Garden tidy up

For 2 years I pretty much haven't touched the garden.  Before I found out I had cancer, a lot of things already weren't right, and I just didn't have the energy to jump in with the shearers and clippers.

Then last year I was all chemo.  Then this year has been all recovery from chemo.  And in the meantime we've had two bumper seasons of rain.  The garden grew, and grew and grew.

Today I finally decided to curb this growth.  To control it.  To bend it my way.  I jumped in among the shrubs with the shearers and went mad.  Wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow, full of clippings, departed the garden.

Finally, I straightened up and surveyed my work.  The wild jungle of shrubs now showed some semblance of order and manicure.  The pom pom trees were no longer submerged in shrubs.  There was a visible path between the bamboo shrubs and the ground covers.  The rock garden was no longer encroaching on the rose garden.

Neatness reigned again.  I put down my tools, took off my gloves, sat under the pergola, watched and appreciated.

Typical day at the farm

I've been reading Bill Bryson's "At home" recently, and was awed by how little we really know about how people used to live on a day to day basis. It also occurred to me that, while I write a whole lot of interesting (or otherwise) things in my blog, no one knows what a typical day at the farm is really like. So, here goes. A description of a typical day at the farm ... from my perspective. (And just to be clear - this is a typical day now, post chemo. Before the whole cancer thing, life was a whole different kettle of fish.)

I wake up. Must be day, because there is daylight coming in through the ensuite window - one of the few windows where we don't draw the shutter at night. For exactly this purpose - so that when you wake up you can tell whether it's day or night. I jump out of bed, get a drink, take my homeopathic remedies, and jump back into bed. It's 7:30am. I lie in bed, thinking that maybe I still need more rest, but after 20 minutes I decide I am wrong.

I get up, get dressed and have breakfast. Very quietly of course, because the rest of the household, that is husband and Sabina, is asleep. If luck has it, they are still asleep at 9am, when I finally sneak out to ride my horse. I am back in the house (having ridden said horse), at 11am. By this stage, husband has had enough time playing with Sabina, and is absolutely busting to be set free. So off he goes, outside, engaging in farm maintenance and innovation tasks.

Sabina and I have a snack, and then I survey the situation I have been left with. Sometimes the guinea pigs need to be taken out, other times I might engage in a few small tasks such as throwing out a dead mouse and resetting the rat zapper, or cleaning a shelf in the pantry (yes, from mouse droppings).

At 12:30pm I start preparing lunch, which is usually ready at 1pm or so. Lately, husband has become pretty good with his timing, and is usually milling around the house by this time. On a good day he even comes in and sets the table. On a bad day, I have to get out the front door and ring the big fire bell.

By 2pm lunch is eaten. Sabina and I go for a 20 minute lie down, and husband cleans up after lunch. Then husband heads back to his farm tasks. When the alarm bell rings that our 20 minutes is up, Sabina and I usually have giggle and tickle time. Then we head out to ride Sabina's pony. Hopefully, I get to ride my pony at the same time. After riding, we feed the horses.

By this stage it's about 4:30pm at best. I gaze longingly at the garden, and see it screaming at me. I grab the required tools and dig in. Or slice in. Or saw in. At 5pm I realise that I should be heading inside to make dinner. Oh, but maybe I will just trim a little bit more. At 5:30pm I must finish. But of course I can't leave a mess in the garden, so I quickly clean up and put away my tools. By 6pm I rush inside. Dinner is now officially late, and I haven't even started yet.

I create a tornado in the kitchen, making salad, providing Sabina with a snack, slicing meat and preparing dessert simultaneously. We eat at around 7pm, then blissfully relax around dessert. Husband and Sabina head off to the bathroom while I clean up. At 9:30pm I dash off to the bathroom for my own shower, hoping that I can be in bed by 10pm. Quite often, however, I get caught up in some conversation with my husband, or some blog writing, and I end up in bed at 11pm.

I read a book for about half an hour, before turning the lights off.

Sowing the seeds

So, we've put the path around the house. Now we've had some soil delivered, and Pete spreads it around the outside of the path to provide a nice sloping gradient. Then it's time to sow the grass seeds. Pete figures that the manly task is done, so he goes off to do other manly tasks - such as go for a bike ride; while Sabina and I are left to do the sowing.

We put the seeds in a bucket, and sow them one handful at a time, singing the song "Sowing the seeds of love" as we do so. Well, we don't actually know the entire song, so we just sing the two lines that we know. At one point I stop singing, and just listen to Sabina.

Her little voice is so sweet that if I was a seed of grass, I would definitely start growing!

