Tag Archives: chainsaw

Chopping down and planting trees

by . Posted on
21 Apr

We are back into clearing and renovating mode!

We spent the weekend clearing out my side of the garage and putting up infrastructure in my side of the garage so I can sort out all my horsey stuff.  Order has been created out of chaos and it feels good!  Ged has started on his side, but it is a much bigger job, so watch this space for final resolution!
Of course, as soon as he gets started doing something for him, I come up with a plan that distracts him from his purpose in hand.  This weekend I decided to separate the wisteria from the peach tree – they have been intertwined for over about five years by the looks of things and while the peach is putting up a valiant fight, the  wisteria is slowly strangling it.  I started off with secateurs but soon gave up with those, got my handsaw out of the shed, but it was rusty, so I thought ‘bugger that’ and got out the trusty chainsaw!  Ged had to help and we now have a wisteria that we will train from scratch in the spring to embrace and decorate the house, a peach tree which might live up to its name, and then I had a brainwave . . . let’s cut down all the trees shielding the house from its view of the river, and making it dark and gloomy – so Ged got to work!
And what a miracle he has wrought!  We have a bird’s eye view of the river from the kitchen window and LIGHT and SPACE and AIR at that side of the house.  We have resolved to keep going and get rid of all the scrubby, dark trees on the bank below the house and replace them with lovely light robinias, liquid ambers, acers and more fruit trees.  We have also planted all the lovely Maples and Liquid Ambers Mummy and Daddy bought us for the wedding.  Three Liquid Ambers at the main gate (by the bridge) three in a semicircle around the tank (above the house), one Maple in the middle of the new Triangle fence (we have brought the Acer home to the house yard) and three Maples spaced along the edge of the big, main, river flat in front of the house (polo ground!)
And at least this weather is perfect for planting trees!
We have had more and further discussions about selling Ged’s place and finally came up with a way in which we could meet Michael’s offer.  If we strip it of all the infrastructure he has put on there over the last four years (shed with living, bathroom, kitchen, fire, loft, wiring, electrics, septic, water tank etc., etc.,) we can come down to his price.  More work for us, but at least we get the sale.  So we  offered him the deal and of course he said he wanted the shed and the water tank so we had to go into bat for a price for those.  The end result is that we finally struck a deal after much negotiating.  He gets a good deal, we strip everything out of the shed, bar the water tank, and we get a quick, cash sale, a weight off our minds, one less mortgage to pay in what looks to be a scary global financial future, enough to get the office built and a few more loose ends tied up before we buckle down to having a baby and relying on one real income.
So we’re all happy!  Not enough to get my new car out of the deal but a good feeling nonetheless . . . .
the new look love residence sans trees at left

Sewing, Growing and Losing my Locks

by . Posted on
22 Oct

I admit it – I’m exhausted. Trying too hard to show off my independence and get a lot done while Ged is away. Planting tree tubestock on a cliff face in 40 degree heat. And then slipping down the bank with full watering can and grazing breast, arm, shin etc and rapidly regretting my vision of gorgeous red bottlebrush gracing the bank and attracting parrots from miles around! OK, I’ll get back up there, but it is not a pleasant job!

George has been nagging me to stop exercising my limbs with lengthy runs around the property, and to get my upper body into better shape by broadcasting seed in the Angle Creek paddock he cleared. So finally I submitted to his iron will. And bored myself rigid, learning every rock and root in there as I hand scattered a mixture of rhodes, kikuyu and sawdust from the old mill. I’ve now got muscles in the bucket carrying arm that I never had before, little miss piggy eyes from the dust and a serious aversion to sowing! Please God let it rain now so all my hard work and isn’t wasted.

