When death knocks at your door

Seven days ago, we bid my father farewell in the formal manner of a funeral. As customary in our culture we held a service befitting his memory and then celebrated his life, with family and friends, at the traditional wake, sharing memories over drinks and finger food.

Seven days later his loss is still raw and I never imagined that death would knock on our door this year. But in fact, it has, twice. On New Year's Day we received the tragic news that my children's grandfather had passed away unexpectedly. He was my ex-father-in-law from my first marriage and despite many challenges through divorce and difficulty, he was always there. Always a friend and guiding mentor. Always ready to lend a hand and never forget a birthday or a special occasion. He was generous in nature and forthright in his opinions. He was confident and always a gentleman. His loss is great but I am so grateful that my children grew up knowing their grandfather -  that is the greatest gift they will ever have from him. Compounding our sadness and shock, eight days later, my own father passed into the next life. When death knocks at your door, it brings many emotions, rich and raw.

Receiving a call from the nursing home on January 2nd we were told my father was unwell, and as discussed medical attention was required straight away. I arrived at the home, in the afternoon, and was shocked by his deterioration. We had fortunately visited him the day before New Year’s Day and shared a coffee with him, he was in good spirits. But he was now struggling for every breath. With the doctor in the room, he diagnosed a chest infection, and while I thought it might be a bit more serious, who was I to argue with no medical training on my side? I questioned a few decisions and it was agreed that the nursing staff would keep us informed of any changes. By the following day he was no better and an ambulance was called. Three hours later he was in the emergency department and the longest emotional journey, I have ever known, was about to begin. Unable to speak for himself, clearly in immense pain and discomfort I became his voice and advocate, fighting a system that is stretched. Over the next six days the hospital became our home, some of the grandchildren were able to visit, for what would be the last time, Daryl was by my side as much as possible. After many discussions with medical staff, surrounding Dad's lack of response to treatment and continual deterioration, we began the complex process of determining the best course of action. This is a decision I would wish on no-one, but I know many before me have made it, and many will stand in my place in the future and have similar questions asked of them. It was time to let him go and with heavy hearts our main concern was for him to be pain free until he chose to say goodbye. In the early the hours of Tuesday morning on January 9th Dad drew his final breath.  Three days later on Friday we farewelled one grandfather amidst making funeral preparations for another. Poppy (as my kids affectionately called him) was laid to rest on Tuesday January 16th. Reeling from one loss, the kids rallied around and helped select photos of their Poppy and accepted roles for the service. Despite their immense pain they stepped up and did what needed to be done, I am so proud of them all.  Without any sibling support, I found comfort in emails and messages from many friends along with Dad's relatives in Wales, they will never know how much I appreciated their words and phone calls. Poor Daryl, coping with his own grief at losing his father-in-law, was a tower of strength propping me up. And I needed it, with fatigue well and truly set in, responsibility weighing heavily on me, I am not sure how we made it from one day to the next, but make it, we did.

And this is his eulogy, as I wrote it in my effort to tell his story.

Thank you all for coming here today to share with us in our grief at the loss of Guy, but also to share in our stories and memories of a man who lived a life bigger than most. It is without doubt one of life’s most difficult tasks to stand before you, here today, and speak on behalf of my family, who have been hit hard with loss this past week, and I thank you in advance for your patience as I muddle through, especially with the Welsh words! My dad was born Iorwerth Haydn Jones but was known by a number of names during his lifetime – to his family in Wales he was always Haydn, to others, in particular work colleagues, he was called a variety of names that are not repeatable today, and then more familiar to you all, he was Guy. To his grandchildren he was Poppy and to his great grandchildren Poppy Guy.

Iorwerth is a Welsh name, composed of two elements: iôr meaning "lord" and berth meaning "fair" or "handsome". I suspect he took this to heart and ran with it. Dad was renamed Guy when he journeyed to Australia as a young man and the Aussie lads just couldn’t get their tongues around the old-style Welsh pronunciation, so Guy, became his new moniker.

Dad was the fifth of seven children born to Joseph and Margaret Annie Jones. He was born in Lower Brynover, Wales on April 26, 1935, and attended Trefnanney Primary School, which recently closed and later Llanfyllin High School, a bilingual school in mid Wales. To get to secondary school he had to walk 1 1/2 miles (2.4 km), then get a taxi for 4 miles (6.4 km) to Llansantffraid where he got on a train to Llanfyllin another 6 miles (9.6 km).

