Author: anneinabsentia

Welcoming (most) wildlife into your garden

Should you be selective about what forages in your garden? Once you open the gate to wildlife there’s no stopping them. I have a bug house which is smothered in spider webs. Two bird feeders attract lots of waxeyes and a few sparrows. The blackbirds seem to fend for themselves, digging into the leaf litter for snails, worms and insects (and they enjoy the birdbath), and finches occasionally fly in to feed on the seeds of plants such as borage which also attracts bees when flowering. Fantails flit high up in the canopy, catching insects on the wing. Other birds pass overhead: spur-winged plovers, gliding seagulls and sometimes a pair of ducks or a skein of geese. Sometimes I hear a grey warbler and distant magpies.

On the flip side, cats cruise through (discouraged by a water gun if I’m fast enough), Felix brings in a rat now and again, and ants appear with monotonous regularity. Two days ago I was horrified to find thick masses of ants around the guttering downpipes and long lines of them along the eaves and walls of the house. I should have taken photos to freak you out, but I had turned into a rubber-gloved, masked avenger with a loaded spray gun before it occurred to me to record the event. The next day there was little sign of ants – except along the clothes line where a column of them was migrating to a nearby tree, like Mother Courage and her children toiling across the battlefield. It seems I only feel sorry for them when they are in retreat.

There are several natural sources of bird food: apples, berries, aphids, and abutilon, camelia and protea flowers.

Apple tree
Abutilon flowers

And there are two bird feeders:

The new bird feeder (on the left) requires sugar water and ‘truffles’. Lately, I’ve been replacing the truffles every day for these voracious (hungry?) waxeyes. So that nothing is wasted, I put the little bits which fall through the wire feeder into the other bird feeder, with the windfall apples. I worry that I should leave a gap before replacing the truffles (a day? half a day?) so that the birds don’t become too dependent on them.

Both bird feeders are cat proof. For Felix, the new bird feeder is cat television. He sits in the parsley under the cranberry bush and watches for hours – even now, in the rain.

A photo taken several days ago. Felix briefly switched his attention to me.

Cold start

It was a chilly start to the day: minus three degrees. A bird bath, overflowing from recent rain, was frozen solid. It looks as if my lettuces have succumbed to the cold, while the proteas are doing just fine outside. I put them outside the back door when I discovered ants in the flowers. These ones were cut down by the arborist last week and I rescued them before they could be put through the mulcher. I guess the ants were attracted to their nectar while they were down on the ground. I saw proteas for sale at $3.99 per stem this week – even without bonus ants.

By the time I ventured outside, it was one degree, and cream on porridge and in coffee seemed like a good idea. A bit cloying, it turned out; easily fixed by a drink of water and cleaned teeth. Meantime, wax eyes could be seen at the bird feeder through a window misty with condensation. Felix chose to stay in bed.

The beach was beautiful – clear, blue, with a flat sea and ships on the horizon waiting to go into the harbour. We were warmed by the sun, by our thermos tea, and by the sight of two horses.

By late afternoon, Felix was enjoying the last of the sun. I lit the fire. We’re due for similar temperatures tonight.

Resident rat?

This morning, Felix showed an interest in the old kitchen fireplace where I keep a wicker hamper for his cat food. Uh-oh, I thought, that would be an ideal place for the rat to hide – close to the cat food and water bowl. It could live there.

Later in the morning, Mum looked up from the newspaper and exclaimed that the rat was on the back of the sofa. It quickly darted out of sight. ‘Cute little thing,’ said Mum, ‘with beady little eyes.’

After a while she saw it going under the dining table. That’s near the door onto the deck, so I opened it wide, hoping the rat would answer the call of the wild in preference to 5-star domestication.

We haven’t seen it since. The only evidence (possibly) of its presence is the bite marks on one of the windfall apples on the table. As a rule I put the windfalls which are partly eaten by birds on the bird feeder. It seems unlikely that I missed bites so obvious. Does this indicate that he has taken up residence? My sense is that he took the chance and went outside. Here’s hoping.

Where’s the rat?

Felix, you rat-catcher. I’ll have one of your nine lives.

-Shakespeare, paraphrased by me.

At about 5.15am I was woken by a kerfuffle. Felix had already had his breakfast at 4am, so it couldn’t be him dropping hints. Something skittered across my bedhead. Felix walks across the bedhead, knocking things down as he goes, he doesn’t skitter. I reached for the light and there was Felix with a rat in his mouth.

I had heard a rat gnawing at something in the roof space during the night. I hoped it was the blocks of rat bait it (they?) was chowing down on and not the wiring. Trees around the guttering had been cut back, but maybe not far enough; I’ve heard rats can jump quite a distance. The cold weather would be driving them inside. There had been signs of rats in the woodpile. Felix was on their trail.

After watching the chase from my bed with one French door open (Felix carried the rat outside, but came back in before I could close the door) I managed to shut them out of the bedrooms and hallway and went back to bed. In the morning, Felix was asleep on a chair in the sitting room. No sign of the rat…but there was some disarray in my study. With a sinking heart, I realised it was probably behind something. I resolved to get ready for the day as usual: shower, exercises, breakfast, chores, before investigating further. I dressed in trousers which were snug at the ankle.

