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Happiness is a Hot Fire on a Cold Day
11 May 2009
What the hell? It’s only May but the wintry blasts that normally strike the north about July have hit us full force already.
We braved it for a week but this weekend we gave in to the cold and lit our first winter fire. And oh how wonderful it was. Last year we were burning old pohutakawa logs, which it turns out burns slowly and with not a lot of heat. We were short of firewood as well which didn’t help. But this year we’re burning our experimental willow wood pile.
I say experimental because we had no idea how it would burn. Aaron wasn’t really keen to find out either. Last year when I asked him to chop up mounds of willow for our wood pile he initially balked at the idea.
“What if it doesn’t burn well? You’ve seen how quickly it rots, by the time winter comes we’ll probably just have a mound of sawdust instead of logs”.
All he could see was hours of fruitless work in front of him.
I insisted. There was only one way to find out and we had no choice unless we wanted to buy firewood.
Oh wonderful, wonderful willow! For all that it is cursed it never fails to provide.
It burns at a medium rate and it burns hot. The house is toasty warm in no time at all. Because we anticipated a fast burning wood we absolutely filled our firewood storage area with logs. Now we know how well it burns we can be happy in the knowledge that we will have a warm house all winter.
I often look at the stream and curse the willow that clogs it and causes our paddocks to flood. Yet, as we walked along the back of the stream on the weekend we looked at all those wonderful willow trees and Aaron talked almost excitedly about all the firewood he would be cutting up for next winter.
We literally have many years supply of firewood along our stream.
Mud, Mud, Glorious Mud
It’s that time of year again; when numerous trotters and hooves grind the grass into the ground and churn it to mud. It doesn’t usually happen as soon as it has done this year and that’s a bit of a worry. The pigs don’t much mind if there’s no grass but the sheep and cattle don’t much appreciate it.
In the end the cold temperatures hit only a couple of weeks after the rain started so the grass has barely grown at all. The cattle are now being strictly rationed, which means they have to learn to hard graze and they’re also eating the bark off the willow trees. Neither is a bad thing really but of course the cattle look at us if we’re being mean.
As for all that supermarket cabbage I was moaning about a short time ago – bring it on!
The cows now get a large crate of cabbage a day if we can manage it. The piglets are all getting extra cabbage too. I dread to think what all that farting’s doing to the atmosphere but quite frankly we’re short on options. I can only be grateful the government never introduced the ‘fart tax’ for farmers.
Farting is the least of our worries though. Hey, if it leads to global warming at least I might only have to wear one thermal instead of two during winter.
With Joy and piglets now ensconced in the bush, the only way to feed them is to walk through Phyllis’ paddock. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue but already it is bordering on treacherous. Feeding out at 4 in the morning has become something of a mission. I am literally, wading and sliding through mud to get to the back fence line. The rain has created extra wallows as well so it’s not just mud I’m having to negotiate but the odd water hazard as well.
With four full buckets of food in hand and an appalling sense of balance I know it is only a matter of time before I have a mishap. Perhaps if the ground was level I would fare better, but there’s a steady incline all the way just to add to the excitement.
Oddly enough it’s not so much me I’m worried about, it’s the food. It’s the thought of scrabbling around in the dark and mud quickly retrieving food before Phyllis and her 8 discover me that fills me with dread.
Of course it doesn’t help that both my gumboots developed big splits in them last week. Now every time I walk through any of the paddocks, at some point I know I’m going to feel the cold, wet mud oozing through the splits.
Gumboots only ever last a year on me. I guess that’s reasonable though, considering the daily bashing they get. I quite like the idea of splurging on some fancy patterned gumboots but I can’t risk spending a small fortune on something that might not last the distance. So black Skellerups it is.
Where The Hell Are The Eggs?
So, now we are the owner of 3 chickens and 10 ducks and all we have to show for it most days are 2 lousy eggs.
This is not the type of return we were expecting.
2 months ago we had worked our way up to 4 a day but now we’re going backwards. Okay, so chickens slow down production over winter, but the ducks? Their egg laying is not supposed to be seasonal. Indian Runner ducks are supposed to be popping them out on a regular basis.
This is leading me to wonder if we have once again been duped by a less than reliable breeder.
To make matters worse, one of our ducks has become broody. Aaron told me last week that one of our girls had created a nest and was sitting on approximately a dozen eggs. Admittedly it is a very nice nest in a very well protected part of the paddock and she sits there all day except when she wants to eat.
Unlike our stupid broody chicken who sat on unfertilised eggs and tried to starve herself to death, our duck looks the picture of good health.
As for her eggs, well for the moment we’re going to assume they’re fertile. The eggs hatch at 28 days, so if we have ducklings at the end of May then I’ll actually be quite thrilled. However, from what I’ve read, Runner ducks aren’t supposed to be broody and the chance of this happening is supposed to be quite slim, and even if the eggs do hatch there’s a good chance she could end up being a useless mother and the ducklings could all perish. It’s all a bit depressing really. But hopefully nature will take its course as intended and we will be rewarded with lots of happy fluffy ducklings.
If not, well we’ll have to be heartless and remove her eggs and see what happens.
Perhaps the best thing about our ducks is that they are the most fabulous foragers and spend many hours roaming through their paddock and the back orchard in search of bugs. They trample all the grass flat, which leaves all the young trees we’ve planted to thrive unheeded. But despite this, we still need to provide some feed and in return we’d like to at least be recouping our costs in eggs.
The chickens are a whole different kettle of fish.