Summer has arrived and we are having hot, hot days. The ground and eucalypts are suddenly desperate for a decent soaking and as I have since sowed more seed on all the cleared banks as well as the lawn (got to get it all ready for our special day!) so am I. Now that I have overcome (to some extent) my rabid fear of the chainsaw I got into some serious sawing and cut down about 16 She Oaks along the river below the house to improve our view and river accessibility. George turned up and, looking very miffed, asked ‘who’s working for you now?’, indicating the chainsaw massacre. ‘Me!’ I retorted – ‘who else?’. Praise indeed – he said ‘good job’! . . . . I think I am finally earning my stripes!

Talking of massacres . . . more fool me I went to the local hairdresser on Friday (hereafter to be known as ‘The Butcher of Long Flat’) and I don’t know how it happened but she hacked off all my lovely long locks and when I got home I felt like Samson shorn of his strength and beauty. I cried and cried. And then, like a lamb to the slaughter, I called in the morning and requested that she try and fix it. Needless to say, both Saturday and Sunday were spent howling for my gorgeous long hair. Please say a prayer for rapid regrowth and that Ged still loves me without my crowning glory. I have sworn to let it grow and the only person who will ever touch it with scissors again is my Sydney hairdresser! No matter that it’s a five hour drive and $200.00 a cut!! Funny that I, who have spent most of my life with short hair, should be so devastated to lose the weight and femininity of long locks.

I have also been mowing the house paddock with Ged’s awful push me/pull you because mine has died and had to go in for a service. I am praying for a ride on for Christmas! I have planted the Gerberas from Gardens Direct and the lovely seeds Mummy sent after her trip to Canada so the daily watering session is becoming a lengthy meditation. The bloody cows have eaten much of my Angle Creek planting and I am trying to convince the horses not to eat the roses! 400 acres of grass to chew and they all have to pick on my small potential plots of beauty!

However, for all my moaning, it is starting to feel like a garden and now that the metal skip is gone is beginning to look less like a scrap yard and more like the setting for a home. On Saturday night, soaking my aching muscles in a hot bath, I realised that even God couldn’t keep going seven days in a row and she had a rest on Sunday, and I have vowed that from now on so will I!

So on Sunday, after a nice soothing run, and a splash through the river, (when Phoenix surprised a snake with markings I have never seen before. It splashed into the river with Phee in hot pursuit but set an amazing pace with its head raised and tongue flicking and I called Phee away before he got into trouble. Beautiful sight.) I had another long soak with Dick Francis and then trimmed Baby’s feet and washed her mane and tail and then after lunch I took them both down to the river and Baby, who I spent all last summer training not to be scared of the water, just got in and wallowed!

Clearing, Chainsawing and Croc infested waters

by . Posted on
Clearing at Angle Creek
15 Oct


Ged has gone away so last week was mainly directed at him getting him all packed with everything he needed for a three week adventure in the far Northern Territory (sounds like hell to me – sand flies, sweat, mosquitoes and crocodiles!) and him trying to get lots done in the yard and house before he left so I wouldn’t throw too many tantrums about the lack of progress while he was getting eaten alive in the Gulf of Carpentaria.  The logical question at this juncture is WHY would anyone want to drive for twelve hours a day over three and half days in order to go somewhere hot, bug-ridden and crocodile infested?  It’s beyond me, but before I came along and he had a life (!) he used to go on these crazy camping adventures.  This one is supposed to be a fishing trip but since fishing bores him rigid, I can’t quite see the point and neither can he, but plans long since made must be honoured so I am all on my tod again (already!)

I have been logically working my way through a long list of jobs and enjoying the silence and the solitude.  Phee has been revelling in being the sole focus of my  intention and getting under the duvet privileges again.  I steered clear of the chainsaw until Sunday and then had to swallow the fear in order to try and tame the orange tree trim into something I could burn.  By Monday at 7.30am I was wielding it like a pro and had significantly diminished the boughs into ash.  Go, girl!  I forgot how independent and invincible I am!

