Issue Number 55
      (June 2000)

Farming daze

by Lyn McConchie

March finished with a terrifying incident. It was pouring all day and I was catching up steadily on outstanding mail. About 2pm I heard a small pop or bang sound from where I sat at the word processor. Looked around the house, nothing obvious. Must be hearing things.

At half-past two I heard the mail car pull up and leave again, so I hurried out in the rain to collect the mail. Scooting back across the lawn with a handful of mail I idly noticed that there was a fire with flames leaping up the wall in the shearing shed. That's odd, why would there be a fire in...DEAR GOD THE SHED'S ON FIRE!!!

I shot inside, rang Ginger, screamed "THE SHEARING SHED'S ON FIRE CALL THE BRIGADE. I'M GETTING THE HOSE" and hurtled back outside. Just in time to meet Diane scrambling through the door to tell me... yes, I know it is. Get the hose!

So there was much running about. Di was waving the hose, I'd turned on the pump and water under high pressure was hosing everywhere, Ginger had come rushing over NOT having phoned the brigade because Tony was home and she said that if the four of us couldn't put the fire out on a day when it was pouring the brigade probably wouldn't be much better. So we did.

When all the excitement had died down, we checked on the cause. Sigh. It was a good example of what brigades tell you not to do. Back in 1989 when I bought the place and sold some off to Ginger and Tony we'd taken an old extension cord and used it to connect power in the outside main shed over to the shearing floor. It had worked well enough and we'd never got around to changing it.

After ten years the cord had perished, and as there was still power to it, it had caught fire. The fuse had finally blown in the house (the pop I heard) but by then melted material from the cord had dripped onto a small heap of dry C grade wool directly below. That caught fire, and from there it spread to the wall.

Fortunately, apart from scorched walls and floor, ruined extension cord, sooted up clearlite roof panels and everyone having the jitters, not much damage is done. Ginger says the silly thing is that she looked out of the kitchen window just before I rang and noticed the smoke. "Odd," she said to Tony. "I wonder why Lyn's got a fire going in the rain." I suspect next time they see smoke they'll be over here like rockets just in case.

Just to add to all of that I later found I should have rung the Brigade as a precaution. But by the time I found Ginger hadn't, the fire was out and it didn't seem worth it. But the Head of the bunch talking to Ginger a few days later said we couldn't get an insurance payment now. Apparently the Insurance insist on a report from a Brigade before they pay out. Oh, well, no real damage so I don't need it.

April started out as rather better (thank God) with more story sales, to my delight. If I can't sell many books right now, I can certainly sell short stories.

Half the hens decided to moult, looking like nothing on Earth! So I'm raking feathers off the lawn. Meanwhile, a cameraman and an interviewer from National TV arrived to interview me, the head of the Norsewood Promotions Committee and another chap, all about how the 'Troll theme' was being used to promote our village. I feared that the item would come out as a 'look at all the weirdos' slant but was really pleased to see they hadn't done that. They certainly do whenever they film at the National SF Conventions. But right now the Troll books are getting a lot of media coverage.

After that I was chatting to my mate while she let Bet [the cow] out after her turn at the milking. Bet shot around the corner of the big water tank and was next seen drooling with a strangely smug look. Ginger went into the paddock and I called to her while she was there, to see what Bet was eating. Ginger looked. Then she started to giggle.

"She's eating tomatoes."

"But the ones out there aren't ripe yet."

"I know. She's eating the green ones. She loves them."

And she was and did. I had to grab electric fencing wire and standards and tear out to fence of the tomato corner. Actually I never planted them there. That's the corner where we dump a lot of the sweepings from the cow bail, hen sheds, and cleaning out cow poo from the hay paddock. It's composted down quite well without other input from us and from somewhere a couple of large energetically fruiting tomato plants had grown up in the middle.

I felt that there was no reason why we shouldn't have the benefit of this serendipity. Bet must have felt the same way although I'm a mite surprised to find that she likes her tomatoes still solidly green. But I want the tomatoes so instead I dug out frozen apples being saved for the piglet when that arrives, thawed the apples and gave her a couple of those. Bet felt that was okay. She likes apples too. But I'm keeping the fence up until the tomatoes ripen. Bet isn't above eating her apples and having her tomatoes too.

A week later I had that impressed upon me. Despite the tape and standard, Bet had realized that there was no power through the fence and had simply marched in. I was checking the fenced-off plum tree (with a solid wooden fence so it's surviving), when my gaze fell on the tomato corner. Not only were all the tomatoes gone, all of the plants were eaten right to the ground as well. Sigh. There went my extra summer tomatoes.

And heaven alone knows what Bet's milk will taste like for a day or two. Whatever strong tasting stuff cows eat, the taste comes out in the milk. It's lucky that right now I'm dividing her production between Fluff's latest kittens and the pig milk-barrels. The kittens and coming piglet won't care. We would.

April was also mouse month. Owing to a very mild winter last year and then a long warm summer, the rodent population exploded. Then in late April we had several freezing, very wet days combined with howling gales. The mice outside felt that it was getting past a joke and inside with me in the warm would be much preferred.

Personally I don't care about their goings-on outside. What I do mind is being parked on the bed reading, glancing up out of the bedroom door, and seeing a mouse amble nonchalantly past the door. Tiger was asleep on my feet so I scooped him up, tossed him gently over the end of the bed towards the doorway and watched.

