My Garden ~ grandson tells a goodnight story

Now that we’re living and working offshore, it’s always nice to keep up with how things are going at home in our absence. Our neighbour runs his cattle over to graze our property and so animals are still a presence at our place. And  it’s great to get photos of what people are doing. Number 2 Son recently sent us some snaps of his toddler son. A year ago before we left NZ, Himself read and re-read the story to our grandson about a black and white cow. This children’s story is based on a real life situation that happened a few years ago in New Zealand. The storybook has become battered as do children’s favourite things but evidently the reading habit has stuck - as grandson shows his moo(ve)s.  He is holding one toy cow from his farm animals toy collection that he’s had since he was two years old. 

What do you see in the picture? A cow swimming in the water … good. Just like it floods at our place …

A ‘dummy-sucking’, page-turning pause

Farmer Riley was swept into the water when she tried to move the cows onto dry ground …

Farmer Riley held onto Number 569 as the big cow swam them to safety on dry ground …

Farmer Riley milks lots of black and white cows like this

Time for one-on-one reading tuition

What! Do you want me to read the story again?

Who wants to read aloud? You read the story to me!

Alright! One more time … and then it’s off to bed

My Garden ~ e-Christmas

One year on, and it’s nearly Christmas Day with an e-motional shift.  Himself and I are experiencing the reality of an e-Christmas. E-cards. Ex-pat gatherings. Ever-so-far away from home. E-gifts. One year ago, we blithely enjoyed precious time with our sons and their families and with our extended families. Time and distance soon puts the importance of loved ones into perspective. We are not alone in being far from home. We talk about how both our late parents always kept open-house and how there were always extra people at their tables.  We are experiencing similar hospitality, a warmth and generosity of spirit from people in the UAE.

Displays of Xmas trees and decorations in the malls tell us a certain festive day is happening. This is not that long after the Eid Adhar and National Day holiday celebrations. People here know how to rejoice and how to party. So as ex-pats, we will get together with others as a blended Kiwi family for the day. We’ll top up our mobiles for those long-distance calls. I remember how my English-born mother in the 1950s had to book an international toll-call days in advance with the local manual telephone exchange to phone her mother, brothers and sister at Christmas. And there were time constraints on international calls and because we were on a rural party-line. Never enough time to say the things that ought to be said to loved ones. Always tears. Always reaching across the miles to touch the other in some way. Now, it is technically so much easier for Himself and I to connect with our families while living in another country. Yet, I am experiencing that same reaching out to those I write messages on the e-cards for.

That’s the heart of the matter. The head, meanwhile, remains focussed on work. A few days ago, getting to work took on a whole new meaning. Rain. It rained in the UAE. And it rained day and night. Water spilled over the streets and into buildings. Water with nowhere to go. I think of it as nature’s way of giving this dry, dusty sandy city a wash. Before I came here, I’d never imagined that it could rain like this in the desert. I’m told the flows of water are spectacular in the wadis in the Hafeet Mountain Range.  It’s all go in this part of the world.

My Garden ~ Kiwi traveller’s tales from UAE

I’ve changed my mind. In January, I mentioned My Garden blog was to go on the back-burner because Himself and I were leaving NZ to live and work offshore for a while. I thought it seemed easy enough to set up a travel blog and guessed I’d get organised eventually.  Well, that was then. Now that we are here in the Middle East, the contrast to the lifestyle we’ve left is remarkable.  Work – yes, that’s happening. Travel – yes, that’s happening. Gardening – no, that’s not happening. So how can My Garden be my  travel blog? Simple. I realised that as we travel about, I see how other people  grow plants and enjoy public park gardens. When I’m shopping, I talk with sellers at the souq about fruits and herbs I’m not familiar with. When I read the local paper, I read about environmental projects. When I’m at work, I chat with Emirati colleagues about their use of different foods in cooking. Always interested to explore and try Arabic flavours. Himself and I just love Arabic coffee with cardamon and saffron. Always, thecoffee is served with warmest smile and most gracious hospitality.

