2011 lambing begins

Our first lamb of the new season was born last Thursday.

It's a great time of the year - and a great time to be living on a farm.

Larry stops by to say g’day

Here in Mole Creek, yesterday was a calm, cloudless, warm, sunny day. The sort of day that makes you feel good to be alive. So I decided to eat my breakfast outdoors. On the deck. I set my bowl of muesli and mug of coffee on the deck’s table. Then I looked up at the grass in front of the deck. And to my surprise, and glee, I saw a Blotched Blue-tongued Lizard [1, 2]. Motionless. Enjoying the sunshine. Like I intended to. So I raced indoors for my camera. The result you can see. The DPIPWE website [3] says Tiliqua nigrolutea is the largest lizard species in Tasmania; it grows to a head/body length of about 30 cm plus a 12-15 cm long tail; and males usually have shorter bodies and broader heads than females. I’m not clever enough to know my friend’s gender. So I assume he’s male. And I’m calling him Larry the Lizard – after Larry David [4]. Do you see the resemblance? The DPIPWE website also says blue-tongues are omnivorous and especially fond of strawberries. Me too. Soon after I photographed Larry, he sinuously sauntered off. Apparently blue-tongues aren’t threatened or rare. Even so, Larry’s only the third one I’ve seen in the 8½ years I’ve lived here. This property – Onemilebridge – is enrolled in Land for Wildlife [5] – which ensures it’s a haven for all fauna who want to live here with me. Including, and especially, Larry. Thanks for stopping by to say g’day, mate.

Potato growing - a giant conundrum

In Mole Creek autumn’s here. Well and truly. And this morning Sweetheart Vivienne flies to Melbourne. So two days ago we harvested our potatoes. Mostly from two 5-metre long patches we’d put down in our orchard – sown between a thick layer of newspaper below and straw mulch on top. These potatoes were small. Disappointingly so. Our sharefarmer neighbour Sharon said that even after their above-ground stalks and leaves have died down, potatoes left in the ground continue to grow in size. I don’t know if she’s right. And this year I won’t know – because our entire crop’s in the box (pictured). The same day Sweetheart Vivienne and I also harvested the last of the potatoes we’d grown in a stack of car tyres – in soil enriched by compost. Included were, as you can see in the photograph of the combined orchard/tyres crop, two giants. They’re the biggest potatoes we’ve ever grown. How did we do it? Beats me. Both were near the tyres’ rubber. Maybe it was warmer there. Wetter, too. Or perhaps it was the variety of potato. Or even, given Sharon’s theory, leftovers from last season. Or all of the above. Who knows? Like many things in my life, food growing’s something I’d like to improve incrementally and iteratively season-by-season. But so many variables are involved that it’s impossible to know what works – and what doesn’t. Anyway it’s fun. As it can be. Because it’s not my livelihood. Ho hum.

Farmdoc's blog's 1000th post; and the big wet.

This week there’s no compendium. What with trying to extract data from my old computer’s dying hard drive, and dealing with the daunting task of downloading and installing programs on my new computer, I had no time to compile a compendium. Oh, and there’s the matter of the rain. Between Wednesday and yesterday my rain gauge registered 173.5 mm. Almost all of it came in the 24 hours to 3 p.m. yesterday. Mole Creek village’s main street was under water for a time, and closed to all vehicles except 4WDs. One wag altered a sign to read ‘Mole River’. Some small bridges were washed away. Sand bags were used to protect the hotel and the post office. Us? We were fine. We had a waterfall down the gully in front of our house, and the resultant river flowed through the adjacent paddock. It was charming. Our house, being elevated, stayed dry. Sweetheart Vivienne and I worried about our 1km driveway. We needn’t have. For it was fine. No washouts at all. The creek lapped at our bridge (picture). But it caused no damage. So all in all we were lucky. We’re hoping for calm weather ahead, i.e. no wind to blow down trees whose roots the rain’s loosened. In any event, Mole Creek’s rain/flood’s trifling compared with Queensland’s. Those poor poor people.

P.S. Today’s the 1,000th post on Farmdoc’s Blog. I’m sorry it’s not about something nice.

P.P.S. Finally, I wish you, dear Farmdoc’s Blog readers, a wonderful week.

