Gender: know and tell?

There’s no compendium this week. The reason? We have house guests – Sweetheart Vivienne’s brother Harvey and his wife Reva – so I haven’t had time to prepare one.

In Australia at least, almost all pregnant women undergo ultrasonography. This means the gender of each human foetus can be, and is, diagnosed before birth. So parents-to-be have two decisions to make: Do they want to know their unborn’s gender; and if yes will they tell family and friends. Sweetheart Vivienne’s and my youngest child was born sufficiently long ago that we didn’t grapple with these decisions. So I’ve never had first-hand experience with the pros and cons of knowing and telling. Not to worry. I don’t feel I’ve missed out in this regard. Yesterday we and our house guests visited Ben (pictured). He’s eight months old old and from Tasmania’s West Coast. His mother was killed by a car. He now weighs 8kg and he’s said to be ‘a wombat toddler’. The plan is that in late 2011 or early 2012, when he weighs 12-15kg and he’s ‘a wombat teenager’, he’ll be ready for release into the bush. Our bush. So there. Though not prenatally, I know the gender of our next ‘child’. And I’m thrilled to bits about it. Not only am I glad I know, I’m delighted to tell you.

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

This week's compendium

Here’s this week’s compendium. This week…

1. Google launched teachparentstech.org whose name says it all [1]. It’s informative. And fun too.

2. the Daily Mail published this article on Israeli airport security’s cutting edge [2a]. Tiny Israel leads the world. H/t The Rubin Report [2b].

3. Grammar Girl explained how to pluralise surnames [3a, 3b]. Important info at this greeting card writing time of the year.

4. Nutrition Diva expounded the benefits of nuts, and also peanuts (which, she said, are legumes and not nuts) [4]. I love peanuts even more now.

5. the Australian Government announced subsidisation of nicotine patches to help smokers kick the addiction [5a]. Good move. The recently released 30th US Surgeon General’s report on smoking documents smoking’s continuing scourge [5b],

6. a treehugger item explained that if 66% of the UK’s shops closed their doors, carbon emission savings would equate to 1.1M fewer cars [6]. I bet they don’t, but.

7. an MJA paper concluded sheepskins are an effective method of bedsore prevention [7]. I wonder if this is the reason the sheepskin price has risen lately.

8. on a sadder note, the floods in south eastern Australia have drowned many southern hairy-nosed wombats in their burrows [8a]. What a tragedy. Southern hairy nosed wombats are a listed endangered species [8b].

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

Porridge - plain and simple

If you’re ever here in Mole Creek for Sunday breakfast, you’ll never need to ask what’s on the menu. It’ll be porridge. Every Sunday. Plain and simple. This ritual began years ago. I’ve loved porridge since I was a nipper. Most likely because it’s simple, nutritious and filling. Another factor could be my Scots name (i.e. Ross). Porridge’s the traditional breakfast of Scotland, of course. During our 1998 bicycle tour, Sweetheart Vivienne and I stayed in a B&B in Thurso. The owner asked what I’d like for breakfast, and I enthusiastically replied ‘porridge’ to which he retorted ‘we don’t have that here – I’ll give you Coco Pops’. Fie! Last week Dorothy, who lives in Glasgow, visited us for lunch. She said she eats porridge for breakfast every single day. That’s the spirit. Scotland the Brave rides again. Even though Scottish porridge oats are steel-cut whereas in England and Australia they’re flattened between rollers, anyone who eats porridge is a mate of mine. As I said, I like my porridge plain and simple: per person ½ a cup of oats and 1¼ cups of water heated gently (naturally a wood-fired stove’s best) and stirred frequently (I yearn for a spurtle) until the right texture’s reached. I don’t add salt. Once it’s in the bowl, I sprinkle on currants and raw sugar; and I sometimes add chopped fruit and/or a spoon of honey. Yum.

P.S. Bonney has oats each day. Hers are raw. She loves them. Is Bonney a Scottish name?

This week's compendium

Here’s this week’s compendium. This week…

1. planet green argued eloquently that, for several reasons, free parking’s not free [1]. Not to mention free lunch, of course.

2. cnet published the breakdown of global web browser usage during March [2]. Chrome, which I use, increased 9% during March, but it's still only 10% of Internet Explorer.

3. indeed at midnight last night, fire permits were lifted throughout Tasmania [3]. It’s bullshit that 2009/10 was ‘one of the worst fire seasons for many years’, however.

