Junking Out

A Northland farmer has found an economic way to keep his cows happy when grass growth slows down - by getting reject biscuits and surplus bread from Auckland factories.

Monsters Vs Aliens

When I read that the various satellite cities and districts around Auckland were going to be herded into one Super Auckland City by the Government, I was very surprised to say the least. The Auckland area has, right from the very beginning, been an unruly congregation of competing voices and I did not think they would generally accept a centralised unity imposed upon them.

Mayor Banks obviously sees himself as the best contender to be Lord Mayor of a massively enlarged Auckland City. With his historical links to the National Party, he seems to think he has exclusive access to the ear of Government and dismisses any organized resistance to the current plan as the work of “Low flying seagulls” and ‘rain dancers”.

He will certainly keep the media busy as groups jostle for control of what will probably be the second most powerful political organization in the nation. Of particular interest to Kaipara folk is the fate of Wellsford, which has yet to be decided on.

Mark Farnsworth, chairman of the Northland Regional Council, has been quoted in the Northern Advocate saying, “The reality is that if Northland decided on the same model, we could do it tomorrow.” This sounds all very ominous to me and yet somewhat familiar.

I recall well the time I spent near Waipu before the Whangarei County Council amalgamated with Whangarei City. The County Council was very supportive when I applied for approval to set up a studio and I remember warmly the help I received from the local building inspector.

When I built my studio he called in and inspected the site and was a great help as he advised me all the way thru’ the design and construction stages. He also dropped in on his way to other jobs to check on problems while our house was being built. Without his help, we might well have ended up with a house full of the same problems suffered by the many “leaky homes” being built at that time.

Ten years later, I was doing some alterations and I was disappointed to hear that he had taken a job with the Kaipara District Council. So I went instead to another building inspector who used to work only in the city area.

I was confronted with a little man with a tight face who had quite a different attitude altogether. This building inspector was having a personal chat with a tradesman friend (who was not in the queue) and I suspect he was annoyed to be interrupted by a bearded hippie type like me. I asked for advice and got this reply.

“Now look here Sunny Jim, I’m not here to waste my time on stuff like that! Go find an engineer to draw it up, sign it off and I’ll look at the plan.” I then explained that I was going to do it myself. He got quite shirty and told me to clear off. As I left I turned and saw him laughing derisively with his mate as they watched me leave.

I was short off funds and really annoyed at having to pay a hefty fee for something I could do myself. Looking back, I think this episode nicely illustrates the difference between urban and rural ways of doing things.

In cities, people are more specialised and trade their skills at a premium. In the country, on the other hand, people need to be more self sufficient, multi-skilled and co-operate to cut costs.

If Mark Farnsworth is hinting that Northland should have one ‘monsterous’ Northland council to fend off the ‘aliens’ in the south - then I hope the Kaipara preserves its rural way of doing things if this idea becomes a reality. I believe we have something special here and we should be prepared to do what ever is necessary to preserve it.

Because He's There

Two very different people found their way into the public spotlight recently when the question arose (once again) - who really got to the top of Mount Everest first?

The late Sir Edmund Hillary is still the top contender for most people. However, in England, there is a determined bunch of Poms who want to contest this and the latest leader of the pack is the notorious author/politician, Jeffrey Archer.

It appears to me that these celebrities fall into two camps. One has almost stumbled into public acclaim by pursuing his dreams and the other has sought the limelight by raking up a controversy.

Sir Edmund is arguably the most esteemed public figure in New Zealand’s history. He was an incredibly courageous achiever and a devoted family man who tragically lost his wife and daughter while helping the Sherpa people build schools and health clinics in the Himalayas. In New Zealand, we admired his modest and quietly determined character – a quality we Kiwis are often noted for.

Jeffrey Archer, on the other hand, has the reputation of being a discredited British Conservative politician who was jailed for two years on charges of perjury and obstructing the course of justice. When I saw his picture in the paper, unpleasant memories of the Thatcher era re-emerged and I was reminded of a very ruinous period in Britain’s social and industrial history. They are still paying the price and it is adding to cost of the current recession.

Archer’s other claim to fame is the ability to write a good yarn. Titles I can recall being very popular are, ‘Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less’, ‘First Among Equals’ and ‘Cat O’Nine Tails’ (Illustrated by Ronald Searl). He used the proceeds to avoid bankruptcy and writing has pulled him out trouble ever since.

