Bidding begets a Barnevelder

New beauties

Checking out their new home

It's quarter to five and I have finally sat down to have a break. Starting early this morning, I intended to stop into the poultry auctions held in Maffra, just for a look, and then whip home and delve into the study I need to do for work. I'd never been to the poultry auctions and Daryl was very encouraging yesterday, suggesting it would be good to see what was there, as we have often talked about it. It wasn't hard to twist my arm. Racing around this morning, I did some basic house tasks, ironed all the work clothes and even polished my boots along with checking cows and letting out the hens. As I did a quick scan of the paddock I noticed one of our cows looking suspiciously like she might calve soon. Leaving her to the birthing business I grabbed the cheque book, just in case, and headed for the poultry auction. As the sun broke through the clouds the day was looking sharp, and I was enjoying some time out on my own.
The poultry  auction was noisy, both with people and all manner of feathered varieties from fancy bantams, designer ducks, a handsome goose or two, table turkeys and  an amazing array of hens and roosters (each one trying to out-crow the other). Some breeders were there sprooking their knowledge and guiding the beginner poultry keepers, while others seemed to just enjoy the hot chips on offer. The narrow corridors with cages high, soon had the crowds gathered in on the auctioneer (who could benefit from a microphone) and the bidding began. Quick, without any hesitation, he went from cage to cage calling the crowd to bid. It was obvious who were long time bidders and knew how the game was played; I quickly learnt to stand my ground and not let the front rowers push me back when it

Rhode Island Red

came to the cages I wanted. Barnevelders and Rhode Island Reds were on my radar and I was not going to miss out. With my research done, I was ready to win and I did. I came home with four beautiful Barnevelder hens and two Rhody pullets, far cheaper than I had seen online. The easy bit done, I quickly realised my plans for study were evaporating as the "old pen" was going to have a makeover for its newest inhabitants. With a dozen of our older layers still waiting to be sold, I didn't want them to mix. These new ladies are a bit special and will hopefully be good mums in time. My

What a mess

other hens are purely for laying and a new batch will be arriving in two weeks. Now back in farm clothes I started the big clean up and two and half hours later the girls are happily scratching around their new home, with new laying boxes, roosting area and fresh pellets. Initially, they were not so thrilled and one quickly discovered she could fly onto the railing. After the unenviable task of catching her from an open area, on my own, I had no choice but clip her wings and that of her buddies. For a couple of weeks, the ladies will be confined to their home pen before being allowed to free range through the paddocks, this will teach them where they live and lay, but also allow them to get used to us. The foxes will know we have new

More mess

stock and will be snooping around. These pens are fox proof, so at night, they will be safe. With unseasonably warm temperatures it did not take long to work up a sweat, combine this with old straw, cob webs and general dust and soon I was covered in grime. It's amazing where dirt and feathers can end up as I discovered when I finally hit the shower and saw what my bra had collected! If all goes to plan our remaining layers will go to in a new home tonight, after the initial buyer failed to turn up last night. Now, a new buyer is set to be here later. Facebook is great in the freedom and low cost to advertise stock and all manner of treasure and trinkets, but I have found over time that people can be unreliable and very poor communicators. Our trusty smart phones do not leave us any excuses for poor communication and it is frustrating to be left waiting. If the last of the Isa's are picked up we will have no eggs for a couple of weeks. This is disappointing for us and the people we sell eggs to, but nonetheless we will make up for it very soon, with 40 layers ordered.

Mother's club

The cow I mentioned earlier did calve, but I am yet to go near her to see what she had. The Angus cows are good mums, very protective and generally it's best to leave them alone for a day or so. We still have a number to calve and this is turning out to be a strange calving season.  It was good to see a bit of rain during this past week and the sounds of it on the roof last night, when I couldn't sleep, was a welcome distraction. The paddocks are quickly turning a fresh shade of green, and with the sun presto, we will have growth. Having lost the afternoon revitalising the hen house, I needed to feed the poddy calves, who have now been reduced down to one feed a day, every second day. They are growing magnificently and chowing down their muesli and hay, not to mention the fresh grass in their paddock. They still come running anytime you are near them, especially if you have the quad bike. They associate the bike with milk. Study is taking a very strong second place to anything farm

So much nicer

orientated today and yesterday it was not on the schedule at all. Yesterday, Daryl and I enjoyed a clearing sale at Denison and came home with a few feed barrels and two chicken runs, fully enclosed. This is where our newest babies will learn to roam, hopefully we will have baby chickens in the

Much better

future, once we get equipped with an incubator and heated chick box. During the auction we bid, as usual, on a few different items, but there always seems to be someone willing to pay just a bit more and common sense tells you to stop but the auction momentum encourages you to keep bidding. It can be such fun! We managed to fit in a visit to my father and discovered the nursing home has a kleptomaniac lady who thinks everything is hers and anyone (who is male) is her husband. This is creating more drama than a day time soap and it seems dad is not too impressed. His crocheted blanket and papers have gone missing, replaced with unwelcome advances from the lady in question. We managed to soothe his concerns with coffee and hot apple pie from Maccas and convinced him the nursing home would be back to normal as soon as the staff could return all the borrowed goods! He is finally using a walking frame and is able to move around the centre more confidently, although he is quick to remind us that he doesn't need it and only uses it sometimes, a bit like he only rarely sleeps during the day - but anytime anyone visits he tends to be snoring.
I can smell the silverside cooking and the room is darkening. Outside the clouds are sparse and there is a pink tinge to the sky. It's time to close up the house, crank up the fires and maybe, just maybe,  open up these folders and do some study.

