Middle of Nowhere: THE LIFE OF A FARMERS' WIFE, PART 2

Reporua Marae, on the back boundary of the farm

We have expanded the family somewhat, forgot to mention it

The church at Reporua on the back boundary of the farm

Last blog I was going through and article from the Farmers Weekly of a few years' ago and got as far as "being hospitable". There are a number of other headings, which I will detail for you all now, along with a summary of yet another crazy week on the Coast.

Professional Cleaner

The article states that the Boss does not consider hygiene important and that farmers' wives must deal with copious amounts of stained clothes leaving grime around the inside of the washing machine and that the boss will show no consideration whatsoever for keeping furniture clean. On this note, I will say that every farmers' wife I know complains constantly of having to put their arm down the inside out trouser leg of pants that have been used for dagging or some other disgusting task. For me this situation is compounded by the fact that Scott has absolutely no sense of smell so is not aware that he stinks to high heaven after he has been picking up dead sheep and that it is not nice to have that smell permeate the washing basket, the lounge furniture or the bedroom. No farmers' wife I know has a white duvet cover or pale coloured furniture. There is also of course the socks that have sheep shit on them that they don't take off and then the muck gets tramped into the carpet. Not to mention of course the mess that having farm children creates...cow shit fights, playing in the mud, etc. Speak to any farmers wife and ask her what she has to remove from the pockets of their shorts...truck loading dockets, fence staples, baling twine, nails, ear tags, rubber castration rings...and that's only today's pants.

Gate Specialist

The article suggests that opening gates will always be the role of the farmers wife and the position won't be threatened. Of course, having children does create a brief respite when they are between the age of 5 and leaving home, of course once they leave home, you will return to Commander in Chief of this role. I must say though that when taking visitors out on a tour of the farm, I try to make sure that I sit in the middle in the back so that the guest gets that job!!! I do feel a little sorry for the visitor though when alot of our gates are latched with no 8 wire and don't swing properly and the task of opening gates becomes one of brute strength.

Road Marker/Traffic Controller

A high level of responsibility is placed on the shoulders of the farmers' wife. Your job is to direct stock through a gate while waving arms to slow traffic, a skill greatly underestimated by the boss. Of course he is usually found meandering along on a bike, horse or in a vehicle behind the mob, often chatting to a neighbour, while you have the hardest job of stopping the entire mob from scattering down the road. Fortunately for me, we live on a relatively quiet road at present, so this job is somewhat easier than it has been for me in the past. Some wives have a terrible time on main highways.

Easy going nature

The article states that the famers' wife must be prepared to have your flower and vegetable garden eaten at least once a year. Tell me about it!!! I have lost count of the number of times stock have come into the house area and cleaned up my renga renga lilies. I have had a pohutukawa lopped off at ground level and the top nibbled out of an ornamental cherry this year!

Eavesdropper

I was talking with another famers' wife about this skill only last week. It is necessary for us to listen to conversations had by the boss with other people in order to know whats going on. The boss won't tell you the information directly but will expect you to know what is going on and be able to pass information on to third parties and make decisions based on said information in his absence. Only this week one of the staff turned up, couldn't get hold of Scott and had forgotten what time the truck was coming to pick up the cattle. Although I hadn't been told directly, I had overheard (via eavesdropping) what was happening and so was able to assist. Communication is not the strong point of the farmer when dealing with his wife!!

Understand Water Systems

When the boss is away, be prepared for either stock or house water to run dry and guess who has to fix it! This happens more often than I would like. Plenty of farmers wives, including myself, are expected to be able to know firstly why there is no water and secondly how to fix it. I am expected to know which pump runs which system and where the pipes run so that if I haven't got water at the house because the tank has run dry and I need to get water from the bore, I can walk the line and find out where the problem is. Of course, I am also expected to know how to fix it!! Up here this is complicated somewhat by the fact that the pump is on another road and also runs water to one of the local marae. If they have a water problem, they telephone the house expecting to find Scott at home (which of course he isn't) and have someone advise them how to fix it or mobilise someone else to do so. This is of course expected to be done immediately and cannot wait until Scott has returned from the back of the farm.