Tiger landed, looking surprised, almost on top of the mouse. The mouse, looking absolutely horrified, dived under a small stack of books. Tiger, who'd originally been wondering what he'd done to be so evicted, cottoned on fast and dived after it. Books went in all directions. Tiger was squawking with excitement as he pursued the mouse, which brought Dancer running. The mouse, finding it was heading for another cat, reversed, then found Tiger was there.

It shot sideways, Tiger and Dancer dived, and the mouse with some superb timing, feinted one way, dodged the other, and both cats missed. But not for long. Working as a team, they had the mouse in another few minutes. After which it - um - perished.

That may have been the first to brave a warmer house from a now rather chilly outside. It wasn't the last. The cats have had five this past two days. Tomato season may now be done but Tiger is still keeping very fit for his August cat show.

Tiger, usually the gentlest most willing to share cat, has a weakness. I don't know if it's always been there and I never noticed before, or if he's just developed it. But a weekend ago it was the last few days before the beef arrived from the deceased Mr Flatley. I dug into the very bottom of the freezer and discovered a pack of bacon. Oh good, thought I, bacon sandwiches for the next couple of dinners. Of course lots of bacon well grilled for those, suggests lots of leftover bacon rind. And that's where Tiger disgraced himself. I often have ham. Every year I rear a pig from small to large then have it made into Christmas ham and many many pork chops which I also adore. As I work my way through lots of sliced ham I always offer Tiger the ham rinds which he likes but not excessively. This time though it wasn't ham and it was 4-5 rinds at a time all nicely grilled. Saturday night I dropped the stack in Tiger's dish and left him to it. I did notice a bit of growling much later and thought nothing of it. I should have.

Sunday night I left the rinds on the bench and Tiger didn't realize they were there. Later I came out to clear up and offered him the rinds which he accepted with enthusiasm. Dancer happened by, saw bacon rinds were on the menu and went to share. Tiger rose in wrath and clouted her. They were HIS bacon rinds. I was startled. He's always been willing to share anything at all with her before, even a few mouthfuls of salmon on the occasions when the larger tin has been cheaper and I've bought a couple of those. Not this time though. Rather than interfere at once I sat back and watched. Dancer sneaked in while his mouth was full, grabbed a rind and attempted to escape. Tiger pounced, seized the other end and when she hung on, clouted her over the ear, all the while growling at her like a - well, a tiger. She let go hastily and retired under my writing table. So I intervened. I picked up a long rind, took it across to the other side of the kitchen, called her and dropped it. Dancer went to eat, Tiger shot across the floor, grabbed it, still growling furiously, and hauled it back to his plate with the rest of the rinds. Dancer sat where the rind had been and sulked. In the end I sneaked a rind outside into the cat park for her where she could eat it without Tiger seeing and committing arbitrary requisition. But at least I know now. Bacon rinds are his weak spot. We all have one, I guess. His is bacon rinds. Now if I could only find Dancer's, it would be a lot easier giving her her annual vaccinations!

After that we all discovered someone else's weak spot. The old landrover chassis. Ginger was at her kitchen window and noticed something odd around it. She rang me, I hurried out to check, and found one of the weaner heifers stuck underneath. Sigh. I'm grazing five for a local chap who ran out of grass. The hay paddock was kneehigh so I said he could use that in swap for the free calf Easter which he brought over. Young animals having a high quotient of viscosity, she'd apparently climbed into the chassis, tripped, fallen into it then tried to crawl out underneath. And there she was, completely entwined and totally stuck. I was annoyed on two counts. Firstly that Dean was supposed to get that out of there the previous weekend and hadn't. And secondly that the idiot heifer had done such a damfool thing anyway. I called the owner and the four of us using a car jack managed to lift it up and off her. Then it was clear she was badly injured. So the vet had to be called.

Unhappily the injuries were too severe and the hay paddock now houses four heifers. My bike shed houses a quantity of veal waiting to be cut up. The owner only wanted the hindquarters so we fell heir to the forequarters. Heifer cloud had a veal lining.

Soon after that a local pal rang me. She'd just finished re-reading my first book FARMING DAZE (under the nom-de-plume of 'Elizabeth Underwood'). Why, she wanted to know was it that only my animals were all peculiar, didn't I know any strange people? Truth is my animals are odd, and most of my friends - well mostly - aren't. But there are times. Like the week before when I'd made up piglet food for the newest porcine arrival. Just weaned piglets do better on cooked food. So I was sorting out carefully hoarded frozen scraps from the bottom of my chest freezer. Oh, yes. There was that pumpkin, it started to go off and I'd frozen it just in time. And the carrot tops, outer cabbage leaves. The over-ripe tomatoes, half a loaf of sliced bread with a touch of penicillin, two stale buns, and, oh yes, nine apples that had gone floury. Dump it all into the big preserving pan I use for such things, add water, and begin to simmer for twenty-four hours on the enclosed fire. Leave in the big ladle I use for stirring pigfood. It had been going all day, all night and it was about lunchtime the next day. The results had become a sort of pumpkin orange colour and were emitting a pleasant aroma. Kim arrived, I left her a few minutes while I went to get something and when I returned she nodded at the fire.

"That's pretty good soup. Maybe I should stay for lunch."

With trepidation I asked the obvious. "What makes you think it's so good?"

"It tastes great of course."

I managed to shuffle her out without further soup discussion. I didn't want to be the one to tell her what it really was OR what was in it. Odd friends? Not really. But I can say I've one who really likes pigfood. Does that count?

You can read some of Lyn's farming stories at http://www.users.bigpond.com/jhweber/LynMc/farmndx.htm