Tag Archives: rain

The hellscape of 2019

by . Posted on
07 May

After the drought and the fires we knew that this would be a year of healing.  When the rain fell on Christmas Day, we all felt a glimmer of hope.  Never before have I been so glad to slam the door on a year as I was at the end of 2019.  We were broken people.  Brittle and hard, dusty and withered by the heat, the dry, the exhaustion of trying to save our cattle.  

And then there were the fires.  Three months of fear as they circled us, finally blazing through the bush and rainforest we take such pride and joy in.  Helicopters scurried to and fro overhead day after endless day, making long journeys to the Hastings River for fire fighting water.  They tried to collect from one of the rapidly dwindling pools in the river below us, but it was too dangerous.  We were grateful not to have that stress as well.  

The river stopped flowing in October.  The baking sun evaporated inches every day and rather than the cool depths we are used to refreshing ourselves in after hot days of farmwork, there were just a few muddy warm puddles for us to flounder in.  The same water which served our stock and the house, that we wash our bodies and our clothes in.  The home of our precious platypus population.  Never before, in living memory, has the Ellenborough River stopped flowing.  

Our once verdant pastures were desiccated dust bowls.  Our beautiful Jerseys dropped to their knees and we battled to save them.  We stressed about money as we paid for tonne bags of pellets and small mountains of luxurious lucerne.  We nursed and nurtured the fallen as we begged them to get up and get well.  We sold others rather than lose them too.  Every day seemed to be a weighing of the scales with death.  The Grim Reaper wielded his scythe mercilessly.  We have seen horror before but this was different.  Millie, Milka, Henrietta, Damson, Clara were all hand fed and much loved pets as much as quiet and peaceful matriarchs in the herd.

Big Red was a huge cow with monster horns.  She went down and we kept sitting her up but Ged went away for work and I couldn’t do it alone.  But by buggery I wasn’t going to let her die so I used every ounce of my ingenuity and strength during that week – erecting shade over her, hoisting her up onto her knees so she could eat and drink and try and regain her strenght.  She died anyway.

Damson had been abandoned by her mum the day she was born so was hand reared by us.  She and Petal were inseparable.  I was worried about her birthing for the first time so checked on her daily.  She went down and I tried to help but she ran from me and slipped into the river.  That was a long day of literally trying to keep her head above water until we could lift her out.  Once dry and safe we fed her up, to no avail.

I lost all my favourites last year.  All my four legged friends.  It was brutal.

We had the joy of Goldie and her puppies.  8 little parcels of love.  And then Goldie went off for a wander with Mudji and never came home.  We hunted high and low.  With no body to bury and her babies to raise, there was no time for the deep grief of her loss.

Even the neighbours in their 80’s who have farmed this land their whole lives said beasts were dropping like flies.  None of us knew that the drought would go on so long and that it would be as bad as it was.  We were relying on spring rains.  They never came.  We all started feeding too late.

Added to the heat, dust and fire stress then was the sweet stench of our friends’ rotting flesh as we weren’t allowed to burn them.

I’ve never been in a war zone.  My experience can’t compare but that’s what it felt like – heat, smell and smoke.  Choppers whirring overhead.  A constant feel of threat and dread.  By December Ged and I were ready to walk off the land.  It was too much.  We were too scarred, so tired, broken.

We promised ourselves ‘no rash decisions’ as I restlessly googled farms for sale in New Zealand.  We knew 2020 would be a year of healing, of finishing projects, of letting time and space separate us from our grief.  Little could we know what this year had in store . . .

And yet.  Covid has forced us home and stopped the rush and scurry of our lives, leaving the farm to take Ben to school etc.  We have had more rain in the first few months of 2020 than in the past few years in total.  The grass has hurled itself out of the ground.  Mother Nature is recovering.  And so are we.  Time to be.  Time to be here.  To let the sounds seep into our souls.  To sleep, at last.  To watch the meandering river and its quiet life.  To listen to its burbling over rocks.  To watch eagles soaring, the cormorant drying his wings, the platypus paddling on the surface before duck diving once more.

