On Sunday morning when I went down to feed the pigs I arrived at the silo to find to my horror that the lid on the side had been pushed in and the cows had helped themselves to the grain.
I had thought that the silo was nearly empty but there was plenty of feed within reach of the cows. The memory of a dozen sheep with four legs in the air flashed through my mind, from the occasion when they somehow opened the bottom chute and gorged themselves to death.
I shot off on the bike to find the cows which had long since fled the scene of the crime.
Fortunately for me, all were located and none appeared to be suffering the effects of too much grain. It was back to the silo with pliers and wire to tie the chute handle off to a silo leg and then jam a piece of mesh up against the offending door.
I was terribly sad to say a final goodbye to my two beautiful hoggets, the ones that Julia and Greta painted love hearts on last weekend. They were dispatched to the freezer when efforts to catch the two big Mad Merino wethers failed. I guess a short trip to the freezer is better than a long trip to the sale though.
After the gardens were watered and the critters fed, I sat on the verandah with my breakfast and opened a magazine, my favourite relaxation activity. An article entitled the happiest club in Hawkes Bay (NZ) caught my eye. I read further to learn about “The Coffin Club” started in 2014 by a gentleman who was talking to his dog too much. What started as a small idea soon took on a life (pardon the pun) of it’s own.
Making custom coffins, members consist of men and women of all ages. They originally joined to make a unique coffin for themselves for use at a later-date but now supply coffins to people that can’t afford them, as well as coffins supplied to nearby hospitals for babies and children. Even the local funeral parlour has a regular order, proud to be able to supply locally made coffins. They have even branched into ash boxes.
While I am not quite ready to slip off this mortal coil, I am definitely going to do some research to see if there are any such clubs nearby. Perhaps Dear Richie would like to have a matching coffin with me, although I suspect he will want vintage motorbike decorations and I am more likely to pick pictures of all my favourite creatures. I have already picked my songs – Glen Campbell’s “Try a little kindness,” along with Nickleback’s, “If today was your last day!”
Tears sprung to my eyes when my friend and pig expert Katy told me that a Black Beauty sow had narrowly missed being Champion Sow of the show at Sydney Royal this week. I guess it was like an acknowledgement that I must have done something right in my life, or at least when breeding the pigs for so long. I was thrilled to see the ram I sold a few years ago to Hoya Pastoral as a weaner was now five years old and sound, with excellent confirmation and true to type. I am looking forward to seeing his offspring in the Spring!
To see a hundred or more swans on the dam in one group was an amazing sight. I was even able to get a few photos this week as they swam up near the boat ramp. There are no pelicans as yet, but I imagine they will arrive in the not-too-distant future. Thousands of ducks and other waterfowl are up my end of the dam at the moment where the fishing is still good. I have a couple of fishermen booked in next weekend so as long as the weather holds out they should have a fantastic weekend.
Still digging deep and making phone calls to drum up support for the Rare Breeds Trust Auction, the next phone call I made gave me the surprise of my life. A beautifully cultured voice answered my call to the office of Australasian Poultry Magazine HQ. I need to write a script of what to say when seeking sponsorship and donations, however, I stated my name and reason for the call and the person at the other end seemed very interested.
After a few minutes of stumbling along the voice on the line said, “I know all about you. You are speaking with Megg Miller.”
“Megg Miller,” I echoed in surprise, “What an honour to speak with you.”
For those who don’t recognise the name, Megg Miller (OAM) is the founder of Grass Roots Magazine and Publishing Company, a magazine that has been published since 1974, from memory, 50 years next year, and still going strong. Megg was more than happy to donate a subscription of Australasian Poultry for the auction next month and also asked me to write a story for Grass Roots which I shall be delighted to do.
Our cottage guests were return visitors. Eight-year-old Kira loved Dora and spent most of the day playing with her. Around 3pm they decided to visit Glenlyon Dam. When I arrived home around 6pm Dora was running around like a mad thing. Close inspection revealed a nasty gash to her shoulder. It was deep but clean with no bleeding. How this happened will remain a mystery but most likely she was after a mouse, lizard or goanna and ran into something. Whatever the cause, she is paying the price now with stitches and a bucket over her head to keep them in place. She was pretty quiet for a day or two but is now getting back to her old self.
Last night we had some interesting guests in the cottage, a father and son who arrived just on dark in a car smaller than a decent size kangaroo. We shared our barbecue meal with them and learned that they were on their way to the Goondiwindi Races, having come across from Yamba. I swear he (Dad) was someone famous, but I couldn’t work out who.
The next morning, they were playing guitar and singing, better than your average muso for sure. We also had Carol and Shane, Australian Wwoofers who making their way around Australia before settling down on their own little piece of paradise in the Lockyer Valley. We all had a wonderful night!
I hope you are all enjoying the glorious days and cooler nights. Until next week, Judy x
