rural life

There’s No Place Like Home

/ Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

100_0785smThe best part of going away is coming back home.

The kids and I had a great time visiting friends and family in the US the past two weeks. We got a chance to do many things that aren’t possible here—picking wild blueberries; riding roller coasters; seeing deer, wolves and eagles; hearing whippoorwills pour their hearts out into the dark. We visited some of my favourite people in the whole world.

But as Dorothy so succinctly put it, there’s no place like home.

Returning home, the house feels small, the garden shabby. The car looks decrepit and filthy. Wind blows in through the windows and cracks in the floor.

But returning home, the wind also feels fresher. The fire is cosy. I know where everything belongs in the kitchen. The things around me are familiar and comforting.

At home I have responsibilities. Things to do. I am needed.

Though I didn’t feel uncomfortable away from home, now that I am back, I can feel the tension draining away. I feel like I am on vacation, moving through my daily chores with pleasure.

So, like Dorothy, I am glad to be home, regardless of how small and shabby that home might be.

There’s no place like home.

Winter Blooms

/ Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

2016-07-07 11.00.58 smI miss a good northern winter, with snow, but there is something to be said about the mild winters we have here.

One of the things I appreciate about our winters is the flowers that bloom then.

There aren’t many—allysum, calendula, and pansies flower year-round and grow largely as weeds in my garden (though I usually weed around them, and try to avoid pulling them out).

Camellias and snowdrops bloom in late winter. They provide lovely winter flower arrangements.

And then there’s the mystery iris. This plant wasn’t apparent in the yard until well after we thought we had discovered all the bulbs planted by generations of owners before us. It sprang up in an area we had cleared of plants, and I nearly pulled it out.

I’m glad I didn’t. This beautiful little plant is mostly foliage, but produces short blue flowers all through winter. Another lovely bloom for winter flower arrangements!

Fighting Over Firewood

/ Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

2016-07-07 10.59.35 smI don’t know whether to count myself lucky, or to be disappointed.

My kids love to split firewood and kindling.

They’ve enjoyed this for several years, but now they’re actually old enough to do a decent job of it. And they jostle with one another to be the one to do it.

The problem is, I enjoy doing it, too. There’s something satisfying about swinging an axe and watching a log split in two under your blow. It warms you up on a cold day, and is appreciated by everyone as we sit by the fire in the evenings.

Now that the kids do the job most days, I have more time to do other things. That’s great, but it leaves me with no excuse to avoid the chores I don’t enjoy doing. It would be much better if the kids would start doing the really lousy chores like cleaning the bathroom, scrubbing the floors, and mucking out the animal sheds. Hmm…wonder how I can get them to do those…

Presiding Over Death

/ Robinne Weiss / 2 Comments
Artemis in her younger years.

Artemis in her younger years.

It was bound to happen, this winter or next. My ‘old girl’, Artemis is showing her age.

She’s been coughing for a couple of weeks. At first I suspected lung worms, as she was due for a worming. But a drench didn’t help. Then I thought she must have pneumonia.

But when the vet visited today, she diagnosed heart problems. Artemis is just old, and her heart is starting to give out, allowing fluid to build up in her lungs. No injection or pill is going to fix that. The only thing we can do is keep her as comfortable as possible.

In a way, it’s almost a relief, to have a goat dying of old age and not any one of the myriad ills that have befallen my other animals. But it also makes it that much more difficult to face the farewell I know is coming. She’s been a fixture in the paddock for nearly eleven years—it will seem bare when she’s gone.

Until then, my job will be to fill the remainder of her life with treats and scratches. To keep the bedding where she spends more and more of her time thick and fresh. And when the time comes, to make her passing as painless as possible.

Gonna Feel That Tomorrow!

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Einstein smI put it off as long as I could.

I waited until the new goats were happily eating out of our hands, enjoying (or at least tolerating) a good scratch.

Then I found other excuses for a couple of weekends—excuses to put off trimming the new goats’ hooves.

I knew it would be a circus the first time I trimmed their hooves.

I’ve been spoiled by the dairy goats so used to the routine I didn’t need to even hold onto them when I opened the gate—out of the paddock, onto the milking stand, stand calmly while I do whatever needs doing, then trot calmly back to the paddock.

