There have been some cracking dawns and sunsets lately, making the descent into winter thoroughly bearable. Frosts have greeted us for the last 3 mornings, with ribbon mists around the hills, the sunshine bowling in and then moody evening skies. The first frost heralded the annual sloe-picking pilgrimage, and they’re now safely pricked and steeped in gin. Billy’s help was invaluable for the sloe harvest this year, as many of them were high up in the thorny bushes. The brewing wines have all been racked and so far so good – none of them a disaster yet, but it is early days. I can’t wait to see how the meads mature.
We are getting through some of the items on the gargantuan to-do list of tasks. However after a few cattle adventures, and the observation that the sheep don’t seem to notice that they are supposed to be penned into specific paddocks, we’ve decided that the fencing needs attention - as in professional attention. Storms have brought down trees and branches over time, damaging fences which have been fixed up in an ad-hoc way. The electric part of the fencing has been affected, and the cows are quick to wise up to the opportunities this has provided for adventure. We’re going to bite the bullet and get a fencer in, in the hope that it’s relatively easily remedied.
Lots of attention has been lavished on the
veg garden. The pumpkin harvest has been
triumphant, though not many people share the view that this is a good thing. It seems that I’m acquainted with more than
the average number of people for whom one pumpkin is too many. I’m banking on the certain knowledge that
those who shun pumpkin soup can often be persuaded to enjoy pumpkin in the form
of cake. This also has an advantage for
the cake-maker in the form of a fitness-regime.
Cutting up a pumpkin surely requires more energy than the calorific
value of a cake. Even if you use a
machete.
The orchard trees have been treated to
chook poo, vermiliquid (worm wee) and barley straw mulch as part of their
wintering down. One of Peter’s
colleagues, Jorgi, came to help out and thrashed down the vegetation along the
front fence. The whole
orchard now looks huge. So huge in fact,
that it’s probably in need of a few more trees.
I’m going to research nut trees, as we probably don’t need any more
fruit. The ground there is quite damp as
it’s alongside the rain-route from the hill opposite to the wetland. Hopefully there’ll be some varieties that can
tolerate wet feet at times.
Last year’s compost has turned out to be
magnificent, despite never having been turned.
I’d planned to add it to this year’s pile on the assumption that it
wouldn’t be ready, but once I’d cleared the weeds from the top, the luscious
chocolate-cake compost below revealed itself.
It’s been spread over some of the keyhole and fruit beds already, and
will be a perfect base for the next batch of seedling compost in spring. Happily it bodes well for this year’s compost
which also hasn’t been turned. The
sunflower stalks have been cut up and put down as a base for the next rounds of
composting in the pallet compost boxes.
Hydrangea stems make up the next layer, ready for the usual mountains of
weeds and assorted poo to be piled on top of that.
With much trepidation I finally got round
to checking out the woodlot, prompted by Peter saying that he could only see a
handful of the 50 trees planted there.
Thankfully I’d recorded which plants had gone where, and marked each
spot with a bamboo stick. It was just a
case of ferreting around in the weedy growth around each stick to find the tree
treasure hidden within. All up, 4 were
(probably) dead and about 6 were missing (the records weren’t completely
accurate). Most of the missing were
cabbage trees, some of which were quite small when planted. The weedy growth has been thrashed away from
around each tree, in the hope that they will grow taller than the weeds next
year. Some are a bit misshapen from
being squashed by hefty weeds, but they should come right. I’ll refill some of the gaps with young
kahikatea, oak and cabbage tree seedlings which are good-to-go. It’s very satisfying that the survival rate
is considerably better than I’d imagined, and great that this includes the few
exotics (liquidamber, witch hazel and sugar maple trees, plus those grown from
seed like oak, horse and sweet chestnut) as well as the hardy natives. Maybe next year it will even start to
resemble a woodlot.
Many natives have been cleared from Peter’s
work premises, and he’s been able to rescue some of these and bring them
home. They’re currently potted up and
will be planted out as a hedge border on the left boundary of our
property. In time they should help to
secure that boundary, provide wind and sun shelter and nourishment for bees and
other wildlife. Peter also rescued a
fairly mature cabbage tree and it travelled home on the back of the ute, much
to the amusement of those who saw it. It
came with a huge root ball, and is now resident in one of the back
paddocks close-ish to the house, making up part of the view to the back of the
property. Hopefully it will be happy
there.
The beehives are now united into one big hive after the discovery of no brood (and presumably no queen) in one of the hives. The plan was to divide them back into 2 hives in spring once queen cells are formed. But when checking fellow beekeeper Neville’s hives, we discovered 3 queen cells. After professional advice and deliberation we decided to attempt to transfer the queen cells to my vacant hive rather than wait until spring to get a new colony started. The chances of this being successful were small, though the risks too were small. In the event, the queen cells were no longer there when we went back for them a few days later. Disappointing really, but great that my beekeeping knowledge has increased enough to consider being experimental. The online apiculture course is partly responsible for that confidence.
The West Coast was magical as always, and even came with pretty good weather this time. I was there for a few days on my own before Peter dropped Sam and Billy off. Their highlight was a cave-rafting trip near the small coastal town of Charleston. I’d have loved to have joined them but figured that being on call but having no cell phone signal in a cave probably wasn’t very professional. Next time perhaps - we’re expecting Rachel, Jif and the boys for Christmas and plan to spend a few days there.
Mother’s Day on May 12th was special
and simply delightful. Lucas paid a lovely
surprise visit and stayed for a couple of nights. I was woken up to breakfast in bed, and Billy
resurrected ‘David Beckham’ as my waiter.
We went for a picnic at the Onamalutu Reserve down the road, taking the
fantastic ‘posy’ of cupcakes which Sophie had made. The sun shone and the place
was deserted except for us. It’s still
hard to believe that somewhere so pristine and beautiful is just on our doorstep. I collected lots of native seeds as there
were berries a-plenty, and voila – yet another project. Now they’re sown I guess I just have to
remember to water them. Shouldn’t be too
hard.
Despite the endless list of tasks, there’s still
a sense that progress is happening.
Peter does his best to inject some reality about what it’s possible to
achieve, gently suggesting that we complete one project before launching into
another one. So radical. I know he’s right, but he has also been known
to observe that I’m never happy unless I’ve got too much to do. New projects are driveway re-gravelling, and
sorting out the plant bed at the front of the house (digging up over-grown and
over-flowing plants/grasses, planting a hedge and re-planting with happy
bee-loving plants). Lazy Mazy is still
awaiting her make-over, and the veg garden just needs about a solid week of
work. Dreams of a greenhouse are more
persistent, though much ground work in terms of wind protection will have to
happen first. In the meantime the season
progresses and brings its magic. The
morning drive down the valley to the school bus stop is breath-taking, especially
on a chilly morning when the sun is burning up the cool night mists. Such an uplifting start to the day. Such a privilege to be here.
