One of my favourite Australianisms...   ...means that one is really busy.  Frantic.  Praise or Questions, send Leonie an email.

 01-25-03

If you are after cheap chook laying boxes, try getting hold of some old lockers, the ones where each locker is small.  Leave the doors off, add some straw, and, hey presto, instant nesting boxes.  Doesn't matter if they are a little rusty, chooks don't care, and their feathers protect them from sharp bits.

Now to a subject dear to my heart - a cheap shadehouse.  This was built for me by my husband for my birthday a while back.

We noticed that there were two sheds close together, about six foot apart.  We were blessed in that someone had been kind enough to put down thick black plastic weedmat so weeding the area was relatively easy to weed.  Not that I recommend this ecological nightmare stuff, it does have a tendency to sour the soil, only one step above salting a la Old Testament times, but I always believe in taking advantage of the situation every chance I get.

Brian put up a bit of framework, using scrap timber from shelving supports rescued from a shop that was being renovated.  The shade cloth was found in one of those immortal dump bins, outside an old house.  The frames to bolt the shade mesh on came from rejects from an Op Shop, they were old bed frames, the steel spring types usually in single beds, plus one double to increase our length and height.  Only bought a couple of tec screws to tighten it together.  They were already purchased for another project, a couple of years back.  Angle iron welded into a square supporting base provided the support for a plank table with a lip so that nothing slides off and soil is easily swept up.

Shelves came from the same scrap material of wooden planks, and the angle iron frames cut in half are the supports needed to hold them on to the bed frames. If you are aiming for standard size pots, and you are not too sure of your workmanship, put a lip on the shelving as well.

Brian then fixed on micro jet spray irrigation.  We didn't pay for these either, as quite often they are thrown out in dump bins when houses are being torn down.  If you want new, they cost about .20cents for each nozzle in Australia, I can't see them being much more where you are.

To complete the picture, as I am not a tidy person, and I like a bit of atmosphere in my "outdoor rooms" (as the fashion has it these days), I first planted in the far corner some large tropical plants that are very hardy, and then some baby's tears (botanic name: Helxine soleirolii), which spreads beautifully and gives a lovely, lush effect.  The plants were very kindly given to me by good friends of ours, who have more green thumbs than your average chlorophyll painting artists.  I put in a large bucket with fresh water in it, some plants I had permission to "borrow" from a local Council water feature (they were running amok), and a stick from a gum tree leaned into it, so that anything accidentally caught could climb out again.

 Storage of pots is under the table and some things seem to have taken up permanent residence there.  We have had a few frogs, although they tend to disappear with the marauding chooks and other feathers.

Naturally, the water is hooked up to the Murray Goulburn free water system, invaluable now.  We actually had some problems for a few weeks with flow rate from MG, but once they decided to clean out their pumps (phew!) and discovered a couple of plastic shopping bags had somehow blown in and restricted flow, things are really looking up.  Well, the plants are actually springing up.

Next year, I will have to help Brian get a head start and plant out for him if he is too busy, as he was come Spring of this last year.  We planted way too late, but already we have pods ripening from the gorgeous seven year beans, that miraculously made a reappearance after being munched down by the feathers.

Sun Block

I awoke the other day

to a blister-red sun

staring at each other

I had no after image glaring

when I closed my eyes

 

The smoke haze of a hundred fires

burning out bush, farms and people

up North

sweated my sun to a warning light

 

I mourn for the choices Australians have made

we have not cared as we should

It costs too much, the politicians say,

shaking their wise heads

 

The scars remain -

 

in the bush, in people's minds

in each other's pockets

 

The death toll is sobering

The agony lives on

 

Would it be better to buy a water bomb

than any other sort of bomb?

 

Are we investing in our future or

in a past long dead?

 

I want the bush to breathe again

to hear a kookaburras raucous call,

the comic ambling of an echidna, rolling

from side to side in search of more ants,

even the slither of a snakes serpentine sinuosity

would be welcome

 

to this stench of things dead

and the blowies buzzing overhead

their monotonous drone and

maggoty habits,

the clean up crew of

six legged vultures.