While these do not seem like long distances for us here in Australia, back in the day, in Wales no less, they were exceptionally far (especially when he walked in the snow, as he loved to remind us all). There is Welsh poem as written on the front of your booklets saying “To be born Welsh, is to be born privileged. Not with a silver spoon in your mouth. But, with music in your blood and poetry in your soul”

 This, from my understanding, sums Dad up to tee. According to Dad’s family they had a happy, if hard upbringing.  There wasn’t much money as they grew up, having to either catch or make a lot of the food they ate. Living on damson (plum) jam sandwiches, from the damson trees on their farm and rabbits caught by their father and later the young sons, they also had a cow which they milked for milk and butter. Although times were tough, Dad was a scallywag who could sing like an angel. He was a crooner, always happy to belt out a verse or two. He was blessed with a typical Welsh voice and could sing beautifully if struck to do so, which was quite often. When he left school, Dad went to work at Spoonley Farm in Llansantffraid, working with the cows and delivering the milk around the village and area – on foot! His mum and dad were living at Glanvrynwy Cottage in Llansantffraid at this time. Annie, his mother died in June 1956 and he was devastated, so later that year at the age of 21 Dad sailed from Scotland to New Zealand. His brothers David and Idris, with Dad, travelled up to Scotland on the now famous Flying Scotsman steam train. The ship he sailed in was the Captain Hobson. Whilst in New Zealand he worked on a 700-acre farm, all sheep and fat stock, for princely sum of £50 a month. His sister Rose says he always wrote home during his travels and she still has these letters. A year later in 1957 he moved to a different place and continued to move around and work in both North and South Islands before moving to Australia in October 1960. He sent a letter to his father and sister from Woollahra Sydney before moving in the November, to work in the Snowy Mountains. He worked building the large dams to supply water and power stations known as the Snowy Hydro Electric Scheme. He then earned £56 ($95.97) a week.

In April,1961 he sailed from Melbourne to London on the ship Oronsay working aboard ship as a Tourist/wine waiter, which he continued to do for a further year where on his travels at sea he met my mother, Maria in a South American port. He could speak no Spanish, she could speak no English but somehow, someway, something worked and in November 1963 they were married and living in London. During this time Dad worked on building sites and always got a job, he was never out of work for very long, despite having no formal qualifications. In June 1965 he and Mum were accepted to go to Australia.

Dad’s niece Jenny remembers Dad as bit of a hero. She recalls grand stories he would tell her about his travels. When Dad was on shore leave he usually stayed with his sister at Holly Cottage.  There was no notice of his visits, as they did not have a phone in those days, the first they knew of his arrival was pebbles being thrown at their bedroom windows in the early hours of the morning.  Apparently, he always used to bring them the most amazing presents.  Jenny remembers a doll which stood nearly as tall as her, called Angela, and was apparently from Brazil.  Dad told her that in order to get her through customs he walked her through, holding her hand.   Of course, Jenny aged 12, believed him.  Jenny still has a Koala made from wallaby skin called Kiki, not very politically correct but she says she will never part with him. Other vivid memories are of football matches, when all the brothers gathered together, and they either played at Glanvyrnwy Cottage where Taid Joe (Grandpa) lived and he grew prize marrows.   Invariably the ball would land in the marrows and however quiet that brothers were, Taid always yelled at them to get out of his marrows.   Usually the culprit was my Dad.   My Auntie Rose would like to add that they are all very sad to lose such a happy, funny brother. He was diligent and thoughtful about keeping in touch over the years he was in New Zealand and when at sea and then for all the years in Australia. According to the overseas clan, the letters were always so interesting and certainly never dull. It seems he always called himself the black sheep of the family.

There are lots of other stories I’m told, but unfortunately, I am also told they are not suitable to be mentioned in this eulogy.

My parents chose to live in Australia from 1965 and make it their home. They both left family members behind, an ocean away and of course back in those days there was no quick way to communicate news or stories. They last visited them in Wales in 1991 and sadly this was the last time they would see them in person again. I often wonder if this was a regret they both carried with them. Despite the challenges, they made a successful life in various states of Australia, travelling wherever work took them. Dad worked on the Snowy Hydro Scheme then spent most of his years in construction of some sort or another. His work with Esso on the offshore platforms brought him to Sale and they settled here for a few years, before buying a farm in Pearsondale, which would be there forever home, living there for more than 40 years.

