Haying Recovery

Friends with kids arrive at lunchtime, and Sabina is overjoyed to have playmates her age. The path is heavily utilized as they chase each other on bikes and scooters.

In the meantime, Pete and I are welcoming, but dazed. I suspect that our friends just think we're relaxed. They probably think it's a lovely change from our normal "pants on fire" energy.

Bob's Bevvy of Beauties

Mid morning - nothing.

I call mum. "Listen, don't come at lunchtime. He hasn't even flipped the hay yet. So if it does happen today it will happen later. I don't want to call and hassle him. I'll let you know."

"Ok", mum is very understanding.

And then the calvalcade rolls in. First the raking tractor. No flipping required. Soon afterwards the baler. One tractor follows the other a few laps apart. The ute, the truck and the loading arm are on standby in the adjacent paddock. Another ute and tractor are in the adjacent paddock, picking up the round bales. Each tractor is driven by a beautiful girl, smiling in the sunshine. Bob sits on his quad bike supervising.

What we don't see, but we do know, is that Bob's Bevvy of Beauties extends right back to the farmhouse, where R is probably very busy feeding the haying brigade.

I ring my mum. "Ok. We might do one truckful before dinner, but we'll take Sabina with us. Then we will go to the pub for dinner. Can you meet us back at the farm at 8pm?"

"We'll be there", she says.

In the meantime, someone had loaded the truck. I help Pete unload the 80 odd bales. We wash up, and go for dinner at the pub, loading up on protein.

After dinner mum and dad look after Sabina, while we collect our precious hay. The loading arm is fantastic. Sometimes the bales are so close together that they end up on the ramp one after another, 5 at a time. I hear them drop onto the truck with a thud as Pete fails to keep up with the workload. And I'm barely idling forward.

The hay is very rich this year and we cough and sneeze constantly.

Finally, at 2am the work is done. 308 bales put away in the shed, another 108 sitting on the truck for Bob. 100 bales already at Bob's. 80 bales still sitting in the paddock. That makes approximately 600 bales.

Drying

We're expecting a tractor any minute to come and flip the hay. We run over to the front of the house regularly and check. Nothing. The cut grass lies drying in the sun.

Bob's Cutting

When mum and dad left yesterday, they gazed at the long grass in the haying paddock, and promised to return at haying time.

Today, we are woken by the noise of the tractor. Pete and I run to the window, and stick our noses to the glass in the same manner as Sabina awaiting Santa. Our neighbour, Bob, is cutting his top paddock. We're next!

I ring mum and dad to tell them the good news. We'll be making hay within the next three days. They're on standby.

Sure enough, after lunch, the tractor enters our paddock, and the grass tumbles down, as though struck by a sickle. But hey, if that's Bob on the tractor, then he's become much younger, and grown a cute little goatie. Oh, and who's that sexy babe in the yellow top riding the tractor with him?

Meanwhile, another tractor is flipping the hay in Bob's top paddock. The driver is sporting a pigtail, and a red singlet with spagetti straps. That's not Bob either.

Then we notice the red quad bike. Bob is standing next to it, arms crossed against his chest, at least 4 dogs yapping around him. He's busily supervising his "bevvy of beauties".

In the evening the phone grows hot. I call Bob, and he confirms he will bale us on Tuesday. Then I call mum and we speculate on the time.

Boxing Day guests

Guests arrive. Namely, my parents and their friends. My mum brings more pots than burners on a stove, and very soon the entire kitchen is bubbling, while mum is chopping a salad. Sheesh!

We sit down to a very festive lunch. Mum's turkey, naturally, is perfect. I catch up on that half baked advice, and get my 1000 questions answered.

Sabina participates in the conversation as though there was no age difference. Once finished, she dances around in her princess dress and tiara.

After lunch we go for a walk in the state forest. I manage to convince the guests that we can do a little loop. So off we go. Commenting on the long grass (yet to be cut hay) in the paddocks as we walk along Carol road. Admiring the tall pines lining Invert track. Revelling in the stillness and serenity of the valley. Then huffing and puffing up PP2 track.