4. researchers reported that the disparity in mortality across the socioeconomic spectrum was largely explained by health behaviours [4]. Until now it’d been thought there was an innate social class disparity. This study shows it’s acquired, i.e. health behaviour’s related to social class.

5. my darling sister Sue sent me a memorable quote from LA Times columnist Burt Prelutsky [5]. There's more than a grain of truth in it.

6. a study concluded exercise reduces the risk of postnatal depression [6]. This adds weight to Sweetheart Vivienne’s view that exercise helps many psychological problems – including writer’s block.

7. wombat Bonney arrived at the Wombat Hilton [7]. Welcome to you, Bonney.

8. Sweetheart Vivienne received her first cheque for royalties on her book sales. Fantastic news. But what’s mine is ours, and what’s hers is hers [8]. (Just joking.)

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

farmdoc's blog post number 690

For each wombat I have in my pen, the Tasmanian Government issues me with a permit. Last Sunday I emailed Patsy (who works in the Government) to cancel my permit for Coco following her successful release. Yesterday I received an email back from Patsy in which she wrote: ‘You have done such a great job with the wombats in your care. Thank you for all your help’. A nice compliment, but I feel grateful for the privilege I have of releasing wombats; so I should be the one doing the thanking. Having cared for and released 12 wombats, I know a tiny bit about them. I know even less about frogs. I know their presence signifies a healthy ecosystem; so it’s unsurprising that frog populations are declining in Australia and world-wide. Thus I’m always pleased when I hear frog calls around here. I adore the name Pobblebonk and the sound of its call. However I can’t identify other frog species by sound, or any at all by sight. My favourite recent frog story is this one – about the 2008 re-discovery in NSW’s Southern Tablelands, of the yellow-spotted bell frog (pictured) – which was presumed extinct for the past 30 years. The NSW Environment Minister said: ‘This is the equivalent of discovering the Tasmanian tiger, in terms of amphibians, in terms of frogs’. Dear treasured yellow-spotted bell frog, you’re a bright sunbeam of hope shining through an environmental thunderhead. I wish you all the success in the world.

farmdoc's blog post number 679

Hello again. Guest blogger Coco here for the third – and last – time. Have you heard the story that each morning the receptionists at Hilton hotels all over the world are phoned by guests asking ‘Which Hilton is this?’ I wrote in my previous two guest posts [1, 2] that Farmdoc and Sweetheart Vivienne’s wombat pen’s been called the ‘Wombat Hilton’. As cosy and secure as the pen is, almost from the moment I arrived three weeks ago, I was keen to forsake its creature (pun intended) comforts and get out into the bush where, word has it, there are several handsome-hunk boy wombats. I knew Farmdoc wanted to see my poo before he’d consider releasing me, so early last week I left a few well-formed cubic pellets [3] where I knew he’d find them. He did; and sure enough the next morning – last Wednesday – he unlatched the pen’s swing-gate. Folks, I was out of there. Gone. As I headed up the hill I bade farewell to the Wombat Hilton. And as a memento of my 17-day stay I snapped the attached photo. In the four days since then, I’ve begun renovating a disused burrow. And though I haven’t yet seen other wombats, I know they’re near – because I can smell them. So right now my life couldn’t be better. Thank you Patsy, Angela, Farmdoc and Sweetheart Vivienne. Tomorrow’s the first day of autumn. And the first day of the rest of my life. Goodbye. And love from Coco.

farmdoc's blog post number 669

Hello again. Guest blogger Coco here with more of my story. My transfer to Mole Creek stressed me out. Wombats, like humans, take time to get used to a new home, especially if it’s not like an old home. So I spend much time down the burrow where I’m safe, dry and out of sight. Each morning Farmdoc puts food in my food bowl. It’s a mix of oats, grains, and rice pellets called Coprice N. Yum, yum. If I haven’t eaten it all by dusk, though, I must share it with my possum friends. I’m busily renovating a hideout under a hollow log. Digging is such fun. You should try it. I’m also digging near the pen’s perimeter fence, because I’m keen to leave the Wombat Hilton and head for the bush which Patsy’s called ‘wombat heaven’. Farmdoc’s not keen to release me until he’s sure my poo’s well-formed – not mushy like it gets when I’m stressed. But so far I haven’t left any around for him to find. Patsy told Angela she thinks I may be eating it. Am I? Ssshhhh – that’s my secret. Wombats are solitary creatures, but I know Farmdoc’s already released four boy and seven girl wombats. I’m really keen to have baby wombats. I wonder who’ll be their dad: Grinder, Alexander, Johnny or Otis? We’ll see. By the way, do you like my close-up photo? I think I look beautiful. So that’s my story up to now. Thanks for reading it. Love from Coco.