In January 1968 Dad and mum adopted their first son Richard in Argentina, with Mum making the long slow journey by sea home to Australia with Rick, as an infant, on her own, while Dad continued to work. Sadly, this relationship has faltered and dissolved in recent years, Dad was always saddened, even in his most confused state, about its abrupt and unexplained ending. In 1970, they brought home a daughter, me, also adopted in Melbourne. This little family of four was quite unconventional in its time, but like all families, we found our own rhythm, rightly or wrongly and made it work. Dad spent much of our formative years working overseas on one platform or another, then in his spare time he had a list of chores to do on the farm. We had few holidays and little time for leisure, I recall many a frosty morning milking cows before school. I know dad achieved great satisfaction from selling his steers for a good dollar at the sale yards and breeding his pigs, going on to make the most magnificent smoked bacon I have ever eaten in my life. I remember many a pig hanging from the old gum tree, which still stands today. The pigs were killed onsite and we would have these massive boiler tubs heated by fire ready to dunk the beasts to scrape them clean. I have vivid memories of killing our chickens and I got the job of holding their heads on the chopping block. Thankfully dad had a good aim in those days, a few years later he sliced his thumb clean off cutting kindling! Dad was obsessed with cutting wood, although rarely had enough to last from season to season. I think this could have been due to his insistence on lighting the kitchen combustion stove 24/7 to keep the water, hot. Dad refused to turn on the electric hot water back up during summer, this would cost him money, even when the forecast was well into the high 30s or 40s. The kitchen was always toasty warm!

When Dad did have a chance to relax it would often be in front of the tv watching the cricket, enjoying a chilled wine or a beer or two. He loved to run commentary on the game, I think his loyalty was torn between his beloved Poms and the Aussies. He also barracked for the Richmond Tigers, a legacy from his Esso days, and never wavered in his loyalty to them, although I doubt he ever attended a live football game. Dad was Poppy to my six children and later welcomed two more grandkids, my step sons, as his own. He was a friend to his son-in-law Daryl and when the great grandchildren arrived, he was simply beaming. He couldn’t always show it, but he was so very proud of each and every one them.

 In his younger years, it seems Dad travelled far and wide, partied hard and was never short of a female companion. He was a smooth talker, with a wicked accent and a charmer to boot. Even in his days in the nursing home, he always seemed to have a few ladies fighting to be by his side.

He never lost the travel bug, and I suspect if life had dealt him a different hand, he and mum would have ventured out again in their retirement.

Instead he devoted himself to the care of his beloved wife and stayed by her side for more than 50 years, with her when she drew her final breath. His dedication to her was unwavering. Some would describe dad as charming, chatty and kind while others will say he was hard, indignant and arrogant, some may even remember him as funny, generous and one of the lads with a work ethic as solid as a rock. He had no tolerance for laziness, had strong opinions and was always quick to send off a letter to whomever it may concern letting them know his concerns. He was loyal to his family both near and far.

Each of us here today have many varied and some shared memories of this man who is finally at rest. I hope today you will raise a glass and remember the man that you knew, respected and loved with a smile on your face despite the tear in your eye.

One his granddaughters Catherine also shared special memories of her Poppy:

I remember my Poppy full of life and always on the go, always exceptionally happy to see us kids.

The stories he would tell of the countries he had been to, were always amazing and full of mischief.

I loved the way he used to try and teach you things, one moment in particular, he tried to teach me to drive a tractor. I got most of the lesson, he did however, forget to teach me how to stop! The fence came second best in that scenario!!

I remember his laugh that sounds like Bert from Sesame Street’s Bert and Ernie.

All the fruit he let me eat, even though Mum said it would give me a bellyache.

I loved when we would watch “Porridge” during lunchtime with Nana. We were quite the trio. Lunch would always consist of frozen fish or pastries with some kind of sauce; due to Nana always being the cook previously, Poppy was still her apprentice. He would do his best and it was always a treat.

I loved that he would always call me a Pom because of all the tea I drank.

I loved it when Nana fell asleep, Poppy and we would always sneak Spanish biscuit in the kitchen with another cuppa.

I love when I would come to stay, he always cut up a grapefruit for me, and I got to eat it in bed.

I will miss my car trips into town with him. He would pick me up at the station any day I wanted. Each time there was a new story to tell me. The trip is only 15minutes but that was enough time for Poppy to tell me about a snake he’d found or how the cockatoos were eating all his fruit.

I loved the way he called me Little Blondie, even though I reminded him my name was Catherine.

I adored the stories Poppy would tell me of Nana. How beautiful she was.

He would tell me stories of how he took charge on the jobs and had to be rough with some of the scally wags.