I am learning how UAE and Omani desert ecologies – oases, wadis, mountains and coastal areas teem with life. The oases support farming but not in ways as I know it. Date cultivation and the historical importance of the uses of this fruit fascinates me. Ancient falaj systems in Al Ain, still in use thousands of years later, are an amazing reminder of human efforts to irrigate gardens. On a recent trip to Oman, I learned that apricots and pomegranates are grown in Oman. I love pomegranate juice – it’s my new social drink. I’m in for a long lesson about agriculture and gardening in this part of the world. I applaud my Emirati neighbours who cultivate tomatoes, herbs and small stuff in pots without abundant water. They are gardening heroes. I think to myself, how well would I garden if I had to irrigate, if I had to cope with sand storms, if I had to garden in pots in a courtyard behind walls, if I had to cope with extreme high temperatures?  

Flicking back over posts interested me.  Number 2 Son who has taken over my garden in NZ doesn’t  know how lucky he is with water in abundance (albeit too much at times), soil (though it’s clay) that has nutrients for growing plants and trees that thrive in NZ’s sub-tropical climate.  I know the garden back home is on good hands. Yes, I miss Pushy the lazy tabby cat (he can dig his claws into someone else for a change). Yes, I missed the daffodils cheerful appearance in August and the roses flowering in October. Yes, I am missing the pohutukawa coming into its pre-christmas bloom. I did not miss the floods and the spring storms. I did not miss the rapid, rampant spring grass growth. However, we asked someone to mow the lawns (there’s lots of grass at our place) weekly and keep the roses pruned – Number 2 Son works, has his hands full with three sons, maintains the vegetable patch but he doesn’t ‘do’ roses. I noted several viewers have left comments - I had not anticipated this ongoing interest in January, so I will try to reply. Over time, I’ll evolve this blog into a gardening travelogue of sorts. I’ve been interested to see gardening sections in some local  shops.  But, I’m not tempted. I’ve chosen not to grow plants in pots. I’d rather get out and about – that’s why I’m here.

My Garden ~ handing over the garden trowel to Number 2 Son

Thanks Anymont for reminding me about my blog. As I mentioned back in October, My Garden blog is going on the backburner for a couple of years because Himself and I will live offshore on account of my work. Number 2 Son and his family will look over our place. Today he was out restoring order in the jungle that was once my reasonably orderly vegetable garden. He’s head-gardener now. He’ll make this his patch and do his thing. Don’t expect him to write a blog. Unbelievably for someone who’s stared at a screen for years as an IT web developer, he now prefers such physical pursuits. I have been thinking how best to stay in touch with different groups of people at different levels.  It’s easy enough to set up another blog for the travel aspect. There’s a plethora of web-based communication tools (that I’ve not used) to choose from. I guess I’ll get organised eventually. 

It’s been so dry lately - but, it is summer after all. Things have grown since I last wrote and I have been harvesting the produce. But, we’ve enjoyed the purple cabbages – it should be obligatory for every gardener to have these show-off vegetables in their gardens. The pure richness of the purple and the graceful spread of the large ribbed leaves have been a visual delight. The scarlet-splotched Borlotti Beans and Purple Beans are just as amazing. I love colour in the garden as much as I love colour on the plate. And my new potatoes planted a few months ago – what can I say? Just steam and add freshly picked chopped mint. Savour the taste sensation.

Mindful I won’t see my brothers and sister for a while, we spent a few days on the road before New Year. We stayed a couple of nights with my sister and her husband at Coromandel. We  typically have a barbeque (always others are invited to this) when we stay there. As they live on the coast, B-in-law and my nephews had dredged fresh scallops and gathered rock oysters.  No restaurant anywhere could compete for the freshness and flavour of this food.  The scallops were lightly seared in a touch olive oil with a hint of lemon juice and pepper. The oysters were simply steamed. 

They had also hunted wild pig on the mountain range – the boundary at the back of their hill country farm. We’re used to eating wild pork and prefer the lean meat and its gamey flavour to farmed pork.  The wild pigs come out of the dense bush at dawn to dig for the rhizomous fern roots that grow freely at the margin of the farmed land. These pigs really do make a mess of farm pastures. They are considered to be pests. Other than fresh rosemary or thyme, pepper and olive oil, we do little else when cooking this game meat on a BBQ. B-in-law had also proudly dug the first of his Urenika (blue potaotes) crop from seeds I’d given him a couple of years ago. These Maori potatoes are the perfect accompaniment – oh, and the NZ Pinot we were drinking.

