check out our number 1 silkie egg! one little black hen has started to lay.
this is proof that the sun is coming back and reason enough, in my book, to celebrate!
(27 refers to the date, not the 27th egg)
28.7.09
oeuf!!!
check out our number 1 silkie egg! one little black hen has started to lay.
this is proof that the sun is coming back and reason enough, in my book, to celebrate!
(27 refers to the date, not the 27th egg)
26.7.09
moments in history
i refer to these moments in plural as that's what they are. they are several moments.
sorry to be so esoteric, i'm actually referring to the construction of the Mediocre Wall.
i'm sure, while the chinese were in the business of building their wall (oh, it's not all that- i've seen it. some of it has fallen down already) they had their bad days. it had nothing to do with marauding mongolians or anything. or at least my wall hasnn't. i'm going to blame the mortar. and then i'll blame the bricks. and then i'm going to blame the poor weather (check out the chinese 'diaries of a wall builder' and i bet you anything you'll see something written the same.)
the thing is, it is actually the fault of the bricks. and the weather. and the mortar mix being too dry. seriously.
i'm building a glasshouse.
fair question- what do concrete blocks have to do with glasshouses? well, we've got some second hand windows which we're going to sit on a wall and make into a glasshouse. obvious? no?
ok. back wall of the garage and that of the neighbours is north facing; i've painted them black and made me a microclimate (get your inspiration here, rolling stones). two walls black, two walls glass-ish. with brick bottoms in a kinda mediocre rendition of a wall.
anyway, it'll have soil over it.
and eventually we'll be able to look back and smile at this occassion- the one when b fancied herself as a brickmason
xx
brickie b
sorry to be so esoteric, i'm actually referring to the construction of the Mediocre Wall.
i'm sure, while the chinese were in the business of building their wall (oh, it's not all that- i've seen it. some of it has fallen down already) they had their bad days. it had nothing to do with marauding mongolians or anything. or at least my wall hasnn't. i'm going to blame the mortar. and then i'll blame the bricks. and then i'm going to blame the poor weather (check out the chinese 'diaries of a wall builder' and i bet you anything you'll see something written the same.)
the thing is, it is actually the fault of the bricks. and the weather. and the mortar mix being too dry. seriously.
i'm building a glasshouse.
fair question- what do concrete blocks have to do with glasshouses? well, we've got some second hand windows which we're going to sit on a wall and make into a glasshouse. obvious? no?
ok. back wall of the garage and that of the neighbours is north facing; i've painted them black and made me a microclimate (get your inspiration here, rolling stones). two walls black, two walls glass-ish. with brick bottoms in a kinda mediocre rendition of a wall.
anyway, it'll have soil over it.
and eventually we'll be able to look back and smile at this occassion- the one when b fancied herself as a brickmason
xx
brickie b
23.7.09
22.7.09
21.7.09
19.7.09
survival skills
fear not, last week's earthquake wasn't even enough to make me spill my wine.
it did, however, have "lampshades swinging up to 6 inches" (who has time to measure these things?), so they say. i've no idea, most of our lights are recessed.
but the earthquake people say (the ones who measure them, not make them) it was the second biggest recorded earthquake here; although in a district with an average population of 1 person and 1 sheep (and several million sandflies) per square kilometre it wasn't nearly as devastating as it might have been. they say (the earthquake crew) there are over 17000 earthquakes registered every year in these shaky isles; this is only the second one i've felt since we returned.
it was, however, the first for pascal.
where he's from the land has well and truely settled, it is as old as history remembers. nothing changes except the seasons. there are very large mountains as reminders that it wasn't always thus, but now, it's settled into its somewhat sedentry retirement village.
so, understandably, he erred on the side of 'drama queen' when the earth started her gentle gyrations. it wasn't one of those shocking, violent 'quakes you see in films, more of a seavessel upanddown motion that made me wonder if there was something wrong with me. i heard a strange noise, and saw things moving that shouldn't be- i assumed it was a ghost. until p announced "i'm moving!" at which point i could dispense with theatrics and diagnose an earthquake and get over it. p, drilled in 'earthquake preparedness', instructed us to assemble under a doorway.
