fair bit of chasing once there was a cackle up. I placed the first box on the ute tray and entered the yard. As usual for these chooks they came towards me so grabbing the first one was easy. In the box she goes and a brick placed on the wooden lid while I fetch the second. They are a little warier but still no problems. However just before the second chook is ready to go into the box it tips over onto the ground releasing the first chook. A desperate grab - lucky there is plenty to get hold of - plenty of wing flapping and squawking later both chooks are in the box and the lid secured.
Despite my fumbling first attempts the rest of the chooks didn't seem too fazed and joined their comrades in the boxes without incident. I borrowed the boxes from a friend who processed fifty-five chooks and reckoned on four to a box. Ours were a squeeze with two.
The forecast was for 34 degrees so leaving at 6am was a must. Getting four young children up and ready by then was more of a challenge than boxing chooks but the bribe of a bakery breakfast and a trip to the beach proved suffice to chivvy them out of slumber and into the car.
When we arrived at the abattoir two hours later we were met by a man whose job on the processing line was knocking out rabbits with a large metal stick. A moment of qualm at the prospect of being responsible for the demise of nineteen creatures I had been nursing from birth into a corpulent old age passed uncomfortably. Twenty-seven years of being a vegetarian is not forgotten too easily but these chooks represented a weekly roast for almost six months. For a man who has only eaten three chicken meals in twenty nine years this was a powerful incentive. They had a good innings, plenty of fresh air and twice as long in this world as their chickmates.
Six hours later we returned, salty and windburnt from the tremendous onshore breeze at the beach, and packed nineteen carcasses in ice for the return journey. The heaviest was a whopping 3.7kg with the smallest being 2.5kg.
Breeding these chooks has been a real learning curve. Breeding chooks for the table we plan to do again. Breeding this genetically modified breed of chooks again - no thank you. There has to be a more natural way.
 

The boot full of boxes. Apparently this is not a compliant way of transporting poultry so we will need the use of proper poultry cages next time!

When Doing a Shit Job is Good for the Garden

Harley, the 15yr old placid pony, loves to eat. He would much rather chomp on green grass than raise a sweat to carry a rider off to wherever they wish to go. This greediness poses a problem as if left to follow his heart’s desire Harley would eat so much he would make himself very sick and founder. This is supposedly common in ponies and once they have overeaten they need to have their food intake very closely controlled.

The good news for us, or particularly our 10 year old horse-mad daughter, is that meant we have the loan of a great little horse in exchange for being the ones that keep a close eye on his feed. This fantastic lush spring has meant that there is little option for Harley than being kept in a small well-eaten paddock. The solution for his feed is to give him a bale of last year’s hay. Plenty to eat but with almost none of the sugars in the hay that would give him a pain in the neck and sore feet. The problem with Harley having plenty to eat is that he shits a lot. Too much poo in the paddock will sour the grass.

So today’s job is to scrape up all that horse manure and bag it. Most we give to a neighbour who helps us out a but some is destined for the compost heap. It’s great stuff for fertilizing and probably the only type of poo that children will get excited about cleaning up. The two youngest girls are still naïve and keen enough to volunteer and the horse-loving daughter has no choice or Harley might find a new home where someone loves him. With a team of four on the job it gets done fairly quickly and then we escape inside to cool down with an icy pole each.

 

Watering Systems

Getting Wet is Fun

The temperature gauge rises and the promised thunderstorms do nothing more than echo around the hills. The grass withers and the pumpkin leaves look forlornly up at the blue sky. It is time to water or all the effort so far will be burnt to a crisp.

Our main veggie garden is caged. It has to be or we would lose everything to hungry bowerbirds, wallabies or wombats. Around three sides of this is a further caged area with stonefruit, guavas and grapes. This cage of chicken wire and boundary fence is held up by wooden posts cut from the property and provides an ideal place to attach an overhead watering system. Sprayers are placed to get complete coverage and when the pump is firing a fine mist hangs over the garden and blows out onto those plants fortuitously placed on the perimeter.

The water is pumped from a dam some distance away so one problem is small pieces of dam detritus blocking up the sprayers. The best solution is to twist out the sprayer, suck or blow on it to release the blockage and then twist it back in as the water sluices down your outstretched arm and sodden your shirt.

We have a selection of other sprinklers that have the dual purpose of replenishing the plants' moisture content and cooling and amusing the children on long hot days. They never seem to tire of the anticipation of being hit by a jet of water and shriek and squeal every time.

Our main orchard has a ground based watering system. This is a complete pain because when it is spring and the rains keep coming the grass grows and the pipe disappears. Finding it again makes mowing the orchard a slow process. Whipper-snipping is safer but the whirling string wreaks havoc with the sprayers.

Today was one of those days when despite the rising temperature the orchard just had to be mowed. Slow as it is, mowing is so transformative it inspires a determination to complete the makeover regardless of the streams of sweat or the regular stops to slake thirst. Once done there is the satisfying sight of manicured lawn. Now the watering system is ready to flesh out the apples and pears. Roll on harvest.

 The Orchard Mid-Mow

 

Windfall

This season is turning out to be a fertile one. Trees are laden and bushes bend under the weight of their fruitfulness. We have been picking raspberries, strawberries, redcurrants, cherries, nectarines, plumcots and blackcurrants till the shelves are full of jams, jellies, fruit leathers and cordials, the freezer's contents are red and the excess is bubbling away into wine. The sweet tooth inherited on the paternal side has enjoyed the crumbles, the stewed fruit and the fools (also on the paternal side!). A delicious abundance with plenty of other varieties to come.
The great thing about fattening piglets is not just the juicy pork roasts in winter; the abundance never becomes an excess. Fallen fruit, those endless zucchinis stretching into marrows, plants bolting in the garden all have a destination and help fuel porcine expansion. Excess and waste are limited to those few foods that piglets won't devour.
So when a branch snaps from an old apple tree (which has been shocked from its first prune in decades into producing heavily) it is an opportunity and not a loss.  This morning a clean up team swung into action and collected buckets of fallers. Finding jobs like this that involve the children increases the benefits to include joy and smiles as well as the promise of this year's roasts.

