Insects - friend or foe?

In an act of pure vandalism, possum has been at the roses again.  Partial to a Peony he sucks the tips of the not yet opened bud drawing out the moisture and making it almost impossible to bloom.  Then along comes this shiny beetle.  I never quite know with insects if there intentions are good - or not.  The aphids on the roses seem clearly bad, but the lady birds eat them so, that's good.  This shiny beetle was reflecting in the sun light making himself very obvious to all.  And given the amount of chooks and birdlife in my yard, I considered this to be a bit on the foolish side  but I'm sure it served some purpose.  The first year we moved in here we had a plague of grasshoppers.  As in biblical proportions.  They managed to eat everything we planted and even came indoors.  We could not get rid of them.  Then the chooks arrived.  No more grasshoppers.  They still enjoyed the odd nibble on the veggie patch but nothing as destructive as the grasshoppers.  The large blow flies as we call them are on steroids at the moment.  Pumped up and with full strength they hurl themselves at the windows.  I'm convinced they watch the back door and as soon as it's even slightly open, they whizz in.  Max loves to stalk them and will get close enough to them to pat them on the head.  Unfortunately that's about the best of his efforts.  He's doesn't like violence.  Insects can be interesting creatures and I'm sure there is much more to them than we know.  Except for spiders.  They're just plain evil.

Saturday

Well the  good news is the Sage has come back after a dormant stick looking winter.  It's flowering which is sometimes a warning of sign of going to seed and then it's all over but fortunately we've got new growth and my burnt butter and sage sauce with tortellini pasta will remain on the menu.   Minnie (pictured) is my regular kitchen consultant and her immediate appearance whenever the oven is turned on is remarkable.  The sound of the fan forced oven is enough for her to come to the kitchen and peer in its door.  She's got very little hope of seeing what's inside that oven as the years of baked on grime certainly prevent that.  My husband has unfortunately got her into the habit of taste testing our food.  Chicken, duck, sausages, you name it she's up for it. Unfortunately this has become a bit of problem for her waistline as a recent trip to the vet resulted in a few less than complementary comments about her less than mini appearance.  She's not obese just big boned, we like to say.  That was certainly the case last night when I tried to move her from her position of warmth in between us in the bed.  Regardless of the fact that she's big and heavy and takes up half of the bed, she snores something shocking.  I put on the light so I could pick her up and move her but all I managed to do was move the front half of her towards the end of the bed and the remaining bulk seemed to stay put where it was.  Fortunately she got the hint and jumped off.  Thump.  No wonder we don't get much sleep. Anyway back to thoughts on dinner.   I haven't got much past the herb garden. The herb flowers get picked and put in a tiny vase on the kitchen window sill and I get completely distracted.  Love Saturdays.

Beware of the flying jet skis

Viewing time is open at the maternity ward.  She's brought them out from the hedge for public viewing.  She's the proud mum of five, all different colours.  I put next to her a very shallow pet bowl for water, just enough for them to drink but not drown in.  They mostly stand in it anyway.  The water bowls can get a bit like a public swimming pool for all the wrong reasons.

We're definitely spending a bit more time outdoors these last few days.  Weeds have been pulled, paddocks have been mowed and lawn seed planted.  I've embarked on regular watering program to make sure everything is watered and no sections get neglected.  Yesterday I took the side hose around the to the front of the house to make sure I could water all of the iceberg roses and lavender.  I was careful not to disturb the army of bees in the lavender bushes.  They were everywhere.  I watered at the roots of the plants but still the humming became louder every time I came by with a hose.  I soon realised that I was being pursued by an angry humming.  A bit like being chased by a air bound jet ski, I soon discovered you can't outrun it.  I ran towards the other side of the front lawn near the big oak tree where there isn't a lavender bush in sight but the angry bee was still after me.  This bee had been inside one too many empty cans of Red Bull and clearly wanted a fight.  I grabbed my straw hat off my head and waved it around but that didn't work.  I took off my pale blue jumper and threw it on the lawn to encourage it to pursue the jumper instead of me but it kept buzzing around my head.  This occurring all the time with me racing around the front lawn in circles like a woman possessed.  Not accustomed to random acts of bee violence, I ran towards the house only to trip over two very uncoordinated feet and face plant (or fall arse over tit as I understand the term to be) on the lawn.  When I got up (bruised ego mostly) I could hear the sound of bee laughter trailing off in the distance. But at least it was Bee begone with dignity gone too.  Bugger them.  They can have dried lavender in future.  See who gets the last bee laugh now.