farmdoc's blog post number 668

Hello. My name’s Coco. I’m a Common Wombat, but I’m anything but common. I’m a bit over a year old, and I weigh 13kg. I’m a girl, of course. (If you tell me you’ve heard of a boy called Coco, I’d say you’re pulling my leg.) Sadly, I’m an orphan. My Mum was deliberately shot and killed by a man who then kept me as a house pet – along with his dogs. I’ll never forgive him for murdering Mum. Never. Anyway a lovely lady named Patsy (from the Injured and Orphaned Wildlife Program of the Wildlife Management Branch of the Tasmanian Government’s Department of Primary Industries and Water – whew, what a mouthful!) moved me away from that awful man, to Angela’s care. Angela – a kind and gentle woman who lives near Hobart – fed me, looked after me and loved me until I became big and strong. Ten days ago Angela brought me on a long car trip to Mole Creek – to Onemilebridge where Farmdoc and his Sweetheart Vivienne live. I’m now in residence in their wombat pen. It’s a kind of halfway house – after Angela’s, and before I’m released into the bush. The pen that’s my new home has been called the ‘Wombat Hilton’. I can’t disagree. I haven’t finished my story yet, but I’m tired now. Because it’s morning and I’m a nocturnal creature, you know. So I’ll tell you more tomorrow. Bye for now. Love from Coco.

farmdoc's blog post number 580

Due to a lightning strike yesterday morning, I have no internet connection. The Bigpond technician’s coming next Tuesday. I hope he’ll fix it then. So for the next few days, Farmdoc’s Blog posts will be irregular. Sorry.
Here’s this week’s compendium – without links. This week…
1. former Victorian Premier Jeffrey Gibb Kennett who hijacked the F1 Grand Prix to Melbourne, said WA Premier Colin Barnett should forget about importing big events and focus on promoting ‘organic’ events such as garden shows. I’m sure Kennett hasn’t had an epiphany. Rather they’ll be some undisclosed benefit to him for saying what he said.
2. I learnt that cast-iron cookware can react with liquid and/or acidic foods like tomato sauce, to leach small amounts of iron into the food. Thus, cooking in cast iron can increase your iron intake. This is especially good for vegetarians – whose diets tend to be low in iron.
3. Greg Combet, the Minister Assisting the Minister for Climate Change, spoke in inspirational terms about one of the big problems facing Australia: ‘We should not ignore the demanding nature of this project, which will require every bit of scientific, technological and industrial capacity that Australia can muster’. Unfortunately he wasn’t speaking of global warming and climate change, but of Australia’s need to spend tens of billions of dollars over the next two decades building 12 new submarines. Ho hum.
4. I came across a ‘new’ word that I can only call an abomination: ‘webinar’, meaning a seminar that’s sent out simultaneously by teleconference and webcast. Ho hum again.
5. talking of new words still, I read that the New Oxford American Dictionary says the word of 2009 is ‘unfriend’- which is a verb meaning ‘to remove someone as a 'friend' on a social networking site such as Facebook’. Ho hum yet again.
6. I read that acidic liquids such as lemon juice and carbonated drinks can wear away your tooth enamel. To prevent this, you should drink them with a straw, or follow the drink by chewing sugarless gum. Or if you want to brush your teeth straight after the drink, swish your mouth out with water first. Makes sense to me.
7. indeed last Friday, I took delivery of another wombat, courtesy of Angela and Anna who brought her up from near Hobart. Her name’s Precious. So far, she’s settling in well. All wombats are precious.
8. I was overjoyed to kiss and hug darling Indigo on her ninth birthday. I can’t express in words how wonderful that felt to me.
Finally, I wish you, dear Farmdoc’s Blog readers, a wonderful week. (And for myself? A restored internet connection, of course.)

