No Temple of Doom here

The new arrivals came via cardboard box yesterday.  Four Guinea Fowls.  Two types of unknown gender.  Our latest additions were the subject of a rigorous assessment process prior to being given permanent residency.  Given our somewhat out of control chicken population we've now adopted a merit based system for any new farm additions.  Merit, meaning they need to contribute to our little farm community.  Being cute is helpful but won't get all the points you need.  Guinea Fowls are said to be great pest controllers and farm watch dogs that will report on anything amiss.  What this means, I'm yet to fully understand.  My interpretation of amiss might be slightly different to theirs.  I would expect a loud uproar if the washing had blown off the line but this might not be priority with them.  I'm advised that Guinea Fowl keep away snakes.  Looking at them now I'm struggling to see how their reptile repellent instincts work.  They didn't come with any wrangling equipment and in the absence of an Indiana Jones whip and hat in the corner of the cage, I'll keep an open mind.  They're quite young at the moment and are still required to be caged but will eventually be let out to roam and forage with the others.  This morning I walked into their cage to fill up their water bowl and found them relaxed and not anxious to run away.  I did look around though and see a large crowd standing at the door looking in.  The chickens had all come to check out the new arrivals.  Even Minnie.  Although if ever I've seen a cat give an eye roll it was this morning.  You could tell what she was thinking, 'yeah right, they got rid of the dinosaurs as well...'  So welcome little friends.  We'll refer to you as the 'Fowls' from now.  Looking forward to the python wrestling any day now.

A day of rest, amongst friends

I was loathed to succumb to a bout of bronchitis recently but it has left me feeling a bit average. Not one to take a swan dive onto the couch I usually ignore the symptoms until the environmental authorities catch up with me and tell me to do something about it.  So today I spent a few quiet hours in the garden on my white adirondack chair (is there any other colour) under the trees which form a shady canopy at the rear of the yard.  I sat with my straw gardening hat slouched over my forehead and quietly dozed on a sunny day with little energy for anything else.  Very soon I was joined by Minnie, pleased to see someone finally with enough common sense to nap midday.  She took her rightful place on my lap and stretched out along my legs purring and dribbling.  Eventually I opened up my eyes and saw that all the chooks had gathered around me and were doing the same.  Nodding off with little eyes blinking until they closed, they all took a place nearby as if to keep me company.  They perched beside me on the table and underneath, on chairs and in the grass. Animals interact with us much more than we know sometimes.  They know that it's me that's the slave with the watering can filling up bowls three times a day, it's me distributing the grain evenly so everyone gets their fair share, and it's me that slips the apple crumble leftovers into their container that disappears so very quickly.  A gathering of appreciation today I think.  Thanks, you guys.  And yes, I will get better and produce more apple crumble, ok.

The nose knows, sometimes

Not exactly crowded for me and number one son this morning.  Overcast, but you could feel it was going to get warm once the sun poked out.  Bennie, nose down inhaling the doggie smells.  I'm walking behind him smelling in the serenity.  The sun was warming the hills on the horizon.  I love this walk.  The sound of the waves drown out the trivial thoughts in your brain and you can't help but relax.  Bennie not so much.  Dogs are fascinating sometimes.  Bennie runs up to a friendly pooch, waves a tail, says hello, "Hello, I'm Bennie. Best in Class 2014..".  Then runs off.  Smells are more interesting.  He likes to run ahead, nose down.  He got way past where we had to exit so I sat down on the sand so he would see me and come back when he finished inhaling the good stuff.  He stopped, looked ahead and raced back.  Right past me towards the tiny black figure in the distance. I had to go after him.  So much for the great nose.