Compost bins work

Our compost bin has been full for months now and we have just been adding food scraps to it regardless. The time has come to empty it, do something with its content, and start afresh. My husband proceeds to dig it out. The first wheelbarrow is ready to go. "You better test it", he calls out. I grab a sample and run over to the microscope.

It's beautiful. It is rich in bacteria, and it has a good number of ameaba in it. Not too many hyphal fungi in there, but a few potential hyphal fungi spores. It looks and feels great. I run out of the house with thumbs up. The wheelbarrow departs towards our other compost heaps. (Had the thumbs been down, the wheelbarrow may well have departed in the direction of Bob's valley. I guess we will never know.)

So what did it look and feel like?
Soil. Absolutely crawling with worms soil. Really nice, little bit sticky, not too wet, but definitely moist, soil. Crawling with worms. Dark dark brown, almost black in colour. And did I mention the worms?

What can it be used for?
Growing most garden plants - veggies, flowers, herbs. Not trees though. It needs more hyphal fungi to grow trees. And it's probably too rich for some veggies. I am not an expert in this yet. Watch this space.

What did we make it in?
In normal compost bin. One of those that just stands on the ground, and worms from the ground can get into it. (And they did get into it.) It has a lid on top. It's round, and about 50cm in diameter at the top. Bit wider down the bottom.

How did we make it?
We put all our food scraps, except for meat and bones, into it. So this included all vegetable, fruit and fish matter. (Yes, fish too! Including fish bones.) Tissues. Tea bags. Egg shells. Bread, rice, pasta. Onion and garlic peel. Orange and lemon peels. Avocado seeds. And when my daughter had not finished her dinner, it went into the compost too. Meat and all. (Please do note that these were usually very small amounts, like about two to four teaspoons, and it happens very infrequently. Perhaps once per three months.)

By the time we were digging it all out again, everything (except the fresh stuff on top) had been decomposed. The only thing we could recognise was the egg shells. And let them sit there I say. They provide great air pockets!

How long did it take?
We started the compost bin either in late 2006 or early 2007. After the first six months it was moved, together with all contents. About 18 months ago it was full, but then during a hot spell it sank down by 1/3rd. So we kept filling it up. We only filled it up on weekends, which is why it took so long to fill.

Afternoon tea

We're working outside, in the garden. Icy wind blows through the rocks we're trying to move with the tractor.

Three muffins.
Three minutes.
Gone.
Three smiles.
A chocolate crumb left in the corner.

Work resumes.

Garden path

We are trying to build a path in the garden, that will go all the way around the house. It will allow Sabina to do laps around the house on the bike, it will mean that visitors don't need to tramp across bunches of wet capeweed from their car to the house. It's a great idea.

In order to build the path, we need to move a few rocks. Well ... when does a rock stop being a rock and become a boulder? I think we need to move a few boulders. Pete brings in the tractor to help. Without it, we would still be standing over the rocks with a cup of tea. But even with it, the work is a feat of horse power and simple engineering. Wooden planks protrude at all angles as a rock is levered out of it's bed. Some of these rocks are like ice bergs - you only see 10% above ground.

Once the rock is "loosened up", the tractor pulls them out. We use the scoop for this, and it's a game of hit and miss. Sometimes, the rock is 3/4 out, then the scoop looses grip, and it rolls back in. Other times, the tractor tyres start spinning slowly, as it tries to win a tug of war with a stubborn rock. Pete estimates that some of the rocks weigh as much as the tractor.

Most of the rocks just need to come out. But one particular rock needs to be moved, and positioned carefully to fit in as the end piece of a rock wall. We roll it out, we roll it in, we jiggle with the wooden planks and the crow bar. We just need it another inch closer to the other rock. We roll it out again. The tractor holds it in a precarious position, while we dig away more soil behind it. What a shame we don't take a photo. We roll it back in. More jiggling - I suspend my weight on the crow bar in the process. More planks. Finally, it's done. It looks sensational. Like it belongs there.

Clippings

They stare at me, their arms outstretched towards the sky. The rain has helped them all it can. I cannot stand their pleadings any longer. I get out there with the shearers. Click, click, click around the creeping rose, click over the butterfly plants. More click and the ground covers are sheared. The garden paths, and edging boulders sigh with relief as they resurface from underneath unruly growth.

Sabina comes to my aid, and piles the clippings into the barrow. She holds on tight and guides the barrow towards the gate. "Come mama, I help you". She opens the gate, carefully eyeing off Tosca. "There is a wheelbarrow full of stuff - food? - in my paddock!", Tosca comes over with goofy curiosity. Despite careful sniffing, the goods of the barrow appear to be inedible. Tosca returns to her hay, we exit the paddock with caution. There are enough clippings for another barrow, or two, or three. And that's only half the garden!