So the above headings, along with the ones from last week, pretty much sum up the life of a farmers' wife and yet again this week, I was put through an examination of my skills to see whether I would pass or not.

It has been a pretty tough week for our little Island in the South Pacific with the death toll from the Christchurch earthquake standing at 113 with 220 or so still missing. Its been hard to watch all the footage and not feel a little guilt at the fact that "life" carries on for you, when your fellow countrymen are experiencing such dreadful times. Obviously you do what little you can like donating to various appeals but of course you do have to get on with things, which is the New Zealand way I guess. On Thursday we were watching the footage of the urban search and rescue teams going about the arduous task of looking for survivors. Scott happened to look out the window and notice that we needed to enact a rescue of our own. Marty, one of the station horses, was completely stuck in the cattle stop at the bottom of the driveway. The entire house mobilised into vehicles and shot down the driveway for a closer inspection of the situation. Of course, all the staff were there and some of the neighbours and a mini-summit meeting began regarding the best way to rescue poor Marty. The first suggestion was that we would need a vet to sedate him while we attempted to get him out. Scott immediately telephoned the two vet clinics in Gisborne. Our usual vet who is a one man operation was in Palmerston North, so not able to help, and the larger vet clinic didn't have a vet up the coast but could have one there in two hours or so. Nothing for it but to get stuck in. Fortunately Marty is a pretty quiet sort of a horse so when we started beavering away with hacksaws and angle grinders on the steel, he stayed pretty still. Of course being the capable farmers wife that I am, I was charged with putting my weight on his head and neck area to stop him thrashing about. What a nightmare. You will have all seen the photos on facebook. Once we had him out and could assess his injuries, it was clear that Marty had lacerations on all legs, with a particularly nasty 15cm long 2cm deep cut to his left hind leg.

Cue my nursing skills! I rushed up the house, made up saline solution, tore up old towels, grabbed a roll of mutton cloth and the penicillin injection for the cattle (that is kept in my fridge) and all manner of other paraphenalia that could be useful to dress wounds on a large horse. Jo, our shepherd, shot down the road to grab a container of manuka honey. Tony, the stock agent, happened to be sifting round at the time, and had plenty of horse experience so between the three of us we managed to get Marty's wounds cleaned and bandaged up. Thought that would be enough excitement for one day, so I returned home with the kids to carry on the morning's lessons.

Anyone who knows anything about the East Coast will know that it is one of New Zealand's largest cannabis growing areas. Every year at about this time there are planes buzzing around over head and helicopters as well, dropping blue liquid from the sky onto cannabis crops to kill them. I heard a plane and a helicopter flying low overhead but didn't think anything of it until I went down to the woolshed just before lunch to check on the shearers. Apparently they had been hovering over several spots on the farm dropping blue dye on someone's crops!!! The interesting thing about the Coast is that there is so much cannabis that the police do not even advise you they have found it growing on your farm and do not question you for further information. Thought that was the end of the excitement, until Scott decided to go for a wee drive down the road later in the day. We have a vacant house on the farm that we are in the process of renting out. Scott went past and the gate was open, which he thought was a little strange. The house itself is up a long driveway on top of a hill and you can't see it from the road. Scott shot up there to investigate and lo and behold ends up in the middle of a police raid, Jimmy in tow. There were six cop cars crawling all over the place, apparently with a warrant. They didn't find anything, and Scott had to give a statement. All in day's work on the Coast!!! I went out later in the afternoon to find 9 cop cars at another address just down the road. The police were certainly busy in their work. I hope they found whatever it was they were looking for.

A candid Ruatoria shot.

Our local pub...needs a lick of paint. No need for signage. In fact I don't even know what its actual name is..we just call it "The Pub". It probably has a name. It is directly opposite our fish and chip caravan, or "Kai Kart"

Its been a pretty normal week other than that. I have been busy teaching the kids. I started writing this early this morning but the house had ended up as Grand Central Station today with several visits from locals, and a couple of other unexpected visitors as well. Why is that people never call in when the house is tidy, but always when its a bomb site because you've been too busy to tidy it up??? I tried to explain that I had been making a worm farm this morning as part of the kids school work, but was met with sceptical looks. Its true, honest!! Wonder what next week will bring. Perhaps it will be a quiet one.