He would always laugh at me when I got scared. One day his belly moved so much, when I screamed at an apple, because a worm came out of it and as a 13-year-old I practically nearly ate it, therefore faced a near death experience.

I recall many walks down the river with Poppy. I had my oversized boots and walked like a duck but Poppy waited patiently for me to catch up.

Now we walk the farm and it feels different. We cannot explain it. It just is.

Dad was last here Christmas Day and he enjoyed a beer with us, laughed with us and shared a final memory that will be precious to us all in the future. Because now, that is all we have, memories for as long as we can hold onto them. Next year we will return Dad to his homeland of Wales and I suspect he will be most pleased with this decision. In the meantime, we will continue to run this farm and hopefully he will be proud, if he looks down on us, from wherever he may be.

Read by my eldest daughter Alexandra on behalf of her Poppy

Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.
I have sent up my gladness on wings, to be lost in the blue of the sky.
I have run and leaped with the rain, I have taken the wind to my breast.
My cheeks like a drowsy child to the face of the earth I have pressed.
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.

I have kissed young love on the lips, I have heard his song to the end,
I have struck my hand like a seal in the loyal hand of a friend.
I have known the peace of heaven, the comfort of work done well.
I have longed for death in the darkness and risen alive out of hell.
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.
I gave a share of my soul to the world, when and where my course is run.
I know that another shall finish the task I surely must leave undone.
I know that no flower, nor flint was in vain on the path I trod.
As one looks on a face through a window, through life I have looked on God,
Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die.
Amelia Burr, American poet (1878 – 1968)

Until next time,

N.

Rivergum3851: Mellow moments

Rivergum3851: Mellow moments: It's a mellow Saturday here at Rivergum. On this rare occasion I am home alone, if you don't count the animals, and I'm not ...

Mellow moments

It's a mellow Saturday here at Rivergum. On this rare occasion I am home alone, if you don't count the animals, and I'm not doing anything in a hurry today. After a full week navigating work commitments, health issues of my father, bureaucracy of corporate organisations and life in general I'm stretched and starting to twang. Enjoying a leisurely sleep-in (yes, 7am is a sleep-in) I didn't actually get up for a bit longer but I enjoyed the opportunity to read The Big Issue, surf the net, with no particular goal in mind, stare out the window and have a few conversations with my cat Meep, who seemed determined to get me out of bed to feed her, and her buddy, Lilly. Cup of green tea made, an essential each morning, I have pottered around the house noticing how neglected it has become in the rush of the week. The washing piles (yes plural!) are overflowing, the grass is long,  the dust is well settled on all the furniture. The washing will get my attention but the rest will have to wait. Today, I have other plans, well at least good intentions to complete some book work for my studies. However, before rushing to that task I have enjoyed a walk outside, with the three pooches in tow, fed the hens and given a cursory inspection of the cows, all very contended

Entertaining me

Mellow cat style

and relaxed in their paddocks. The sun is shining but the wind chill is crisp. Our newest trees, planted this week, are looking healthy despite the dry soil they have been planted in. We have experienced small spurts of rain, enough to keep the plants feet moist. We lost a dozen or so young sapling recently and its hard not to get frustrated at times. All that work gone in a matter of hours. But, dwelling on disasters is not productive and we can only move forward with each setback. Sitting here at my desk this morning,  I can appreciate the serenity, the view and the blessing it is to have such space around me. Chatting to my hairdresser last night, also a farmer, we both agreed that if you can't enjoy what we have, then farming is simply another anchor around your neck, weighing you down causing back ache beyond measure. So, a little down time and reflection is good for the soul and certainly good for my health. I have a condition which raises its ugly head as a warning, inflaming the muscles around my chest, it makes it hard for me to breathe and eventually it renders me useless until I remove the stress factors and rest. Recently, the chest is tightening again and I am heeding the warning signs to back off and stress less. Well, at least for

A distracting view

today anyway.

My workspace

Last night was whole different story. We received a call from my father's nursing home Thursday morning telling us he had "a turn" and wasn't very good. Naturally as luck would have it, I was working in Melbourne and Daryl in Traralgon. Having conversations with staff, the expectation is that sensible steps would be taken to ensure a diagnosis and then treatment, but its seems that in aged care that is not the case. I will not bore you with the details except to say, there followed numerous phone calls and lengthy visits to the facility, finally ending in terse words and subtle threats to take steps to a higher authority if the medical care was not forthcoming. Amazingly enough my father has finally been assessed and is being treated accordingly - more than 48 hours after the fact. This is what we have to look forward to, if we are unfortunate enough to end up in a nursing home. At ten o'clock last night after the final phone call ensuring my father was in a better state, I was even too tired to have a glass of wine. Today, he is stable and is expected to improve with each passing day. I'm not sure why it's all so hard, we pay a fortune for him reside in this facility and yet they are under resourced, and staff are stretched to capacity. It's just not ok. However, let's move on to nicer conversations, my chest is tightening just typing this portion.