 

I remember the heavy laden tang

of eucalyptus

the scent of gum tree in the air,

the sawing noise of Christmas cicadas

a Big Red kangaroo bounding along

making his own trail through the scrub

 

I remember the superb blue wrens

dancing along wagging their tails

with a coquettish invitation to dance,

making their own music

 

the slow plod of a turtle, long neck

periscoped ahead, fixed grin belies

the claws defensively digging away from me

 

the helicopter dance of sky blue and

electric green dragonflies pirouetting

in the airy turquoise

 

they will come again.

Dominus tecum

Leonie

As you are probably aware, global news reporting being what it is, we have had some devastating bushfires in Australia in the past few days.  We have been blessed in the South West of Victoria where conditions have been mild enough not to suffer.  Brian and Alice and I have discussed what to do in the event of the firestorms raging though our area.  Let the livestock go free, grab the dogs and our filing cabinet and drive as fast as we can away towards the sea.  Or Warrnambool, if the sea road is blocked.  If it races through like the ones in Canberra, which were so fast that no-one foresaw the outcome, then we run for the Murray Goulburn factory or the local aged care hospital.  If we are in the centre of our small village, then it is to the sports oval, which is still green enough not to be a worry.  Just to check I will ring up the local CFA (Country Fire Authority) and get an expert's idea.

 Are you wondering what to do with that old bessa block incinerator that is such an ecological nightmare?  Turn it into a compost pile!  Quick, easy and cheap.  If you can get access to 44-gallon drums, you can use those, too, or chisel holes in them and use them for growing herbs or potatoes, or even midget vegetables like Tiny Tom tomatoes and dwarf lettuces.  ALWAYS BE SURE OF WHAT HAS BEEN IN THE DRUM, FIRST.  DRUMS OFTEN HAVE TOXIC SUBSTANCES STORED IN THEM.

 When you set up gates for a calving pen, have one open one way, and the other open in the opposite direction, preferably the outer one that does not lead to the paddocks (or fields), opening inwards.  It stops escapees.  This obviously holds true for any pens that you make.  Concrete the floors of such things as much as possible, they are easy to keep clean, and are less slippery.  Make sure of your terminology: for example, cement is the powdered stuff, concrete is the finished material.

 Always keep a small handyperson's tool kit with a variety of screwdrivers, including star, a claw hammer (my husband's favourite tool!), a shifting spanner and various nails, screws and bolts.  Keep a candle and some matches there as well as fuse wire, batteries for a portable radio and the smoke alarm (you do have working smoke alarms, don't you?) and emergency numbers.  If it is possible, do what I do, have the stuff close to the 'phone.

 Last Saturday, I had some bliss.  A beautiful sunshiny day, fresh lychees for breakfast (on special at the supermarket!), Caution and her puppy playing on the lawn, fragrant fresh air, and me sitting on the back step, drinking it all in and grateful to be alive and experiencing it.  This is one of the reasons I love being a homesteader.

 Trees

 A soft caress

of pink-filled dawn

I look up and see

the home of so many creatures

rejoicing in your bounty

 

I feel your ragged bark

textured like smooth skin

there is a warmth there

and salmon pinks that mirror the sky

 

You proud-limbed tree!

Silent, yet you speak to me

I can burden you with grief or laughter

I hear no complaint

 

Generous with time,

accepting what cannot be changed

I have such love for all that you do

and all that you are.

We have a cherry tree that Brian planted a while back.  I missed out on the five (count them: five) cherries on this magnificent specimen of backyard botany because some free-loading feather-face filched them.  Then, Brian and I are inspecting one of the most treasured fruit trees in our place, and we see little black slugs on the poor thing.  "Oh," I said, knowledgably, " those would be cherry slugs."  But we still have not worked out where the specimens came from, unless they were already on the tree.  With no visible means of winged support, and a body that is not made for long-distance travel, it seems mysterious that the little festers could just materialise.