Upon our return the guests groan as we offer dessert. We finish off by singing Christmas carols in the evening.

The Christmas turkey

I have decided to brave making a turkey for Christmas this year. I've taken my mum's advice and am doing legs and breasts, rather than the whole bird. As usual my mum gave some other advice, half of which I've forgotten, and half of which is unprecise and leaves me with a 1000 unanswered questions. In the meantime, the family keeps hanging around like bush flies, wondering when's lunch.

Eventually, for better or worse the bird is in the oven, and I prepare veggies while basting religously every 20 minutes. The basting causes me grief. Every time I open the oven, pull the foil off, and baste, the oven loses temperature. The good housewife probably does it with such speed that it doesn't matter. Not so me. And so I worry whether to increase the temperature to compensate for my clumsiness.

We set a festive table, white tablecloth, fine china, silverware, napkins, candles and bon bons. Out come the turkey, potatoes, veggies and salad. The taste test ... it's edible, but you just about need a steak knife to carve it! Total failure. Although Sabina manages to put most of the leg away with relative ease. Pete munches on the dry meat in silence, fastidiously avoiding the stuffing, and supplementing with lots of cranberry sauce. The stuffing is the only part that's delicious!

Opening presents, and dessert make up for lost ground.

The Princess

Someone apparently saw a flash of red outside, and now Sabina sits at the window, nose pressed to the glass, in the hope to see Santa. Then on the other side of the house there is a knock on the door. "Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas". The door slams shut.

Sabina runs the length of the house. There's no Santa, but on the patio there is a huge sack full of presents. Sabina runs outside. It appears that Santa and his sleigh have already gone.
We bring the sack inside, and Sabina opens her first present. It's a blue princess dress with a tiara.

"Wow!", squeals the little girl with glee, eyes sparkling. "This is just what I wanted!" She gazes lovingly in the direction where Santa had left the sack. Of course her Christmas eve dress is dumped by the wayside, and for the rest of the evening we enjoy the presence of this dainty little princess in a blue dress and a tiara.

Oh Christmas Tree

Today we go to our local supplier and pick a Christmas tree. We pick the nice bushy one, that's not too tall.

When we get home, Pete puts it in the Christmas tree stand, and checks the height. Ooops. We have to cut about 75cm off. When that's done, we aim it at the dooreway. Oh dear, it's a tight squeeze.

Finally it's inside and we dress it up. It takes up almost a quarter of the room. We admire it from the far corner. It looks fantastic, and smells great. But I am left wondering why we make this mistake every year - we think we've got the right size tree, and then when we bring it inside it's far bigger than expected.

Still ... it looks great.

The path

For months we've been making preparations for the path around the farmhouse. Finally it went in during the week, and this morning I get a good view of it in daylight.

Oh dear. It's the wrong colour. I mean ... it's probably the colour we chose, but it's not the colour in the colour chart, and it's not a great match for the house. If I was one of those rich people, I would rip it up and start again. But I'm not rich, and I have to live with it.

The path itself actually looks good. But it transforms the house from a farm house into ... well not quite a castle, because a castle would have a moat, but into something reasonably sofisticated.

So much for us being farmers. More like city slickers in farm clothes. Ughh.

Still five

We drive into Warragul today and visit a couple of shops. Sabina runs up to the counter and calls out "I'm five! I'm FIVE!". The staff behind the counter try to conceal their laughter.

She puts a finger in the air. There is a band aid on it. "Look, I've got a band aid! And I'm five! I'm FIVE!". Grins all around. "And do you know what's under the band aid?", she continues. The shop assistant shakes her head politely. Sabina looks at her seriously. "Sneaky, nasty blood!".

As we leave the shop, Sabina skips and dances, chanting, "I'm five! I'm FIVE!".

The performance is repeated at every shop we visit.