But of course the three new boys aren’t used to the routine. For them, hoof trimming means being herded up, and slung onto their backs. I could have done that, but training them to stand nicely while I trim their hooves will make life much easier in the long run.

For today, though, it was killer. It was a day of many firsts for the new goats—first time on a lead, first time on the milking stand, first time to have their hooves trimmed standing up.

Their personalities came out. Newton was the timid one. As soon as he found himself on a lead, he stood stock still and refused to budge. I practically had to push him all the way to the stand. Einstein was a bucking bronco, lunging and twisting to get free of the lead. He sent me sprawling to my knees, and then cracked me soundly on the chin with his horns. Darwin was happy to go, but not ever in the direction I wanted him to.

In truth, it was exactly as I expected, and no different from a dairy goat her first time on a lead and on the milking stand. I was thankful that angora goats are small—nothing like being dragged across the yard by a 70 kg saanan. Still, my chin is black and blue, my back is sore, my knees are skinned, and I have a rope burn on my arm. I have a bad feeling that tomorrow morning, I’m going to feel every bruise and ache even more.

Tell me again why I do this…?

My Love/Hate Relationship with Yarrow

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2016-06-24 13.33.30Growing up, yarrow was a flower to be dried for arrangements. An innocuous plant that grew along the roadsides. I liked the flowers, and I loved the insects and spiders it attracted.

It wasn’t until I moved to New Zealand, where yarrow is a pernicious weed in my garden, that I began to consider yarrow more closely and learn more about it.

Yarrow is native to Europe and parts of Asia, but has been spread widely, because of its many uses.

It is referenced in Homer’s Iliad as being used for stanching wounds, and has been used all over the world for many other medicinal purposes—from reducing fevers and soothing earaches, to curing urinary problems and head colds.

Yarrow was probably originally brought to New Zealand as a medicinal plant, but it has other uses that are more valid than the medicinal ones.

Today yarrow is a common pasture plant. Its deep rhizomes make it drought resistant, and it is higher in certain key nutrients than either ryegrass or white clover. I discovered this when I began to worry about the goat paddock. After two dry summers, the yarrow was taking over a big swath of the paddock. I worried, knowing that to remove that much yarrow would be a Sisyphean task—dig it out and any bits of rhizome left in the soil will simply resprout. Even herbicides are largely ineffective against yarrow.

So I was thrilled to learn that its virtues went beyond pretty dried flowers, and that I could ignore it in the paddock.

Of course, it grows everywhere, and isn’t bothered by mowing. But that has benefits, too. This past summer, when all the grass of the lawn was brown and dead, the yarrow remained some of the only spots of green.

And then there are the insects it attracts, which I naturally love.

And so, I love yarrow…and I hate yarrow. Either way, I have to live with it.

Evaluating the garden year

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A jumbo pink banana squash--one of last year's winners.

A jumbo pink banana squash–one of last year’s winners.

The new seed catalogue will be out in a little over a week, so it’s time to consider which new plants did well and which didn’t last summer.

It’s difficult to really evaluate varieties I hadn’t tried before, because last summer was so devastatingly hot and dry, but I got a feel for them by how my tried and true varieties did.

Tomatoes were a bust—all varieties—it frosted extremely late, and then was just too dry. But I did find that one of the new varieties I tried—bloody butcher—was extra sensitive to the neighbour’s herbicide overspray. So that one’s off the list for next season.

Same went for the yard long red noodle beans—they didn’t recover from the overspray until March, and then it was just too late.

The blue corn was preferentially eaten by the rats, and none survived past seedling stage. Doesn’t mean I won’t try again next year, but I’ll need to protect it better.

Jumbo pink banana squash was a winner, though. Not only was it a spectacular plant in the garden (anything that can grow half a metre in one day has my vote), but the fruits were equally spectacular. They have good flavour and texture, too. The only real drawback is that it’s difficult to fit one in the oven, because they’re so big.

The purple carrot, pusa asita, was also a winner, though its germination was spotty, like all the purple carrots seem to be. The colour was worth it though, as the purple goes all the way to the centre.

And the fire candle radishes were fantastic—delicious, spicy, and slow to bolt.

I’m looking forward to the arrival of the new catalogue and the chance to try out some new varieties for the coming year!

