Cowboy Boots & Broken Fingers

Update on Bees

July 10, 2016chrissyb 2 Comments

In case you’ve been wondering, the feral bees are alive and buzzing. As you would expect, activity around their totara tree home has quietened considerably with the change of season.

This was taken in summer. It’s too cold just now for the ladies to be out socialising on the front porch.

Bees don’t like rain, wind or cold, so in winter they stay inside the hive, warm and dry, living off honey stores laid down in warmer times. They huddle around the queen to keep her cozy, and when they need to leave the hive to go and powder their noses, they try to wait for a sunny day.

Another summer bee photo. The sort of nose powdering we are talking about in this post is less literal.

It has been a bit quiet around the tree, but every so often I stand out in the Seven Acre Wood for a few minutes of bee obs. Each time there have been enough comings and goings to reassure me that all is in order.

And what about the Auckland bees I hear you ask? Well, AndyMan sent me an email update recently. Apparently they had a thorough hive-clean and health check last month and they are hale and hearty. He has tucked them up snug for winter with some Bayer treatment strips and a nice store of honey. What more could the ladies of the hive want?

See you in spring-time little buzzers.

No Puppies

July 8, 2016chrissyb 14 Comments

Maisie was speyed on Monday. That means our chance for surprise puppies is now over, and I’m just a little sad.

We are late getting her ‘fixed’ because Brett the Vet thought she would be too young to come into heat last year. Apparently large breeds don’t usually mature reproductively until 12-24 months old. Maisie was an early bloomer however, and her first heat was in November when she had barely hit nine months.

The day we chose her.

We noticed she was in season soon after Favorite Stepson reported she’d had a ‘fight’ with a neighbour’s breeding male, an American Bulldog. We became obsessed with the idea that Maisie might be pregnant. I was quite excited by the prospect, but the Forbearing Husband was most definitely not excited. ‘No Puppies!’, he proclaimed masterfully.

Echo, Maisie's mum had 9 in her first litter.

Echo, Maisie’s mum. Exhausted first time mother of eleven puppies.

His reasoning? ‘If she has puppies they’ll be so cute I won’t be able to bring myself to part with any of them’. See why I love this bloke?

Maisie was one of eleven pups, so I guess that was part of his worry. When we went to The Horsewoman’s farm to select our puppy the Forbearing Husband refused to make the final choice. He said he wanted all of them. His motto? ‘No puppy left behind’. Perhaps it’s being the youngest of five children. Did he fret constantly as a toddler that the older kids would go home and forget him in the park?

Anyway once we established that Maisie wasn’t pregnant it was a case of finding an interval in which she could be speyed. One has to wait 2-3 months after the last heat, and also be sure she isn’t about to start another round. Frankly it had all the complications of trying to plan a cervical smear appointment during menopause (sorry, that’s an in-joke for women aged over 45).

Maisie’s dad, Nero. Could he have Great Dane in his family tree?

Anyway, mission accomplished. Maisie is now non-fertile. Vet’s orders are that she should have rest and a quiet life over the next 14 days. Those of The Readership who have met Maisie will know the challenge that poses.

Perhaps Nurse Jenny could post up a few sedatives?

Never Miss a Post

July 3, 2016chrissyb 6 Comments

My wise friend Mel mentioned to me last week that having a way for The Readership to subscribe to the blog would be useful. That way people don’t have to remember to check for new posts. Instead, each time I publish, a notification email will automatically arrive in their inbox with a click-through link. How nifty! Funnily enough my witty cousin had been hoping for a similar thing just the previous week.

No more having to sniff out new posts, now they will just run into your mouth (so to speak).

So, after much research into blog email subscription plug-ins, and a few false starts (I really couldn’t bear the thought of subjecting you to ungrammatical and ugly notification emails. You’re welcome!), I am happy to announce that subscribing is now a thing over here at Cowboy Boots & Broken Fingers.

Here is the form to fill in if you fancy having alerts to new posts sent to your email (the form will also stay on the home page sidebar, top right, for future reference).

How very grown-up-blogger of me!