 

I immediately set about trying to locate an easy way to rid us of the pests organically.  Having consulted various learned tomes, including a personal favourite, Tiny Game Hunting by Hilary Dole Klein and Adriam M Wenner, adapted for Australia by John Dengate (originally published in 1991 by Bantam), and finding absolutely nothing, I suggested to Brian that we do a weak saline solution and spray it on, or perhaps vinegar might help.  Now, when he isn't sleeping, my man is a man of action. "Oh," he replies, "I just squashed them all."  Uh-huh.  Simple solutions so often work, don't they?

 

So far, no further problems with escaping livestock, other than those blessed geese.  Alice has joyfully accepted Mowgli, as we are calling the new puppy, as her own, and is promising to feed and look after him.  It will be interesting to see if she feels that way when I tell her to carve up the lambs hearts for him to eat.  The butcher next door to my Office is doing a roaring trade in these, and as they are only :25cents each, they are a cheap meal for little dogs.  I have even cooked them up for the family, and they weren't too bad at all, but they are a bit fiddly to rid of fat and tissue.

 

Murray Goulburn's water is still off, and it is hot, humid and blustery, so it is back to potable town water unless we want to lose some plants.  We know it is only temporary, but it is still aggravating to have to spend perfectly good water (including, unfortunately, the chemicals bunged in by South

West Water to make it "potable") on plants that are happier with lesser quality.  Still, we have been promised that it  may well be back on by Tuesday, and I am writing this Article on Monday.

 

We managed to score another goat, Ruby, a pure-bred Angora, entire, fed on oats and coddled by neighbours.  Talk about a weight problem!  She's huge!  And we know she is not pregnant.  Here endeth the luxury feeding.  She'll trim down and be the healthier for it.  Naturally, the entire herd of six goats are re-establishing the pecking order, or head-butting order, and she is lowest on the totem pole.

 

All of the babies are doing just fine, and even the local hawk seems not to be too interested in the ducklings and chicks.  Perhaps they are just too big now, and keeping them cosseted in cages was the best thing we could do for them, although Mrs Duck was not happy about being seperated from her babies.  She picked up remarkably quickly on mothering them once Brian had let them out into the cold (hot?) cruel world.

 

The tomato plants are coming along a treat, but I have yet to discover which variety is which.  Should be interesting when the ones that are supposed to have green ripe fruit make us wait for them to ripen when they already are that way.

 

Now for your weekly dose of satisfaction:

 

I have been watching the stars

dancing in the sky, blue-white diamonds

of the finest quality against rich napped velvet.

 

I have seen the tagasaste trees

rhumba with the wind,

their silent partner swirling through the

green-hued cloth of their leaves,

the dry pods rattling a constant cadence

of maraccas.

 

I have felt the wind itself lift and carry

my spirit over landscapes vast and wondrous,

patterns of odd patchwork tacked down with

fence lines, slow rivers of satin meandering

like artfully applied ribbon

and the occasional town,

planted like some accident of warp and woof,

bunching up the fabric for my tendril fingers to caress.

 

Dominus tecum,

 

Leonie

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It has been a busy week.  We often hear of farmers complaining that city folks think farmers have nothing to do all day except entertain guests.  Much though I love her, I think my Mother thought the same thing, and as she is so arthritic, I could not even give her a tour of the farm to show her where we spend our time, and it was worse when I went into the Office.  Thankfully, I could take her with me for that, and she spent a lot of time asleep on the couch.  Life is full of compromises, and sometimes we have to gird our loins and make the best of it.

 

On some things, however, I will not compromise.  Juliette di Bairclii Levy's Herbal Handbook for the Cat and Dog is an excellent volume, one I thoroughly recommend, and when I sold the puppies, I made sure that the new owners knew of the book and its relevance.  I also photocopied a couple of pages on recommended diet for puppies, so that the new owners would get an idea of what they were in for, but was clear to point out that it was, of course, their decision. 

 

 The Vet. has also stated that Caution should not bear another litter, and whilst her puppies are an incredibly good tax-free earner for us (given that we are classed as a hobby farm, all income arising is tax-free), I will not compromise on the health of my beloved pet for the sake of some cash.