Hitting the mowing wall (of grass)

The Bureau of Meteorology’s Annual Australian Climate Statement 2010, which I mentioned yesterday, says ‘2010 began with El Niño conditions in the Pacific followed by a rapid transition into La Niña during autumn. The second half of the year (July to December) was the wettest on record for Australia’ [1]. Here’s a bit more about La Niña [2]( which means ‘the girl-child’ in Spanish) and its opposite, El Niño [3](‘the boy-child’). As the Bureau’s Statement says, ‘La Niña brings heavy rain, eases drought and causes widespread flooding…(so 2010 was)…Australia’s third-wettest year on record’. The 2010 La Niña event affected Tasmania less than the mainland. Even so, here in Mole Creek the 2010 rainfall was nearly an all-time record. I’ve previously mentioned the task of mowing our orchard’s grass, and my proclivity for postponing that job [4, 5]. The 2010 spring and early summer rain left the grass too wet to mow. When the rain finally stopped – a few days before Xmas, the grass was knee-high. Even a few days later my push motor mower clogged with wet grass. So I enlisted the help of my friend Barbara who cheerfully brought her ride-on mower to the task (picture). She and it did a great job. Indications are the La Niña will weaken in our 2011 autumn [6]. So I reckon my trusty mower will do the job from now on. Including next summer. Assuming my tendency to procrastination abates with La Niña. Ho hum.

Shoefiti and me

I don’t know how long they’ve been there. But I first saw them some months ago. High above the streetfront of Mole Creek’s Fire Station. Suspended on power lines. A pair of sports shoes. Tied together by their laces. I don’t know why someone tossed them up there. I don’t know who it was. And neither do my Fire Brigade mates. The shoes have stayed there. Even during the 16 September gale [1]. Every time I go to, or past, the Fire Station I look up to see if they’re still there. And they are. The power company, Aurora Energy, hasn’t bothered to remove them. For me those shoes have remained an enigma. But as Violet Fane wrote: ‘Ah, all things come to those who wait’ [2]. In last Tuesday’s Age, an piece by writer Toni Jordan [3] validated my perplexity about sports shoes hanging from power lines, provided some causal theories, and even disclosed its name: shoefiti. A google search on ‘shoefiti’ revealed thousands of citations [4]– including a Wikipedia page [5], a shoefiti website [6], and a revelation – that should’ve been obvious to me, but wasn’t – that shoefiti’s a compound word derived from ‘shoe’ and ‘graffiti’ [7]. So shoefiti, like much in our fast moving and every morphing world, is something that’s been around for a while yet passed me by. Until recently. The question occurs to me that hypothetically had I known of shoefiti sooner, whether my life would’ve been any the better for it. Ho hum.

Lamb marking day

On our Mole Creek farm, almost all this season’s lambs are a few weeks old. In other words, almost all our 35 breeding ewes got pregnant soon after they met our ram. But a few lambs were born in the last 1-2 weeks. Regardless, with summer only ten days off, it’s important the tails of all the lambs drop off and the resultant wounds heal before fly-strike (i.e. hot and muggy) weather starts. So yesterday was lamb marking day. Wikipedia says lamb marking comprises earmarking, castration and tail-docking [1]. Yesterday we gave each lamb an injection of Tasvax 5 in 1 vaccine [2], and we put a tight rubber elastration ring [3] around each lamb’s tail near where it joins the body. So technically yesterday was only partial marking. (Probably in January we’ll insert the NLIS eartags [4] and castrate those ram lambs we want to wether.) The five reasons for the vaccine’s apparent from the box (photograph). The elastration ring constricts the blood flow to the tail, and after 1-2 weeks the tail (i.e. bone and flesh) drops off leaving a small wound which soon scabs up and then heals over. After the tail drops off and before the scab forms, the lamb’s prone to fly-strike. The rings are painful: the lambs lie on the ground, roll around, and yell. But after 15-30 minutes the pain goes and the lambs act and sound normally. (The same type of rubber ring’s used in castration. That’s much more painful, and the pain lasts longer. I’ll write more about that when we do it.)

