To Bright

We're taking a break from our farm this weekend, and heading up to Bright. We're supposed to leave at 7pm, but these plans always seem to slip. Especially when children are involved.

Then we get a call from Pete's mate. He is already up in Bright, and he's forgotten his cycling shoes. Can we please pick them up from his house? Thank goodness we're late.

Sabina wonders how can he put the shoes on the front porch if he is not home?

We pick up the shoes and drive off, into the night, up the Hume Highway.

Sabina is very excited about the trip, and attempts to stay awake the whole way. "I already want to be there", she moans. We look at each other and smile. "It's a long way", she comments. All day I had tried to prepare her for the long drive. I failed. Eventually she falls asleep.

We drive into Bright, and head to our accommodation. Our friends are still up, enjoying a drink or two.

After the storm

Last night there was a massive storm with strong winds, thunder and lightening and very heavy rain. We have two shining gums growing near our front gate, and one of them dropped a branch on the fence. Right on the stay. The stay was broken, the post snapped off. The wire is kinked, but amazingly, not broken.

Pete's day is taken up with fixing the fence while Sabina and I bring back soil and fill in gaps around the new path.

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.

Stowaways

I put the horses in the amphetheatre paddock, close the gate and smile. Good stuff. Work is done for yet another week. I look around to see if anything else needs to be put away. And, why is that horse out? Oh no! Why are all the horses out? "Pete forgot to close the other gate!!!", I whisper with fury under my breath, and run to close the gate to the house.

Trying very hard to look calm and indifferent I walk towards the horses. They see me, and gallop towards the front gate. There is a large triangle of grass there, that I am hoping will stop them. Mo sniffs the grass, then calmly walks down the bank, onto the driveway, and straight out the front gate. Gally follows. "Oh sh ... there is X thousand dollars walking out the front gate!!!"

I trot up after them. They (all five of them) go a 100 metres up the road looking for nice grass. When Crownie sees me coming, she decides the joke isn't funny any more, and she heads home. The rest do a runner up the neighbour's driveway. Crownie, seeing she's got no pulling power, joins the crowd. The next door neighbour runs out shouting. I plead with him to let me catch the leader. I don't have half a string on me. I grab Mo, one hand on the mane, one on the nose and lead him back home. (Mo is not actually the leader, Gally is, but I know I can lead Mo without a string. Not sure about Gally.)

I close the entrance gate, and hang on it for a few solid minutes. I still have to catch the horses and put them in the amphetheatre paddock.

I am 5!

It's Sabina's birthday today and she is very excited. (She's actually been excited for the last two weeks, but today there is extra zing). She's bouncing off the walls rearranging her helium balloons time and time again. I'm worried she will run out of steam before the guests come.

The guests arrive, and Sabina finds something extra. She eyes off the first guest with some disappointment, but otherwise she proves to be the perfect hostess. She gets a party hat for each guest as they arrive, and invites them to play. Later on, when we play party games, she really gets into the spirit of the game. A pretty far stretch for an ultra competitive youngster. And she is rewarded with a win in the musical chairs.

The only time she looks somewhat unsure, is when cake arrives. I stare at my little girl across the cake and the candles as we all sing Happy Birthday. She seems sad. I smile at her, and a huge smile slowly spreads across her face. Once the singing and cake eating is done, she runs around merrily calling out "I'm five! I'm FIVE!"

Night out

We're going out to the local pub for dinner tonight. Not an extravagant affair, but a bit of a special treat nevertheless. I splash on a touch of eyeliner and lipstick. Sabina eyes me off, looking fresh and spruced up.

"Mama, but when can I wear the blue eyes and the red lips?", quizzes the natural beauty with the gorgous green eyes, and naturally pink lips.

Hungry

I walk into the paddock to collect buckets. The feed is long gone. Tornado, who looks more like a wine barrel than a pony, comes over enthusiastically and nickers at me, hoping for more food. I interpret it as "I'm starving! I'm so hungry I could ... well ... eat a horse!".