Next on the itinerary was a stop with each of  my brothers in the the Waikato. More food. More wine. Lots of chat. It was the first occasion we’d got together since Mum’s funeral in May. My sister, and Uncle (Mum’s brother) and Aunt, joined us for a special lunch at the farm we grew up on (now owned by my youngest brother) before we scattered Mum’s ashes over the paddock where Dad’s ashes are. No ceremony. No fuss.  This was a happy spot for them. They’re together eternally in a place that also has special memories and meaning for us their four children. Now, that chapter of our lives is over. The closure was as it should be. The important thing is we honour Mum’s wish we stay in touch with each other. For the moment, we must move on.

We agreed we’re all facing significant life changes. My nephews are at various stages of their young adult journeys with girlfriends entering the scene. My brothers and their wives are in a state of flux as they are acutely feeling the redundancy of their parental roles.  My sister and I told them that their ‘boys’ will be back! If not for money and food! But, they’ll be back – for babysitting services. My older five grandchildren are involved with their friends, sports and schoolwork. It chokes me to know I’ll miss the growth of the four-month, one and two year olds though. However, it’s time for their grandfather and I to do our thing.

Mum, before she died, was most interested that I was considering an overseas teaching contract. I accepted the offer and anticipate leaving NZ at the end of this month. There’s been so much to do and to think about.  The qualities and attributes I’ve developed as a gardener in caring for the soil, the plant life and microorganisms, will stand me in good stead in my new work. I’ll need to be curious, flexible, observant, patient,  reflective, resilient, resourceful, receptive to new ideas. It’s a privilege through blogging to have been able to glimpse over others’ backyard fences into their lives. Take a glimpse into  Te Parapara Maori Garden in Hamiton City in the Waikato – my backyard so to speak. Te Ara Whakatauki, the Path of Proverbs, reminds us that as the plants that we eat nourish our bodies, so the words that we hear nourish our souls. In New Zealand, Maori have many sayings that  beautifully illustrate  the range of human experience and knowledge.

Nā tō rourou, nā taku rourou ka ora ai te iwi

With your food basket and my food basket the people will thrive

 

 

My Garden ~ putting my places on the map

Today, my map is back!!!! How did this happen? Resilience is one of my personal traits - ’I can do it!’ is my mantra (well, that’s what I’m telling you).   In a New Year post, I recounted Mike Sneddon’s blog – 7 Tips to Building Your Blog’s Readership http://www.worldwidefreelance.com/writing.htm  At the time, his words made sense, so I idly thought it a simple matter to add a Platial map to highlight my New Zealand references. Progress was slow and painful as I didn’t have a clue how to go about things.  What did I learn? Not sure. Six months later in June, and I’ve never worked out why or what I did, but my flash new Platial NZ map widget had disappeared from my blog. I lamented the joys of learning how to manage a  blog. 

Today, I went back to Platial and did some searching homework. Well, long story short, I’m setting up a new blog. I need to include a map. In 2009, Himself and I will leave NZ to work and to travel (more about that at a later time). My Garden blog will go on the back-burner for a couple of years though I probably won’t be able to resist dropping in from time to time - likely from a ‘homesickness’ for my plants and trees - and the pukeko, the cat, the animal life. Anyway, that’s in the tomorrow and tomorrow’s time.

However, first things first, my newly re-discovered world of mapping in blogland is grabbing my attention.   

My Garden ~ the bees aren’t buzzing like they did last year

The bee is more honored than other animals, not because she labors, but because she labors for others. St. John Chrysostom

Bees seem to have vanished from my garden. I’m not getting much of a buzz. My orchard is a feast for the senses. The plum, apple and quince trees are smothered with sweet nectar-filled white blossoms. The calendula, broad beans, borage and lavender and other companion plantings under my fruit trees are gaudy in their their orange, yellow, purple and blue scented array. Spring has well and truly arrived here. In my blog (September 2007), I couldn’t ignore the buzzing in my garden. But now, one year later, I see and hear only a handful of bees working among the blossoms. Where is the rest of the horde? It has been the wettest of winters. And I know the varroa mite has wreaked havoc on the nation’s hives. The silence in my garden scares me.

 

Transfixed as we are by the seriousness of  economic woes and global credit crunch fallout, there’s a serious ecological problem that has just as far-reaching and potentially devastating consequences for people everywhere. We must pay attenion to the chain of events happening in our food producing habitats. Prescient words echo down the decades in a quote (15 April 1964) from Rachel Carson’s obituary published in The New York Times.