The Clean Up Team with their Bounty 

Get a Grippler

This afternoon was spent putting up five strands of plain wire around what we call the 'grove' - a collection of fodder, fruit and nut trees in the middle of a paddock. Goats are wonderful intelligent animals but they like to eat trees and they like to work out a way of getting through fences. Our initial electric fence kept them at bay for a while but those green leaf shoots proved to be too tempting to Cedric, our Boer buck. So it was back to the drawing board, out with the chainsaw and down with enough Red Box trees for six posts and stays.
I like fencing and have been doing it now and again for almost thirty years. But what has made the job so much more enjoyable and it so much easier to get a tight fence was using a Gripple tool. No more sagging wires when one wire is over-tightened. No more figure of eight joins in the middle of the run. The job is done quickly and effectively in half the time. I can recall spending hours digging out star pickets before I had a post remover or wielding a sledgehammer above head height to knock in the picket before I had a 'banger'. While it is hard to contemplate going without those 'new' technologies my favourite is the Gripple tool. Slip the two ends of wire needing joining in either side of the Gripple and use the tool to pull the wire through till it is tight. Simple and very effective - works every time. Can be retightened at any time and even loosened off if required.
In the packet of Gripples there are some plastic pieces called 'twisters'. Until today they were ignored and thrown out with the wrapper. Now I have discovered they make a great way of holding together the cut ends so that they are not a hazard to the stock. There is always something to learn on the farm. Get a Grippler!

'New Technology for easy fencing - Post remover,  Gripple Tool and 'Banger'

The Gripple with a Twist at the end.

The Endless Cycle of Changing Living Arrangements

Last night, as a family we shared the final pork roast to farewell our 18 year old daughter - off to the Nullarbor to tackle 70,000 sheep and the isolation slightly overcome by the station's light plane. This contrast makes us on our 30 acres seem suburban.This week there will be other less significant changes. The remaining meat chooks will meet their maker. The current fencing project will create another secure goat paddock and rescue our woodlot. The sheep will have eaten out another strip of paddock.

All these events on the farm inevitably lead to change. Lambs, kids, chicks, piglets and calves grow.   Animals need fresh grass. Children rearrange bedrooms and clear out their accumulated junk. Goats need to be moved to the right paddock with the right buck for joining. My gorgeous Light Sussex chooks need to spread their wings just like adolescents. With so many children and so many different animals to share our lives, it is a dynamic and continuous cycle of change. It just keeps rolling on.

Beating the heat

The only way to have an even chance with this heat is to start early. Bleary eyed I rolled out of bed at 6:00. The sun was coming up through the trees and it was surprisingly cold with dew sparkling on the grass. Six fence posts and stays needed to go in before the scorch bit too hard. I was surprised to find the crowbar cold and damp. The mud slimed and made it slippery work. Luckily by eight thirty the 'grunty' work was done because the sun was already making its presence felt.

We also had to pick the black currants this morning. It is an extremely tedious job. The fruit comes off with as many leaves that have to be picked out when you wash them. Thankfully the leaves float quite well. We will make around ten litres of blackcurrant syrup.

The kids retreated for most of the day to the coolness of the house. They did venture out to paddle in the leaky pool. There was great consternation when the duct tape came away and drained the remaining water.

I was extremely concerned when two more of my meat chooks turned purple and succumbed to I know not what. It was disconcerting to have one perform its death rattle in my arms. The remaining are still pink and relatively active. Their run is spacious and shady with a good dry shed. I don't really know with what they are ailing, but my heart can't take much more. Roll on January 8 when they are off to the abattoirs. I only hope they survive the short journey.

We cooked up the final leg of pork from last years piglets. It was either 'Ash ' or 'Charcoal'. These Old English Blacks were aptly named as they became harbingers of the bushfires that plagued us all last Summer. Probably fitting that we ate the last of the pork when the State is on Bushfire alert. The crackling was perfect.

The absurdity of commercial meat chickens

My adventures in raising commercial meat chickens began seventy days go when I came home with twenty five day-old chicks. As there is a poultry abattoir nearby it seemed like a simple project to just feed them up and not even have to kill and pluck them myself. Easy!
At the beginning they appeared as lovely yellow balls of fluff with voracious appetites. It soon became apparent as they rapidly grew that these were not normal chickens. Their breasts became immense, as did their backsides. They fluttered their tiny wings as they waddled to greet me each day. As they increased in size their mobility declined. To get them to move I put their water outside and scattered their feeding stations around the yard.
Commercially these chooks are butchered at 35 days. My chickens are now geriatrics and they look it. They sit frequently as they strain under the weight of their great bulk. They wheeze and seem to have such poor circulation that, for some, their combs are purple. When it rained a little last week two succumbed to pneumonia.
I see now why meat chickens are shedded. The fact that they are alive at all is a necessary but unfortunate inconvenience so they are not bred for living. My chooks can go outside into the green grass and even eat the odd worm. They can feel the sunshine on their faces. They have nice roosts but unfortunately can't use them. They can't get to them and even if they were capable apparently they could develop blisters on their breasts.
These are the chickens you get from your supermarket. We thought that we could raise these victims of selective breeding pampered but free ranging. We will never do this again no matter how nice they taste.