 

The piglets escaped, we believe due to a cranky neighbour, but of course, nothing can be proved.  We were really blessed, as we managed to get both of them back in.  I double-checked the area, and re-secured the rocks, but can't see how they could have fitted through, even greased.

 

Unfortunately we were both out at the time it happened.  No proof as usual.

 

Brian is thinking of reinforcing the lock to something more than a bar job, but it is a horrible feeling to know that someone is deliberately letting out your livestock, with all of the attendant risks to both them and vehicles on the busy road nearby.

 

The Scotch thistles are starting to go mad in the paddocks again, but we have so few of them that I will probably just do it by hand with a mattock or fork.  I hate the horrible things, and, although I have heard that they are edible, being related to artichokes (obviously not Jerusalem!), I really don't want to wait around in case I miss the fruiting, and we end up with a huge amount of plants from the one that got away.  I have learned that whilst a stitch in time does save nine, a weed ousted whilst young is less time consuming and easier on the back.  They also can be recycled to almost any herbivore, although, naturally, one must be certain of the toxicity to the species you are feeding.

 

We are having a hot one today - 30 Celsius, so after last weeks thunderstorms, we should see some remarkable growth, provided we keep the water up to the plants.  I look forward to explaining how delicious our tomatoes really are.

 

Dominus tecum,

 

Leonie

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01-01-03

I am very grateful to my husband, as he is a nice, romantic man, who always remembers our Anniversaries (admittedly our Wedding Anniversary is on the 1st of January, and the Anniversary of our first date is on the 2nd of January!), but being what might be termed "financially challenged", we obviously don't indulge in new cars, mink stoles and lunch down in Rio on these special occasions.

 

You may have read in past postings that we have a rose garden.  Brian has carefully planted this out, along with having interplanted garlic and onions in the best companion and permaculture tradition, so that the pests are kept down.

 

Brian has been carefully deadheading the spent rose blooms to guarantee that he would be able to pick a huge amount for our Anniversary, but the wind that blew a gale all but guaranteed that there was a no-show.  Poor man!  He managed to find some blooms from the family's heirloom rose bush, the one that my great-grandfather supposedly bred for Lady Hillingdon, and left those on our bedhead.  They were the only ones that he could pick due to the weather being such a killjoy.

 

We have set up a nice gate using lattice as a frame.  What we are going to do is plant a nice climbing rose with as few thorns as possible to clamber all over the gate.  Roses are notoriously flexible and to have the gate covered in a mass of blooms seems to us to be a beautiful envisionment.  One should, as I have maintained before, surround oneself with beauty.

 

The puppies are up for sale this Saturday, but we also will be giving the sire (David) to my Mother to take back with her to Adelaide, or to send on soon.  David has a nasty habit of ambushing to the death various two-legged, feathered livestock, and nothing we can do will alter this desire to hunt and kill for the joy of it.  So he is going to a "townie", where he will get copious amounts of love and affection.  If he were another animal that we normally consider edible, he would be slaughtered or sold to be slaughtered.  So there are benefits to his being a dog.  It is a hard decision, as he has a truly winning personality and is so affectionate, as well as being one of Nature's clowns.  His progeny are the same way, preferring to have a cuddle before eating, unlike their mother!

 

Well, until next week, may the scent of gum leaves never leave your mind.

 

Dominus tecum,

 

Leonie

Well, folks, the three month old goslings went down a treat, along with a gooseberry sauce that I made on the day, which was a first time for me on both articles.  Mind you, the night before, I had stayed up late roasting the goslings and a couple of chooks with my famous lemon stuffing.  Finally crawled into bed at 2am, and then back up again at 4:30am to drive my husband to work as our other car had died only a few nights previously.  The night before was also a 2am close, as the goslings had some last minute feather adjusting to do, made a trifle harder, my dear husband says, by the fact of the juvenile down clinging so tenaciously to the young flesh.

 

Brian has promised me faithfully that he will buy a duck plucker from a farm clearance auction.  What the hey that will look like, I have no idea, but he reckons in that masterly old cockie way (a cockie is a farmer in Australia. There are differing varieties, viz. cow cockies, sheep cockies, crop cockies...), that he can adapt it to suit goslings.