 

“Now, I truly believe, that we in this generation, must come to terms with nature, and I think we’re challenged as mankind has never been challenged before to prove our maturity and our mastery, not of nature, but of ourselves.” 

www.rachelcarson.org/RachelCarson.ASPX

 

Earlier this year when Mum was dying of cancer, my brothers, sister and I recalled how when we were kids, DDT was mixed into the fertilizer that was spread by agricultural top-dressing trucks and planes in white billowing dust clouds over the local farms. I can still ‘smell’ the DDT as I write this. There was the economic imperative to develop farms in those days. I’m not exactly sure what made Dad change his farming practice, but he did so by the 1960s. Others in Mum’s age group in the district have succumbed to the same cancer. We haven’t been able to get conclusive answers that may link the cancer to DDT. There seems to be a wall of silence. I have digressed somewhat from the vanished bees. One consequence of the application of this insecticide is that DDT remains in the soil. It may be residual DDT is part of the explanation for the silence of the bees.

 

The health of honey bees is critical to the well-being of humans. In my blog (September 2007), I mentioned how Mum was buoyed by a book The Keeper of the Bees by Gene Stratton Porter. So I was interested during my web search to read Joe Brewer, (25 August, 2007), Rockridge Institute, Berkeley, CA. Bee Keeper’s Wisdom for Human Flourishing.  www.celsias.com/article/bee-keepers-wisdom-for-human-flourishing.

 

Back to bringing a buzz back into my garden. I’m not alone in my concerns about vanishing bees. An article (October 8, 2008) gives pointers and describes Californian farmers work in re-developing native bee habitats.

 

“With honeybee populations weakened by disease and the mysterious malady known as Colony Collapse Disorder, farmers place new focus on work to benefit native pollinators. Decisions by farmers and ranchers to replace bare ground along irrigation ditches and roadways with native plants, trees and grasses, in order to encourage beneficial insects and eliminate weeds, have evolved into a movement to bring native bees back to the farming landscape.”

www.cfbf.com/agalert/AgAlertStory.cfm?ID=1147&ck=A1D50185E7426CBB0ACAD1E6CA74B9AA

 

I trawled the net for advice and insights to the nature of my gardening problem with the thought there must be something further I can do in my backyard. There’s any number of websites and blogs about colony collapse disorder and bees.

 

NZ newspaper item (6 October 2008) Fears that bee colony disease is here.

www.times-age.co.nz/localnews/storydisplay.cfm?storyid=3786935&thesection=localnews

 

National Beekeepers’ Association of New Zealand (25 September 2008) posted a Radio NZ report on the declining bee numbers. www.nba.org.nz

 

Linda Moulton Howe (31 August 2008) wrote about the poor health of honey bees. www.earthfiles.com/news.php?ID=1466&category=Environment

 

My Garden ~ Birds’ Nests, Lazy Cats and Granddaughter’s First Post

When she was a toddler, Granddaughter and I made up scrapbooks about anything and everything when she and her twin brother stayed with us. We’d do drawings, paste in leaves and flowers, and pictures and the like. I’d scribe the dictated little stories about what we’d been doing that day. These battered books are now tomorrow’s treasures. It’s the school holidays and today, blogging is the new scrapbook.  We had fun choosing a new photo of our countryside for the header. This is her first post. 

Nana and I thought how clever birds are when they make their nests. The thrush used the grasses to make a warm nest. Her nest looked like part of the clump of the same grass on the driveway bank. Pukeko is nesting in the long grass near the electric fence in front of the house. We took some photos and I wrote about them.

I am walking past the thrush’s nest while going to get the mail with Poppa.

Mother thrush chose a warm, sunny and dry place to build her nest.

She’s sitting very still and watching us. Her eye didn’t blink.

Thrush built a well-hidden nest in the ornamental tussock grass plantedon the bank beside the driveway.

Thrush laid three speckled sky blue eggs.

Six speckled dull olive-coloured Pukeko eggs. Pukeko’s nest is hidden in the very long grass.

Mischief would like to eat birds if he wasn’t so lazy.

In his dreams he’s a tiger. His name Pushy stuck when Grandson was beginning to talk and this was his word for ‘cat’.

 

Sometimes the cats come for a walk with us. We didn’t want to stay near the birds’ nests for too long, otherwise the cats might sniff out an easy meal.