Even when he was in prison he continued to write best sellers (Three volumes of ‘A Prison Diary’) and carried out research for his latest novel, ‘Paths Of Glory’. This book was published in March this year and makes the case for the Englishman George Mallory successfully climbing Everest in 1924.
The reaction in New Zealand was almost universally acidic. Mountaineer Graeme Dingle responded with, "He's dreaming. There's essentially no chance Mallory got to the top. All the evidence points to them not making it."

In 1999 Mallory’s body was found only 200 meters from the his goal, but his climbing partner, Andrew Irvine, has yet to be found. Mallory made a promise to place his wife’s photo at the summit and it was not found on his clothing. This has led to speculation that he might in fact have succeeded and was making his way down.

A crucial part of the evidence could be in Irvine’s clothing or pack, because he was the one who carried the Kodak camera. Despite the time factor, it is thought that the film would survive. The search is continuing.

A film clip I saw of Mallory in his climbing gear astounded me. Compared to Hillary and Tenzing, he was very lightly equipped – even for that time. Like Scott’s tragic Antarctic expedition he obviously belonged to the stoic British tradition of toughing it out – Man against Nature. It is very possible that he chose martyrdom ahead of safety and decided to soldier on to the summit despite the cost.

I guess we will possibly never find out the truth, but nothing can ever take away Sherpa Tenzing’s and Sir Ed’s amazing achievement and returning to tell the tale for many, many years afterwards.

I would not be at all surprised if the Poms tell us next that Hillary found more at the top than just snow and ask… “What did he mean when he said, ‘We Knocked the bastard off!’ Was it just one of those uniquely raw colonial expressions of achievement, or was it perhaps a Freudian slip?”

Potting Possums

Potting Possums

I would like to think that most people see me as a kind and considerate type of guy. However, my family says that this is just a front to mask the bloodthirsty killer that lurks within.

They are appalled at the personality change that takes place when I deal with possums. I have trapped them at night, shaken them out of trees (for the dog to dispose of) and swerved to imprint them with the tyres of my car.

It has been estimated that there are at least 70 million possums in New Zealand chewing their way thru’ our gardens and bush – so I have no qualms about sending another Aussie import to the Great Gum Tree In The Sky.

I must say that I am less inclined to use my present car for this task these days, because it is not fitted with metal bumpers. It has instead, plastic bumpers that are designed to reduce the damage on people and animals by collapsing on impact. I know to my horror just how expensive they are to repair or replace.

When I had a lifestyle block near Levin, I had a city boy’s reluctance to kill these furry raiders who were eating every fruit I grew there. I used to ring a local man who came to our place and killed them by grabbing their tails and swinging them several times before delivering a fatal blow with a spade.

When I told another friend how it was done, he said that he would give it a go too – so he reached into the cage, grabbed the tail and swung the possum. Somehow he lost his grip and I watched the possum fly skywards (minus the fur on his tail) and land in a nearby Karaka tree. He looked down at us with amazement and then he was gone. I never felt game enough to do this sort of stuff, so I drowned my prisoners after that.

As the recession bites deeper, I wonder if laid off workers and beneficiaries will be tempted to include possums on their menu. I know they are marketed overseas as “Kiwi Bears” to move them away from being associated with Australian wildlife and there seems to be a strong demand – especially in Asia.

This could be a thriving new industry for the Kaipara District and if we need some music to be used as an advertising theme, I know of one kiwi band who could be just right – ‘Fur Patrol’. They have a new (very good) cd out with the apt title, ‘Jingle King’.

I have never tried cooked possum, but I have heard that they are very nice in a stew. This culinary delight has not appealed to me ever since a relative gave me a lift home in his car after a wedding. It was late at night and yet that did not prevent him from stopping several times to pick up dead possums along the way. I can still remember vividly the stench wafting in from the rear of the hatchback.

I guess he wanted them for the fur and dog tucker. According to him, “There’s nothing better than possum to put a healthy sheen on a dogs coat.” The possum fur is of course becoming valuable once more as a blended fibre. When it is mixed with merino wool it makes very attractive and warm clothing.

If this sort of thing appeals to you, then I can really recommend the route from Paparoa to Oakleigh as a new source of income and protein. I have never seen so many dead possums on a road and alas, also the remains of harrier hawks scattered around them.

Now that drinking and driving is falling out of fashion, I wonder if the expression “one more for the road” will be replaced by “one more for the pot.”

