Hello Dear Reader,
I hope this letter finds you well and not stressing too much on the final approach to Christmas. I opted to do my supermarket shopping early this year, coinciding with Gold Card Day, when our senior citizens get a discount. I’ve never seen so many low-speed near misses in a car park. Not to mention trolley clashes inside the store.
We’ve reached the end of another year on the farm, our most challenging so far; I think farmers and lifestylers in the Valley have all been in the same boat; in fact, there were times when we all needed boats.
So here are some highlights and lowlights for the year. Thank you for reading and supporting me. It makes a big difference, and many new people have joined the wild ride over the year. The best way to help is to share my posts with people you think will be interested. Now, let’s hurry up and write this thing so I can go and do the Christmas booze run before shutting the front gate, getting a book out, and doing some day drinking.
“He stood at the window of the empty cafe and watched the activities in the square and he said that it was good that God kept the truths of life from the young as they were starting out or else they’d have no heart to start at all.” - Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses
It has been one of the wettest years in Wairarapa and around New Zealand. After having a hot summer start, in February, Cyclone Dovi smashed the area with days of persistent rain. The neighbour and I were out knocking down fences to rescue sheep as the water poured in from the two surrounding rivers, turning the houses into islands and paddocks into an extension of the lagoon.
The ground never dried out from that month, and we had persistent rain through until winter, which must have been colder than usual based on the amount of firewood we went through. Just as it started to get dried out again, heading from Autumn to Spring, another tropical low arrived and repeated the entire process. August saw the paddocks flood again and pour through the unfinished glamping site.
As we head into summer, the rain is still persistent, but the ground has a lot of soak room, thankfully. This week has seen a couple of intense thunderstorms; one sat over us two days ago and dropped 60mm of rain on us in thirty minutes.
It makes working with stock, building the glamping site, and general outdoor maintenance a nightmare. You can’t get any vehicles into paddocks, and everywhere you walk turns into a mudbath. Even digging holes is out as the water table sits about two inches below the surface.
Several trees just fell over on account of the soft ground, and several others look to have died, probably because they sat for so long in the wet. Throw winter into the mix, and there were a few times we looked at each other and asked, “what the fuck are we doing here?”
But then, you talk to the neighbours, the locals at the pub, and you realise that everyone is in the same boat (excuse the reference), miserable, wet, cold, and just grinding on and getting through it. People look up and wince whenever a rain shower hits the pub roof.
This year the experiment with stock continued. K rotating, breeding, trying different animals, and then culling back the herd as the year ended.
Two heifers were sent off to a better life (we like to think) as we realised that keeping them fed and healthy through winter would be a big ask. We both like cattle generally; they are smart and engaging and worth a reasonable return if you finish them well.
However, it means a lot of hot wire maintenance, and with several hundred meters of run, that can be a lot of work, especially when the grass is growing. Despite hot wire, cattle get bored, and the two heifers manage to damage more than one fence, take out the bore enclosure as well as the bore pump, knock over the steel hay feeder often, get their tales stuck in trees (that was quite funny, trying to get a 400kg angry heifer disentangled from a tree) and pug the ground (turn it to mud in the wet) something awful.
We started the year with kunekune pigs, and they were on their way to a new home by spring. We should have known that when we picked them up, it would be a challenging experiment. They screamed like a jet engine all the way home in the ute, and it was just the start of some hilarious antics.
The original idea was to use them as waste disposal units, which they did very well at, but no one tells you the other characteristics of pigs. While they are undeniably cute and very, very intelligent, they will root up the paddock, are so strong they can lift a fence to escape, will very determinedly destroy everything to get to your feed storage, decimate a chicken coop to get to the chicken food, and scream bloody murder every time you walk past in greeting.
I think the final straw was one of them heading off across the paddock toward the neighbour’s massive greenhouse with ill intent on his mind. We could see a looming disaster, and it was so we rehomed them. Starsky and Hutch ended up at nearly 100kg each, and their new home was an orchard north of Masterton where their job was to eat deadfall and clear the ground. A dream job for a pig.