So much for peaceful mornings

Why is it when you plan a quiet, peaceful morning it all goes to hell in a handbasket?  Husband off fishing at 5am left me to snore blissfully in unison with Max at the end of the bed until a sneaky bit past 7:30am.  The sun gaining some momentum leads me to take my mug of tea out into the courtyard to enjoy the not so early morning.  Over the years of living here I've come to recognise the regular sounds of farm life.  The neighbour's cows, the lambs in the paddock next door to them and the familiar birds that live in our trees.  I've also come to recognise the sound of baby chickens being hatched. First one cheep, then another, then a chorus of cheep, cheeps.  We've been vigilant with the egg piles around the garden knowing that last year our chicken population spiralled out of control costing us a small fortune in chook food.  We've managed to sell most to a breeder and now have just a manageable few - until today.  Right under my nose the sound of cheep, cheep was getting louder.  It was coming from under the fountain.  In the dense shrub I couldn't even get a look through a gap, but could hear a gentle clucking of a proud mum.  Bennie unfortunately caught me looking and now is trying to get a look in.  Thinking they need rescuing he's barking at the shrubbery.  Being a retrieval dog he thinks it's his place to seek them out and bring them to me.  He would never hurt them but wouldn't get a chance as the mother hen would give him a piece of her mind if he came anywhere near them.  So rather than put up with the barking I bring him inside.  And before I can pick up my now barely warm mug of tea, I see Minnie scoot across the courtyard chasing a half dead sucked on mouse.  I think I'll stay in today.

Who wants to be a chicken - I do

I can't imagine living in a place that didn't have chickens.  Apart from the obvious egg collecting they are really very entertaining.  Doris (pictured) has taken to laying eggs at the back door in the wood kindling box.  I can only imagine how uncomfortable that must be not to mention the potential splinters.  But, it works for Doris.  It works for me as well as I only have to poke my head around the back door for an egg.  Doris has a full plumage of feathers on her head (bouffant if you like) and whilst it's a great retro look, I suspect a lot of the time she can't see where she is going.  I've seen her plummet head first into the rear end of another chicken, not attractive.  Thanks to Doris though we now have a variety of chickens with feathers on their heads.  Mostly more mohawk than Doris Day but it's a good way of knowing that they come from our farm.  Particularly now that the neighbours have chickens with feathers on their legs and spikey hair hairdos.  Two years ago they only had Isa Browns. Now they don't have one brown chicken.  Our rosters don't worry too much about fences or borders.  I'm not really sure how long chickens live for.  I've been told that Isa Browns only live for about 3 years or if raised for commercial reasons, probably about five minutes.  We're proud to say we've got some seniors on our farm.  It's a bit of a retirement village for our flock where they come out for their morning and afternoon tea.  This morning they polished off some leftover scones and the crusts from last night's home made cherry pie from a bottle of preserved cherries.  They'll sit in the dirt in the sun now and then slowly close their eyes and have a little snooze.  I'm sure if I put a TV out there they'd be sitting around watching Who Wants To Be a Millionaire waiting for their supper.  Won't encourage them.

Don't even think about taking electric blankets off the bed

As I walk towards the glasshouse and veggie patch, I'm accosted by the Lilac tree now in full bloom.  The perfume hits you like a wall of fragrance along with the baby yellow roses of the Banksia on the other side branching out for a brush across your arm as you walk past.  As keen as I would be to pick these magnificent lilac blooms and stuff the into anything containing water inside, I've read somewhere they had a reputation for bringing about death if you put them inside.  As silly wives tale as this may sound, I'm reluctant to push my lilac luck and settle for a water filled gin bottle outside the kitchen window.  Would be rather grim for such a beautiful blossom to be so horribly violent but best to play it safe.

Spring is a beautiful time of year in the garden but fickle she is.  Today we've got snow down to 600 metres here in Hobart so that means it's bloody cold.  The wood fire is burning and the rain swings in and out as the strong winds push through the house like an unwelcomed guest.  Next week we are promised warmer weather and again...we state 'I guess this will be the last of the wood fires for this season'.  Or not.  The chickens have been in hiding all day to avoid the wind and wet.  Doris simply hates to get her head feathers out of perfect plumage.  I'm still wearing three layers of clothing and there is an assortment of indoor pets scattered at various intervals in front of the fire.  We're so over winter here.  Come on summer.  This morning I threw a batch of Soda Water Scones in the oven (thank you Sally Wise for the recipe).  We had an abundance of cream about to expire in the fridge so with some home made raspberry jam, the whipped cream and hot scones were soon put together.  Any thoughts of salads or outdoor cooking will be shelved for now.  I'm thawing out Lentil Soup for dinner just in the case the rolled lamb shoulder is still an ice block by dinner time.  And whilst the days are getting a little longer with the sun setting a little later, it's still mostly early nights and electric blankets switched on.  In fact we do this most of the year come to think of it!