Blog Inertia

It happens to us all, sometimes. Life gets in the way of blogging. And as the days go by, it gets harder to sit at the computer, find those photos, knuckle down and write something (anything!) before it all gets away from you and you’re overcome with blog inertia.

I'm badly afflicted, I'm afraid. I'm told the only chance for a cure is to sit down and get blogging. So here goes...

Christmas: At home. Quiet. Hot. Prawns. Kids had a ball.

The in-between week- down to Donnybrook for lunch with friends, and their awesome view

Smoke from the coastal fires 

Can you spot the elusive menfolk?

New Year: Hot. Caught up with some sheepdog friends, played with some young dogs, drank some beer!

Summer rain: Not as much as Carnarvon or Queensland (thank God!), but enough to fill the dams, soak the garden and grow some weeds.

An inch in a few hours

The artichokes flowered. 

 

The first corn was delicious (and now we're well sick of it). 

The grapes on the back verandah ripened, attracting bees, birds, and unfortunately for the birds, Robin.

The Ginger Biscuit turned ONE! And grew teeth, learned to walk, and climb, and boss the boys around. There's a lot I have to say about the end of my baby days, but I keep getting snot and tears all over the keyboard, so that may have to wait...

Secret visited:

And Bill was just so happy about that!

We played a bit of soccer.

  We played a bit of cricket, and taught the pups to field.

Farmboy, nearly run out by Wilson, lunges valiantly for his crease... or something like that.

 On the farm, we've been feeding sheep. 

Then feeding them again. 

The rams went out, then the rams came back in, a bit scraggier but much, much happier.

Bill, being recalled after holding sheep off the feeder bin

Some of us been driving around in tractors.

We've been running dogs, and checking dams. 

Tom, Charlie with ever-present nose slobber, Fred

 

We've been up to the city, then back home, then back to the city, then home, then to the city again. At various points in our travels, we've explored the underwater world, 

we've watched Australia Day fireworks in the city, 

we've helped Grouch in the garden, 

Less Ginger, more Shirley Temple these days

we've acquired a swimming pool.

And then we came home.

Kevin

The Fred-Queani pups turned from quiet, sweet little cuddlebunnies into long-legged Attack Rabbits of Death. Their names are Kevin and Mabel. 

Jeff (formerly Wilson), Kevin and Mabel

We made our Pony Club debut.

I went back to work. The Farmboy started kindergarten.

The WAWSDA trialling season began with a bang.

And now, finally, we've sat down and blogged. Phew.

It won't be so long between drinks next time.

Rex gives you his word!

Ummm, Spring?

It’s lovely to see you, of course- your clear early mornings, birdsong calling us out of our beds into the day, the world humming with sunshine and blossom under blue ,blue skies. You’re a lovely time of year.

 But, you see, we were expecting Winter to arrive first… You know, that season where water falls from the skies and fills the dams and tanks, where the ground soaks until dust becomes mud and we squelch in our gumboots through gullies filled with knee high grass.

October last year

 Not this year. I don’t know what happened to Winter- sure, we had the odd shower, an occasional thunderstorm, and there was a week or two where we shivered into our woolly wear in the mornings. But no rain. Practically none. I don’t know where Winter took its rain, but it didn’t bring it here.

And what that means, Spring, is that no matter how warm your sunshine or how busy your bees, nothing can grow or thrive. The ground is rock hard or blowing dust, the tanks are empty, the crops struggle and the pastures are grazed bare by hungry sheep. Even the veggie garden looks as sad as it’s ever been.

My lettuces have seen better days

Artichoke- the only thing thriving in the veg patch

 After only half the usual rainfall for the year to date, we’ve given up watching the evening weather report and hoping for a miracle. I think it’s almost past the point of salvage. This is a really, really bad season.

For our city friends enjoying the warm spring weather and wondering why farmers are always whinging, think of it this way. Every day you go to work, taking pride in your work and pleasure in the income you’re expecting. Imagine that one day, the boss announces that if there hasn’t been a semi-full rain gauge by the end of September, he’ll be shredding all your work for the year, and you won’t get paid. You’ll keep going in, slogging away at your projects, and hoping for rain, but as the days tick past and the skies stay clear, your boss starts stacking your files by the shredder and you start to wonder why you bother even turning up for work. That’s farming in a bad season. Psychiatrists and money men discussing suicide and selling up on the radio, grim faces exchanging greetings and damage reports at the farm supply shop, “chin up” events hosted by shires and recreation centres to distract everyone from the dry, wilting world around.

 So no offence, Spring, but can you please rack off and send Winter back to do its job? Cheers.

(Hang about- it’s the Royal Show next week- and it ALWAYS pours for at least one day of the Show… Fingers crossed!)

In the herb garden

Now the sun is occasionally emerging from the clouds, I've been motivated to get into the garden and start some spring cleaning.

It's nice to document the changes in a garden as I get the weeds out, compost up the soil, get the new seedlings planted and then the spring warmth (when it arrives) starts everything growing.

So far we have thousands of lettuces from last year's seeds, silverbeet, beetroots, carrots, broccoli, spring onions, beans, pumpkins and cucumbers already in the ground, and last week I finally got around to putting the next round of seeds into trays, including all my new tomato varieties.

This week I started by weeding the herb garden:

Chives, oregano and thyme in pots, everything else in the ground


Flea repellant stuff whose name is eluding me


Some silverbeet in the herb garden too (you can never have too much)


Apple mint, my favourite of the six varieties growing here
(it's in the upper right hand area, somewhere)


Some more herb seedlings waiting to be planted out


I pruned a few roses, too. Leaving some of the prickly clippings around the garden bed discourages pest animals from trampling the new plants. In theory, anyway...


And then I weeded, weeded and weeded some more. It's not an easy job.


But you can make it easier if you strangle any annoying vermin before you get started...


Officially, as in according to The Boss, whose impulse purchase he is, the vermin's name is Moss. A noble name, by which many great dogs through history have been known.

In reality, he's Moff, and he's BabyJ's dog. In our house, there's Dadda's dogs (Fwed and Tess), Mama's dogs (Biww and Muddy), and now there's also Jack's dog- Moff.

His mother is Glenview Ruby (Glenview Polar x Glenview Jessie) and his father is Grassvalley Tod (Princes Tom x Grassvalley Lisa). He has a short coat, sharp teeth, a loud voice and no common sense. He's a pain in the rump.