My Garden ~ Talofa! We were captivated by fa’a Samoa

Last week was our special time together. We chose to quietly celebrate 40 years of married life in the islands of Samoa. Last week we found Paradise.  No cellphone, no book, no television or radio. No grandkids. Just us. Island time. Siesta time. Conversations as the sun set over the Pacific Ocean. Himself and I became willing captives in this beyond-our-Kiwi-lifestyle, traditional way of life of the friendly Samoan people.

Like Rupert Brooke the poet who visited Samoa, we were enchanted as we lay “on a mat” and looked “out on the white sand under the high palms and gentle sea, and the black line of a reef a mile out…”. We too met “the loveliest people in the world, moving and dancing like Gods and godesses. It is sheer beauty, so pure it is difficult to breathe in it.” Of course we took in the sights and familiarised ourselves with Samoan culture and history. We listened to the stories about legendary hotelier Aggie Grey and Robert Louis Stevenson who was known as Tusitala the soryteller.  Film-makers have been inspired by the spectacular lagoons with their palm-fringed beaches. I must read James Michener again and see the movie Return to Paradise filmed at Matatau on Upolu Island. I didn’t need a book.The stories were there before me.

We trawled the local food and craft markets. Naturally, I was interested in what village people grew in their gardens and plantations. In our travels, I marvelled at how hard people in the villages work to live on meagre means. They fish in the lagoons and beyond the reef. They cultivate taro, breadfruit, papaya, plantains and other vegetables and fruits as food staples year-round for their large aiga (families). Their pride is reflected in their immaculately kept villages. There’s more in these islands: volcanic lava fields; the rainforests; fresh water streams and waterfalls; nature’s riot of colour repeated on the houses, churches and fale. A pod of whales cavorted on cue in the sea during one ferry trip. The turtles in Savaii were captivating.

Back at the resort into the night, there was Samoan dancing and singing and fresh game fish on the menu. It was all so leisurely. After a day in the tropical heat, a tall glass of gin, tonic and fresh lime poured over ice seemed just right.  I wondered vaguely (ever so momentarily)  how I would ever manage to go back to work and do all the physical gardening activities at home. Getting to know another country is exciting. Our time in Samoa was too short. We didn’t see it all but we will go back. This was our special time.

I even had to remind myself to take any photos at all such was the entranced state we found ourselves in.  

 

Poolside looking towards our room and balcony on the second floor.

Setting sun shadows across the pool as viewed from our room.

Looking eastward from our room.

Lazing on the white sand under palms.

Surviving the midday in the heat having visited the markets downtown.

We joined Apia office workers in the shade during their lunch-break.

Lunch. Tasty locally grown tomatoes and crackers. The purple fruit was reminiscent of a passionfruit.

Driving through one of the many villages along the SW coast.

The gardens are full of brightly coloured foliage, papaya and breadfruit trees and vegetables such as taro.

Picture postcard palm-fringed beaches are throughout Samoa.

Driving a left-hand drive car on the ‘other’ side of the road was an interesting experience for us.

Looking down towards Apia on our way to the Robert Louis Stevenson museum at Vailima.

The historic home of RSL affectionately called Tusitala, the teller of stories.

Bromeliads growing in coconut fibre.

Tropical garden plantings

Mulifanua wharf was about 10 minutes from the Aggie Grey Lagoon Resort.

Looking-back to Upolu Island. Aggie Grey Lagoon Resort is just visible beyond the reef.

Passengers and trucks.

Passing the other inter-island ferry.

Berthing at the Salelologa Wharf.

Historic site on Savaii Island

Plant life is regenerating on the lava fields.

A moonscape is all that’s left after villages were destroyed by lava flows.

Concrete walls are all that remain of one of the ruined churches.

The corrugated roofing iron of one of the ruined churches is embedded in the lava.

The plant life adorns the Virgins Grave buried by the lava flow.

A moving and memorable experience to be able to ’swim’ with the turtles. This gentle creature almost “purred” when stroked under his neck.

My Garden ~ a special day

As I was gardening this morning, I was thinking about another garden. My parents’ garden. Forty years ago today, the spring day was much like it is now with patches of blue sky, warming day temperatures urging signs of renewed life and colour burst in the garden. I wasn’t a gardener then but I had a sense of gardens given that everyone had a garden in the farming area I grew up in. This morning, I had a particular sense of deja vu. 

