River swimming

After such a hot day today the river was a perfect temperature.

Hoping it will rain

Mr Frog, sitting on the farmhouse watertank, curious at the sound of me using the tap.

This green tree frog has been with us for over five years. He likes living in the downpipe because his croaking resonates the whole tank. He comes out to the pond at night.

For two summers we’ve had tadpoles. We even have little Mr Frogs calling in the pond.

Tonight we’re back up at our farm to water young trees we planted last week.

When Mr Frog starts calling we’ll know it’s going to rain.

On the water

After a quiet Christmas in Sydney we got a chance to go out on the Hawkesbury in our boat Carob Bean. Less than two years since she was launched and sadly she’ll be part of a property settlement.

Anyway, a lovely day on the water visiting friends and cruising past some of the rock formations around Brooklyn, can certainly lift your spirits.

Windblown shami.

Body may be aged, but still young at heart.

Summer solstice

Bye bye bull, hopefully for the last time. And he went out the open gate totally of his own accord. That was after I did my best to scare the life out of him as he drank the dregs of the pond. It was repayment for scaring the life out of me.

He was on the hill as we drove up the drive, and we kept him constantly in sight as we unloaded the car. I could see him clearly while watering plants in the back garden. It was when I walked around to the front of the house and found the bull at the front door that prompted an involuntary scream. I still don’t know how he got past me, the full length of the garden.

The fencing contractor and two assistants rolled up at 7.30am yesterday, and secured the fenceline as best they could. Full replacement will have to wait upon the insurance company approval, and cooler weather for the fencing men.

Yesterday turned into the hottest day of the year (fortunately after the fencing men had finished). Today, the longest day of the year, has been a pleasant relief.

More bull

A fencing man might be coming next week.
They can't replace the whole fence in a hurry, but a few gaps could be patched.

When we trekked up to the rainforest edge to cut back a bit of lantana

who should be waiting for us on the other side of the wire, near a gap.

A rain of rocks (god we're a pitiful aim) sent him away.

But for how long?

My crepe myrtle says happy new year

Mid December in full flower. They normally bloom from 1st January.

But this is not the only early flowering. The jacarandas started in mid September when it has always been 1st November. And jacksonias were splashing their yellowgold around from mid September when they normally flower 1st October at the earliest. Not to mention the magnolias that graced us in the first week of July instead of August. Wattles were early too.

I began to think I was crazy remembering things wrong. No-one else seemed to see anything amiss.
Then I found a website
http://www.abc.net.au/science/scribblygum/july2005/
which observes " that there's something afoot in the world of nature - the times really are a-changing. ... In recent years, many people have noticed that weird things are happening. Cicadas seem to be around later. 'Spring' bulbs are flowering in the middle of winter. Some bird species are nesting months earlier than they did a decade ago."

The Bull Strikes Back

What a horrid sight to greet you as you drive up your hill at 7.30pm to find a black hefty bovine shape lumber up from beneath the shrubs beside the pond at our farmhouse door.

In the time that it took to drive slowly past the house to the barn, offload a jerrycan of petrol, and circle back round, the beast had wandered away from the house. I roared up to it with lights on highbeam and horn blaring. And it didn’t even blink. It did paw at the ground. And look mighty mean.

The way it wanted to attack my tank of a 4WD gave me shivers when I thought back on how last week we chased this bull off on foot.

More honking, and it grudgingly wandered a little downhill, taking up a stand beside the driveway. I cut across the slope, right up to the bull, not quite daring to nudge it in case my 4WD came off second best. I drove right past, all the way down to the gate where I watchfully kept the car between my daughter and distant bull as the gate was pulled wide. The monster still had not budged as I drove back up to block any attempt to return to the house.

There followed a crazy game of advance and retreat of 4WD versus immovable bull. Much ominous scuffing of the ground with hooves.

Oddly it was the sound of a large truck thundering past in the gathering evening that caught the beast’s attention. Or perhaps it had excellent eyesight and could see the open gate. Slowly, as we watched with bated breath, it headed off down the drive and out onto the road. The urge to follow it down pushing at its heels had been great, but no doubt if I had tried it would have turned to face me down and wouldn’t have gone out the gate.

We shut the gate, then opened it again drove through and shut it. It seemed a wise idea to push the beast as far as we could along the road towards the owner’s house. I am glad no other vehicle came by as 4WD and bull continued their attack and resist efforts. I won’t go into details about the throwing of rocks, and then herding with car in reverse so rocks could more effectively be lobbed from the passenger side. We gave up when the bull was halfway to the Neighbour’s.

No matter that the fence was burnt out by a fire from our side (which was caused by a firebug outside our property on the other side again), it should still be the responsibility of farmers with livestock to keep their stock from straying. They simply do not care.

