Tomatoes, chooks, etc

The tomatoes have started at last!  Shall we go picking?

I keep saying that next year I'm going to be way more organised and I'm going to stake or trellis the plants right from the start and I'm going to pinch out the new growth.  I'm definitely not going to end up with the tomato jungle situation we have here now.

It makes the harvesting into quite a treasure hunt.  You have to keep your eyes peeled, because the chooks and the bugs will happily get stuck into any that you miss.

No trip to the vegetable garden would be complete without one or several chooks turning up and standing between your feet.  They're just so content to be together.  And to check repeatedly that your toes aren't especially fat grubs.

Unfortunately the cherry tomatoes are in bad shape, aren't they.  The plants are blackened and all the stems are growing these grotesque worm-like tumours all over them.  The fruit is pale and split.  We'd better take them out before they infect the rest of the plants.

But look at this perfect imperfection all lined up on the fence.  Let's take them straight inside for dinner.  Spaghetti bolognese it is.

Before we go back inside, lets have a quick look at what else is going on.

The pumpkin vine is still trying to take over the vegetable garden and I've given up trying to keep track of all the pumpkins.

Do pumpkin vines make you itchy?  I have to garden in gloves, not just because I'm a bit squeamish about creepy-crawlies, but because the pumpkin, the zucchini, and the tomato plants all make me infernally itchy.  Just me?

Oh look here comes B, back from checking the cray pots.  Maybe it'll be crayfish and tomato spaghetti tonight instead.

My mother, my birthday, and things to do in Taranaki

As I write this, a plane is winging its way to Auckland with my mum onboard.  We've just had the most blissful two weeks together.

I had a big blub at the airport as we said goodbye and now I'm stuffing my face with leftover birthday schnitzel and potato bake.  And a can of coke.

Speaking of my birthday (I turned 37, and no I don't mind you asking), I had exactly the day I wanted.  My favourite part was in the evening, little girls in bed, everyone else in the kitchen helping to prepare the food.  Cooking, chopping, stirring, laughing, drinking, ducking around each other, and talking all the while.

I was wishing I'd taken some photos of the joyful chaos but actually now I think it was better to just live in it instead of always trying to capture it.  I might forget the specifics but I won't soon forget that feeling of utter contentment.  And then eating the food we'd all prepared, and second helpings, followed by the failed pavlova the most fabulous - I refuse to say scrumptious - Eton mess.

But what have we been doing for the past two weeks, you ask?  Lots of eating, lots of talking, plenty of driving around, and a good amount of sightseeing.

Mum, being the person she is, also weeded the vegetable garden (with one enthusiastic helper), and did load after load of washing.  She helped prepare dinner every night.



We read books.





One night, once the girls were in bed, she and I went to Pukekura Park to visit the Festival of Lights, which is free to all.

We visited the Govett-Brewster Art Gallery, also known as the Len Lye Centre, which was truly stunning.  And also free.

There were three fascinating exhibitions when we visited, but even the building itself was worth the visit.

We also saw the Maori history exhibit at Puke Ariki, the museum, which was absorbing and seriously depressing all rolled into one.  And - you guessed it - free.

Not pictured, we went to Pukeiti, which is a rhododendron garden on the slopes of Mount Taranaki, which is free.  We also visited Brooklands Zoo, which is free.  We went up the mountain, free.

We went out for coffee.  Not free, but worth every cent.

We all put on several kilos.

We experienced the full range of Taranaki weather from stifling heat (well, we thought it was hot.  Mum came from Adelaide where it was 45C so she kept her jumper on all day) and humidity, to driving rain, lashing wind, and a number of beautiful cool sunny days.

We shopped in town sans children which was a revelation, and I feel happy every time I glance out the window to see my new hanging basket.

On my birthday we attempted to go up the mountain since it was one of those stunning crystal clear days I mentioned.  Unfortunately everyone else had had the same idea and we were turned back as the carpark was full.

So instead we went to Lake Mangamahoe, which was completely breathtaking anyway.

