Well, they promised us “a significant period of of a lot of rain” and the experts weren’t wrong. What started Friday afternoon as I typed last week’s blog, didn’t really let up until Monday afternoon, with rainfall here in Darfield to be at anything from 200-280mm. Down the road, there are people who have lost their houses, great chunks of paddocks have been scoured, livestock lost, and a huge amount of winter feed has floated away or been choked by mud and debris. The Homestead was just so very lucky. Our little patch of land seemed to soak up everything the sky chucked at it until it could take no more, and then the water very politely exited through the gates to join the stream along our front verge, racing from Darfield direction towards the Hawkins River ford about 2 km sou-west. Our stock found places they were happy to hunker down in and we all, as a group, waited it out. All those I have chatted to since – the longtime residents, the born-here-die-here folk – say they have never seen rain like it; let’s hope we don’t again.
For us, as soon as the rain stopped the water dropped so the rest of the week was business as usual.
Farm Girl enjoyed her two horse riding lessons in the almost sunshine, although “spooky puddles” may have been blamed for her unscheduled dismount during her Wednesday lesson. Never mind, the water made for a soft landing…and a soggy 55 km drive home. As I had called in for my first Covid vaccination (allowable as The Farmer is a border worker) enroute, I am ashamed to say my reaction to her tumble was not as sympathetic as my family would rightfully expect. Although the jab left me feeling a little achy and tired, my over riding reaction was feeling like I was observing life through a rather grubby window…and that’s why I laughed *blush*.
A message from Marilyn the Goat’s temporary landlord regarding the depth of water and lack of grass peeking above it at Rupert’s Retreat, gave us cause to rethink her Homestead return date. On Friday, one week early, we loaded the wagon with hay (and a human treat or two) and trundled out to retrieve our number one goat.
There’s nothing our feisty Marilyn enjoys more than a jaunt in The Farmer’s pride and joy with it’s goat-eye level windows and wall-to-wall haybales (while still leaving plenty for her beau). She’s now settling back into paddock life, mostly tolerating the Homestead humans eyeing her up playing the is-she-or-isn’t-she game and touchingly happy to be back among her kinfolk again.
With recent happenings including Marilyn’s return, the departure of my covid-jab fug, our Monarch’s official birthday, and everything being utterly sodden (thus not a jot flammable), we felt the time was right for the inaugural Firepit Celebration.
As Farm Girl had masterminded turning the circular garden into a fairy grotto and oversaw the catering, it seemed only right she be the one to ceremoniously start proceedings.
Though there were no renditions of kum ba yah, there was plenty of stories, smoke, ‘smores, and silliness.
A proper Homestead celebration; the first of many.