Until next time

N

Looking for a dash of old-man wisdom.

There is nothing more effective to get you to back to basics than spending time with the little people in your life. 

Simplicity, beauty and wonder is reignited through the eyes of a toddler or infant. We had the pleasure of entertaining our two grandchildren this weekend, farm style. The world through the eyes of a two-year-old is sweet and new and full of adventures. She is excited by the hens, pecking wheat from her pudgy little hands and gets equally frustrated when they won’t come and get food, when she calls them. She squeals with delight when the cows, 10 times her size, wrap their tongue around her fingers, trying to grab the bread she is holding and meant to be throwing to them to eat. She finds the bread soft and squishy and inevitably it ends up in her mouth, instead of theirs. She is learning to ‘ride a bike’ and delights with being pushed down the bumpy driveway. It’s like four-wheel driving, toddler style. In her element, she revels in feeding a new calf, nearly as big as she is, perfect cuddle size. She is learning to call him Nudge and confidently runs her hands over his thick, velvety coat. For her, a weekend on the farm, is full of new opportunities and when we take the time to see it through her eyes, it is indeed, very special. Our youngest grandson, at eight months old, is new to the world of Rivergum, just starting to notice the sights and sounds around him. Rugged up for the winter cold, he giggled his way along as he walked on the laying boxes and looked quizzically as the hens milled around his feet looking for more food. Sitting comfortably in his pram, also successfully traversing the rugged road, he seemed fascinated by the three dogs around him and the strange noises the mother cow was making, while confined into the cattle crush. It is easy to let life get complicated. I know it is of late, and maybe a weekend back to the basics is what the doctor ordered. 

In contrast, only last weekend, we celebrated my father-in-law’s 90^th birthday. Once again, surrounded by relatives and friends to mark the occasion, I could not help but see some similarities with the needs of our little people. Love, laughter, warmth, comfort and appreciation for the simple things in life were the common threads. 

My father-in law is an amazing man. He lives

independently, still cooks for his large brood and all their off spring, plays bowls, helps out on the farm and enjoys nothing more than a trip up bush to relax. He does not dwell on the complicated anymore, he has had his share of celebrations and tragedies in his long life, and now seems to exude a sense of peace and contentment, enjoying the most important things in his life – his family.
So, I am now left to learn from my grandchildren and my father in-law and take lessons from those that have lived wisely and those still to navigate this amazing journey we call life.

Some days I think we do remarkably well, relishing in the joys and challenges the farm, our own large brood and the many connections we have made in our lifetime present to us, but I must confess, in this past week I am feeling particularly bombarded with complications and the need to make decisions. Some days I crave for the simplicity of childhood where decisions are the issues of the grown-ups, or the days of retirement where people have learnt not to give a hoot about some issues or what other people might think. There is freedom in both ages at the beginning and the end of the life circle.

Age is a peculiar concept. It is naturally the chronological record of how long we are alive, it sets the parameters for when we can achieve certain things such as school entry, driver’s licenses, voting and when we retire. We make judgements according to people’s age – he is too young for that, she is too old for this, she can’t wear that at her age, he should know better at his age. We celebrate the collection of years with gifts, parties and cake, it is a tradition passed down from ages gone by and one I suspect will continue for generations yet to be. However, it seems there are few guidelines for the middle years. It has been long accepted that by the time you reach your forties you are less inclined to be influenced by others or fashions or social expectations, there is sense of , I’m nearing fifty therefore, I need to do what I want, in the time I have left. Essentially half my life is already over and I’m not wasting anymore on people who really don’t rate that highly in my world – anymore. Problem is, that has not quite happened to me, and I find myself battling with anxiety because I know my actions will impact on other people and that bothers me.

Try as I may, neither my day job nor the farm, my children or my husband can distract me for too long. My mind has a terrible habit of churning over troubles, whether I am busy or idle. It follows me into my dreams and sets itself into the crevices of my mind without invitation. My mind is in turmoil. I think I’m tired of thinking too much, the inability to let go, the subconscious need to be considerate of others, the conscious knowing of being used and tossed aside. 

Right now, I need a little more toddler-time with a dash of old-man wisdom.

Until next time,

N