 

I had him read up on hand plucking from an invaluable book put out by Reader's Digest called "Back to Basics", which has been Australianised, but there may well be an American version over there for you blokes and sheilas.  In this book, they said it was easier to pluck goose feathers if you added dishwashing detergent to the hot water and dunked the carcasses in and out, rather than soaking the little festers.  So we found a clean garbage (trash) bin, poured in plenty of the hot and bubbly and went to it with a will.  We both had "jigsaw back" (you know, when you lean over a jigsaw puzzle for too long?), but the results of "dunk the bird 2-3 times, pull the bird out, pluck the bird more" worked a treat.

 

We bought two piglets today, apparently they are whites, which to my laywoman's eyes means large pink porcine things with white hairs and a loving disposition, up until the time you try to separate them from their young or their food.

 

Brian is working on making the enclosure truly pig-escape-proof, with a combination of concrete and galvanised iron around the floor-meets-walls area.  We are blessed in that we will be getting daily food from the local milk bar to feed them, so we know it will be fresh enough, and filling enough.

 

We have named them Porgy and Bess, and they seem to be settling down just fine, although my husband says they do have fleas, so I think they will be daubed with oil and fed garlic, which latter may help get rid of any intestinal worms picked up from the fleas.  I do the same with my dogs, and the garlic works a treat.

 

Caution is going to be put outside with her puppies again, their being indoors means that we don't get a lot of sleep, so we are going to try and put them all in a rat-proof area of the holding pens.  Also, I really am not that fond of cleaning up doggie-do, especially in the kitchen.

 

One of the peahens died, but as we are not sure of the reason for the demise, she is spending eternity on the compost heap.  Otherwise, I would have cooked her up, I do have the recipe in an old book that even includes stuff on serving up badgers.  That is where I gained the instructions for the gooseberry sauce.  I cannot say too strongly, DO NOT EAT ANY CREATURE THAT HAS DIED OF ANYTHING NOT OF HUMAN DOING.  If you have not slaughtered it, or know that it has not been slaughtered hygenically, don't take the chance.

 

Thank you, Nita for everything,  I look forward to more article writing in the New Year.

 

Dominus tecum,

 

Leonie

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12-10-02

The dashies are getting bigger, no longer do they fit in the palm of my hand.  Two of them each have only one back dew claw.  Still, weird fits in with the rest of the Farm.

 

We have been offered some free pea fowl.  Brian didn't know whether to be happy or worried.  They need to be fenced pretty thoroughly, or they make the geese look like old fogies in front of the fire.  I really don't want to spend my free time (what free time?) rescuing peafowl from a kilometre down the road, or rescuing neigbours from pea fowl.  It is a horrible thing to be awoken by the screech of a peacock in your suburban back yard when you least expect it.  I love the sound, but it is not, alas, for every body.

 

So, to fencing: the cheapest fencing around was, we found, like this.  Go to a farm clearance sale, buy up sheets of old galvanised iron, preferably not too hole-ridden.  Get some old railway sleepers, because they are usually not treated, which can be a danger if you have pecking animals or ones that believe the world is their chewing gum.  Which is just about all of them.  If you can get hold of really long ones, so much the better.  We use red gum over in Australia.  Or iron bark.  Man, it's tough stuff!

 

Put your posts in nice and deeply, depending on your soil.  About 1/4 to 1/3 of the post length deep is ideal.  Now, nail on your galvanised iron sheets. Overlap as necessary. Use lots of nails if you are high wind farmers.  Long ones, to be doubly certain.  These sheets are nailed in horizontally, and chicken wire placed over the top, using those wonderful steel u nails with points at both ends.  Nail the wire to the posts reasonably loosely, so that foxes can't get a foot hold over the top.  If your iron sheets are in reasonably deep, too, foxes cannot dig under so easily.  The geese you have might prevent that in any case.