And in these quiet pleasures comes peace.  A deep stillness settling in my soul  as Nature heals the deep heart she has wrought.  As we rest easy in her abundant embrace after wrestling with her and The Grim Reaper last year.

I guess I’m a farmer now.  I guess I learnt just why they can be dour and taciturn.  I learned about the pain lodged like a stone in their hearts.  And I have become quieter as a result. 

 

Drought, Fire & Flooding Rains . . .

by . Posted on
17 Feb

I guess I couldn’t really understand what it was to be a farmer in this country without experiencing Drought. I console myself with that idea. The climate denialists will quote Dorothea McKellar’s beautiful ode to Australia as rationale for their beliefs, and it is true that Mother Nature operates in cycles, but we are in extremis now.

https://www.dorotheamackellar.com.au/archive/mycountry.htm

When we first came here, the farmers around us who had lived and farmed this land all their long lives told us that the Ellenborough River had never stopped flowing. It stopped in September 2019. We felt confident in our oasis with its creeks, springs and river. But we watched our stagnant pools dropping by inches a day in the vicious heat of spring and summer. We feared for ourselves, our stock, our platypus population – the river and rainfall are what sustains us all.

We scrambled frantically on the phones to find feed and then for funds to pay for it. We had to put our hand up for charity when we just couldn’t take any more. We watched beloved cows drop to their knees and despite our best efforts never get up again. We spent days digging a downer out of a bog, feeding and watering her and hand feeding her calf. We got intimate with maggots in an array of injuries. We learned just how useful hip lifters are. We hauled on heavy cows to turn and lift them. We tried and we tried and we tried . . . and we failed. We lost too many to count. We lost friends, four leggeds that we raised by hand and loved beyond measure: Isis, Damson, Millie, Milka, Henrietta, Big Red, JB and more. And then there were all the cows and steers we had to sell for a pittance because we feared they too would lie down and die.

And then there was Goldie. Our golden girl. Our beautiful bitch. Ben’s dog. There is something so incredibly beautiful about a boy and his dog. Listening to his peals of laughter as she scrambled all over him as she has done since a pup. He loved her so much. We all did. And her puppies were a miracle (unplanned though her pregnancy was, I am so grateful for it now). I stayed up all night and at one point woke Ben to come and see a baby being born. It was a sacred time. And despite her exhaustion and overwhelm (8 babies!!) Goldie was an amazing Mum. She hid under the house for a while that first day (& who can blame her?) and then she would disappear for a little while very day for a rest. Slowly traversing further afield as the weeks passed – down to the river for a swim and explore. Never too far, always back in an hour for the next feed. Until the day she disappeared with Mudji and didn’t come home. As night fell we were frantic and started feeding the babies (luckily I had bought some powdered puppy milk as a supplement for Goldie at the pet shop’s advice). Mudji turned up at the neighbour’s the next day as usual but no Goldie. It was Ben’s birthday weekend and we were out looking high & low, calling for her. No sign. No trace. No sound. Nothing. No body to bury. No real closure. No time to grieve.

We raised her pups, Ben instantly claiming the little lemon beauty as Goldie’s replacement and I held the little black boy close to my heart and refused to let him go despite Ged’s disapproval. And then we had to let them go too. God, that was hard. Every goodbye felt like another part of Goldie leaving us. And they were all so beautiful, just like her. But the fact that they are so loved by the families they have gone to, and that her light lives on in this world, is a source of great joy.

I don’t like who we became last year. Brutal, brittle, broken people. We talked very seriously about walking off the farm. We just couldn’t take it any more. We were in shock, I see now that it was like a war zone mentality – we became immured to death somehow, closed off from it, sealed from its shockingness in order to protect our own hearts.