When Mum reported that a rat had been under her chair before running into my study, I fetched my head torch, brush and pan, and donned gardening gloves. Then I began to pull out the shelf and drawer units from under the desk. The rat appeared – each of us recoiling in horror – and disappeared. I fetched Felix (sleeping on Mum’s bed by this time) and set him to the task. There was chasing and to-and-fro, and then nothing. Felix got bored and wandered off.

I eventually cleaned out under my desk – finding only a long-legged spider – and put everything back. I summoned the courage to put my feet under my desk to write this post.

But where is it?

Gambling with the weather

‘No, thank you. I don’t approve of gambling,’ Mum would say if someone tried to sell her a raffle ticket. But we do gamble everyday, whether we realise it or not. Setting out on my bike. Crossing the street. Making an observation to someone. Putting out the laundry when winter is beginning to bite.

Today, I gambled with the weather. Despite trying to change my washing day after I retired, I’ve fallen back onto the old routine of Saturday morning washing and rarely shift from that unless the weather’s really bad. Mum’s washing day is Monday – I think that’s traditional, when you’d heat up the copper and use huge sticks to stir the washing around before rinsing it and putting it through a mangle and heaving it onto the line, hoisted up with a clothes prop.

An Aside: Mum remembers that in my grandparents’ farm kitchen there was a clothes airer which was hauled up by a cord towards the ceiling where the washing would get the heat from the coal range. My grandmother would flick the long cord at Mum’s brothers if they misbehaved at the table. I can picture them gambling with their mother’s patience.

The Met Service app advised against doing laundry today. But it was a breezy day with the odd bit of blue sky, so I took a gamble. Out went three lots of laundry.

It rained…
Then, the sun came out

Finally, about 4pm, I brought the washing in. At that point there was a good breeze and the sun was shining, but it was drizzling at the same time. The towels went into the dryer to finish off, but the rest was dry enough to put on the clothes airer inside. So, I figure I broke even.

Seventy

If I say it often enough, I may begin to believe it. It’s more than a week since the significant milestone and I’m begin to get used to the idea – although it still surprises me. And I’m lucky. Two close friends didn’t make it to 60. Dad was only 62.

When my brother turned 70 he just wanted to hide away – no celebration, thank you! I was happy to celebrate. My younger brother and sister-in-law took me out to lunch on the day, friends and I went out for lunch two days after, and my sister and brother-in-law hosted a family dinner in the weekend.

‘Dark and Stormy’ cocktail at lunch
Sweet Soul dessert shared with Mum
by Ruth
Lovely cards (even the two shouting ’70’) and, appropriately, Shakespeare’s ‘Seven Ages’ on the wall behind

It’s nice to stretch out a celebration over several days.

The huge cake had to be steadied for cutting
Nephew with great-nephews
Everyone and their dog were there (and one cat – the other was in hiding)

After the party, there were flowers (and chocolates) to enjoy, a bird feeder perfectly timed for winter, some wise advice, and a delightful photo from my niece of the two great-nephews sleeping on the journey home after the long weekend (King’s Birthday). And is this a good spot to plant the tree?

Nashi Pear tree
Watched over by Charlie Dog

Back in the garden

It’s great to be back working in the garden after a ‘gardening drought’. Once I got started, I was encouraged by my progress and have been gardening for several days. Tidying around the edges came first and led to more deadheading and cutting back the raspberry canes. I mulched the berry patch with leaves from the cherry tree.

The vegetable garden required more thought. I want to rotate the vegetables, but it’s difficult when I have no success with some things. I drew up a plan and made a to-do list, then researched the prices of vegetables packs and bark for the paths. I bought the plants at a favourite nursery (Oderings) – and added a Pink Princess daphne plant to my trolley as well. I prepared the beds and planted most of the vegetables (broad beans, and onions) until I ran out of daylight around 5pm – so frustrating, but time for cheese and crackers and gin and tonic.

Today I went to Mitre 10 for bark – and bought some pea straw and thyme plants. (I recycle used plastic plant pots here too.) I planted the remaining vegetables (rainbow chard and curly kale). The daphne required a bit more care according to my research. I measured the soil ph/acid levels, dug the hole wide but not too deep, put bark mulch in the hole to aid drainage, and added sheep pellets and a bit of acid fertiliser. The daphne looked a little sad in the nursery I thought, but it was the last they had of the variety I had seen recommended in an article. I hope she cheers up!

Pink Princess

I bought three varieties of thyme (lemon, golden and common) and put them in terracotta pots to go alongside the stepping stones which I’ve put through the centre of the vegetable patch. I’ve widened the garden by moving the brick edging further into the lawn. It felt creative, deciding to add some stones here, bark mulch there, and some old boards as edging. Pea straw around the chard and kale added the rustic look I like – and it smells wonderful!