 

Now, for the gate, get the old base from a a wire spring bed.  The long horizontal support parts make an ideal handle for any size person.  Hinges are the big heavy ones of steel that can, again, usually be picked up at farm clearance sales.  Always make sure you have enough room to move the gate back and forth.  We have a high tech security locking device - it's a piece of steel pipe a little over one metre in length that rests against the netting of the base.  The other end just digs into the dirt.

 

These gates are wonderful, and easily made.  We picked up ours at Op Shops very cheaply.  Sometimes they give them away, because no-one wants them these days (except mad homesteaders). 

 

 Develop a relationship with your local Op Shop Manager, ask him/her for all sorts of building material they would normally take to the tip (refuse collection centre), giving them an idea of what would be of use.  We have done the same thing with the pallets from motorcycle shops, plasterboard suppliers etc.  Be a bit careful with some fothis timber, it can be treated stuff, and therefore poisonous. Definitely, DO NOT BURN THIS SORT OF MATERIAL, unless you are after a short trip in a long box.

 

Well, I hope your chooks have not turned into emus and kicked your dunny down.  And may the sun shine out of your mouth and blind all of your enemies.

 

Dominus tecum,

 

Leonie

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Well, Summer has well and truly arrived, at least within South  West Victoria temperatures.  Two days without rain and the locals start talking drought.  Actually, much of our country is experiencing a drought, which makes me so much more grateful for the free water.  The corn is not quite as high as an elephant's eye (no corn planted yet, and praise God, no elephants wandering through either, it's bad enough when the goats escape and prune the roses), but the potatoes are doing very nicely thank you. They were a gift, a huge bag of them, some of them past redemption, most just fine.  And the animals don't like eating them, which has to be a bonus.

 Muppet, the Scottish longhair bull calf, is beginning to eat out of my hand, although he is looking a bit dubiously at the bread (just because it's stale!).  Be very careful feeding bread to herbivorous animals, they can die because it sits in their guts.  They do love it and pig out on it readily once they are past a certain age.  It's okay as a supplement, but not something I recommend to make up the bulk of their diet.

 Mrs Hiss, the goose that is still sitting, has only two eggs left.  She is the last of the layers, and unfortunately she is in the succulent garden.  We gave up arguing with her, and now I can't weed there.  Not the best thing, arguing with a sitting goose.  One tends to look as though one will lose parts of one's anatomy in short order.

 The other goslings are coming along just fine.  We have only six, but two of those will not see past Christmas.  We'll invite them to the wake.  The other four will be breeding stock.  Brian says that we will get a flock of one hundred going, and then we'll start selling them.

Two of our roosters from the same clutch, Don Juan and Don Two (they look like Spanish gentlemen from a few centuries ago, strutting around in feathers and combs) are going to get the chop as well.  We have an excess of walking rooster meat at the moment, and it's stressing the hens, as they keep chasing the poor things, especially if one of the hens starts cackling.  I guess it will feed the dogs for awhile, I think they will be way too tough for the table, which reminds me of an old Bushie's recipe for galah (here let me explain that a Bushie is a hobo or tramp who makes his way through the outback of Australia, usually living off the fat of the land, a dying breed.  He would have a parcel called, variously, his swag, bluey or matilda which carried his possessions.  A galah is a parrot, pink and grey, there are literally millions of them in Oz), where you get a good fire going, heating up the rocks.  Let the fire die down.  Put the galah in the ashes, surrounded by the rocks.  When a few hours have passed, eat the rocks, they'll be more tender than the galah. Not a word of a lie.  Really.  This is what passes for Australian humour.

Some people can't give their animals they are going to chop and eat, or sell, names.  I reckon it makes it easier to identify the culprits, personally.  They know when you're looking at them speculatively, anyway.  They get very nervous, but at least there's no confusion in the assassin's mind as to which one the wife meant when the poor bloke is sent out to do the dirty deed.

Until next week, ooroo Mates.

  Well, Caution, our miniature daschund, has finally had her pups.  I had my scheduling wrong, counting the weeks rather than the days.  She was right on time.  Makes me feel a bit of a twit when a dog can count better than a human with a tertiary education.