And then came the fires. Moving slowly, but inexorably our way from Mt Seaview and Yarras. That added another level of stress. I went away to a long planned yoga retreat, hoping for healing. Instead I got a text from Ged with a dramatic photo of the fire now in the neighbour’s place and barrelling down on us. So I learned to live in the moment – going deep into meditation and breathing and then coming out to get on the phone and issue rapid fire instructions what to pack, what to leave, where essentials were, how to protect our assets. I stayed and focussed while fear built in me and then drove home via Bunnings on the Monday, filling a trolley with hoses and sprinklers. Ben was evacuated and we had two days to prepare ourselves and our property for the onslaught.

George, our 85 year old neighbour came by. He was scared. He doesn’t scare easy. He was worried about crown fires and fireballs and the lack of water, how dry it was, how little hope we could escape annihilation. But we did. Although the fires continued around us for months. ‘Watch & Act’ sounds so benign. But it is a state of hypervigilance, of nerves in tatters, of fear that I never want to experience again. And the helicopters overhead hour after hour, day after day, the thick smoke we breathed for months, and the sweet stench of death from my rotting friends gave me a feeling of Vietnam or some other vile warzone.

We went away but Ged had to come back to fight fire, to fix broken water pipes, to take delivery of more unaffordable hay. We couldn’t relax. We were constantly on edge, cranky, snappy.

The first rain came on Christmas Day – the ultimate Christmas gift. In January a slow moving wall of clear rainwater saw the river flowing again. Now we have cleansing floods, trees tossed and bobbing on fast moving muddy flood water as the riverscape is purified once more.

And now the healing can begin. I have begun what I call ‘crying yoga’ the nights on my mat sobbing for my lost friends. And walking the landscape, remembering their faces, their soft pelts, their wet noses.
We are scarred by 2019. We will never forget. I don’t know what the future holds, but I do know this – the global human population has exploded over the past 150 years as has our consumption, manufacturing, coal burning and carbon creation as we evolve from horse and cart to steam power, electricity, petrol & diesel driven cars, planes and more. We cannot possibly believe that our deforestation and coal burning has not irrevocably altered the planet and its atmosphere. We have to stop. We have to change. We have to backpedal. We all have to do our bit.