Curious creatures

Happy hens

Rivergum update: We have finally decided on a label (pictured) for our egg cartons and I am so excited for the final product to arrive in our mail. After umming and ahhhing for some time, we have gone for simple and bright - much like our hens, who after weeks of feeding, they are starting to produce some eggs, albeit small in size for most of them, the eggs will no doubt increase in volume and quality over time. In the meantime they are being well guarded by our two alpacas who are also enjoying a feed of hay in their new hay feeder today. We have started to feed them pellets and they are slowly becoming more friendly. Ever curious, they are funny creatures who it seems can be easily trained. Maybe we could get a few more, to keep the foxes at bay and away from our calves.

Ready for a new home 

Ready for planting

Our most recent additions have settled in well into the farm. The 13 steers are keeping five heifers company as we need to keep them (the heifers) away from the bull who has come to play with the cows for a few months. The heifers, who are just gorgeous and fat, will go to a new home on Monday, having just sold them privately. We are contemplating changing from breeders to steers, maybe keeping a couple of cows, because I like having the little ones around.

Inspecting the work

Fattening steers can be less work and certainly less stressful without the complications of birthing. We are still in the research phase on this one. Despite some welcome rain, it is too little, too late and we will be unable to cut hay this year. The growth is sparse and not worth the expense of contractors. So we will be on the lookout for good quality pasture hay soon. Around the house the plumbing works, which of course became bigger than anticipated, are completed and Daryl can finally concentrate on the footings for the carport, which is how this whole plumbing project started. While hay is not a goer this year, the rain

Plumbing pain

has boosted our fruit trees and they are blooming and budding all over the place. We are slowly replacing the citrus that died in the frosts and it is inspiring to see the new green shoots on each plant. The same goes for our gum trees that are also rejuvenating after being hit hard in the recent frosts. Speaking of rejuvenating, the same cannot be said for our house windows which are in the throes of being scraped and sanded and painted to give them a new lease of life. Four have been completed but I still have nine windows and three door frames to go. Motivation come at me, because I can't find you!

New growth 

While I have been typing, my tea has gone cold and the sun has hidden behind the increasing cloud cover; the breeze floating through my window has chilled. It may be time to move onto my next project for the day.
Wishing you all a moment of serenity and time for reflection sometime today.

Until next time,

N

Life...

Most nights I think about not having a glass of wine; most nights I end up pouring a glass of claret and often a second. It is one way of slowing the thinking process, slowing the heart beat and ultimately relaxing into a warm, happy place where life moves a little slower, the noises are a little duller and my responses are a little softer.
In my world, I have learnt this is a good way to end the day. I doubt I am alone in my strategies to get through and I suspect many people have more than a drink or two, and I've decided this is ok. Rebuilding a farm, working full-time, studying, managing the affairs of a demented relative and worrying about our very large brood, can fill up a person's day. Lately, I have watched Daryl work himself to exhaustion, gallantly trying complete numerous farm projects and support me as I try to help transform and keep the farm flourishing. I have watched him battling to reign in his own emotions as he tries to reconcile his reality, with the infinite hope we all have as parents. The frustration, the hurt, the disappointment  he feels is worked through with a shovel, shotgun and a lot of sweat. I manage by writing, reading and generally escaping in words. For two people who seem to have such differing coping mechanisms we are well matched. We share common ideals and goals, we share a dream invested in this land, and we hope for a future filled with our ever growing family and friends.

Unbreakable bonds

Farming, for those that have never experienced it, can seem like an endless list of jobs, never ending tasks that need fixing and 24 hour responsibilities for the welfare of animals. They are right, but there is also the satisfaction of achievement, of being close to nature and forming bonds with our stock and pets. There is the sense of space, freedom and a million stars twinkling down at you on a clear night. It never gets tiring. These are the same stars that used to look down on my parents. They ran this farm for more than 30 years, poorly towards the end but stubbornly attempted to hang on to it, regardless. They no longer see the twinkling stars. Next month will be four years since my mother died and my father doesn't remember what day of the week it is, or who I am on any given day. While we did not share a positive parental relationship, I cannot help but feel empathy for him in his current state and some days I think I understand my mum better, these days, than I ever did growing up. I suspect she suffered some serious mental health issues and my brother and I paid the price for it. My father, absent and distant during our formative years, has returned to this state thanks to a stroke impairing his cognitive function and exacerbating the Alzheimers Dementia that had already invaded his brain. He will spend his last days contending with declining physical health and reducing cognitive function. Health care staff will make him as comfortable as possible, keep him fed and cleaned and medicated. I will make the decisions effecting every aspect of his remaining life. My