Welcome, Dieter

Today’s ‘Positive and Optimistic Sunday’. Meet Dieter. He’s a sprightly 75-year-old German-Canadian. He lives in Ottawa. And he’s come all the way from there (with transit stops in Vancouver, Sydney and Melbourne) to stay with us in Mole Creek for three weeks. A retired precision toolmaker and then schoolteacher, he’s the father of Maya [1]. And with Maya and Mark he visited here in December 2006. He liked this part of the world – and maybe Sweetheart Vivienne and me too – so much that he’s returned for this visit. I met him at Launceston Airport last Friday afternoon. He came loaded with gifts – a Canadian fossil rock, an Ottawa Police t-shirt (as a tribute to how much I love all police [2, 3]), a bottle of home-made elderberry jelly and one of quince honey, and a giant carton of Lebkuchen-Schmidt delicacies [4]. He had quite a small suitcase and backpack, so minus these items he couldn’t have brought many clothes. But he says he has ‘three of everything but only two pairs of boots’. He adds that he’s come to work and help out. I doubt we’ll disappoint him. There’s plenty to do around here – especially as he’s handy with a chainsaw. Whilst the gifts are thoughtful and lovely, our biggest gift is having Dieter here. Welcome, mate.

This week's compendium

Here’s this week’s compendium – again with a strong health/medical slant. This week…

1. more evidence confirmed the major health benefits of walking [1a, 1b]. Walking less increases obesity. Big time. And thus diabetes.

2. speaking of diabetes, its control was improved when unstable diabetics were buddied up with other unstable diabetics [2]. Doesn’t surprise me. Humans are herd animals.

3. treehugger ran a piece about seed sprouting; and sprouters [3]. It’s good the two spruiked sprouters are glass and not plastic, eh darling Meg.

4. in the USA, the FDA approved Botox to prevent frequent migraine [4a, 4b]. Those treated will feel better. And they’ll look better too – or not.

5. JAMA reported a randomised controlled trial of 17,000 postmenopausal women showing those taking hormone replacement therapy had 25% higher breast cancer incidence and 300% higher breast cancer mortality than those taking placebo [5]. Hippocrates said: ‘Primum non nocere’, i.e. first, do no harm.

6. the Herald Sun revealed Victoria has about 800 publicly-paid spin doctors, i.e. more than the total number of MICA paramedics, orthopaedic surgeons and forensic police [6]. Ho hum.

7. Grammar Girl explained that as a noun, it’s blonde for women and blond for men. But adjectivally, it’s blond for women and men [7]. I didn’t know this – until now.

8. on our farm, the baby lambs and kids have started arriving [8]. So far, including two sets of triplets – one of lambs, one of kids.

Finally, I wish you, dear Farmdoc’s Blog readers, a wonderful week.

Mole Creek's new tourist information sign

Mole Creek started out in the 19th century as a camp for loggers and trappers [1]. Nowadays it’s a tourist town [2]. I’ve heard the B12 road west from Deloraine through Mole Creek towards Cradle Mountain [3] is Tasmania’s busiest tourist road. True or apocryphal? I’ve no idea. Most of Mole Creek’s businesses are geared to tourism: caravan park, guesthouse and restaurant, craft shop, hotel, café, rental cottages, B&Bs [4]. The hotel and café provide tourist information. From late Autumn (i.e. Easter) to early Spring (i.e. now) – the tourism off-season – the village hibernates. But in the past few days, coinciding with the Victorian school holidays, it’s started to stir: a sprinkling of cars with mainland licence plates, couples and families eyeing the craft shop’s display window offerings, people excitedly pointing cameras at the snow-capped Great Western Tiers [5]. All are signals the 2010/11 tourist season’s begun. To celebrate, and to help the tourists orient themselves and navigate to local natural and man-made attractions, we have a new sign. It’s on a giant board across from the guesthouse. The same board used to sport an amateurish sign. Recently a signwriting crew painted it over, then hand-painted the new sign. As the photograph shows, its style’s art naïve [6] – kind of. For wider views, click here [7]. Me? I like it – mainly as it’s not corporate. I think the world has far too many signs. But this one’s a good ’un. You betcha.