The Big Flood

by . Posted on
28 Apr
Just call me NOAH!!
Although I haven’t done a very good job of rescuing animals.  Trying to save three stranded cows and calves, they jumped into the river rather than be herded into our place. And I had a platypus literally at my feet this morning, obviously washed out of its burrow by the raging torrent.  By the time I realised what it was and registered that it didn’t look happy, the river had swept it away.  Maybe next time I’ll just stay in the house and pray!
So the rain has continued all week to my utter disgust and despair.  We had a thoroughly wet and miserable day in Port Macquarie on Wednesday where I had my inaugural Pilates class, acupuncture and we went for our 18 week scan.   Normally we have the mst delightful, lovely and helpful of radiologists but this one was a cow and trying to extract information from her, let alone reassurance, was like pulling the proverbial teeth!  So we don’t know what sex the baby is, and with her attitude, I’m more worried now than I was before, so let’s hope I can get out to the doctor on Wednesday for hand holding, brow soothing and ‘there, there, dear’s’
On Thursday we woke late and despondent at yet more of the wet stuff cascading from the sky.  As I had refused to take my car up the now suicidal Tom’s Creek Road one more time this week, Ged had to wait for me and do my morning chores (feeding his horses, chooks etc) and by the time we were ready to go we could see that we had better be quick because the river was rising, the sky was ominous and the forecast for flash flooding and more.  All the creeks on the way up were very high, but just passable, so we weren’t long checking and replying to our emails, doing what we had to online etc before we packed up the computers and headed home.  We came down the other way to avoid the creek crossings and only just made it into our place before the bridge got really scary.  Ged dumped me and the gear and hared out again, leaving his car on the high side by the flying fox. (see it in the picture?)
And through our newly created amazing view from the kitchen window we witnessed the river rise first by inches, then by feet, while we were watching it.  From 3pm to 6pm it had risen 4 feet.  When I woke to go to the loo at 2am I heard the roar and went out to look.  It had risen another 5 or 6 foot and by 6am a further 4 or 5 feet.  Amazing!  The whole of the lower river paddock (the campground) was under water which covered the top of the fence both at the gate end and where the toilet used to be (before the flood!)  At the end of our river paddock (polo ground!) where there is normally a ten-15 foot steep bank there was just water lapping at the cutting’s edge.  The bridge at Angle Creek was sitting in banked up river water and there was only 6 inches of log left showing before that would be under.  At the concrete bridge (where I saw the Platypus) we were looking at 50 or 60 metres of water across between the banks and it was a raging, raging torrent.
The flats on the other side were well clear of water (we went to check our potential new home site to see how high and dry we would be) and were pleased to see that it was a very good Noah spot indeed.
And from about noon the waters have been receding just as rapidly.  But at 5pm when the rain started in earnest again, they started a slow ascent.  Apparently they had 10 inches of rain on Comboyne last night, compared to our 3.  Let’s see what tonight and tomorrow brings . . .
And as quickly as they rose, they have been receding, but we are now at the slow point – it will probably take almost a week for the river to get back down below the bridge again.  I am still marooned! And George will need to rearrange the river stones on the far side of the bridge before I can drive out as the raging torrent has significantly rearranged them.  Meanwhile, the sun has been shining all weekend and we have hope in our hearts again, at last.  I have been sanding back all the benchtops and varnishing them properly – they only got a quick lick and a spit before the wedding.  Ged has discovered white ant in his side of the shed happily chewing their way through all the tasmanian oak flooring for the office.  Oh God!
So he has been busy burning them and it and finding ways of foiling their concentrated campaign attacks on our belongings.  I am going up to Lismore to see a client this weekend and will be grilling her about her long battle against their relentless armies so hopefully when I get back next week we will have a plan . . . .

New Feline Family Member

by . Posted on
14 Apr

Just when things were getting back to normal, Ged went up the road to look at some wiring and came back with a new member of the Love family!

She is young, calm, easy going and cuddly and to ease her into Phoenix’s existence, we are only having her during the day at the office so we can gauge his reactions and tolerance levels.  He hasn’t been either excited by her or antagonistic but since his stress levels are still pretty high after the comings and goings around the wedding and the trauma of 12 days in doggy prison, best to go slow and tread carefully.
I wasn’t particularly enamoured of her at first, although Ged seems to have fallen very hard.  But she’s growing on me, and wheedling her way into my affections, so I know resistance is futile!
But let’s face it, I loved Tom so much and while I have desperately wanted another cat, I am loathe to let anyone take his place in my affections.  I feel disloyal to his memory if I fall for this little Tiger.  But a house always feels so much more like a home when there’s a cat waiting there for you.
She hasn’t taken long to make friends of us all and sure enough she came home before the weekend . . . she’s pretty content with her new-found family and warm, cosy home.
The deluge has begun again.  Everyone keeps commenting that March was, indeed, a miracle!  We lay the credit at ‘the power of positive thinking’ – we were determined that it wouldn’t rain in March, we kept saying so, we decided to believe so, and our thought shaped our reality.  We also said we didn’t care what it did in April . . . now that was foolish!  My sunny resolve and relaxed mindset is giving way to Eeyore-like gloom as we face day after day after relentless day of torrential rain.
Of course, the other problem is that I haven’t got anything to WEAR!  I grew out of jeans and their ilk weeks ago, and my elasticated waisted summer pants are way too cold for the Comboyne climate so I am in mini-skirts, tights and boots (they must be the mini skirts from my fat days!) and I can’t see me squeezing into those for much more than a month!  I have taken to riffling through my wardrobe every morning and trying to put together creative, comfortable clothing solutions that don’t make me look like a fat frump!  I have been fashioning fashion from things that haven’t seen the light of day for 15 years!
It was much easier in Fiji where a sarong or sulu hid all lumps, bumps and burgeoning belly!  Oh well, as soon as we have made some moolah again I guess I can go shopping!
Mischa, making herself very much at home . . . .

