The joy of country living
Home » Blog » Judy Sutherland » The joy of country livingSometimes I just stop and smell the roses. Come with me for such a walk…
I have written about buying our hill amongst the vehicular wrecks, constructing a driveway, building a shed in which to store stuff and live, and of trying to tame the land and even some animals. Each episode has its amusing side along with the learning curves.
But sometimes I just stop and smell the roses. Come with me for such a walk …
Outside the doors we step onto the bricks we laid for a deck and to sit and enjoy the sun (when the wind isn’t blowing the chairs away!). To our left we gaze over to a house a neighbour is building two valleys away—we won’t see much of them! Below us sheep and Toy, the miniature horse, graze contentedly by the creek we will, one day, plant riparianly. There are still patches of gorse waiting to be, burnt but at least the grass now outnumbers the gorse, unlike the situation when we purchased this property.
Looking to the north, immediately in front of us, we have built a retaining wall and cleared a bank so I can plant shrubs and a bit of colour. The grass has been sown and home-in-the-shed is beginning to look like home.
We stroll to our right and down the track to the right-of-way which will take us to the paddock we look down upon. The peace is wonderful. Yes, we have neighbours, none closer than a large paddock away—most of whom also love the quiet lifestyle, so the only sounds we hear are the occasional vehicle being driven past, dogs barking, sheep bleating or children playing.
Seventeen sheep graze contentedly on fresh grass. We’ve had our fun with these creatures. Did I mention the fly-strike to which a few of them seem particularly susceptible? Horrible for the sheep and horrible for us who have to clean it up.
The flies feast upon the sheep’s backside or shoulder, lay eggs which then turn into maggots and eat away at the poor sheep. We attack the little beasties with flyspray, 'Maggo', scissors and shears. But first, we must catch and isolate the sheep and you’ve read about our lack of skill in that department! Then one infected sheep at a time is held in strong arms as spray is applied or Maggo poured on and the worms fall off in their hundreds. Jim cuts away the wool as much as necessary, Maggos again and gives a final spray with fly-and-insect killer all over the affected area. Sheep in remote areas must die from this ugly infestation but ours are fortunate enough to be cured. We do, however, take note of which ones seem to be most easily infected and tag them for the freezer after a lengthy and appropriate time of being pest- and insecticide-free.
But to continue our ramble …
Birds down by the neighbour’s unkempt pond are flitting about as they seek food; pukekos roam freely and chatter to each other; fantails (my favourites) dart around me as I unwittingly stir up insects for them to snatch from mid-air. The peace is amazing as I exploit my senses in my solitude. As well as the birds I can hear insects chirping contentedly in the sunshine with a slight swishing of trees completing the symphony. The smells of the countryside tickle my nose—manure, water, greenery, a freshness that is excluded in city confines. My feet tread upon a dirt track, well-rutted from recent rains and farm bikes but I have no problem with that as my gumboots are hardy and comfortable.
Through our large paddock runs a creek. We thought we would dam this creek and plant it with life-giving, stream-cleaning natives. The dam was placed, the water built up … and the neighbour (topside) complained because it was causing water to back up and overflow into his paddock. The dam was lowered but now we're not able to plant as we planned. However, to plant as we would like we would also have to build more fences to stop those herbivorous sheep devouring everything in one easy meal … maybe the stream can flow contentedly on its own little way for the time being.
For all the work, woes and wonderful learning curves we experience on our 4-acre hill, the wonder of a quiet roam down a worn track past animals of many descriptions makes one realise how lucky one is to have this literally in one’s back yard. I really do love life in the country.