and before you could say, oh i wonder where i left my glass of wine, it had finished. as gently as it had begun. but not without leaving subtle traces of doubt.
the remainder of the evening was spent discussing our Earthquake Plan. we asked- how prepared are we? we pondered -could we survive?
the answers were of course and not terribly. but not in that order (the conversation was fuelled by the remainder of the nonspiltwine)
we live by the sea, we have fishing rods, and even though it's winter and our garden seems bare we know how to find wild foods- seaweed, normal 'weeds' and how to prepare them. we have a forest at the end of our street (it's kinda more like a forestette) where we could collect pinecones for fuel because, apparently, burning driftwood releases dioxins into the atmosphere and isn't advised (unless of course you've just left a shipwreck). we know how to collect, clean and store water, we know how to make a solar still, a solar oven, a solar shower...
we made a list of things we'd need to add to our 'list of things': candles, matches, batteries & radio, UHT milk, boiled bottled water (the earthquake folk suggest 3l/person/day)
but heck, how much chocolate do you pack?
if you're planning for a disaster do you include wine?
or coffee?
cos we are talking essentials.
some cheese, a little olive oil, saltpepper. a good book.
and how do i know what i'll want to wear?
these things weren't registered alongside the series of aftershocks that rocked the little mountains in the deep south. the earth, apparently, will continue to reverberate for some time.
[sigh]
mother nature likes to keep us on our toes, eh?
xx
mama b
(mostly prepared)
it did, however, have "lampshades swinging up to 6 inches" (who has time to measure these things?), so they say. i've no idea, most of our lights are recessed.
but the earthquake people say (the ones who measure them, not make them) it was the second biggest recorded earthquake here; although in a district with an average population of 1 person and 1 sheep (and several million sandflies) per square kilometre it wasn't nearly as devastating as it might have been. they say (the earthquake crew) there are over 17000 earthquakes registered every year in these shaky isles; this is only the second one i've felt since we returned.
it was, however, the first for pascal.
where he's from the land has well and truely settled, it is as old as history remembers. nothing changes except the seasons. there are very large mountains as reminders that it wasn't always thus, but now, it's settled into its somewhat sedentry retirement village.
so, understandably, he erred on the side of 'drama queen' when the earth started her gentle gyrations. it wasn't one of those shocking, violent 'quakes you see in films, more of a seavessel upanddown motion that made me wonder if there was something wrong with me. i heard a strange noise, and saw things moving that shouldn't be- i assumed it was a ghost. until p announced "i'm moving!" at which point i could dispense with theatrics and diagnose an earthquake and get over it. p, drilled in 'earthquake preparedness', instructed us to assemble under a doorway.
and before you could say, oh i wonder where i left my glass of wine, it had finished. as gently as it had begun. but not without leaving subtle traces of doubt.
the remainder of the evening was spent discussing our Earthquake Plan. we asked- how prepared are we? we pondered -could we survive?
the answers were of course and not terribly. but not in that order (the conversation was fuelled by the remainder of the nonspiltwine)
we live by the sea, we have fishing rods, and even though it's winter and our garden seems bare we know how to find wild foods- seaweed, normal 'weeds' and how to prepare them. we have a forest at the end of our street (it's kinda more like a forestette) where we could collect pinecones for fuel because, apparently, burning driftwood releases dioxins into the atmosphere and isn't advised (unless of course you've just left a shipwreck). we know how to collect, clean and store water, we know how to make a solar still, a solar oven, a solar shower...
we made a list of things we'd need to add to our 'list of things': candles, matches, batteries & radio, UHT milk, boiled bottled water (the earthquake folk suggest 3l/person/day)
but heck, how much chocolate do you pack?
if you're planning for a disaster do you include wine?
or coffee?
cos we are talking essentials.
some cheese, a little olive oil, saltpepper. a good book.
and how do i know what i'll want to wear?
these things weren't registered alongside the series of aftershocks that rocked the little mountains in the deep south. the earth, apparently, will continue to reverberate for some time.