Preserving the Harvest

/ Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

About a third of the harvest.

Gardening is a never-ending struggle against the elements.

Seeds must be stored cool and dry to maintain viability.

Then they need to be kept warm and moist in order to germinate.

But not too moist, or they’ll rot, or damp off once sprouted.

Then the plants need to be nurtured with just the right amounts of sun, shelter, water and nutrients so they will grow and produce. They need to be protected from pests.

With luck and hard work, the gardener can nurture the plants all the way to harvest.

But even once that produce is harvested, a gardener continues to fight—some foods can be canned, dried, or frozen so they keep longer, but others can’t. Or, maybe they can, but they’re better fresh. Or maybe there’s no room in the freezer for them.

It’s about now that these fresh foods begin to show their age.

Members of the onion family—shallots, onions, garlic—are stored as living bulbs. When the solstice is past, they want to grow, so they begin to sprout, even hanging in their riestras in the shed or the kitchen.

Then there are the pumpkins. In theory, some can keep for up to six months or more after harvest. That is, in ideal conditions—cool and dry, sitting on dry straw and not touching one another. I don’t have ideal conditions, nor the space to spread out my pumpkins. They hang in mesh sacks from the rafters of the cool, but damp shed—the only way to protect them from the rats.

Three months from harvest, the first pumpkins are beginning to rot. I discovered them today when I selected pumpkins for a galette for dinner.

Now comes the race to bake as many pumpkins as possible and freeze their pureed flesh before they go bad, and before the freezer is full.

I can fit about eight pumpkins at a time in the oven, unless they are jumbo pink banana squash or musquee de Provence, which only fit one at a time . There are sixty-six pumpkins left in the shed. That’s a lot of baking!

Light in the Night

/ Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

2016-02-24 20.57.32Last night was the longest night of the year. It’s fitting that we all overslept this morning. Everyone left for work and school in the dark, and will come home in the dark. To add to the dark of this winter solstice, the day is overcast.

But all is not black and bleak.

Yesterday, we saw the first of this year’s lambs bouncing around in the neighbour’s paddock.

The young blackbirds and magpies are already singing and vying for territories.

The breeze is from the north today, soft and gentle.

And from here, the days will only get longer.

At the bottom of the well, there is only one way to go.

So we’ll enjoy the sun while it lasts, light the table with candles this evening, and look forward to our slow climb toward spring.

A happy solstice to you, whichever one you are enjoying today.

Confessions of the Resident Exterminator

/ Robinne Weiss / Leave a comment

2016-06-20 16.14.21Being the least squeamish member of the household, it falls to me to deal with all members of the animal kingdom on our property.

That means I take care of the livestock, of course (I can’t even imagine anyone else dealing with kidding or mastitis), I dispose of the gifts the cat leaves lying beheaded on the lawn, and I deal with pests.

Though I don’t enjoy killing anything, I have no problem squishing bugs in the garden, and dropping slugs into soapy water (I don’t recommend squishing them—its really slimy). I don’t even flinch at the idea of setting mouse traps or possum traps, either.

But rat traps? *shudder*

I put it off until the rats are so numerous that they’re having loud parties in the attic, keeping me up all night racing around, gnawing on the rafters.

And then I wait longer, until the rest of the family starts to notice the noise in the attic, or a greasy body sliding through the wall cavities.

Then I pull the rat traps out and look at them for a while, screwing up my courage.

Finally, after many excuses, I get out the ladder, prepare some bait (bread with peanut butter is reliable), and make my way to the attic with the traps.

Bait on the trap, set trap in place, pull back the bar to arm it…

SNAP!

Bait goes flying, fingers sting, and I jump, cracking my head on a rafter.

Try again. Bait on the trap, put the trap in place, pull back the arm…

SNAP!

Maybe we can coexist with the rats? I calm myself and try again. Third time’s the charm, right?

Bait, set it in place, hold my breath and pull the arm…

Breathe out slowly. Carefully move my hands away from the trap, willing it not to spring shut.

Get the second trap. Repeat.

The good news…and the bad news is that the traps work. Within 24 hours I’ll have to empty them and reset them. The parties will stop. I’ll be able to sleep.

But I hate setting those traps.