Parsley, Sage and the passing of time

Readers of my blogs, both here, and over on my food blog, will know of my passion for the backyard chook and my history of saving hens. I affectionately call thse girls my rescue hens.

Well, I did.

But I have never had much luck with my rescued girls and seem to spend my dollars feeding them good food, great scraps and allowing them free range of my yard as they finish out their retirement years in comfort without contributing to the egg department – one of the key reasons I have hens in the first place.

Pie became egg bound. We breathed the chookiness of life back into her 4 times before she went to meet her maker. Noodles stopped laying immediately following Pie’s demise and went to sleep in the back yard under her favourite bush.

Curry and Rice came to live with us after the big floods last year. They were so traumatised, every time it rained they would lose their feathers. Which meant they were constantly partially bald. Curry was first to go, with Rice following shortly after. Vet says they had the poultry equivalent of PTSD.

Of course, only I would have non egg laying traumatised hens.

Through this time, Stew and Dumpling, the Araucanas, remained healthy, robust eating machines. Araucanas are highly strung and can be aggressive to other birds, so they were great at keeping the crows, magpies and other birds away. I even watched Stew take on an ibis in the back yard – and win. They were also great at desecrating the vegetable garden, stripping bare the lemon tree and digging up every single plant we owned.

But they were, at least, alive – if not  reliable egg producers.

Araucanas are erratic layers – and one of the reasons we wanted chooks?

Eggs-ackly.

So after months and months of only the occasional bum nut, the skipper decided that Stew and Dumpling needed to go.  Several weeks back we shipped them off to acreage with friends, where, we have been told, they are happily traumatising the duck population. And still not laying eggs.

It is my opinion that my egg farming history is pretty stuffed.

Stuffed.

Which is why this time, we have gone  for 18 week old pullets.

Meet Parsley and Sage.

The Old Piano

… love is called… my old piano… his eighty eight key smile… is so pleasant to see…

Apologies, Diana Ross.

But I do love it.

Because, like most things old, or shabby, or a little well-loved, it has a story.

This upright came from the school where I teach. It was the first piano used by the first teacher in the single class pre-school in the early 1940s. Back then, the classes were still being held in a council hall. In the early 1950′s the piano was moved to the new school building, where it remained until a few weeks ago.

It was a teaching piano, and this is still so clearly evident by years of little coloured dots, (and in later years, stickers) placed on certain keys.

The top opens, the front lifts off and the keyboard hinged cover (which probably has a name!?) also comes off, opening the piano face to the world.

I would use this to show the children how, when a key is pressed, the hammer hit string.

How many countless teachers before me also taught this?

In the 11 years I have taught in my present school, this piano has been used only for play. It’s a little out of tune and has one sticky key.

And no one wanted it anymore. So it’s come to live at my house.

I have vacuumed about a kilogram of dust from the old wood, gently scraped away paint spills and glitter and blu tac. I have polished coffee cup rings and taken, very gently, to the keys.

Then, I will French polish it.

Tomorrow, a tuner/restorer is coming to tune up the piano and give me some history on what he thinks is part of the original series of Education Department issue pianos during the depression.

Stay tuned.

 

 

 

 

Living Room

Another renovation update.

I know. Ho hum.

The painting in this room is finished, with just doors and glosswork to go.

We have had plantation shutters installed.

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It’s a long way from the mission brown 80′s pelmets and feature wall we used to have.

Next room!

Boy Sleeps in Tree

Because he can.

Removing Palm Trees

There has been much renovating taking place over the holidays. Nothing finished, mind you, but a great deal of things *begun*. One big achievement has been outside the house. Long time followers of the renovations will know that when we moved here 2 years ago, the gardens were very, very overgrown with golden cane palms and mock orange bushes, all of which had been let go so long they were over 4 meters in height. Some were up to 7 meters.

Finally, got into them this week. The ground underneath looks so dry and the palms have completely stripped all nutrition from the soil. I have no idea if we have to remove stumps of golden canes, or if they will just rot away (anyone know?). But now we can start to plan out the garden we want.

Just a little gardening….