List: '15 ways to Practice Water Conservation at Home'

Today’s ‘List Friday’. Water. It’s a precious commodity [1]. I’m familiar with the concept of ‘carbon footprint’. But less so ‘water footprint’ [2]. A nation’s water footprint’s the water quantity needed to produce its goods and services. As the map shows, Australia has a middle ranked per capita national water footprint [3]. But we’re our planet’s driest inhabited continent [4]. And one that’ll get drier due to climate change. So we can’t rest on our laurels. Making usable water by desalination’s horrendously expensive [5], and thus impractical. So we must conserve water. Water conservation’s a process that must be managed at national, state, community, household and personal levels. This week’s list focuses on household and personal water conservation. Titled ‘15 ways to Practice Water Conservation at Home’ it stems from planetgreen in early September [6]. The ‘15 Ways’ are divided into kitchen, bathroom, laundry and outdoors. They’re simple and commonsense. I’m already a water conservationist. Because all the usable water here’s rainwater collected from rooves and stored in tanks, I don’t pay any water tax/rate to a government authority. So my motivation to conserve water’s anxiety about the tanks running dry. As I’m off the water grid, I doubt my usage is counted in the national water footprint. But I do my best anyway. Those on the water grid can save money by conserving water – as well as reducing the national water footprint.

I love my land

Devastation. Mayhem. Havoc. Chaos. They all happened last Thursday. Winds of 140 km/hour lashed Tasmania [1, 2]. Including our property. For hours and hours. At home I could hear trees crashing. All morning I was too scared to venture outdoors. Mid-afternoon I went out – as I had to feed hay, collect mail, and feed Sharon’s dogs. Our driveway was blocked by fallen trees, so I walked. And I heard, and saw, more trees crashing down. As I walked east to the post office, the westerly tailgail was so strong I had trouble keeping my footing. Roofing iron flew through the air. And I was worried about electricity wires coming down on me. By the time I walked home, more trees had fallen on the driveway. Once home I stayed home. That night I lay awake listening to the wind howl. At 4 a.m. Friday it quietened. Then I slept for a few hours. On Friday morning I walked all the fencelines. See some photographs here [3]. On Saturday morning my neighbour Todd’s father Daryl cleared the road. How kind of him to help me like that. The rest will take months to clear up. Maybe years. But at least I’m safe. And my house and Pete [4] are unscathed. How do I feel? Bereft. Distraught. Empty. Brokenhearted. I love my land. And its trees. Some fallen trees were over 100 years old. I know I’m not personally to blame for what happened. But what happened I feel personally.

On the appeal of offgridding

In Mole Creek, today’s the fifth day of Spring. At this time of the year, day-by-day the sun climbs higher in the sky. And more hours between sunrise and sunset means more sunshine on our solar panels. In our eight years here, we’ve never run our backup generator after August. So yesterday I rolled up the extension cord (pictured) that connects it to the battery charger.

I love living off the grid. So I was intrigued to read a recent Salon article titled ‘Off the Grid: The growing appeal of going off the grid’ [1]. It tells of people who are unconnected to all services. Here in Mole Creek, our only external utilities are the telephone and internet.

As a subtotal offgridder, I agree with lots of what the Salon piece says about offgridding: It counts even if you’re not completely pure in the way you do it. It’s a lifestyle choice that also has a metaphorical significance. It’s about moving away from the corporate system, physically and metaphorically, i.e. it’s a way of sticking your finger up at that establishment. You gain more than you give up. You’re far more aware of nature. It makes you responsible. You can live very comfortably off the grid.

In summary I live off the grid for environmental reasons, and also for independence. I wouldn’t have it any other way. And I feel oh so smug whenever massive electricity price rises are announced, as they were in Tasmania last week [2, 3]. Ho hum.

P.S. Happy Father’s Day to me. And to you if you're a father.