Tick, tick, tick . . .

by . Posted on
03 Mar

I left a message for George the other day since he’s been doing his Scarlet  Pimpernel trick and impersonating the invisible man.  It said: ‘tick, tick, tick, George.  That’s the sound of time ticking away in the lead up to 15th March.  WHERE ARE YOU?  Tick, tick, tick . . . ‘

Bless him, he’s kept it on his machine and says it gives him his daily laugh!
The message seems to have worked though because he’s fronted up finally (what’s he trying to do, give me a heart attack?) and has dismantled the cattle yards (at last, at last!) although the constant rain means he’s also created a mud bath on the river flat and down my drive, which after all my dedicated grass seeding over the last five months, has broken my little heart!  Oh well, I guess you pay a price for everything in life!
He’s been back in the big gully by the house snigging out the trees into a big pile for burning and he promises me, faithfully, that next week he and his brother, Rex, are going to be putting up my much maligned semi-circular fence from gate to gate to separate the house paddock from the farm.  This is the fence that I saw as clear as crystal in my mind’s eye from even before I took possession and everyone has told me can’t be done.  Now you know me, the best way to make me bull-headed is to use the word ‘can’t ‘ . . . . so I’ve been patient, persistent, petulant and precious by turns about it and George and I have had many a head to head over  it.  Finally he has capitulated (sometimes the easy way out is the best way forward!) and roped in his younger brother (who looks ten years older than George) to give him a helping hand.
I had to take my car in for a lengthy stay at the car doctor.  I don’t think I told you about my little prang.  The only way I can describe the weather we have had over the last three months is by saying it has been ‘typically English’ . . .  wet, wet, wet.  So when the plumber was her the other week weaving his magic over my new bathroom and getting ready for my new kitchen, he had to drive in with all his tools then drive out again straightaway as the river was rising over the bridge.  When he finished for the day I drove him and his tools back over to the other side of the river to reunite him with his car and was just about to drive down the dip when I thought ‘this looks a bit slippery, he’d better not drive down here’ and I engaged 4 wheel.  To no avail.  Instead of going forwards I slid sideways – straight into the bullbar on George’s truck!  Which, of course, did absolutely no damage to the bullbar, and wiped out my drivers wing!  I guess it never rains, but it pours!
We have been waiting and waiting for the weather to clear even for a day so we can have our farm road graded.  We’ve been waiting since Christmas.  Finally they came on Monday and Tuesday and did a relly great job turning our rutted old goat track into something resembling a road.  On Wednesday we had 4 and a half inches of rain in under 3 hours.  Even the stalwart, resilient, and endlessly optimistic Ged just sat on the verandah and cried.  One step forward, ten steps back, are we ever going to get there . . . are we there yet, are we there yet, are we there yet  . . . ?
You know when I get a bee in my bonnet about something I just go out there and will the universe to please me (!)  Well, last week I got fed up of worrying and waiting about our new kitchen benchtop which with Scott’s heavy work schedule seemed like an impossible dream, and he was having problems with the tallowood etc so I just said ‘Leave it to me!’  I got out the yellow pages, let my fingers do the walking, and my sweet voice do the talking and found a mob in Wauchope prepared to bend over backwards to give me what I wanted.  You’ve never seen anyone get washed, dressed, and in the car so fast – I was like Penelope Pitstop on speed!!
We picked it up on Monday and it looks fantastic.  How far we have come, how long we have journeyed, how much we appreciate this moment in time . . . .