We’ve settled on sheep. Despite having strong suicidal tendencies, they are low maintenance and easier to manage than cattle or pigs. I did have a moment back during the February Cyclone where I thought, “if I had a gun…” when the sheep seemed more intent on drowning themselves in flood water rather than running through a four-meter gap in a fence we’d pulled down.
Our good friend, David, introduced us to home kill, and we put one of the sheep in the freezer. The rule here is that it gets eaten if it’s an annoying sheep or aggressive. It gets put into the breeding pool or sold if it's pretty and calm. It was an interesting experience and something that all meat eaters should go through.
We had a great lamb haul, despite the suicidal sheep choosing the worst weather to give birth in. They are all fighting fit and healthy.
Of honourable mention is Sparrow, who, during duck season, not only brought us tasty ducks but also taught us how to clean and gut them. Nothing like getting your hands dirty.
It’s been a year of ups and downs in the community. Half of the locals ended up with COVID, including us, after the annual quiz night at the Gladstone Complex. That was quite the night and a blast from the past with delicious 1970s food, great company, and a team that drunkenly fell to pieces in the final rounds.
The Gladstone Pub's local nights have provided camaraderie, stress relief, learning, and connecting. Beer is consumed, tall tales are told, the weather for the past week is analysed, and the weather for the coming week is predicted. Stock prices are debated, the government railed at, good-natured ribbing delivered, meat recipes exchanged, and conversations about aches and pains had.
It’s been a tough year for everyone’s mental health. Between the weather, the mad external forces, price increases, and the government’s seemingly nonsensical regulations, people are over it. Some farmers are looking to retire early, some are looking to sell up, and the mood is sometimes grim.
And whether city folk like it or not, that’s because things like Three Waters, turning land into pine deserts to make some rich person guilt-free about flying, introducing emissions taxes, reducing the number of emissions gained through planting, significant natural areas, and a raft of other rules are driving everyone out here bonkers.
But that is what happens when you have a left-leaning government driven by inexperienced policy wonks that do not have a holistic view of the world. The mood here is one for change, and I suspect we’ll see a swap back to National next year. I’m not sure that will help a lot, but it will stall progress for at least three years while everyone tries to figure out how to walk back on some wacky policy.
One of the year's highlights for us was the Gladstone Pub nights and having the neighbours over for a big BBQ on Bathurst weekend. Everyone gets busy, even though you live relatively close to each other; organising an afternoon off with milking schedules, farm work when it is fine, kids, and other commitments is challenging. So when you do make it work, it’s a significant achievement.
Our year would have been a lot more difficult if we hadn’t had the support of neighbours and friends, near and far, and we’re richer for it. There is a strong feeling of change in the air, which can be unsettling, but after the last two years, I think people need something different. I am cautiously optimistic about next year. I think the recession talk is overblown; the world is opening back up (you can see the delays in supply chains decreasing), and we should all be okay short of Putin pushing the big red button. There will be little interference from the government, given it is an election year, and they will be on their best behaviour.
The other significant achievement of the year has been K and the glamping site. Ten months ago, the entire flatpack building had floated into a fence because of Cyclone Dovi. Then in August, a second flood went through the site, adding insult to injury.
Today, the site is nearing completion, and I think people are amazed by the fact that K has done it all herself. “I’ve never seen a woman do this,” one person said. I’m pretty sure that K could do anything she put her hand to.
It’ll be tough getting her to rest over the next two weeks, impossible, no doubt, but I suspect Superwoman can be tamed with a good gin.
Here’s hoping next year is a little easier. We always knew the first three years would be difficult, and this year has been the most challenging.
Thank you again for your support this year; I hope you all have a good break. Christmas will be on the farm, and we feel a New Year’s party will also be here. For god’s sake, travel safe, stay safe, and drink a lot of gin and double-brown.