My Garden ~ a Kiwi's take on life

Life is a lot like a garden


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Rube is Not the Word to Describe My Neighbours

Rube

 Census 2018 is on my mind. New Zealand is about to count itself.

Our dwelling details will be designated rural. We will count our hens and our cattle. I guess we will explain again, our septic waste and water supply systems, uses of buildings and land. No doubt we will list our gender and our levels of education and income. Who knows what other questions will be asked. Our feelings and views will not be canvassed. Data will show we are neither feather-brained nor bovine in outlook. Such questions are designed to elicit data to give an overall statistical snapshot of people who live in the countryside on Census 2018 day.

What I do know, is that the tally of rural residents living on our country road will show our neighbours’ occupations as: accountant, builder, commercial hydroponic rose grower, dairy farmer, engineer, horse breeder, industrial chemist, land developer, nurse, policeman, retiree, school bus driver, school principal, stay-at-home parent, student, urban business owner, web developer. And what I also know is that these neighbours have busy workdays and busy weekends. 

We affect to live a rustic lifestyle just fifteen minutes drive from the city. To some, country living may seem unsophisticated. Sunhats, jandals, gumboots are not fashion statements. They are practical items that suit the living on the land. Old-fashioned he may be, our neighbour persists  year-round in true Kiwi style by wearing a singlet, shorts and gumboots as he goes about his jobs. We all wear gumboots as the preferred footwear when the soil is saturated after rainy downpours and when we struggle in flooded paddocks to save wrecked fences. 

Fenceline

This time a post had to be pulled out of the water.

In stormy weather, a work gang forms and men rev their chainsaws and tractors to deal to a fallen tree blocking the road. We are able cook up a one-pot meal over the woodburner or gas-fired BBQ during a prolonged power outage.Our gender, our educational levels and occupations count for nothing at these times. Neighbourly commonsense and cooperation matters. These are the same people who on Monday morning, switch to their sophisticated urbane selves and dressed in their city clothes, head into town to their places of work. 

But back to the word prompt for this post. Getting started was the hard bit. What content could I use on which to peg the prompt. I consider myself to have a good knowledge of the meaning and use of the English language. As a competitive Scrabble player, I pride myself on a quick recall of words. How could I have not come across this word? Awkward.

First I thought maybe the word had something to do my birthstone, that precious, blood-red coloured gem, the ruby. Shakespearean quotes came to mind. After all, there are many rub- words associated with red and rubies that evoke emotion and symbolic meanings. Then there are these proverbial words,

Who can find a virtuous woman? for Her price is far above rubies.

Next, I wondered if I could play around with the shortened version of a given name like my Great-Aunt Ruby or a man’s name like Reuben. Both names feature in lyrics of well remembered songs but yielded few writing cues.

Feeling ignorant, I broadened my word meaning search. It was American dictionary time. Hayseed to me is something that falls from a dried grass stalk and is often the cause of a seasonal allergy known as hayfever. Hillbilly, not really in this country. Yahoo or lout, maybe the young guy who 360s at the intersection or weaves his vehicle at speed through the designated 55kph corners of the windy stretch of downhill leaving black tyre marks on the road surface. 

Finally. Got it. This has been an exercise of making sense of cultural use of words to express ideas.

Rural voters were tired of being treated as rubes by state officials who showed interest in them only at election time. 

The word definition and its use in the sentence imply prejudice, a put-down, a negative viewpoint of rural folk. I am word wiser now.

Reminder to self. Memorise the 4-letter Scrabble word list. There are only two hooks, -l and -s, for the word ‘rube’.


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Summer Heat and the Insects are at Work

A certain languor is essential to cool living in this summer heat. We stay indoors away from the midday sun. The cats lie comatosed. We check our 18-year old cat is even alive. He is fading and infirm and sadly, his days are numbered.

The most energetic lifeforms at work are the insects. Dragonflies dip and dive over water. They have a useful purpose. According to Himself, more dragonflies means that more mosquitoes are chomped.