The Light Fandango

July 3, 2016chrissyb 4 Comments

If it’s been a while since my last home decor post that will be because progress has been glacial. I swear I am not holding out on you. All I’ve achieved, other than what I’m reporting on here, is swapping out a broken toilet roll holder. Yup, it’s been that exciting on the interiors front, folks!

Even this was an unplanned project. The homestead’s pine tongue and groove ceilings provide much needed character in what is otherwise a very ordinary 1980’s building. The existing fake-stained-glass shades are resplendent with parallel lines, which, adjacent to all those lines in the ceiling planks, were setting off a migraine. I knew they had to go, and sooner rather than later.

BEFORE. The bare bulb used to have a matching shade. Early casualty of my irritation with those lines.

However I hadn’t actually got a plan for what to replace them with until I saw these light fittings on special at Mitre 10.

The picture on the box shows three, but there is only one per box.

I wasn’t sure whether they were quite right for the room, so on a impulse I bought three, which was their entire stock. And a dimmer switch. I know, what can I say, such recklessness! It took me a couple of weeks to get around to installing everything. Which you will be pleased to hear I did with no recklessness at all.

I turned the power off at the mains, and read all the awkward translated-from-Mandarin instructions (‘avoid placing genitals on live electrical cables’ — yes, yes, I made that up. You know what I mean though). When our soon-to-be-resident electrician, Stephen, visited last weekend he checked my work and deemed it up to snuff.

And here is the result. Bear in mind that I couldn’t possibly show you a full room view because it is illegal to put pictures of your house on your blog unless it is tidy (yup, I’m pretty sure that is a rule).

AFTER. No migraine.

You can just see three of the four lights in the living area, the fourth is out of sight around the corner to the left. I was initially resigned to finding a different (but complementary of course) fitting for that part of the room. Then, lo and behold, Mitre 10 restocked! I snatched up a matching light for the living room and another for our bedroom (yes, I’ll show you later).

So, that’s the update. What do you think? Is it an improvement? Or did you see a certain appeal in lots of lines? Then again perhaps you agree with the Forbearing Husband. He doesn’t give a jot about contemporary pendant lighting design, but he has enjoyed being able to dim the globes while we catch up with the second season of Better Call Saul.

Budget:

Light fittings $39.95 x 4 (Mitre 10): $159.40
Dimmer switch (Bunnings): $28
Total = $187.40

Frozen

July 2, 2016chrissyb 5 Comments

We woke up this morning to the first frost of this winter. I was so glad of our recently refurbished wood-burner. It reliably burns all night now, just needing the damper opened up and a couple more logs thrown on in the morning to heat things up to toasty.

Eau de Cologne mint with ice edging.

Poor ponies eating ice covered grass for breakfast. Although really Bonnie’s forebears would have been quite used to that. Come to think of it, so would Summer’s, it gets pretty chilly up on there the Central Plateau.

Brrrrrr.

Don’t worry, I took some hay out for them to munch on until things thawed. Spoiled rotten those two!

It’s Raining Again

June 26, 2016chrissyb 6 Comments

Warmth and several days of rain have combined to cause a flush of grass growth. Which means we have this happening in the pony paddock right now.

That’s her resigned look.

Poor Bonnie, doing more time in the mask of shame. And in mid-winter too — it’s a year of strange weather patterns to be sure.

She’s been very tolerant, standing quietly with just a hint of resentment as I buckle her in. The grazing muzzle is her least-favorite thing. It rates about on a par with tractors (noisy, smelly, and clearly looking out for little fat ponies to eat), and the lunge rein (‘What! You want me to trot in circles? I need to shed a few kilos?! Rubbish, I’m just short for my weight don’t you know!’).

On the plus side, what’s good for growing grass is also good for growing garlic. Our vampire deterrent crop is shooting away beautifully.

Garlic, week three.

Bonnie says garlic is of no interest to her whatsoever. She says, it’s a little known fact, but vampires rarely bother black girls who can throw down the complete lyrics of Public Enemy’s Fight the Power. Yeah. Go shortie!

Keep Calm and Carry Garlic

June 20, 2016chrissyb 17 Comments

Well dear Readers, having talked about our zombie defense prep, we now turn our attention to growing an effective vampire deterrent. You can never be too careful when you’re living out in the wilds of Northland, you know.