I point over to Bess standing in the corner "What about that one over there?".

Tornado looks over then hangs his head "Nah, too gamy." Pause. "So, anything in that bucket you're holding?"

I look at his sizeable girth. "No!"

Shower power

Mo has a fungus on his hindquarter and I bring him in for a woolwash bath. It's a hot day. The perfect time to do it. Sabina and Tornado are milling around as I apply the white foam liberally at the hitching rail. Time to rinse off. I stretch the hose to the hitching rail and start hosing Mo down.

"Mama! Look at Bess!", calls out Sabina, as the bay horse casually strolls over for a shower, having broken through the tape fence. She stands behind Mo and exposes parts of her body to the hose. Then she faces the spray and chomps at the water droplets.

Walkie Talkie

Two days after Black Saturday we bought ourselves walkie talkies, a set of two, so that we could listen to local CFA communications. Since then we've found they are great for communicating around the farm, where we don't always have mobile phone reception. Recently, our daughter has been getting really good at using them too. So last week, my husband popped out and got himself a bigger, stronger model. (He'd been eyeing it off for 6 months apparently, and they just took $100 off.)

Today, we're getting ready for visitors. Sabina is inside colouring in some pictures, Pete is checking something out around the shed, and I am starting up the BBQ.

"Ksh. I'm on my way back. Do you need some help with the fire? Over. Ksh", says Pete.
"Oh yeah, that would be good", I respond.
"Ksh. I'm just finishing this picture! Ksh", butts in Sabina.

Pete appears around the corner. Sabina opens the door.

"Ksh. Number 89, number 89, cheeken parmeegiana with chyps and salad. Ksh", comes through on the walkie talkies. I laugh.

In passing

I return from my horse riding lesson and head inside for a well earned coffee. This is my third horse riding lesson in a row. On the way in, I pass my husband and daughter, who, having finished their indoor tasks, are heading out ... at midday.

"I'd like to have another horse riding lesson next week", I propose.
"What?!", gasps my husband. "I want my wife back!"

Wood for the fire

Getting wood from the garden shed ought to be child's play. I mean, husband has already brought it in from the paddocks, he's sliced, and split it and stacked it in the shed. The hard work is done, right?

I drive the barrow into the little shed. I can't even drive in. Unsplit wood lies to the left, another barrow with hardwood lies to the right. The floor is littered with bark. I park outside.

Now comes the choice of wood. If the fire is roaring, then you need the small stuff at the bottom, for tomorrow, to get the fire restarted. And the big stuff at the top to go on right now. If the fire is still starting up, then it's vice versa.

Then you need to watch out for red backs and splinters.

And finally, don't get too excited and overload the barrow. Or the whole thing will tip on your first turn.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch ...

All that rain

It rained during the week. Lots. The gauge is showing 63.5mm. That is a serious drop of rain for one week, even in our neck of the woods.

I arrive at the farm in the evening, unpack the car, and wonder whether to check on the horses. Oh heck, by the time I decide I would have checked and been back again.

I venture outside, let my house shoe slip off and point my toe into the gumboot. Some magical force holds me back. I take my foot out again, and look inside. A girl in a red hat, with a torch on her head is staring back at me from within the boot. "Oh, what the?!" There is at least 10cm of water in it! "Oh, no way!", I break the silence and pour out the water. The insole slips out, saturated, looking somehow gnawed. I check the other gumboot, and pour out another 10cm, maybe more. Sheesh. They were under cover too!

I slip into my jodhpur boots, which have now done so much farm work, they don't provide much protection against the wet. I am about to tip toe off across the temporary swamp that is our back yard, when the magical force makes me look at my horse riding boots. No, couldn't be. I mean, they are further undercover than my gumboots. Not right against the wall like Pete and Sabina's gumboots, but further.

I glance inside and see that girl again. An expletive flies. Not my horse riding boots too! The lining in these will take days to dry out and I have a horse riding lesson on Saturday!