Quite the team

husband supports me as I do this. We are a good team.
The wine does not dissolve any of the disappointment, solve any of the challenges or wipe away memories, but it does symbolise celebration and enjoyment of life. So here is a toast to all that life offers. May the stars keep twinkling above you and remind you that each day is a gift.

Until next time,

N

Rivergum - a reflection of our dreams and values

Forest - the calf that wouldn't stop running

Amongst a 21st birthday, an interstate holiday, first birthday, camping trip and minor surgery, Rivergum continues to morph and change, developing into a farm that reflects our own dreams and values.

New growth

Numerous native plants now line the driveway and the front of our paddock, and we hope these trees will not only make an appealing entry to the farm but also entice birds and bees to visit our place. Due to the extreme dry we are facing (at least at our place) we are watering two to three times per week to help them establish their roots. It is most satisfying to see new growth on the saplings. Unfortunately, our citrus trees have not made a comeback after the harsh winter frosts and we have now started to replace them.

One of many native plants

Despite this setback we have continued to develop the orchard and have planted a range of fruit trees including peacharine (peach x nectarine), avocado, a variety of apples and a plumcot (plum x apricot). They are all very thirsty and unfortunately the soil is quite devoid of nutrients. The fact they are thriving (so far) is remarkable.

Beginnings of the orchard

Unfortunately the dry season has also impacted on our hay potential and unless we get some amazing rains in the next week, we will not be cutting hay this year. This reality means we will be not only be short of feed for our own stock but will also reduce our income and therefore our yearly turn over will be compromised. Given we cannot change or influence the weather pattern in any way we have decided to purchase some young Angus steers from NSW to fatten up and sell next year. The 13 calves arrived safely and have settled in easily. They are well bred and will thrive if all goes to plan.

New lads on the land

Delight & Romney 

Our own calves, poddies along with those raised by their mothers, are all doing well, despite some challenges. One young fella struggled to get his legs and required a lot of TLC, a visit from the vet, several injections and force feeding before he regained his strength and now runs with the herd as if nothing ever went array. His potential loss weighed heavily on both Daryl and I, as his demise would have been loss number three for the season. Losing a beautiful Limousine bull calf at only two weeks of age, a few days prior, from no obvious cause was devastating. The loss of a steer a few months before also left us feeling grim. But things are looking up, and we even recovered our young escapee despite the odds weighed definitely against him.

Recovered after a rough start

The little rascal, startled by our pup, ran through five farm fences, two boundaries fences including crossing a road, at 36 hours of age. Searching far and wide, venturing into neighbouring paddocks, during day and night we were quite desperate and began to suspect the young tyke had been taken by foxes. His poor mum, waited at the place where he was last sleeping and it was clear she was also in distress. Finally on the morning of the fourth day he was missing, we heard loud bawling from a distance, Daryl jested that maybe the baby calf had finally returned, little did we know he was right. Miraculously the little Murray Grey x Limousine calf was indeed in next door's paddock trying to find his way back. On his own, Daryl had no choice but to jump on him and then carry him to the car. He then travelled in style back to our place and to his mum. No doubt her very full udder was relieved to have him back.

Vermin prevention

Max inspecting the Clipex fence

In addition to a range of new calves, we have added Romney and Delight to our menagerie. We have recruited the two alpacas to keep the foxes away from our feathered friends. Not only are they cute but they are very effective. Our neighbour's dog has been wandering around our place and decided she wanted the chook scraps. In a rash decision she squeezed under the gate and got into the chook pen, within seconds the alpacas let out a piercing warning and it was fortunate that Daryl was nearby and managed to get the dog out or she may have been a victim of herd protectors who trample anything considered a threat. At least we know the alpacas are doing their job.
If they fail, Daryl bought himself a new rifle (Lithgow .223) to keep vermin at bay. It works well.

No longer an issue

It is hoped one of the alpacas is pregnant and the potential for a baby cria is very exciting. Their fleece has already been claimed and we hope to see some fine products produced from their wool.