   I'm glad I took her to work with me.  It was a little bit of a trial, probably for her as well, but her first pup was a stillborn breach, so I was glad I could rush her off to the Vet's straight away.  The last one came late last night.  We have two black-and-tans, three caramels and one deeper chocolate.  Mother and babies doing well.

  Don't throw out your spuds!  If they are developing eyes on them, or are getting too wrinkly, carve them up so that each section has an eye, line up tyres on top of each other, fill the tyres (about five deep will do) with straw and the potato offcuts, and sprinkle occasionally with liquid manure.  Keep watered.  This is a brilliant no-dig method of harvesting potatoes.  It might also work well in your colder climates.  Don't forget, we're heading into summer here.  Who knows, you may be able to adapt it to a spare place in your shed, or your house.  Now, there's a talking point for an indoor plant.  Yes, they are poisonous, but so are poinsettias, a noted Christmas plant.  You'd necessarily have to arrange a water collection point underneath.  See what you can come up with.  It'd be great for children to take the photos to Show and Tell!

   Those geese of ours are smart!  They wait until they know we have left for the day before coming out onto the road and playing Dodgem with the traffic.  It's not as if we don't have enough feed for them - close on 3 acres of lush mixed grass and weeds.  What more could a goose want?  Reminds me a bit of humans when they are told they can't have something.

   I once saw a picture of someone who had the shell of a sedan car in his backyard and used it as a greenhouse.  Aren't people inventive?  Cost him nothing - in fact, he made a profit short term because he sold the seats from it, which were in relatively good condition.

   Our herb garden is doing exceptionally well - we have lemon balm, Russian garlic (HUGE), parsley, normal garlic, chives, rosemary, Jerusalem artichokes, thyme, oregano and sage, all growing in an area of 6'x3'.  The forget-me-nots, like weeds, have sprung up here, too.  The lemon grass has croaked, I don't think I am very good at growing lemon grass.

  We have large rocks, about 1'x6", as border for the herb bed, divided into two sections, to maximise the heat retaining properties of the two sections of the bed.  The bed also backs up against a corrugated iron wall of a a shed, which, although it is painted white, still gives back some radiation as a heat sink for the development of the plants. I have never seen frost there.

  The two-legs are kept well away from this area, and we are now starting to see the proliferation of our little copper skinks, which are great pest controllers, but they are incredibly shy, at most the length of my little finger.  They are also "drop tails", so I can usually tell if a bird has tried predating on one by the stump of a tail.  They really only come out with the warmer weather, so I know, too, that the snake season is upon us.  I must remember to always wear my rubber boots in the paddocks.  Alice is now banned from the paddocks until it gets cold again.

Until next week - Dominus tecum, Leonie

  Murray Goulburn turned off our water the other day, without telling us.  Because Brian and I both work, we didn't realise how serious the situation was until the calves crashed through one fence looking for something to drink.  I telephoned up MG, and they told us they had a break in their pipe, but would fix it, hopefully within 48 hours.  Praise God my husband had backup of town water - that man is so smart!  We finally had the MG water back on late yesterday, so were able to continue our watering plan of the paddocks as the warm spring weather (occasionally) makes its appearance.

  Brian had a very quiet birthday celebration at the local Chinese place.  Just we three and his Mum, who gives the lie to all those horrendous stories about Mothers-in-law.  She is one of the loveliest ladies I have ever had the privilege of meeting.  A real blessing on our lives.

  Brian found out that Jerry is a Saanen goat.  Came home last night to find that Billy, one of the young Boers, had managed to get himself wedged into the fence.  Wanted to move forward, but his big, fat belly wouldn't let him.  I tried pushing him back, but remember that stubborness to which I had alluded in the Introduction to us?  Yep, he didn't want to go, and I didn't have the strength to make him.  Brian did, though.

  Have a bit of a problem with crows stealing eggs (and young two legs, if they could).  Brian says he will set up a slingshot as we are within city limits and cannot fire a gun, even if we could get a licence.  I'm not sure I would want a gun in the house anyway, as we are about as secure as a sandpit.  I've been chucking stones at the crows to scare them off, but if Brian could properly whack one of them with the slingshot (my chucking is a very hit and miss affair), then it may discourage them permanently.