In need of a Nile

I shouldn't discriminate.  It's not even based on anything sound.  They're just everywhere.  Like they somehow demand a right to be there.  In every suburb, every home.  Bloody Agapanthus.  They don't even come in a singular version, there is no word for a singular Agapanthus.  Just like Tim Tams, you can't stop at one. I should like them because at the moment they are the only thing thriving in our very dry garden, and that's without any attention from me.  As chief provider of water to screaming thirsty plants, I admit to skipping the Agapanthus in favour of the geraniums.  It's wrong I know, favouring one child over another but they are overly represented across the State's stone walls and driveways.  Google tells me they're of Greek origin (blue and white, the flag, of course...) and perhaps they consider our piddly Tasmanian 29 degrees not even warm compared to a blistering Rhodes summer and so wave their long arms in defiance.  I should be grateful that such a robust plant can survive the lack of water.  Considering their other name is Lily of the Nile, and given we're sufficiently short on Nile, it's more like Lily of the dry brown paddock really.  Perhaps they are just misunderstood.  Still won't water them.

'A' Reserve Ticket Holders Only

We've run out of perches.  It's a bit like running out of seats at a football stadium.  The ones we have are all prime seating with a good view of the paddock and they're even tiered so nobody misses out on the action.  The perches start to fill on dusk every night by the same crew, our first batch of chickens.  The older chooks tuck themselves in first and Cyril usually gets seated last, being head rooster.  The newer and younger generations of chickens are later to bed.  They have no reserved seating and are forced into the general admissions area which is just a flimsy bamboo stick poking through the corners of the wire cage.  It was a bit of a quick fix on my part but seems to hold at least two or three.  I know it's going to split at some point, I just hope they get some warning.  Unfortunately we've had to put some goats in the same paddock as the chook pen recently due to their ability to levitate over fences.  And the goats like to snuggle up at night so the chook pen seems to them like a good alternative.  So the poor hens have had their house invaded by two goats that chew up all the straw and stomp around all night keeping everyone awake.  No wonder I haven't had any early morning crowing these last couple of days.  Nobody has had any sleep.

The no chicken diet works for Minnie

Most farms have a farm cat.  We're not really a farm (like real proper like..) and therefore Minnie our outdoor cat fits our improper mould.  She's chief mouser and generous with gifts on the back door mat given the occasional missing head she thought would go unnoticed. If there's a lizard, skink or bug behind a pot she's onto it.  She's even onto the heavy russling in the forest of daisies along the driveway.  Although we think it might be the same echidna that appeared last year which was great to see but confused Bennie and Minnie no end.  You could almost see by the look on their faces what was going through their minds, 'You touch it', 'No thanks, you saw it first'.  Minnie's job description includes rodent control but stipulates, no interaction with free ranging chickens of any size or proportion.  And that she does.  To the point where a mother hen can walk a two week old birthday party of toddlers right past her without incident.  Our theory was always that to deter her, we would feed Minnie well during chicken raising time.  Unfortunately chicken raising time has extended into months and months as the number of chickens has expanded rapidly along with Minnie's waistline.  Whilst we've been unkind in our jokes about her causing the cracks in the pavers and no longer being able to climb trees, we intend to cut back on the food but the plan is working at the moment.  She's upholding the mouse hunting and still keeping chicken off the menu.  It's like she's done a deal with the hen house.  Keep producing chicks and they'll keep producing the Fancy Feast.  Sweet.

How do you take your tea? One strawberry or two?

Phew. Looks like the season has finally started to change.  The wind has hightailed it out of here for the time being and a short burst of rain briefly reminded us of what it felt like not to have to water.  Our recently planted box hedges had been sadly forgotten and were gasping for water hidden under an unruly bushy rose.  I don't buy into the, water only in the early or later part of the day theory as my English box hedges struggle with an Australian dry summer any time of the day.  They scream for water NOW as they start to resemble less a green hedge and more a pile of burnt popcorn.  Elsewhere in the garden the strawberry runners hang like creepy tentacles from their baskets in the green house.  I thought they might have complained about being confined to indoors but seem to be enjoying it enough to not leave my tea cup around should they plant in there before I've finished.  It really is a fruitful time of year when you can't even give away your zucchinis and everyone has enough tomatoes to conduct their own Tomato Throwing festival (a zucchini throwing festival just wouldn't be the same).    Tomato soup, pasta sauce, soup and pasta, pasta with zucchini and tomato soup and so it goes.  I just wish opening a can wasn't so damn easy.