Take a dose of art

Feeling rather depressed by newspaper articles today. One is about working people struggling to pay their bills and to keep warm over winter, and another, from the Washington Post, records the dire effects on people in the US who have lost their public service jobs. I’ve heard that Wellington is quiet these days, with fewer public servants about and, with today being Budget Day, I worry about what further cuts will be made by our government. An elderly man in the first news article commented that this government ‘lacks compassion’. Coincidentally, I’m part-way through a Listener article subtitled ‘How to cope when the world is going crazy’.

Somewhat cheered after Singing for Pleasure this morning at the WEA, I hoped a dip into art might lift my gloom further. This particular piece intrigued me. I noticed it from two flights up when I heard running water and looked for the source. It was in the space under the stairs.

Fountain in Transit by Yona Lee
Art Deco influences, perhaps?

From below, I was able to investigate other features, including the lighting, but also the way the water is directed to each part of the installation. It reminds me of all the plumbing options we considered when renovating the bathroom. I like its playfulness.

The exhibition about our relationship with the land was too sombre, so I revisited the Francis Shurrock exhibition. Traumatised by his World War I experiences, he came to NZ in the 1920s and taught and inspired his students at Canterbury College School of Art – even introducing Morris Dancing. I like this Art Deco piece he did in Oamaru stone, and the bronze sculpture of writer Frank Sargeson by one of his students, Alison Duff. Across the street from the Gallery an Art Deco-inspired block of flats caught my eye.

Perhaps the government will decide art galleries are a waste of space too. But, on further thought, that is unlikely; too many rich people invest in art. Monetary value seems to be what counts when, clearly, art has a value more ephemeral than that. Now I’ve depressed myself again.

Domestic disaster and delight

Disaster’ and ‘delight’ are perhaps overstating it. My 32 year old washing machine finally did what I’d been expecting – broke down on the last spin. Over the phone, my regular repair man (well, I’ve needed him twice in 32 years) said he was semi-retired now, but suggested I try wrenching the bowl to reset it. To my relief, that worked and I was able to hang my heavy flannelette sheets on the line. However, he advised that my old Hoover Commodore, purchased in 1993, had had its day. Some quick research (including reading helpful reviews) and consultation with my sister resulted in the purchase of a new energy efficient Fisher and Paykel machine.

Old and new

My sister and brother in law replaced their dish washer the same day. Their son had picked it up for them. Before long, he arrived to collect my new washing machine. There followed a Dukes of Hazzard adventure in his girlfriend’s black, double-cab ute, with his younger (but taller) brother riding shotgun and me in the back wielding the credit card. We roared up the road to a northern suburb distribution centre where a man donned a helmet and safety harness and collected the boxed machine from a high shelf with a large fork lift. My nephew had the gear to strap the machine onto the deck of the ute and we took the scenic route along back roads to home. There the two young heroes un-installed the old machine and installed the new one. Just like that.

I read the manual carefully, ran a Quick Cycle to check the pipes were correctly connected and then a Hygiene Cycle to clean away any residues from the manufacturing process. There are 14 cycles available! I was awake in the night strategising the alteration to my usual ‘chuck everything in together’ routine.

This morning, it was good to go and proved efficient – and quiet! My old one sounded like a jet plane taking off and creaked and groaned and even shrieked. The new one has greater capacity, but is about the same size otherwise. It is also gentler on clothes, with no tall central agitator to tangle things up.

It’s a little sad to see an old stalwart go – but the delight of watching a digital control panel go through each cycle will win me over in time! Maybe it has already.

Goodbye, old friend.

Art and architecture

Today was so beautiful I had to get out and into it. Walking to Singing was great, and after a good old bellow there, I popped across the street to the Art Gallery. The visual delights started with an amazing whale-tree suspended from the foyer ceiling. It was quite meditative looking at the art upstairs, and moving too.

The huge triptych ‘Colonization’ by William Dunning is more essay than painting. The kawakawa tree in the foreground is by Shona Rapira Davies (who also did the ‘whale-tree’ in the foyer). I was pleased to see a Robyn Kahukiwa painting (on the right) as she recently died. I love her work in Wahine Toa with Patricia Grace. The book was in my classroom for years until it disappeared. Someone else loved it too, as I’d hoped.

Out on The Terrace, the colours were brilliant and it was hot. I stopped for ice cream, then headed off to explore.

Pre-earthquakes, High Street had a row of lovely old buildings, home to specialty shops and cafēs. Now, it is a street of restored buildings and new buildings housing boutique businesses. Some façades have been preserved, while inside and out the back you can see how new the buildings are.

Old and new sit cheek by jowl (photo below). A new floor (perhaps a penthouse apartment) has been added to the building in the middle, so I suspect only the façade is original. The building under construction on the right, has amazingly massive timber beams, some curving around the corner. It replaces the old Excelsior Hotel, which stood in its post-earthquake ruined state for ages until it was demolished. No-one would take on its restoration, despite hopes to preserve at least the façade. The landmark palm trees at the front remain.

An idea of what High Street used to be like (with imaginative additions) is preserved in Kate de Goldi’s book From the Cutting Room of Barney Kettle.

Cover design and illustrations by Gregory O’Brien
Back cover design by Sam Bunny