[sigh]
mother nature likes to keep us on our toes, eh?
xx
mama b
(mostly prepared)
13.7.09
concept development.
"teeee nyum" calix says as he indicates to a blackbird foraging for worms amongst leaf litter, thus offering me his first sentence. the brain is making connections; our wee man is developing concepts.
words are arriving fast: weetbix, pain (bread) bot (gumboot), as more connections are made c is able to tell us what he wants. his recognition skills go beyond food, he recognises his best friend (ma' -max) in a photo and last night dragged me into the office to point at the computer and say 'nannie' (i think a skype rendezvous is in order!) at dinner time he announces 'à table!'.
he's happy to repeat anything you say- petit bébé, for example, after meeting his first little baby.
one of his favourite games is pointing to his various body parts: tête, nez, bouche, oreilles, yeux (head, nose, mouth, ears).....
but why limit yourself to just learning french?
calix recognises that chien and dog are both hmmhmm. listening into an english conversation he will just as easily offer hmmhmm or repeat 'dog'. how he learnt this i'm not sure, as p and i only speak to him in french.
soon, no doubt, he will be able to offer us lessons in modern liguistics- what's cool, or what's not hip...
xx
mama b
words are arriving fast: weetbix, pain (bread) bot (gumboot), as more connections are made c is able to tell us what he wants. his recognition skills go beyond food, he recognises his best friend (ma' -max) in a photo and last night dragged me into the office to point at the computer and say 'nannie' (i think a skype rendezvous is in order!) at dinner time he announces 'à table!'.
he's happy to repeat anything you say- petit bébé, for example, after meeting his first little baby.
one of his favourite games is pointing to his various body parts: tête, nez, bouche, oreilles, yeux (head, nose, mouth, ears).....
but why limit yourself to just learning french?
calix recognises that chien and dog are both hmmhmm. listening into an english conversation he will just as easily offer hmmhmm or repeat 'dog'. how he learnt this i'm not sure, as p and i only speak to him in french.
soon, no doubt, he will be able to offer us lessons in modern liguistics- what's cool, or what's not hip...
xx
mama b
6.7.09
the optimistic gardener
while the weather continues to bite, i trawl the internet in search of heirloom vegetable seeds for sowing in anticipation of the summer garden. salads, tomatoes, maori potatoes. all high nutrition food, all frost tender.
in a brief weather interlude this afternoon i busied myself in the garden, making the last of the preparations for our fruit trees: tickle the soil, layer thick newspaper, twigs, seaweed, compost and peastraw and leave the rest of the work to the worms. of course, my seaweed supply ran short so later on we were combing the beach.
today's wintery high tide threw up many luscious species of algae; my marinebiologist friend informs me all of which are edible (although some are better than others). the beach was dressed for a party as the algae lay like pearls spilled from a necklace, like silk torn from a ball dress, or like the great long leathery seamonsters that had landed on the beach, uninvited and spoiled the occassion. today's wintery wind whipped my imagination into a frenzy as i stuffed these ocean gifts into a bag to take home to my garden.
being a gardener not only allows for year round optimism, while carrying out those meanial tasks it demands it gives you time to dream a little.
xx
mama b
in a brief weather interlude this afternoon i busied myself in the garden, making the last of the preparations for our fruit trees: tickle the soil, layer thick newspaper, twigs, seaweed, compost and peastraw and leave the rest of the work to the worms. of course, my seaweed supply ran short so later on we were combing the beach.
today's wintery high tide threw up many luscious species of algae; my marinebiologist friend informs me all of which are edible (although some are better than others). the beach was dressed for a party as the algae lay like pearls spilled from a necklace, like silk torn from a ball dress, or like the great long leathery seamonsters that had landed on the beach, uninvited and spoiled the occassion. today's wintery wind whipped my imagination into a frenzy as i stuffed these ocean gifts into a bag to take home to my garden.
being a gardener not only allows for year round optimism, while carrying out those meanial tasks it demands it gives you time to dream a little.
xx
mama b
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