Mozzies have a personal vendetta against Himself, so he says, slapping on insect repellent and squirting aerosol spray in the direction of yet another whining black dot.  I seem to be immune from these night-invaders. My good fortune neither helps nor amuses Himself under siege. Chemical warfare against the mozzies continues.

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Bumblebees pollinate pumpkin plants

Greater numbers of bumblebees are visiting and working in the garden. I like to think this is because plantings of different herbs and plants have provided sources of nectar and pollen for much of the year. Overtime, I have tried to plant for diversity to attract beneficial insects. It seems to be happening.

Years ago, Himself and I cleared an overgrown Buddleia B.davidii from our boundary fenceline. It an invasive weed and a noxious pest plant. We disturbed a colony of hundreds of bumblebees nesting hidden deep in a large hole below ground level inside the rotting trunk.  Obviously the buddleia flowers were a great source of food.

The bumblebees did not seek to sting us – unlike wasps we have encountered. Since that time, I have learned more about these beneficial insects. Bumblebees are great garden pollinators.


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Bunnies and Bridge Aren’t a Fit

My brain has turned to rabbit mush. It has been 22 days since they were born. Newborns in any household bring on that ‘brain mush’ effect. My senses are tuned to responding to the demands and needs of these small creatures.  

It is now routine at 6 a.m. for me to forage under the totara trees along the stream bank for fresh dewy puha, dandelions and thistles. By 7.30 a.m. the rabbit hutch has been cleaned, the kits have a frolic while Oreo, their mother, has her breakfast. Rabbit housekeeping  is repeated for Paws’, the father rabbit, cage. He is let out for a thirty-minute run in the orchard before he too is fed back in his cage.

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Foraging for puha, dandelions and grass along the stream bank

There was the initial burst of enthusiasm for the novelty of rabbit care before school Agricultural Day in October. Paws showed off his moves and earned Grandson an Agricultural Day Certificate. Grandson considers job done. And apparently, 6 a.m. is not a civilised hour to be up and getting wet by the morning dew on the long grass in the paddock. The boys are not impressed that Nana at their age had to herd the cows, no quad bike, from their night paddock to the shed and help her Dad with milking and feed the calves. So last century.  Grandsons of the  household are getting ready for school – so they say with a device in one hand. But they are out the door at 8 a.m.

Hen care is next, the Brown Shavers indignant they have been usurped and made to wait because of these furry intruders. Squawking loudly, they stand and poo in their water dish, peck at and clamber over each other and crowd the opening of the chicken cage run.  I remember to smell the Sweet Peas that scramble over the bean frame in the vegetable garden. The flowers are just glorious at this time of the year. I do a few household chores and get myself ready to rush out the door.

One morning a week, I attend formal lessons for beginning players at the Bridge Club , a fifteen-minute drive into town. It is more like a mad dash through the door just after the lesson has started. We were learning about Responder’s Rebids and having a choice of bidding No Trumps if my hand had no fit with my partner’s suit. So what do I do? Bid like it was a game of 500. I called 6 No Trumps. As the complexity of these lessons increases, I am convinced I will never get the hang of Bridge. Two other players are in a similar situation grandparenting two young dogs and empathise with the challenge to get a fit between small young animal care and learning bridge. Breathe, we tell ourselves. We laugh. Our Bridge instructor is wonderfully patient. 


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Bunnies’ first nibble of vegetables

Each day has a new happening in the rabbit hutch. Day 21 and two little bunnies hopped towards the cage door, reared on their hind paws, reached and sniffed the fresh grass and leaf matter in my hand I was about to feed to their mother. This evening, the kits took baby nibbles of their first vegetable, the silverbeet leaf and stalk, organically grown in my garden, was intended for their mother. Meanwhile. Mama Oreo was absorbed eating freshly picked puha and young thistles. Nothing but the best freshly picked home grown produce for these small creatures.

Kit tastes silverbeet for the first time.

Kits sniffing and tasting vegetables. Very curious and friendly.

Bunnies are Groomed by Mum

After tasting the vegetable feed, mini-lop bunnies are groomed by Mum.