farmdoc's blog post number 454

I’m not a nocturnal soul. That is, I don’t go walking in the bush at night. So I don’t know what happens to the wombats I’ve released on our property. I’d love to know how far and wide they roam, where their burrows are, and who’s shacked up with whom. Last year I enquired about tracking devices, but they’re way beyond my price range. Not so the Victorian government’s, apparently. The government was outed last Monday when this Age article exposed its secret plan to track staff movement around the new Royal Children's Hospital using radio tags. Doctors and unions have attacked this ‘comprehensive patient and staff radio frequency identification [RFID] tracking system’. I agree with them. But what about Gilad Shalit? For over three years he’s been secreted somewhere in Gaza, and Israel can’t find him. Emboldened, Hamas and Hezbollah are intent on kidnapping more Israeli soldiers. If a tiny tracking device was implanted internally in each soldier, it’d simplify pinpointing that soldier’s whereabouts. Tight legal safeguards are definitely needed. And no doubt there are some technical problems, e.g. it must be undetectable by x-ray, and not jammable. But they should be solvable by Israel’s tech geniuses. Given the massive expenditure on the search and negotiation aspects in the Shalit case, an RFID programme would be cost effective if, heaven forbid, future kidnappings occur. And if they don’t, it’ll be excellent insurance.

farmdoc's blog post number 352

I’ve previously written [1,2] of the environment group Still Wild Still Threatened, and its non-violent direct action campaign to halt the logging of old growth forest in southern Tasmania’s Upper Florentine Valley. I’ve never been to the Florentine Valley, but from the photographs I’ve seen, its forests are ancient and spectacular. So much so that earlier this year our friend Miff was arrested and charged for being inside Forestry Tasmania’s Upper Florentine Valley ‘exclusion zone’. Last Sunday the biennial Ten Days on the Island arts festival ended. To coincide with this year’s Ten Days, an art exhibition, ‘Shadows in the Forest – The Art of Exclusion’ was set up inside the same exclusion zone. All of which introduces today’s Farmdoc’s Blog topic: last Saturday Sue Lester and Greg Smith brought me a new wombat. Her name’ s Florence (Flo for short) because she’s from the Florentine Valley where her mum was killed by a vehicle (I don’t know if it was a logging vehicle). When she was found, Flo weighed 215 grams. Now she’s a robust 15kg – probably the biggest/heaviest wombat I’ve received – so all going well, I aim to release her in 4-5 weeks time. The pen has rehabilitated well since 28 February when I released Otis. Florence is the tenth wombat – sixth girl – it’s been my privilege to have here. Yo, Flo.

farmdoc's blog post number 314

Nowadays stereotyping is politically incorrect. But my iconoclastic tendencies still whisper to me that all billy goats are gruff. I suppose that’s because the Norwegian folk tale Three Billy Goats Gruff was often read to me when I was a nipper. (‘Trip trap’ is marvellously onomatopoeic. I chant it most times I walk over our bridge.) Anyway, long story short, experience’s taught me not all billy goats are gruff. Here in Mole Creek we’ve had maybe ten, with all but two as gentle as gentle. The gentlest of all was Otis, who was more friendly and inquisitive than many humans I know. When he died, Sharon and I cried. We buried him on a grassy bank visible from our house. Now to wombats: I’ve previously written about Otis the wombat who came under my care last Boxing Day preceded by a reputation for obstreperousness. In the two months since then he’s been totally friendly. Not one bit cranky. Otis the wombat is to wombats what Otis the billy goat was to billies. I thought Kai Kai was the most wonderful wombat I’ve known. Otis sure gives her a run for her money. Anyway Otis’s been signalling to me he wants to be released. So yesterday I obliged, making him the ninth wombat I’ve released – four boys, five girls. If he and Kai Kai make babies together, their littlies should be charmers. But maybe they won’t be. I’ll never know.

farmdoc's blog post number 252

Obstreperous. That’s how John Hayward described Otis, the wombat he asked me to take for release. I wasn’t keen on a male because so far I’ve released three males and five females, and a female would’ve been preferable. But it was 15 July, i.e. over five months ago, when I’d released Kai Kai, I’d ascertained that no others were in the offing before Spring 2009, and I was suffering from the little-known complaint called Wombat Deficit Disorder. (Indeed WDD is so rare, a google search turns up a total blank.) So I said yes to John. And on Boxing Day morning, Otis became the ninth wombat to stay in our pen (aka the Wombat Hilton). The pen having been wombatless for months, its grass was knee high, and Otis promptly scuttled off into it. I checked him a few times during that day, and he seemed fine. Yesterday morning I took his first feed into the pen. My heart was thumping because I didn’t know what obstreperous meant in practical terms. But Otis was fine. Remaining near the opening of the pen’s burrow, he watched me empty the feed container into the concrete feed bowl. We resembled two boxers warily shadowing each other. How he reacts when he knows me better, only time will tell. But so far, so good. Welcome, Otis.