All this to say, I planted garlic last week. It was locally grown organic stuff I found when we visited the Grower’s Market with Mama and Papa. The cloves were lovely — all plump and crisp, and pink-tinged, just as good New Zealand grown garlic should be. Some we used up in dhal and soup, but I held back a couple of bulbs to plant out.

Garlic popping up. I added snail repellant to be on the safe side, although I don’t think snails like garlic.

You don’t need to buy special garlic for planting, supermarket garlic is fine, as long as it’s the NZ grown stuff. That far-too-cheap-and-that-alone-should-make-you-suspicious Chinese garlic apparently doesn’t grow well, and has a reputation for spreading viral disease.

Having purchased your garlic, gently break each bulb into individual cloves, and plant the fattest ones pointy end up under 2.5cm soil. My favorite gardening guru Jonathan Spade cautions not to push them into the soil as it can damage the heel of the bulb and delay root development. Plant now (traditionally on the shortest day) and harvest on the longest. Next year of course you’ll save a few of your own cloves to plant out.

Veggie garden from the back deck. Garlic bed is out of shot top left beyond the strawberry plants

We have trouble growing enough garlic to keep up with our needs. I planted 22 cloves this time, but I suspect we’ll have run out before the year is up. Then our vampire control arsenal will be down to silver bullets and crucifixes. Just as well Forbearing Husband bought the reloading press last year (and I really never thought I’d be saying that, even in jest!).

Anniversary

June 12, 2016chrissyb 18 Comments

Well now, all of a sudden this blog’s one year anniversary has cantered up.

It’s been a very eventful twelve months. First I ~~dragged~~ enticed my very forbearing husband out of the big city to live on 14 acres of Northland, two hours drive from the nearest BurgerFuel outlet. We both gave up our reliable sources of income. I panicked a bit. We sold our old house and one rainy day I will get around to unpacking the rest of those boxes in the living room.

I still do a bit of back and forth to Auckland, but once a certain short term contract comes to an end in November there will be a little less travel. Just now though this is my favorite view because it means I’m driving home.

Whangarei Heads from the Brynderwyns (it’s ok, someone else was driving when I took this).

The Forbearing Husband has adapted admirably. He took to a life with a chainsaw like a ~~guinea fowl~~ duck to water, and has spent many happy hours masterfully striding around Seven Acre Wood cutting up fallen trees to fill the woodsheds.

Man and chainsaw

As for how I am coping with the move… Well, I used to weed a veggie patch on a 1/4 acre and water arrived at our taps with no visible effort from anyone. Recently I’ve been weeding whole paddocks*, and I know far more about the operation and maintenance of a rural water pump than I ever thought I would want to.

Buying this place has been (almost) the scariest thing I have ever done. Last year, while I was still working three days a week in Auckland, I would drive up here listening to Alanis Morissette recommend ‘biting off more than you can chew’ and think ‘Yup, just did that!’.**

My list of projects is endless. In the space of a walk from the house to the barn I can easily spot another five things to add to my To-Do-Urgently list. Right now we have a pile of about 100 flax bushes ready to go into the ground of which about 20 or so have been planted*, there’s a second round of JC weeding in the orange grove which I started and need to finish, I really should do something about those hairline cracks in our concrete water tank (…first find out what it is exactly I am supposed to do), then there’s the leaking roof on the tack shed that needs repairing before I can move my saddles out of our bedroom (did I mention that the husband is very forbearing?), oh and that’s not to mention a huge pile of weeds due for incineration.

So, the property is large, the work seems unrelenting, and the weeding is like a game of whack a mole. Does Chrissy B want to go back to town now?

Ha, not a chance! I get to wake up to cows mooing on the dairy farm across the stream and ponies snorting in our paddocks; I go strolling in the woods as the dogs sniff around in the undergrowth and Kitty-Pop trots along behind (she does like to take a walk with the family), I take Young Explorers rock hopping to the island and think about Swallows and Amazons, and yes, I even enjoy weeding paddocks — they look so beautiful and grassy afterwards. Best place I’ve ever lived. Ever.