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Mini-lop Baby Rabbits’ Eyes Open Day 14

Oreo and her Kits

Both surviving 14-day old kits had hopped out of their nest in the plastic tray.

It is Day 14 since the birth and we have seen rapid change. From hairless newborns enveloped by a thick quilt of soft rabbit fur, the white-furred kits have emerged from their downy cocoon, moving in tiny hops as they explore the boundaries of their nest before joining Mum on the floor of the hutch. One tiny hop for a rabbit. One giant hop for baby bunnies.

For the first time, we saw Oreo cleaning her babies as they lay on their backs while they suckled. They are beguiling, such cute characters. After school this afternoon, it was with absolute wonder as they cuddled the kits that grandsons learned the baby rabbits had newly opened their eyes.

I stood back and looked on gobsmacked. Were these the same boys who absolutely must be in front of a gaming device in their spare time? Rabbits = 1, devices = 0.

 

Oreo is calm about me cleaning the nest, handling the kits and watching her with the kits. I have been careful to build trust and a routine with her. I like to talk to her with a quiet voice and let her come up and sniff my hand. It helps to offer Oreo a piece of apple. Everything stops for that treat.


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Of Cardiac and Chicken Events

Twenty months have slipped by since I penned my last post. I had good intentions to write weekly. Life got in the way. Himself had a cardiac event that triggered a string of interventions. Life takes on a new perspective. It is a great blessing to have a good neighbour. Neighbour’s very old farm dog tried to get into the ambulance with Himself after he collapsed in the paddock. A few wise woofs to the ambo crew from an old dog who’d seen it all before when Neighbour suffered a similar situation a year previously.

In our absent-mindedness, Neighbour grazed his animals in our paddocks. Green dollars exchange is to be commended. He repaired flood-damaged fences and applied worm fertiliser to the pastures. And so the rural routines carried on at our place. And nature ignored the human situation. Tress grew. Rain fell. Garden weeds thrived. The moon waxed and waned. The sun rose and shone. Himself and I have been lucky. We did as prescribed for post-cardiac surgery. I say ‘we’  – it’s a team effort.  Life continues. We’re getting back into our routines and are about to tackle some big jobs. I’ll write about these over time.

Meanwhile, chickens. It’s Ag Day at the end of this month at our grandson’s school. Chickens rule the roost . Master 7 year-old chose the day-old chicken raising project. Brown Shavers. So cute. Because the nights are a bit cool yet and they are only three weeks old, they’re still overnighting in a cage inside our house. Last two or three days have been warm so the chicks have enjoyed time outside in the coop. It is well netted to the cat’s chagrin. The adult hens and rooster are most curious. Chickens without a mother hen.

5 Outdoors 1st run in chicken cage 5 Warm back inside box

Gardening and nature is therapy and gives strength. To my special delight, bees are working the borage and other spring blossoms in my garden.

Bees love borage


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My Garden ~ putting my places on the map

Today, my map is back!!!! How did this happen? Resilience is one of my personal traits – ‘I can do it!’ is my mantra (well, that’s what I’m telling you).   In a New Year post, I recounted Mike Sneddon’s blog – 7 Tips to Building Your Blog’s Readership http://www.worldwidefreelance.com/writing.htm  At the time, his words made sense, so I idly thought it a simple matter to add a Platial map to highlight my New Zealand references. Progress was slow and painful as I didn’t have a clue how to go about things.  What did I learn? Not sure. Six months later in June, and I’ve never worked out why or what I did, but my flash new Platial NZ map widget had disappeared from my blog. I lamented the joys of learning how to manage a  blog. 

Today, I went back to Platial and did some searching homework. Well, long story short, I’m setting up a new blog. I need to include a map. In 2009, Himself and I will leave NZ to work and to travel (more about that at a later time). My Garden blog will go on the back-burner for a couple of years though I probably won’t be able to resist dropping in from time to time – likely from a ‘homesickness’ for my plants and trees – and the pukeko, the cat, the animal life. Anyway, that’s in the tomorrow and tomorrow’s time.

However, first things first, my newly re-discovered world of mapping in blogland is grabbing my attention.