The egg laying was going really well there for a while but now it’s slowed to 3 a week per hen. I wouldn’t mind so much if they foraged for some of their food but they’ve become lazy and seem to have decided that foraging is beneath them. This complete free ranging lifestyle was supposed to be for their benefit but it’s been about as beneficial as putting a playstation in front of a kid.
Instead those chickens spend hours roaming up and down the verandah, drinking out of the dogs’ water bowl, trying to steal the dogs’ food, sleeping on the dogs sacks and pooping anywhere and everywhere. I’ve lost count the number of times I’ve stepped in fresh chicken shit. There’s so much of it we’re in danger of losing sight of the verandah.
I’m still determined to relocate them but it’s low down on our To Do list.
And all the time I’ve been cursing our chickens we have somehow managed to acquire another chicken on the block. Or perhaps it is more correct to say it acquired us.
It originally belonged to Murray and Patty from Gary’s place but when they moved out they left 2 chickens behind. One of them was killed within a fortnight but the other one continued to roam Gary’s property for months. Then finally, about 2 months ago I saw it wandering around in Phyllis’ paddock.
It took to roosting in the large totara above Phyllis’ shed and quickly learnt that the pigs get fed twice a day. Within a short period of time it decided to see what scraps it could pick up. Obviously a reasonable amount judging by the fact that it now comes running as soon as it hears the piglets squealing.
The pigs have accepted its presence. In fact the chicken is so comfortable being around the pigs that now if the weather is wet or cold it sleeps in the shed with the pigs.
Apart from what it cleans up from the pigs I have also taken to throwing it a bit of the pig’s feta.
Chickens absolutely adore feta. It’s a good source of calcium and chickens need calcium so I’m not too concerned.
When I tried Googling feeding cheese to chickens I didn’t find much more than a bunch of discussion groups with people expressing their belief that it was tantamount to animal abuse. Granted dairy products are not a natural source of food for a chicken in its natural environment but my own chickens appear healthy enough from their occasional encounters with cheese. As for the wild chicken, well, like the pigs, it’s the first thing it goes for at feeding time. Who am I to decide what it can and can’t eat? I don’t own it and I am happy to treat it as a free spirit.
To make matters worse, one of our ducks has become broody. Aaron told me last week that one of our girls had created a nest and was sitting on approximately a dozen eggs. Admittedly it is a very nice nest in a very well protected part of the paddock and she sits there all day except when she wants to eat.
Unlike our stupid broody chicken who sat on unfertilised eggs and tried to starve herself to death, our duck looks the picture of good health.
As for her eggs, well for the moment we’re going to assume they’re fertile. The eggs hatch at 28 days, so if we have ducklings at the end of May then I’ll actually be quite thrilled. However, from what I’ve read, Runner ducks aren’t supposed to be broody and the chance of this happening is supposed to be quite slim, and even if the eggs do hatch there’s a good chance she could end up being a useless mother and the ducklings could all perish. It’s all a bit depressing really. But hopefully nature will take its course as intended and we will be rewarded with lots of happy fluffy ducklings.
If not, well we’ll have to be heartless and remove her eggs and see what happens.
Perhaps the best thing about our ducks is that they are the most fabulous foragers and spend many hours roaming through their paddock and the back orchard in search of bugs. They trample all the grass flat, which leaves all the young trees we’ve planted to thrive unheeded. But despite this, we still need to provide some feed and in return we’d like to at least be recouping our costs in eggs.
The chickens are a whole different kettle of fish.
The egg laying was going really well there for a while but now it’s slowed to 3 a week per hen. I wouldn’t mind so much if they foraged for some of their food but they’ve become lazy and seem to have decided that foraging is beneath them. This complete free ranging lifestyle was supposed to be for their benefit but it’s been about as beneficial as putting a playstation in front of a kid.
Instead those chickens spend hours roaming up and down the verandah, drinking out of the dogs’ water bowl, trying to steal the dogs’ food, sleeping on the dogs sacks and pooping anywhere and everywhere. I’ve lost count the number of times I’ve stepped in fresh chicken shit. There’s so much of it we’re in danger of losing sight of the verandah.
I’m still determined to relocate them but it’s low down on our To Do list.
And all the time I’ve been cursing our chickens we have somehow managed to acquire another chicken on the block. Or perhaps it is more correct to say it acquired us.
It originally belonged to Murray and Patty from Gary’s place but when they moved out they left 2 chickens behind. One of them was killed within a fortnight but the other one continued to roam Gary’s property for months. Then finally, about 2 months ago I saw it wandering around in Phyllis’ paddock.
It took to roosting in the large totara above Phyllis’ shed and quickly learnt that the pigs get fed twice a day. Within a short period of time it decided to see what scraps it could pick up. Obviously a reasonable amount judging by the fact that it now comes running as soon as it hears the piglets squealing.
The pigs have accepted its presence. In fact the chicken is so comfortable being around the pigs that now if the weather is wet or cold it sleeps in the shed with the pigs.
Apart from what it cleans up from the pigs I have also taken to throwing it a bit of the pig’s feta.
Chickens absolutely adore feta. It’s a good source of calcium and chickens need calcium so I’m not too concerned.
When I tried Googling feeding cheese to chickens I didn’t find much more than a bunch of discussion groups with people expressing their belief that it was tantamount to animal abuse. Granted dairy products are not a natural source of food for a chicken in its natural environment but my own chickens appear healthy enough from their occasional encounters with cheese. As for the wild chicken, well, like the pigs, it’s the first thing it goes for at feeding time. Who am I to decide what it can and can’t eat? I don’t own it and I am happy to treat it as a free spirit.
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