Getting comfortable in our new perch.

Well that’s me, what about you? We started with five or so in The Readership, and I hope most of you are hanging on. Big thanks to everyone who has ever left a comment. The Forbearing Husband is well used to my exclamations ‘Look, someone read my blog!’ (I even get excited when my own just-posted posts pop up in my blog feed which I am aware is a bit sad).

Anyway, if you feel like giving a lonely blogger a bit of a thrill leave me a comment (even if it’s just a smiley face) and we’ll do a bit of a headcount. Promise to reply.

* Big thanks to the Williams family for help with weeding in the Bottom Paddock, and to the Irish Lads Eamon and Michael who planted flax.

** And I never could have done it without the Forbearing Husband. It’s amazing how much braver you can be when you know for sure someone you love will always have your back. Thank you <heart emoji>.

I Smell a Rat

June 4, 2016chrissyb 4 Comments

I’d been wondering for a few weeks what happened to the lavender essential oil I usually have in the tack shed (it’s a soothing addition to the stuff I use to keep the ponies’ tails pretty). Well, my question was answered when I found this lying on the floor. Seems some wino rat got desperate and went on a bit of a bender.

A full bodied white with a strong nose of lavender and hints of well chewed #5 polyethylene.

Presumably we now have a lavender scented rodent somewhere around the property, producing potpourri-worthy droppings. That’s going to confuse the old dog.

Mama Mia!

May 29, 2016chrissyb 10 Comments

The in-laws visited last week. Mama is 84, Papa is 90. It had been quite some time since the Forbearing Husband had seen them in person. Not knowing how frail they might be, he had thoughtfully organised wheelchairs to move them between gates at the Auckland Domestic Terminal.

Turns out he needn’t have worried. They set a pace that puts us younger people to shame.

Mama is an avid weeder. She may have clocked up four score years in that body, but she works with all the energy of a 25 year old. She took on the Jerusalem Cherry in the chicken run (which we’ve been chipping away at since we got here) and within two days it was all over for the JC. ‘Weeds — meet Mama and die’.

Our secret weapon against Jerusalem Cherry.

They both get up at the crack of dawn. On Saturday when we took them to the Whangarei Growers’ Market they had been up (so they said) since 4am. Ready to go, and just waiting around for us young slug-a-beds (the market doesn’t start until 7am, and we live just 20mins drive from town, so I’ve no idea why anyone needed to get up at 4).

Later Papa took himself off for an early morning walk around the Seven Acre Wood, and then dealt very efficiently to a pile of rubbish: squashing cans, wrestling cracked hose into coils and making neat stacks of old weed-matting.

Still fast enough to create camera blur as he strides through the woods.

They were both very taken by the pool and swam a couple of times, despite the water temperature at this time of year being such that even the teenager won’t go in for more than a few minutes. What is it with these robust senior swimmers huh?

Mermaid alert.

Then this happened. Picture the Forbearing Husband filming, heart in mouth, as Mama demonstrates something of the chutzpah that must have caught Papa’s eye all those years ago (actually I believe they first met on a dance floor, but I bet her moves were just as gutsy).

Before the end of the week the kitchen shelving had been rearranged (since returned to my preferred placement), the bath was clean, Mama had weeded the path, eyed up the veggie patch (I fended her off — she has rather a scorched earth approach to weeding, and I want to keep the self-sown rocket and coriander) and tasted the oranges from every orange tree (she pronounced them all sour — why yes Mama, they are not ripe yet!). After a thorough inspection of the property she intoned with a deep sigh that the only good thing about it is The Pool. Other than that it is: Too Big, Too Much Work, and What a Terrible Idea Buying It Now When You Are Not Getting Any Younger (umm ok, and the time when we were getting younger was..? When exactly?).

There was no comment on the location of our banana palm. I assume that means we did okay in our placement of the family plantation. Whew.

At the end of the week, as we walked Mama and Papa into Whangarei airport for their flight home, those poor frail darlings looked around and enquired hopefully ‘Where are our wheelchairs?’ Hahaha! Nice try you crazy old people.