Many of my plants or plantings in my present garden echo what was in my parents’ garden. I can hear Mum’s voice as she lamented all those years ago that another month and the roses would be in full bloom and people could enjoy them. Why, was that so important to her?  Well, Himself and I were getting married. As was the way of things then, it was a country district do and after the formal church service and reception, the guests all went back to the bride’s parents’ home and garden. It happened to be a special day for Mum and Dad as well because it was also their wedding anniversary. Dad wanted us to be married on the same day – so I guess Himself and I went along with things.

I remember the day well. Just happy. Himself’s sister sewed my gupuire lace wedding gown. Mum baked three traditional rich fruit cakes – large, medium and small. My Aunty iced, decorated and assembled the 3-tier wedding cake. Another Aunty baked and decorated all the pavlovas. My friend’s mother sewed the three bridesmaids’ gowns. Dad killed a steer to provide the beef for the reception dinner. Neighbours did the floral decorations and helped set up the local district hall for the reception. Cars (Chrysler Valiants) for the bridal entourage were borrowed from my Uncle and a neighbour and were driven by my cousins. A local farmer whose hobby was photography, did the photos. That’s the way it was. A similiar story for my cousins, my sister and others in the district. It was an era when people’s milestones were transformed into local social occasions. 

I guess the colours and scents in my garden in some way evoked this trip down memory lane. I have a visual memory of similar plants on display on my wedding day. So, the floral whites and ruby hues are my special colours for today.

The dark green foliage is a contrast for the white camelia blooms. It’s a pity the white petals ‘bruise’ quite so easily.

Another late-winter-early spring cheerleader.

Sun-seekers. I love the way the silver foliage sets off the ruby flowers.

Heavenly scent pervades the garden. These white flowers are part of a mass of white, blue and yellow freesias that scramble among other plants.

The ruby hues make this a show-off tree aganst the skeletons of bare branches when all else in the garden is dormant.

My hope is there will be luscious red strawberries to pick before Christmas.

Cheery and bright.

There’s something magical about a mass of white blossom in the garden. The fragrance suggest the promise of the fruits to come. Where are the bees?

Red Haven my early fruiting peach variety is awakening from its dormancy.

Delicate pastel pink flowering peach petals are the beginnings of a mass display.

This iris is from my late mother’s garden. It is now well-established as a mass planting. This is the first of the blooms.

Forty years later, the spirit of love is strong. Flowers say it all and their power eternally excites our senses.

My Garden ~ it must be spring

Things are looking up. The daylight hours are longer, the sun has been seen to shine, and wonders of wonders, the slush and the mud is drying out. I actually got into the garden and sowed evergreen Broad Beans directly into the soil. The soil felt warm on my hand. So that’s a good sign. This season, I’m trying out a Dwarf Broad Bean variety. Back indoors, I sowed cherry tomato seeds into a seed raising mix: Baxters Early Bush Cherry Tomato and Black Cherry Tomato. My plan is to pot up and grow these tomato plants in the warmth of the polyhouse. I also sowed cauliflower seeds. I chose a mini variety because it will take less space in the garden and will mature in about 80 days from sowing before the hotter months happen in our part of the world at the end of the year. Pumpkin ‘Triamble’ is my favourite and seeds are being started in the warmth of the polyhouse. Still lots more to do – but it’s a start. 

Even better, I was able to weed the raised strawberry beds. Their dormancy is definitely over. Fresh green leaves and a few white blossoms are happy signs. I gave the plants a good feed of organic sheep pellet fertiliser and a layer of mulch. A great few hours in the garden is an antidote to soggy seasonal affective disorder.        

After work, it’s good to pull the gumboots on and get out in the fresh air. The bird song is uplifting at this time of the day. Three-year old and his little toddler brother love visiting our neighbour and feeding food scraps to the farmyard menagerie. It’s a good opportunity to tire out little legs before the dinner, bath and bed routine. The walk was not without its heart-stopping moments particularly when Turbo-toddler tore towards the stream-bank to throw a stick or stone into the water. Older brother inspected every stick for its potential to be wielded as a light sabre sword. But we did get to our destination as the photos show.         

Piglets are growing fast and gobble all the food scraps that come their way.

Big brother gets to know the hens.

Big bro shows little bro how it’s done.

Turbo toddler doesn’t know which way to look. So many mouths to feed.

What’s the pecking order here?

Ducks waddle off to a safer distance.

Headed for the lake.

We’re new best friends.

Turbo-toddler eyeballs big red cattle through the fence.