In case you can't guess, it's been a wonderful two weeks (actually only 12 days).  I can't believe it was only two weeks (12 days) ago that the girls and I raced down to the airport before breakfast that wet morning to pick Mum up.

>sob<

Knitting, flowers, and some heavy tunes

We've sweltered through a hideous couple of weeks and then a couple of days ago, blessedly, it started to rain. Right now there's a break in the weather and I should really be out there pulling the spent corn.  I should be planting leek and onion seedlings.

I should be weeding while the ground is soft.  I should be mucking out the chook house, and definitely should be properly storing the spring bulbs I pulled out months ago and which are still sitting in buckets in the wood shed.  I should be getting rid of the apples infected with coddling moth (sigh).

I should be vacuuming.  I should be peeling (uninfected, supermarket bought) apples for stewing.  I should be folding washing, putting other washing away, and putting yet more washing in the machine.

I have instead, for reasons I cannot explain, cast on another knitting project.  And ordered yarn for another.  And started a crochet project.  Although the crochet project is just adding a border to an existing blanket so it hardly counts.  Right?

What I have also been doing, is taking photos of flowers.  If you're anti-flower - as I once was, can you believe it - click away now!

I've been appreciating my chooks.  They don't have twee old lady names, or hilarious ironic bogan names.  I can't even really tell them apart.  They're just my chooks.  That said, I've been surprised by how much I love them.  I love their little purring sounds of happiness when they see me coming to let them out in the morning.  I love watching them run towards me when they know I have treats for them.  And of course I love the eggs they so unfailingly provide.

I love their presence in the garden, usually to be found bum-up hunting for grubs.

I don't especially like it when they hang about on the doorstep and poop, or when they try to come inside and make the baby scream in alarm.  But I find them a very rewarding animal to keep and I'd love to have more.  But, considering that we give away the majority of their eggs, that's probably unlikely unless we decide to turn commercial.  Hmmm...

Is it weird that I like the mottled spotty look of the half-dead hydrangea flower better than when it's at its peak?

I haven't staked the dahlias, even though I should.  I like looking at them falling all over the place, for some reason.  It's messy and imperfect, and I should have coiled that hose before taking the photo.  Should have got B to mow the lawn.

As mentioned earlier, I've been pulling out corn and J has been enjoying the spoils.  Most of the time the cobs don't even make it inside before being demolished, but occasionally I can smuggle one in for dinner.

In case there was any remaining doubt, I got incontrovertible proof the other day that we have a little empath on our hands.  Walking past the lemon tree, J commented that a lemon had fallen from the tree.  "Poor little thing," she said.  OH boy.  I quickly told her than the lemon was happy to fall from the tree, it wanted to fall from the tree.  But my heart ached a little bit for the girl whose heart aches for everyone and everything around her.  How will we toughen her up I wonder?

A is now 16 months.  Sixteen months and cannot stand.  Finally we have had confirmation (and may I just say here, I kneeew it) that no, something is not right.

We have been looking at the way she stands from the very first time she put her feet down, and discussed the fact that it doesn't look right.  And the other day the doctor confirmed within moments of examining her that it's not right at all.

This all sounds a bit dramatic and gloomy but I feel quite matter of fact about it.  I think we have known for a while that something is not as it should be, so having confirmation from the doctor is more a relief than a shock.  I am pretty annoyed that it hasn't been picked up before now considering that I have faithfully taken her to every child nurse check up.  I've been lectured by various nurses both here and in Australia about this and that, but when there was a real problem no one noticed.  That part of it is very upsetting.

But when it comes to the actual problem, whatever it is, I don't feel worried.  Not yet, I guess.  If it turns out that there is some terrible deformity, or she has to have major surgery, or she may never walk, then yes I will almost certainly be very bloody upset.  But for now my main feeling is impatience.  Let's get this show on the road.

Not much else to add at this juncture but we are booked to see a specialist and I for one am relieved to think that finally we will get some answers and, more importantly, a plan.  Just a few (long) weeks until her appointment.

I can't wait to get started on helping my poor frustrated girl get on her feet.  Literally.