There’s some celebrations that I believe don’t really translate well to this end of the globe.

Guy Fawkes Night is one that springs to mind.

Whilst I understand, in the early days of our “settlement”, folk were keen to honour and celebrate all things that reminded them of home but right now I’m going to stick my neck on the line and say I reckon time should now be called on it. Don’t get me wrong, I bear the English Royal Family no malice; I’m happy that, in 1604, the King escaped being assassinated by Guy (or Guido, depending on how well you knew him) and his cronies. I’m fine to Remember, Remember the fifth of November on an annual basis (although my grasp of the whole situation is a tad sketchy) it’s just…I mean…can’t we ditch the whole fireworks thing?

Come on, you know it makes sense! Even back then, on the first ever Guy Fawkes night when the good folk of old London town were being encouraged to get outdoors and light a bonfire to celebrate the foiling of the act of gunpowder treason and plot, they were also being reminded to be a bit careful:

“this testemonye of joy be carefull done without any danger or disorder” was the official word.

A celebration that annually flings pretty sparks of potential fire around just when our place is starting to warm up and dry off – a place where homes are primarily wooden and our economy relies pretty strongly on the stuff we grow on and in the ground the sparks often land on the seems to fly in the face of that sentiment.

And while I have the soapbox handy: Halloween?!

I love the history of it; the echoes of incantations and hocus pocus, rowdy Celtic partying and Christian harvest thanksgiving but again, wrong time of year for us. We’re all busy sowing seeds, tending new born animals and running ourselves ragged keeping up with the new growth. As for carving pumpkins: they’re six months away unless you feel like parting with a substantial wad of cash. Trick or treat? Until relatively recently it really only existed for us Kiwis in American TV shows and seems to be all about blood and gore, horror and jump scares – and lots and lots of money.

Nope, I Just don’t get it.

This was as far as I got with my weeks offering on Friday, a bit of a grumpy old lady moan. It had been a busy week made up of little that was newsworthy but I’m now half way through another such week and thought lets just get it finished, so here goes:

Well, firstly, little has changed in my above opinions. Farm Girl donned a costume and joined the throng door knocking . She came home with a bit of swag and a few funny stories but I still don’t get it.

No photographs of her dressed up…too busy moaning on how I don’t get it.

On Saturday, as I chicken tended, a movement in the driveway caught my eye in the overgrown driveway.

Part of the Tiny Houser’s past abode was being reversed into a place all the better to allow a thorough spring clean before it is placed on the market. Strangely, neither of them seems that keen to undertake any small space living again for a while.

The paddock they had been residing in was now free to be chomped down by the flock who were more than keen to step up as lawn mowers when the gate was thrown – well, heaved – open.

That should stall the feed bill for a while

The new chicks were at the stage of needing to be able to get out and scratch around a bit but Babette the cat is still way too interested in them so an enclosure of sorts was thrown together. There have since been modifications to thwart chick escape and all seems fine. Babette does spend a lot of her days watching them but seems to be convinced pursuing dinner is either not worth the effort or the castle is impenetrable.

In the background, The Bean Counter gives the lawns their first proper mow of the season

We also did a bit of communal DIY on a sliding door handle at Chateau Kimberley that took all our outside-the-box/blue sky thinking but in the end was put in the success column and celebrated with bowls of homemade ice cream. It took time away from the Homestead chores but no one was complaining.

It looks very well tendered if you choose your spot well

But by far the biggest timewaster of late has been watching Colin teaching Shirley how to play.

And that’s our week and a bit. Life is a bit of a treadmill at the moment but I thought I’d say hi anyway. Hope all is good in your world.