  We went to the Koroit Agricultural Show today.  It is great fun.  Officially, it opens at Noon and closes at 2pm, so it is obviously not the worlds biggest.  Alice entered the Miss Toddler part of the Show (even though she's eight, the age limit for toddlers - who can figure that one?), and was very disappointed that she did not win.  Her Father told her that being part of it is winning and to feel happy for the Winner, so she promptly forgot her blues.  Good child!

  They had the usual at the Show - the utes (Utilities - work vehicles with open backs, trays with four sides, the rear one hinges down for easy loading of material.  Usually they are three seaters, but you can get extended ones with back seats).  A lot of young bucks take their ute competitions very seriously.  "Bundy, sheilas and utes" are a favourite catchphrase with them.  Not necessarily in that order.  "Bundy" refers to Bundaberg rum, made in Queensland.  "Sheilas" is a somewhat derogatory term for women, usually young and good-looking. 

  There were also the equestrian events, with riders on hacks, miniature horses and three Clydesdales.  Sheep, cattle, chooks and ducks and alpaccas completed the animal inventory.  The alpaccas are owned by a bloke (gentleman) up the road from us.  I'm very interested in owning one, but as they start at $500 for a pet male, go to $3000 for a breeding female, I think I'll have to wait awhile.  They are beautiful, though.  I learned today that their meat is highly edible.  Tastes like chicken.  Here we go again, I thought, does anything NOT taste like chicken that isn't an established butcher line?  I have eaten frog, witchetty grubs, snails and other delicacies, and they are ALL supposed to taste like chicken.

  I am hoping that the geese do not decide to sun themselves on the main road that runs past our place again.  I don't want to be lifting them off the road with a spade.  We use the geese during the day as watch midgets and our dashschunds at night.  We pen our animals at night for their own safety, and the dogs get penned during the day also for the two legs well being.  It's a good system, and works very well.

  Our female daschie, Caution, is pregnant.  VERY pregnant, as in, "Please help me up the steps, Mummy, my tummy is too big".  Pitiful looks and lots of whining.   From her, not me.  She is called "Caution" because when we take her for a walk, we are then exercising Caution, and we never throw Caution to the winds.  In our family it's called a sense of humour, why, I don't know.

  David, her husband, as in Goliath, is not sure about being a father.  Yes, they did have a proper ceremony.  Our proper daughter insisted on it.  I'll let you know how the puppies turn out in due course.  They are so cute.  David Gerrold once wrote, "A puppy is the only love money can buy."  It's true.  Before you ask, I do also love cats.

Until next time, Dominus tecum, Leonie

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Visit Australia and the World of Leonie Edge Look at the purple squared border in the middle bottom portion.

__________________________________   Get a map of Australia that shows Melbourne, the capital of the state of Victoria.  Put your finger to the left, near the South Australian border.  You might find a smaller city called "Warrnambool" (town between two rivers in the local Aboriginal dialect, the Worn Gundidj Tribe), we're about 10 minutes drive closer to the SA border. See Moyne in South West Victoria. Great maps.   We are behind an extinct volcano that has a crater lake.  One of only 2 in the world.  It is a National Park.  While you generally DON'T see kangaroos idling down the main streets of our major cities, you'll find plenty of them, and koalas and emus at Tower Hill (the National Park).    We are a few kilometres from the seaside.  It is very cold water, straight off the Antarctic.  Diluted, too.  Not as salty as up North, on the Eastern Coast of Australia. Click here for an excellent map of Victoria and New South Wales.   Koroit (click on the Shipwreck Coast and then Koroit) is a prosperous little village of around 1500 souls of mainly Irish background, and, yes, we do grow wonderful potatoes, here. It's very well watered, we are actually nicknamed "A Green and Pleasant Land", probably due only to our reasonably high rainfall.    (Find more about Tower Hill. At this page, see Special Places; go to Lakes and find some on Tower Hill. ) __________________________________

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