Psycho

If there were a darwin award for birds this wren would get it. More time has been spent attacking itself in windows or car mirrors than ever could be directed into reproducing his kind.

This has been going on for months: the sound at dawn of a bird flying at my window then pausing on the flyscreen, then battering its beak at the glass again and again. Over and over at intervals throughout the day.

I thought its reflection in a cabinet mirror was the initial cause so I covered that, but the bird proceeded to bombard every window, finding glass as effective as mirror. When it discovered the car mirrors it was ecstatic.

At first I presumed it was one of the countless birds that have strayed into our house (and caused endless trouble to remove) wanting to get back in for some neurotic reason.

Nearly every species of small bird has made it into our farmhouse at some time: blue wrens, honeyeaters, yellow robins, fantail flycatchers, warblers, silvereyes, redback wrens, redbrow finches, swallows, even quail scooting around the floor suddenly unable to recognise a doorway. Only the other day a pair of willie wagtails were in the barn, and it took some time to convince them to find the cavernous opening of the rolladoor. By the time I had walked back to the house to judiciously shut the doors, sure enough one was inside fluttering frantically against the windows. I caught it with a small green aquarium net (that dates back to when my children were small and fond of fishing odd waterbugs out of the river). Most efforts to remove curious intruders have not been so simple. Some birds that favour flying from rafter to rafter rather than coming low enough to see doors wide open and windows with flyscreen removed, have had to be chased back and forth until everyone including the bird is exhausted.

It is because the house is one huge room -- all steel frames and high roof -- without ceilings and internal walls yet.
We have learned to keep the doors shut, but one hot day when we came in for lunch, in the few minutes that we flopped at the table for a drink a bird followed us then typically failed to find an exit. Another time when a pair of swallows and their fledgling came inside, no sooner would one adult fly out than it would swoop right back in again upon hearing the young bird's distress.

I wonder if Psycho ever came inside what I would do.
This wren seems incapable of learning the folly of its habit, yet has demonstrated a quick ability to learn. Wherever I park the car it has triumphantly found it.

Dare I admit that the day after the fire my heart sank at the all too familiar morning sound of bird battering against glass. Of all the birds to have perished in the bushfire, Psycho had not been one.

No bull

Why did the cow cross the fence? Because the grass really is greener on our side.

A week after the firestorm swept through our farm in October -- started by a random act of malice at the roadside two kilometres away -- the grass was growing back, at first like green mist airbrushed over the hills, then rampant from all the rain.

Calves soon got through the fence and were enthusiastic to stay.
First it was Footsie and Tootsie who lingered by the fenceline in sight of their herd.

The next week they were joined by three others (who we dubbed the Toenails).

It was inevitable that the gully, which only ever flows after heavy rains, would cease to provide for thirsty cows under blue skies. 40 acres to roam, and they ended up outside my window drinking the tadpoles.

The sound of slurping at 2am had me up and out defending my pondwater. Tootsie cast a look of reproach at me waving my arms, consigning her to the desert of green grass.
At 5am again I came awake. Nose pressed to the flyscreen I was confronted with the scene of all five cows about to drain the pond.
The one advantage of thirsty cows is they stay together instead of scattering in every direction when you try to herd them. We succeeded in pushing them down through the burnt out persimmon orchard near the road. We had no idea of the time. At any moment the school bus might go past, or any number of cars off to work, and get a good view of two scantily clad crazies moving across the hillslope making loud claps and threatening gestures at a bunch of reluctant cows. Surprisingly not a single vehicle passed in the time it took to reach the gate.
It dawned on us we stood a chance of being able to rid ourselves of the whole problem if my son could get ahead of them and open the gate. I stood blocking any retreat. A raised hand from the driveway signalled success with the gate. I preceeded forward slowly. Unbelievably the lead cow (Footsie) went through. All the others followed. My loud claps turned to applause as my son swooped down to shut the gate.

The cows had become their owner's problem once more. He may not have cared to fetch them out of free pasture, but the threat from trucks thundering along the road must lead to some action.

There don't seem to be any fencing contractors left in our district.
Two months since the fire now, and I haven't found one.

So coming upon a bull near our barn today was alarming.
At first I thought it was just a mighty fat cow, until I spied the dangling balls.
Sorry no photos. Barefoot and hatless in the hot sun, armed only with some hastily grabbed garden stakes and a large rock lobbed at its shoulders, we lost no time in driving it slowly away down towards the road fence.
There was one very scary moment when my son hurtled backwards, turned and held his ground with two pointy stakes held out, and the bull lumbered to a stop in its warning charge.

Fortunately the bull seemed familiar with gates and driveways. And we got it out onto the road.

Must find a fencing contractor.