The dismal, wet weather last weekend was a good thing. Truly. Admittedly, it did mean the dining room remained another week in its semi-packed, ready-for-painting state, but on the upside: we didn’t have to spend the weekend painting! Yay! Instead, we mooched around catching up on each others news, taking sneaky naps, drinking a little too much coffee, playing video games that we really should have outgrown, and sorting out our picks for the World Cup. I should be embarrassed by our lethargy but instead I’m learning (albeit slowly) that there’s grace in selective shirking.
Whilst shirking, there was a great deal of discussion around the FIFA World Cup – and not just because The Bean Counter has dusted off his template for fiercely competitive Family Pool. The general consensus seemed to be that The Beautiful Game has a pretty nasty underbelly. We thought so twelve years ago when Qatar was named as the venue, have thought so countless other times in the past, and will probably continue in that belief. Money talks; people are greedy; FIFA is corrupt. But will we be watching: hell, yeah! I mean, it’s the World Cup!! For the record, most Homesteaders have chosen put their faith in the big players to bring home the silverware – Brazil, Argentina, Spain. Farm Girl and I tend to be a little more sentimental in our picks (probably accounting for the absence of our names on the “prestigious” trophy); this time she’s put her faith in Denmark and I’m once again bowing to my DNA (and my absolute adoration of Virgil – Dutch Scouse, what’s not to love?!) and donning the oranje.
Once the weather dried out, I stepped up my efforts in the vegetable garden; if dire predictions are correct, it’s in our best interests to make it the priority. The combination of downpour and beating sun has the broad beans almost filling out as you watch, the scarlet runners and snowpeas are now flowering, and we’re getting a couple of broccoli meals a week. On the downside, the weeds also enjoy these conditions and the birds wreck havoc if I don’t cover everything, but such are the ups and downs of growing your food. Midweek, I spent a good part of an afternoon planting, making cloches, and weeding. Next morning, I set off on the chores with a skip in my step, looking forward to admiring my work once again after some overnight rain. Pride, I assure you, comes before a fall; overnight the sheep had staged a pitch invasion. I could have sunk to my knees and sobbed, in fact I seriously considered it, but common sense and pride (this was in the front paddock) prevailed. Instead, I cobbled together a temporary fix on the fence and, after chasing Amanda the Pirate Sheep back into the paddock, took inventory. Luckily, the damage was minimal. I’m suspecting Amanda was the only one to make it totally through the fence and she was more interested in the chomping at the overgrown grass although she had delicately snicked the top floret off quite a few broccoli plants. In fact, the majority of damage was done by me; my bad tempered shriek prompted her to bolt for the open gate through a row of broad beans, breaking the supporting bindertwine like an overzealous winner on crossing the line on school sports day. You gotta laugh.
In other news: we have nesting blackbirds in the pumphouse; often I forget to knock before entering (or at least make noise on approaching) resulting in massed human-avian shrieks; Ivy the Sheep’s lambs tails have dropped off (we dock to discourage flystrike); Sandra the Goat got her head stuck in the fence overnight (reaching for that grass that’s always greener) grossly upsetting her kids and leaving her in a very bad temper (hence the lack of photo – apparently it was my fault) and the ducks continue to amass a mountain of presumably unfertile eggs (it’s going to be pretty revolting to dispose of when their hormones finally tell them to give up).
While we deal with the minutiae of Homestead life, The Tiny Housers are off on a jaunt to attend a wedding in the North Island.
Wellington Harbour, The Princess checking out The Beehive, a couple of views from around the Taupo region…and two miniature railways, of course
Doing a bit of selective shirking of their own and leaving The Homestead Hound just a little sad