The Coonara

We have a Coonara wood fired heater in the farm house.  It is our main form of heating the house, and it is just marvelous.  You light the fire, close the glass door, turn the fan on, and watch it blaze and heat up the entire house.

Naturally, the Coonara sits in one room, and we found that this room would heat up to 27 deg. C in the middle of winter, while the rest of the house was pushing 17.  So we installed a heat distribution system.  There is an air intake in the ceiling close to the Coonara, which then distributes the warm air to three different regions in the house.  Each region is controlled by a switch in the wall.  The regions are the bedrooms, the bathroom and laundry, and the master bedroom with walk-in robe and en-suite.  Each region has three outlets.

Before we go to sleep we pack the Coonara as full of wood as we possibly can and turn on the Coonara fan.  We turn off the distribution fans and turn the burn rate on the Coonara down to minimum, so the wood burns nice and slow.  Depending on the wood, and how well it's packed, a full Coonara can burn for up to 6 hours.

As the wood burns down to a handful of ashes, and the Coonara cools, it goes "bing" like a single sound of a gong.  This bing usually wakes me up.  Sometimes at 3am.  Sometimes at 5:30am.  Or anywhere in between.  I jump out of bed, re-stack it with fresh wood and boil the kettle.  If the embers have burned down really low, and the wood is a bit poor, I'll leave the Coonara door slightly ajar to suck in more air and get the fire going again.  I'll grab a glass of hot water and watch the fire re-light, then shut the Coonara door, and head back to bed.  Some nights, it means heading back to sleep.  Other nights, it merely means lying snug in bed for half an hour before needing to get up.  It doesn't matter - there's nothing nicer than getting dressed in front of a chugging Coonara.

The Hay Harvest

Picking up 500 odd bales of hay (small squares) out of the paddock is no easy task.  Especially in the summer heat.  So already from the time of our first harvest we have learnt to start in the early evening, and work into the night.

Back then our attire was also rather amateurish, what with bras, shorts, sneakers and all that.  And of course our daughter was much younger then - we used to put her to sleep, and take the baby monitor with us in the truck.  But if the baby monitor was inside the cabin, it would lose contact.  So I drove the truck, holding the steering wheel with one hand, while holding the baby monitor outside the window with the other hand, all the while watching that the bales would get picked up by the loading arm, and making sure the crew on the back was ok.

What a relief it was when my parents offered to help.  Even just having someone at the house to look after our daughter was a huge relief.

Since those early days, we've also invested in some serious harvesting clothes.  It wasn't a financial investment per se.  More a rummage through the cupboard.  Long sleeved collared shirts, farm boots, long pants that hang over the boots - strategically vented in my husband's case - and good leather gloves.  And all of a sudden you've got a team that's just as ready to go boot scootin, as picking up hay.

Last year we got new neighbours, and they offered to help.  Kar-Lee rocked up, gazed at me sitting in the drivers seat of the truck and commented "Oh, I didn't know you had a trucking license."  I gently rolled my eyes up to the sky, pouted, and muttered something about a few rounds in a private paddock.

Last year must have been easy work because this year the neighbours have offered to help again.  Richard is away fighting fires in the Grampians, so it's just Kar-Lee and kids.

When picking up the bales from the paddock, three people makes up full house on the back of the truck, so the other two kids just run along ahead of the truck, trying to fix up the bales so they align better for pick up.  But when it comes to unpacking the truck, and putting the bales in the shed, it's all systems go, and everyone's in the game.

The younger kids don't have much experience behind them, and at times they are like little mice, dashing across the hay bales here and there, and no matter where they go, they are always in the way.  And of course we're working into the night, so they are getting tired.

But they never lose their spirit, and keep going like little duracell drummer bunnies.  By the end of the second truck the hay stack has grown high, everyone is sneezing, the bales are starting to feel heavy and Kar-Lee's youngest son is swinging from the rafters.  We're in stitches.

Then Kar-Lee and the kids drive off to pick up Richard from two towns down the road.  All merriment vanishes in a puff of the dust they kick up as they drive off, and the night darkens somehow.  We load up the third truck in silence, interrupted by the occasional "slow down" from the truck tray.  We're half way through the unloading when Kar-Lee returns with Richard.  Kids are safely tucked in bed, dreaming of huge hay stacks.

We joke and laugh again, as the hay stack in the shed grows, and grows.  I line up the last four bales on the tray of the truck, and start boot scootin.  Then we're all back in the field picking up the last truck load for Bob.  There's still more bales left in the paddock, but we've run out of room on the truck.  We park the truck, and break open the beer.

Seasoned

I arrive at the farm in the evening, and unpack the car. The temperature inside the house reads 17 degrees C. 16.4 on the other thermometer. In the past, a mere year ago, this would have had me rushing off to the woodpile and starting a fire.

Not so today. It's not exactly balmy warm, but the fire won't make much difference once I am in bed under my superwarm doona. And in the morning the fire will be out anyway, so really, why bother.

More wood

The stack of wood in the garden shed is growing smaller and smaller. Soon there will be bare ground. Of course, we could stop using it to heat the house, and live in temperatures of 11 degrees C. When you've been outside in 6 degrees C (which really feels like about 2 degrees C because of the wind chill and/or humidity), 11 degrees C feels quite balmy. And it doesn't even feel that bad first thing in the morning, when you've got your down parka and beanie on.

We glance at each other, then my husband is gone. I hear the chainsaw working busily in the background. It screeches while cutting through wood, then rumbles again when idle, but it never stops. When it does, the tractor rocks up at the garden shed, fully loaded with perfect slices of hardwood. Then the sound of splitting resounds like a lazy woodpecker.

"Come Sabina, lets go for a walk to see which paddock has been stripped of its fallen branches."