List: '10 Great Blogs About Growing Food'

Today’s ‘List Friday’. I’ve never been much of a delegator. When something needs doing, and I can do it myself, I prefer to do it myself. Then at least I know it’s done well. Or if not, where the weaknesses and pitfalls lie. Segueing right along from yesterday’s Farmdoc’s Blog post, if you delegate the production of the food you eat, you don’t know under what conditions it’s grown or made, and what’s in it (and what’s not). Score one (or many more) for the agrobusiness bullies. Conversely, if you grow your own food you know just about everything about it. Self-sufficiency [1] in food is a continuum – ranging from 0% to 100%. Here in Mole Creek Sweetheart Vivienne and I aren’t anywhere near 100%. But wherever you are on the continuum, every step – however tiny – towards 100% helps. By rewarding you with healthier food and the satisfaction of producing it. By rewarding our planet. And by thwarting the agrobusiness bullies. If you wish to travel the path to 100% food self-sufficiency – and in many senses the journey’s more important and enjoyable than the destination – there’s no shortage of information and advice out there to help you. Today’s list, from planetgreen and titled '10 Great Blogs About Growing Food’ [2], is not a bad place to start. Or to use as a waystation if you’re already on the road. Whichever, I wish you happy and healthy travelling.

Sometimes size does matter

Tasmania’s lucky to have several unique and beautiful native trees. Soon after we moved to Mole Creek in late 2002, Sweetheart Vivienne and I planted some, in terra cotta pots, to soften the south-facing expanse of the back of our house. They did well – until mid 2004 when some goats escaped from a paddock while Sweetheart Vivienne and I were in England. We returned home to see our beloved native trees savaged. One died. With care and attention, the others regrew. So much so, they eventually became pot-bound. The remedy? Larger containers. After some searching and pondering, we decided we’d use half wine barrels. Last Friday we bought seven (retail A$69.99 each, our price A$68.06 via a Seniors’ discount!). Then yesterday our dear friends Herbert (pictured) and Sally from Habitat Plants [1] in Liffey [2], brought over a ute load of native plant potting mix they’d made up themselves. Herbert did the transplanting with supreme expertise, and the other three of us bucketed the potting mix. The end result’s superb. The trees (celery top pine, sassafras, Huon pine, myrtle, leatherwood, native olive, native pepper) should love their bigger homes – and respond with a growth spurt.

P.S. After this work, we enjoyed a wonderful lunch – Sweetheart Vivienne’s home made chicken soup, Farmdoc’s wholemeal bread rolls, Sweetheart Vivienne’s honey cake, and coffee. Simply sumptuous! Thanks so much, Herbert and Sally.

We have a sick sheep.

We have a sick sheep. A ram. Indeed a ram lamb. Born last November. Until a few days ago he was healthy. As can be. Then he got shitty. Literally. Suddenly. Within 24 hours he was lagging behind his peers. A few hours later he was too weak to stand. He’s a dear little fellow. Worth saving. The initial treatment was a dose of drench – a liquid medicine to clean out the worms in his gut that caused the diarrhoea and sapped his strength. Weaners are less able than older animals to fight off worms – their immune systems are more immature. Next was a vitamin injection. Then a 3-4 times a day regimen of 30 ml of Vigest tonic [2], a lift onto his feet, a drink from the trough, and some Ewe & Lamb Pellets [3] to eat. Two days ago he had the strength to stand for only a couple of minutes. Yesterday he stood for 10 minutes. So he’s seemingly improving. But he’s not out of the proverbial woods yet. The drench works within a few hours. So the worms are gone. The questions are if his strength and nutrition have been depleted too far; and if he has the will to live. So far so good. On both counts. Yesterday I worked in Deloraine. But today I’m at home, so he’ll be getting intensive care. Sick animals bring out the rehabilitation physician in me. I hope he makes it through. He’s a dear little fellow.

Mole Creek: only 114 years behind the times

Wikipedia tell us a post box (or mailbox) is a physical box that collects outgoing mail from the public; and the first mail box began service in Paris in 1653 [1]. Different post box designs have different names, e.g. a wall box is set into a wall [2], a pillar box stands on the ground and has a cylindrical (i.e. pillar) shape [3], and a lamp box (which is the smallest post box used in the UK and the Commonwealth of Nations) was named because it was designed to be affixed to lamp posts though it may sit on its own pole [4]. The first lamp box appeared in London in 1896 on a trial basis as inexpensive alternative to the pillar box [5]. Until last week, the Mole Creek Post Office had a wall box, i.e. essentially a lost set into the post office’s wall. Then last week, out of the blue (or rather, the red) appeared the pictured post box. If you’ve paid attention to the foregoing, you’ll know what type of post box it is. Sorry, no prizes. The postmaster told me the change is because Australia Post considers wall boxes safety risks, i.e. a burning item placed in a wall box will do more damage than one placed in a lamp box. Oops, I’ve let the cat out of the bag – or the box. Anyway Mole Creek’s only 114 years behind the times. That’s one of the things I love about the place.