Our new carport

The hens are slowly coming into lay but we are only getting a measly dozen or so eggs a day. Despite having 50 odd birds. No doubt this will increase within a few weeks. We have sent off a new design for our egg carton labels and I am excited by the prospect of being able to label them with our own design. Anyone interested in purchasing fresh eggs, produced by pasture raised hens,  is welcome to get in touch.

Facelift

It's not only animals that are being added to Rivergum but also some infrastructure with new fences and sheds continuing to be built. Daryl has trialled a new style fencing with a product called Clipex and this has proven to be a success. I suspect we will be purchasing some more and may even finish fencing within the next few years!! A new carport is also taking shape and this has forced the placement of new plumbing and painting of the house exterior. This weekend the aim is to complete painting the front of the house with cream trimmings. The improvement, with only undercoat, is simply awesome. I'm nearly inspired to paint for two days straight, and the reality is regardless of inspiration or not, the paint brushes will get a good workout and by Monday I'll be exhausted, just in time to return to work.

Cleaning up -old irrigation pipes

The muscle driving the dream

Sadly, Daryl's holidays (if you could call them that), will also come to an end next week and he will return to being a shift worker. On the one hand he will get a rest, but on the other, Rivergum's progress will slow down again. It's such a shame we have to earn a dollar in order to keep our farming venture alive. Daryl has done such an extraordinary amount of work, I just hope he still gets a kick out of his achievements. While we are building the dream together he is, without doubt, the muscle behind the progress.

Until next time,

N

Learning to be at ease with nature, ourselves and each other.

Bliss in the bushland

Months in the planning, we finally made it to Wingan Inlet. A last minute reprieve found us some suitable farm-sitters, and we were both relieved to be packing our bags, heading for the hills. Joined by a small group of friends and relatives there ended up being eleven of us across five campsites. We were, without any doubt, the loudest group. Set in beautiful surrounds we were protected by green shrubbery and majestically tall, native trees. The wind swirled fiercely around us and the tree tops bowed in submission, however we were saved from the brunt of it. Gathering around a traditional camp fire, we kept it burning hard, especially once the lads returned with copious amounts of firewood.Anyone

Learning to relax

Perfect paddle

who knows anything about dry timber would have had wood envy. Providing warmth and cooking facilities, the billy boiled most of the day and into the night. The camp chef's were in their element and the aroma of fried bacon and lamb roast, amongst the many menu items, permeated the air. We did not go hungry, sugar highs were aplenty and the treats flowed fast. Sometime each afternoon the adults moved onto relaxation methods and the cracking of cans could be heard in unison. Red wine and 70 proof Kahlua where my choice of poison and I was pleased not to suffer the consequences of indulgence the next day. We were joined by the local wildlife during the day and night, kookaburras pinched bacon, goannas roamed for opportunity, possums raided our stores when they thought the coast was clear and birds foraged. A baby brown snake coiled in the sun and we were relieved to not find its mother.

Goanna on the hunt

As large groups tend to do, we created a celebratory atmosphere which is magnetic to others. We made new friends, from far and wide and we shared our fire and stories together. The circle of friendship formed by an array of camping chairs, expanded as required, to ensure everyone was included. At times, if an outsider looked on, they would never know some of us were strangers.
While the adults waffled, prattled, poked fires, crocheted, created stories, sketched pictures or read about far off fantasies, the kids rode bikes and explored. As the weather cleared we trekked the tracks to the beach and gave our shoulders a work out with the kayaks in the sea breeze.The kids joined in with us, they played, listened and watched what the grown ups were doing. We hope they will learn the art of relaxing in the wilderness. They are learning to be free, without time constraints. They too are learning a new way of being. We had no technology, no white backlit screens. It was blissful.

Shared experiences

We are a group that is well known to each other, familiarity that develops over years of experiences. We morph and evolve as time goes on and our lives intertwine like jasmine on the vine. Despite our unspoken rules we push each other, cajole, joke, taunt and tease - political correctness has no place amongst us. We are not afraid to delve into taboo topics - politics, religion, sex, nothing is off limits. We respect our differences, acknowledge our boundaries and give space when needed; encouragement and acknowledgement of jobs well done flow freely. But beware, because if you screw up,

Cheers

the cheer squad will roar. We know, even subconsciously, that the small people are watching, listening to our every word - language is censored, at least most of the time, and crudity when it arises, is saved for darkness when the young minds are tucked up in bed, worn out after their day's adventuring.  We too enjoy the deep sleep of the exhausted and relaxed. Minutes and hours pass mesmerised by the dancing flames. We are learning to be at ease with nature, ourselves and each other.