Even George has abandoned me as he has reached his monthly ‘cap’.  He has done some amazing clearing work again.  He takes that tractor where no sane person would go – he goes up and down vertical cliffs and while it often seems like we work for George, not the other way round, when I throw a mini hissy fit about some part of the farm that is driving me crazy (normally lantana related!) he gets to work to make me happy.  The whole of the ridge coming up from Angle Creek was overgrown with 6 foot of lantana and now it’s all gone – thank you, George.  He has also been clearing the big gully on the bend coming down to the house and I have grand plans that I haven’t shared with him yet for a waterfall and a dam there.  I cornered him the other day before he disappeared for the month and asked him for a map of how he would want the cattle yards planned out as I was coming round to his way of thinking, that they could be relocated to the flat by Angle Creek (it is a natural mustering triangle – see picture below).  So he showed me the clearing work he has already done so he can build a fence from the creek up the far ridge – cheeky bugger!  He knows that if I so much as even sway from my stated position, he will get his own way in the end!!

Good thing I had my clothes on when he and Marcia turned up on Sunday lunchtime with a young bull and left him in the yards to wean from his Mum.  Poor boy he lay in the very little shade all Sunday afternoon with tears streaming down his face.  But he runs away from both Phee and me so we can’t soothe him.  He has been very quiet and sad, with just some early morning roaring to remind us he is there.  I think Tinkerbell is befriending him and if we can only explain to him that he is not in hell as he thinks, but in heaven . . . there are over a hundred heifers on the other side of the property – actually maybe that is hell . . . one poor lone stud and a hundred strong harem – no wonder he’s crying!!

The Man from Ellenborough River

by . Posted on
22 Jul
There is light at the end of the tunnel!  Team solar turned up on Monday with the new hot water system. They dashed my hopes about hot water on Monday when they didn’t get the install finished but by Tuesday night I was luxuriating in a deep, hot bath (still green!).  Oh well, since the latest beauty fad for fashionistas in London is Nightingale poo face packs, I am sure that my green river water bath is actually very youthifying – although maybe not judging by the wrinkles my skin had acquired by the time I finally left my warm, wet paradise.

I still seem to be either shopping for renovation essentials or back in the Telstra vortex as I return their little wireless widget and while away the hours as they try and dream up new solutions for me.  Got a new lawnmower that is green, sturdy, fearless and invincible.  It’s true blue, dinky di – it’s a Victa and I have a feeling we are going to get along!

Went to see one of my neighbours who has a sawmill.  He has recently retired but agreed to cut the timber for the big beams and kitchen, laundry and bathroom surfaces for me.  He seems nice but boasts about how much water he uses to clean his teeth!  It is a sad fact that rural Australians who live on water and have unlimited access to it, waste it more than most!   They don’t have rainwater tanks, they don’t keep it, cherish it, store it, they just use it in the same way that city folk do . . . bizarre!

And the farm has come into its own this week with the arrival of 75 calfs to grow fat on the land.  Which brings me to George.  What a character!  George is 70 odd, he was ‘rared’ here (as the locals say).  He owned all this land – thousands of acres and George has sold it off bit by bit.  He’s a wiry, strong, lined and thin lipped Man from Snowy River type.  His Akubra is ancient, his RM’s battered and bruised and his horse’s bridle is more baling twine than leather.  He wields a chainsaw like a virtuoso violinist makes music with his bow.  His blue eyes can be steely or twinkle with humour.  He tells me he got in deep trouble with the drink and that’s when he found God and began to make sense of it all with the bible.  He’s a Seventh Day Adventist so he doesn’t drink or smoke or sin and he’s a vegetarian so we have something in common!  I tell him all my dreams for the place and he think them through.  He has his own clear picture in his head of what the land should be like and though he wouldnt even begin to know what I mean, his work is done with perfect zen.  The cattle are his and the deal is that he swaps the farm work for the agistment.  He’s a crafty old bugger – we always talked about 40 head and he turns up with 75 and a good story about how he always meant 40 mothers and calfs, so 75 little heifers is the same thing in principle . . . !!