GOM, SAD and Solar

It’s no coincidence I called myself a grumpy old man [GOM] in June [1], and I wrote of seasonal affective disorder [2] in July [3] and August [4]. For here in Tasmania the three winter months – June, July and August – are cold, dark and wet. Though feeding hay’s mandatory as is chainsawing a wattle that felled a fence last week, farm chores in winter are no fun. So it’s the perfect time to light the woodheater and curl up with a book. Last week I read Solar [5], the newest novel by acclaimed English writer Ian McEwan (pictured) [6]. I couldn’t wait to read a book marrying McEwan’s undoubted writing skills with the theme of global warming/climate change. But, sadly, my disappointment matched my expectancy. My major gripe was that the main character, Nobel Prize winning scientist Michael Beard, wasn’t likeable. And neither were the lesser characters. Also McEwan’s writing quality’s uneven; and big text chunks are irrelevant to the storyline. It needed, but didn’t get, a good edit. I doubt it’d have been published if penned by an obscure writer. I’ve whinged about mediocre books by other fantastic writers – John le Carré and Philip Roth [7, 8]. Solar joins this list. Whether it’s the halo effect, or because these writers are so famous and powerful that no publisher dares edit their work, it’s the readers who suffer. Or was it only that I read Solar in winter when I’m a GOM due to SAD? Ho hum.

P.S. Today’s the winter solstice. So from tomorrow, daylight hours will be longer.

From Alec to me

Alec Baldwin [1]. Whilst I’ve admired his film acting, I think he’s perfect as Jack Donaghy in the series 30 Rock [2]. So when last 28 March’s Selected Shorts podcast promo listed a reading by Baldwin [3], I couldn’t wait. A native New Yorker, he read ‘Lost and Found’ by fellow New Yorker Carston Whitehead [4]. (Listen here [5] starting at 16’ 8”; read it here [6].) Baldwin sensitively and knowingly interprets this poignant story – a meditation on walking the changing streets of New York City. ‘You are a New Yorker when what was there before is more real and solid than what is here now… you are a New Yorker the first time you say ‘That used to be Munsey's’. To put off the inevitable, we try to fix the city in place, remember it as it was…Maybe we become New Yorkers the day we realize that New York will go on without us.’ Powerful stuff, eh.

This week they’re replacing Mole Creek Post Office’s mailboxes. I don’t know why. I’m told the old boxes are only 30 years old. As I live in rural Tasmania, the mail’s a key part of my life. Hence these two posts (pun unintended) [7, 8]. I’m pleased my box number’ll stay 181. And that I’m a Mole Creeker (or Creekian) because I’ll say I remember the old boxes. Inevitably, though, one day I’ll be gone. But Mole Creek, and its post office boxes, will, just as inevitably, go on without me.

The shape of things to come?

Vis-à-vis the farm part of Farmdoc, a recurring theme in this blog is hay. In the nine years my sharefarmer Sharon and I’ve been jointly farming our adjoining properties, we’ve used square hay bales [1]. (They’re actually rectangular but called square.) This is because they’re smaller and lighter than round bales – the hay in a round bale’s roughly the same as in 15 square bales – so we can handle them manually. (Lifting round bales needs machinery – which Joel Salatin derides as ‘heavy metal’ [2] – which we don’t have and don’t want.) As neither Sharon nor I is getting younger (and stronger), we’re seeking ways to make our farming easier. So we decided we’d experiment this year. Last Saturday we bought a round bale (pictured) (for A$50) which we rolled off Sharon’s ute into one of our paddocks where we have 36 sheep and 29 goats. Instead of feeding square bale hay to them daily, the round bale’s now available to them, buffet-like, 24/7. How quickly they’ll eat it, and whether it’ll be degraded by the weather or them climbing and then excreting on it, remains to be seen. But if you don’t ask the question you won’t know the answer. This aspect of farming’s fun. It intrigues me. Stay tuned.