From a life in the corporate world to a small farm. My new work colleagues eat grass or lay eggs. I've got a lot to learn about things that just seem to happen when nature becomes your new boss.
Monday, 30 January 2017
Bastards. That was the only word I could think of at the time. Our first zucchini so proudly displayed under an umbrella of sunshine coloured flowers had been the main course for a freeloading possum in our veggie patch. Partially our own fault for placing fully ripened low hanging produce on display with no anti theft systems in place. However we had no concerns about the high security polly tunnel now proudly growing our carefully staked Hobart Botanical Garden Tomato Plant, until now. The first and only red tomato tucked away under the branches was left to develop its own sun drenched flavour. Not the fridge flavour of your tennis ball variety tomato found in gas filled plastic bags in the supermarket, this tomato was about being able to do what tomatoes should naturally do. Ripen in the sun in their own time. Not when the Supply Chain department deem them ready to be shipped. So on one of the daily quality assurance inspections of the veggie patch, assisted by our Head of Logistics and Lounging About Minnie, I found the tomato was nothing more than a stalk and a few shards of red skin. Possum had partaken, again. He'd managed to abseil down the polly tunnel pipe using the olive branches as a guide rope, descended into heirloom heaven and dined in on our one and only heirloom tomato and presumably catapulted his way out. So this weekend was dedicated to upgrading security. The sewing of net holes and securing of ties seems only a small step towards a secure environment without surveillance cameras, a sensor alarm and automatic spotlights. But unfortunately the chooks would never get any asleep. 'YOU DOWN THERE. PUT THE ZUCCHINI DOWN AND STEP AWAY FROM THE PLANT'. Bastard.