A Tale Of Two Halves

A Tale of Two Halves

Living close to the Kauri Museum at Matakohe, means that I meet quite a few tourists and I often advise them about places to visit. I keep a Northland map handy and I have noticed that many women have a different way to approaching maps compared to men – especially when it comes to looking at locations close to Matakohe itself.

Men generally scan the map quickly and also ask if I have a larger map to see where the location fits in. Women often move the map around and line it up local features if the destination is close by. They are also inclined to write notes. I have read about this sort behaviour and I find it really interesting to observe it first hand.

A recent news report I came across confirms these sexual differences and added extra information on how both sexes react to works of art. Professor Francisco Aylaya, from a Californian university, has published the findings of his research that used magnetic field detectors to see which parts of the brain were being used when men and women were looking at art.

He found that men mostly used a zone on their right side and women used both sides. His study suggests that the right side is used for spatial awareness (seeing the big picture) and the left side focused on contextual relevance (seeing things close at hand and their connection to the surroundings).

Professor Ayala thinks that these differences have evolved to become hard wired ever since mankind became hunter-gatherers. Men tended to go on long hunting expeditions while most women stayed closer to the home base gathering nuts and fruits and dealing with other tribal activities.

When I think about this it makes me wonder what is going on in the left zone of men’s brains and the obvious answer came when I read an email sent to me from, of all people, a very staunchly feminist friend I know. At the top was picture of an old Native American chief with the title “Where did the White man go wrong” and below it was the following text.

“The Indian Chief, 'Two Eagles', was asked by a white government official, "You have observed the white man for 90 years. You've seen his wars and his technological advances. You've seen his progress, and the damage he's done."

The Chief nodded in agreement. The official continued, "Considering all these events, in your opinion, where did the white man go wrong?"

The Chief stared at the government official for over a minute and then calmly replied. "When white man find land, Indians running it, no taxes, no debt, plenty buffalo, plenty beaver, clean water. Women did all the work, Medicine man free. Indian man spend all day hunting and fishing; all night having sex."

Then the chief leaned back and smiled. "Only white man dumb enough to think he could improve system like that."

After reading this, I think perhaps many men need room upstairs for thoughts about women while out hunting and looking at art.

A Dog's Tale

This cartoon was drawn to illustrate a tale about a farm dog that was locked up in the Pound for allegedly chasing a neighhbour's cat and threatening chickens.

Milking Monikers

Monikers Maketh More Milk

For most of my working life I have had farming neighbours and I have got on well with nearly all of them. My first impressions of how they lived and worked are still the most lasting and come from the time I fled the city to set up a studio in the country. I found a derelict farm house to rent and in order to get a regular supply of water, I had to sort out an arrangement with John, my sharemilking neighbour.

John had a British army background and he wasted no time in telling me what a lousy job it was - sloshing around in the mud and cow shit and putting up with bitterly cold southerly winds. To make the case clearer, he waved a piece of alkathene pipe in the direction of a few stragglers and roared profanities at the dog.

His milking shed looked like a battleground and it was so noisy, I left with my ears ringing. There was effluent all over the place and his young worker was just as agitated as the cows as he tried frantically to milk at the hectic pace that John had set.

My landlord, on the other hand, had quite a different approach. I went over to his place to have a chat once and as it happened, he too was finishing off a day’s milking. It was a balmy summer afternoon and we met by the railing around the yard.

He had the National Programme going at a moderate volume and the last of the cows were going thru’ the shed at a leisurely pace. While we were talking, a cow came up and sniffed around me. I stepped back (not wanting to get goobed on) and to my surprise Frank reached out and scratched her topknot, which she seemed to really like.

Frank explained that he knew this one as a heifer when she was struggling to survive and needed extra TLC. I gave her a scratch as well, keeping an eye on her huge salivary tongue. The farm worker gave me a smile when he saw me nervously approach the cow and I could tell he liked his job by the way he whistled along with a familiar tune on the radio.

I came away with a different view about farming and thought to myself “Now that’s the way to do it.” Because I had seen this way of working, it was not surprising for me to hear this week that naming cows could increase production.

Research results from Newcastle University in the UK indicate that this practice can yield up to 284 litres of milk annually. Keeping track of hundreds of cows this way might seem crazy at present. However, when robots take over in the near future, farmers might use the same automated voice recognition technology that Telecom employs to milk its customers.

“Hello Daisy, please tell me in a few moos how your day has been while I connect you to a machine that can help.”