Ring on my finger at last!

by . Posted on
17 Dec
I have a ring!  It’s very hard to take a photo of but you get the general gist – platinum rails with pink diamonds in between (channel set for the initiated) so it is pretty and practical for my life on the farm.  It has taken a bit of getting used to as I have never had a ring on that finger before, plus it is a very big step so all my commitment phobia has been playing havoc with my brain.  That and my hormones which are on a roller coaster, and creating a hair raising ride for all aboard.  Poor Ged!  He really is a saint . . .
George has gone AWOL.  Partly the fact that the slasher is still broken and sitting on the flat (I think I didn’t tell you that the blade sheared apart one day and speared one of the tyres.  George said it was ‘over use’ and I said it was ‘antiquity’!) and all this rain has kept him from us for weeks.  He couldn’t get the tractor in, he couldn’t slash, he couldn’t fence, he couldn’t clear with the root raker . . .  So we have been George-less which is always quieter, duller and less to report . . . .
I finally saw the platypus the other day.  It was midday and the first sunny day after what seems like months of rain, the river was a mud slick and I was taking advantage of the sunshine getting the washing done.  I saw movement in the river out of the corner of my eye and went to investigate.  I couldn’t believe it was him at first.  It was so out of character to be fishing in the middle of the day but there he was – ducking and diving, rolling and revelling in the day.  Presumably he, like us, had been housebound during the downpours and was catching up on his chores!  He was bigger than the only other one I’ve ever seen – about 18 inches to 2 foot long.  Amazing to have a creature that we studied in school as a rare miracle of nature living just below the house . . .
Which reminds me, we found a yabbie (crayfish to the poms!) in Angle Creek the other day so that should keep the kids occupied in March  . . .
Ged has replaced the platform for the Flying Fox so it is much safer and he and George were chopping down trees on the other side so it is now easier to get on and off at the other side.  We still need to put a new ‘floor’ in the fox itself and build a platform on the other side and then really it will be perfect!  We had the most torrential downpour on Sunday afternoon.  Incredible lightening directly overhead and we had a race against nature to get both the cars out and on the other side of the river, by the flying fox, pump some water before another mud slick came down the river (SOMEONE keeps leaving the hose on and using all the water – I can’t imagine who could be SO stupid!!) and finish the mowing which I was in the midst of.  It was a terrifying and amazing experience to be in the eye of the storm, soothing the horses under the giraffe shed.  Ged had got soaked playing with the pump and when I handed him his raincoat he just stripped off and got naked under it (we do embrace our nudity on the farm!!)
We were cooking supper when the phone rang.  One of the Comboyne dairies had sparks and smoke coming out of their sockets, so the sparky had to go out into the wilds and winch himself across the river and go to the rescue.  At 11pm I got a phone call from a woeful fiance ‘I won’t be coming home tonight’ (quite early days for THAT sort of behaviour!!) but he couldn’t get across Tom’s Creek which apparently was a raging torrent, at least a couple of feet  over the bridge and with big logs bobbing in the white water so the poor love had to go back to his old home (which I have denuded of any semblance of comfort – I made him burn it all, remember?) and sleep on the floor.  So one of the jobs over the holidays is to kit out that abode so if we get stuck again, we have somewhere to get warm, dry and rested!
We may be landlocked but we are river and creek bound!

