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.

farmdoc's blog post number 534

Last Sunday, in our Hayshed Paddock, my sharefarmer Sharon and I had a leisurely confab and decided that as our paddock grass is growing causing our goats and sheep to have all but lost interest in hay, we’d stop feeding out hay forthwith. Each May when we start with the hay, it’s so much fun. The animals run for it, then they gobble and munch and crunch as if their lives depended on it. Which they do. For through the cold and dark and wet months when the grass doesn’t grow, they need hay – for warmth, roughage and some nutrition. In deep winter, feeding hay’s a drudge. But it must to be done, so done it is. Daily. Then when spring arrives and the weather’s again conducive to outdoor pursuits, hay feeding ends. Ain’t that life in a nutshell. Like when you’re young and your financial needs are greatest, you’re not at your earning peak. But when you’re older and you’re earning more money, your needs are less. Also last Sunday, Sharon sheared the pictured wether lambs (born in late 2008), then I drenched them, then we turned them out into the Home Paddock. The theory (and practice) is that without wool they’ll be colder, so they’ll eat more to keep warm, so they’ll put on weight. By month’s end they’ll be fit to kill. We may BBQ or roast one to mark the end of the hay feeding months – and the end of another turn of the annual farm cycle.

farmdoc's blog post number 468

Today’s the first day of the last month of the 2009 winter. In Mole Creek it’s still dark, cold and wet. Yet here I am writing about a fire brigade/bushfire topic. Again. For the third time in the past four days. The winter must be getting to my brain. Is it seasonal affective disorder? Though the next fire season’s months away, the Mole Creek brigade still trains twice each month – for our skills rust if we don’t polish them; and we have new members to absorb into our team. Whilst we train, we chat. And each winter much of the chat’s about how bad the next fire season’ll be. The prediction’s always bad. If the weather’s dry, then it’ll be bad because the fuel load will be dry. Tinder dry. (The adjective ‘tinder’ always precedes ‘dry’. Here is the definition of ‘tinder.) Or if the weather’s wet – like this winter is – then it’ll be bad because more plant growth means a heavier fuel load. So it’ll be bad whatever the weather. It’s a no-win scenario. So I’ve stopped talking, and worrying, about it. Whatever will be, will be. Even so, I was interested to read this in last Wednesday’s Age. Blimey. Last season’s devastating Victorian bushfires were the worst in recorded history; yet they’re predicting the coming season’s conditions will be even worse. It’s hard to understand. I wonder if it’s not a beat-up – the bushfire equivalent of swine flu – to goad people into adequately preparing. I’ll bet you anything the coming season’s fires will be trivial compared with last season’s. Time will tell.