Father and son

We look forward to returning again, next time let's hope our tranquility is not broken by the strands of the Tiger's Football Club theme song - we're from Tigerland, the fighting fury, were from Tigerland ...over and over again.

Til next time,
N

No dogs dying today!

It's been a crazy 24 hours but the good news is that the dogs will not die a slow painful death and the chickens survived their initial neglect. 

Let me tell you the story.

All was going to plan. I came home from work yesterday, went to the chook pen and was shocked to see our last hen suffering from rigor mortis. I fear I may have wished her to death and felt rather nauseous when I saw her. For the past week, I had expected her to die, secretly wanted her to move onto the the next chook life, as I had no place for her with the new flock and she was not well enough to sell. The dilemma was a difficult one. Daryl refused to euthanise her and I didn't have the heart to do her in either, so she roamed peacefully, until she died, right on schedule. So with that sorted, I collected the dead hen and the bucket of rodent bait we left in the hen house to clear out the mice before the introduction of the the new girls. (no, the hen did not eat it as I forgot to put the baits). Rushing to get to the pick-up point, I grabbed the shed keys with every intention of hiding the bait and grabbing a pair of gloves. I grabbed the gloves and promptly left.
The hen pick-up went smoothly and I waited my turn with 30 or so enthusiastic chicken keepers and then with the help of our trusty friends, Zac and Carol, we loaded up 50 birds (30 ISA browns, 10 Rhode Island x New Hampshire (red hens) and 10 Australorp x New Hampshire (black hens).

All was looking good, except the weather, which was looking like a storm was brewing. By the time I got home (one and half hours from leaving) it was just dark and with the light of the quad bike, I saw the storm had hit home. The bucket of rodent bait was open and all the contents were gone. I had no doubt the dogs enjoyed every last crumb. Breaking into an immediate cold sweat I called the vet and explained the situation - the dogs needed to be brought in immediately. The hens needed to get out of the car immediately. Moving faster than imaginable the three of us moved on fast forward unceremoniously landing the hens in their new home and leaving them to fend for themselves. In an effort to move the large, old aluminium feeder (full of layer pellets) out of their reach, I somehow managed to cause it to slam into the side of my face, connecting sharply and causing a few stars to appear before my eyes. Not to be deterred we were on a mission and I was terrified the dogs, who were happily running around, would soon start fitting or something similar and die on me. In a short space of time we were pulling into the vets and thankfully each of us could carry a pup as I had no time to get leads. Being after hours, the clinic was empty and dogs thought it was a blast. At least in the beginning. Quickly determining the dogs needed to get their stomachs emptied, each dog was given a tiny tablet inserted under the eyelid and we then waited for them to vomit. Newspaper strewn across the floor our job was to keep them on it and watch for blue coloured stomach contents. After what seemed like an eternity, the girls started to look green and the purging began. Turns out only two of the three canines ate the poison. Mia (kelpie) and Scooby (border collie cross with who-knows-what) had consumed enough bait to kill a couple of elephants. They chundered over and over again. Stomachs emptied the girls soon regained their spark and wanted to explore the vet clinic. Antidote administered, several hundreds of dollars worth of medication given with instructions and the bank account severely depleted we returned home and the three girls happily ran around in the rain. With the rain now falling hard and the wind blowing cold, we scoured the backyard by torch light picking up any trace of poison left behind and removing the offending substance.

I am now feeling relieved the dogs will be ok, at least they will be in six weeks or so, after the course of medications and then testing (more large dollars) to check if their blood is clotting. Then, and only then, will they be in the clear. The vet did say we were fortunate to find the container and realise what had occurred. He stated that the girls would have been fine for a day or so and then would have died an extruciatingly painful death and we would have not been able to do a thing to help. The thought of such a thing happening still sends a tightening through my chest.
While the dramas where unfolding in the vet clinic, our poor baby hens were disorientated and found themselves alone on a wintery night. We returned to find them huddled together in the rain, in the corner of the yard. Slowly the three of us managed to catch each hen and place her in the roosting shed; Carol carefully guarding the doorway to prevent escapes while Zac and I attempted to catch the pullets. Eventually they were all tucked  up inside, warm and no worse for their adventures.

Daryl arrived home from work just as the last of the hens were put to bed and I was happy to say that all will be ok.
This is one chapter I would prefer never to repeat, baiting will be done differently now and fingers crossed we will confine the dramas to the novels I read or the silly shows on tv.

Until next time,

N

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