New chooks and a python

by . Posted on
10 Dec
Despite all our running around at the weekend, and George’s near naked efforts in the steamy days we have been sweltering through, the chook run wasn’t ready by the time the girls came on Monday.  We had to convert one of the old tin toilet blocks into the temporary hen house and although it isn’t the salubrious 5 star accommodation I had planned for them, they seemed more nervous and unsettled than any hens I had ever had before.  They hid in the scrub on the first day while George and I stretched the wire around and then as the rain fell consistently all week, they seemed to feel safest in their budget backpacker accommodation.  They seemed reluctant to explore or wander which I found very strange.  On Sunday we worked out why!  Ged tracked me down inside having a brief respite from the heat ‘do  you want to see a python?’, so we grabbed the camera and he led the way into the chicken run where Fred was fully extended (1.5 metres) and on track for feathered friend for tea.  Ged trapped him by the head so he could pick him up (CRIKEY!!) and we agreed to put him in the big shed to eat all the ratties and mice.
As soon as we moved the snake, the chooks relaxed.  he had obviously been up in a tree watching their every move and that’s why they were so nervous and shy.  They love to go under the house and so we hear them clucking under there during the day.
We had a busy weekend – Ged replaced the Flying Fox platform with left over tallowood so it feels rock solid and looks lovely and I was weeding, planting and digging again.  I’ve also scrubbed down the outside boards of three sides of the house ready for painting.  The weather has been either blazing sun or steamy, sultry and jungly and the rain is never far away.  The river is up and down like a yo yo so we are still flying across most of the time and even I can pull myself all the way across both ways now.
Fred obviously didn’t like living  in the garage.  When we got up on Monday morning his tail was poking out of one of the powerpoint holes in the kitchen.  His head soon followed.  Ged tried to force him out by dragging but I screamed at him to stop because he was damaging the fragile scales on Fred’s back.  So we left him to fend for himself, took Phee flying over the river with us and up to the office.  When we got home I was gingerly opening doors and cupboards, on the lookout for Fred . . . when Ged came in from locking up the chooks I indicated a strange looking stain  on the floor and he investigated . . . and found Fred snoozing happily in his sock basket!  A bit too close to my bed for comfort so Ged grabbed him again and Fred wrapped his whole length around his wrist and hand and we raced to the car and then I floored it down to Angle Creek while Ged had his circulation crushed.  Ged peeled him off and released him in the grass, but Fred had obviously taken a fancy to us and headed straight back to us so we leapt in the car before he slithered into its workings and came home again!  What would I have done without Ged???  Ugh . . . it doesn’t bear thinking about . . . Fred in my bed with me and Phee . . . !!

Ged and Fred

saga pin up boy!

Cleaning up the Bachelor Pad

by . Posted on
12 Nov

The deluge has continued and so there is nothing to report. Ged says ‘didn’t you do anything silly last week at all?’ Not that I can remember . . . .

We have had good soaking rain, and so all the creeks are running well into the river, and the river height has fluctuated by inches but it’s never gone all the way over the bridge. I have been coming in and out the long way round (THREE gates to open and close, plus all the puddle jumping!), but Ged has been parking on the other side and winging his way across in the Flying Fox.

We started clearing up his place at the weekend. Filled the back of the Pajero with bags and bulk for the Charity Shop and started cleaning and burning and scrapping. It reminded me of cleaning up polo yards! We had a big fire and pulled about a thousand weeds and then I started planting and re-seeding (my grass in the Angle Creek paddock is looking very lush after all this rain). We just got the paperwork through from one of the Environment Agencies as we have been looking at logging Ged’s heavily wooded 400 acres before we sell it. So we’ll see what happens with that. In the meantime, the pre-sale clean up continues . . . .

We have been costing a factory made cedar cabin for an office or a hand-built one and finally have decided to build our own which means we get exactly what we want for less money, but more work. So we are placing the orders for all the frames, trusses, cedar cladding, doors and windows this week and are determined to get it up and operational by Christmas (please God!) I’m going to have a big painting weekend this weekend since the sun will be shining again . . . (yet again the solar has held up amazingly through the dark, dull, drizzly days of the last two weeks – amazing!)

Now that the sun has made a welcome return, so has George so you can expect more interesting tales next week! He split open his tyre on a stupid concrete drain on the steep bit coming up from Angle Creek this morning so he wasn’t in the best of moods when I drove him round to the other side to collect his tractor!

The Jacarandas and Illawarra Flame Trees are ablaze, and driving anywhere on the roads has become an entertaining exercise of calf dodging so spring is really here!


JACARANDA TIME IN THE ‘HOUSE PADDOCK’ . . . (NOTE ‘GIRAFFE SHED’ IN
FOREGROUND!!)