Shiitake Happens

Posted by Nick  | 16 Apr 2017  | 4 comments

One-and-a-half years ago we inoculated logs of plum wood with some special fungus; the spawn of shiitake and oyster mushrooms, to be exact. It’s a waiting game. You have to give the mycelium enough time to fully impregnate the logs. After nine to eighteen months, to trigger fruiting you submerge the logs in water for forty-eight hours. Our farm came equipped with an old bathtub perfect for the job, which fills with rainwater from the adjacent shed.

We started with just four of our twelve logs as a trial, weighed down by bricks.

A couple of days later we pulled them out, propped them out of reach from the sheep’s exploratory gobs, and waited again for another couple of weeks.

We were giddy when we spotted a couple of mature shrooms which had suddenly emerged from one of the logs inoculated with shiitake.

Only two caps had sprouted, but soon, hopefully, these logs will be inundated.

Eager to fry up a sample of our very first homegrown mushrooms, we harvested the fruiting bodies from their woody abode.

Sauteed in butter and garlic is a must. Shiitake is known as a meaty mushroom, and we were surprised to find the texture quite similar to meat indeed. The taste wasn’t strong, but it was pleasant. There wasn’t enough! Here’s hoping many more pop up in the coming weeks, so we can make a proper meal of them.

Around the Farm: Part IV

Posted by Nick  | 15 Apr 2017  | 0 comments

What! The previous part in this “Around the Farm” series was posted a year-and-a-half ago, when we were going into winter in 2015! Goes to show how slack we’ve (I’ve) been with keeping on top of posts. So much has happened that we haven’t journalled about over the past year-and-a-half. So here’s yet another part in this series where I dump a whole bunch of photos (in no particular order) in an attempt to redeem our (my) procrastination. This one’ll be a whopper…

Let’s start with the pile of wood we had split from the trees we had felled in order to gain internet access. This was the beginning of 2016 in summer. We finally finished splitting all those rounds and used the tractor to transport the wood into the woodsheds.

A few friends helped us out. Here’s Dingus learning how to use the tractor’s hydraulics, which he took to like a pro.

This city boy knows how to tractor, and looks stylish doing it.

There was a lot to move, and in the heat of summer to boot.

Two ample woodsheds were filled, which should last us a few years worth of heat. And there’s plenty more where that came from.

We also split and collected some rounds that had been piled up against the trunks of old trees from the previous owner.

And moved a bunch of messy wood to the burn pile.

Also prior to the summer of 2016 our Wiltshire ewes were looking a little tatty, having shed for the first time that spring. A few hadn’t shed fully and we were bothered by the tufts of wool still stubbornly adhering to their chops, so Char took some hand shears to them. Their coats looked stifling, so we were doing them a favour, right? We penned up the barn and goaded them all in.

Oh, that’s my make-shift shepherd’s crook Char’s holding, which worked about as well as trying to catch fish with a spoon. Nevertheless, after much chasing and tackling, falling and sprawling, these newbie shepherds caught (most of) their flock and gave them a good trimming.

Woolly Wiltshires tend to shed better after their first year. We didn’t pay the high price for superior genes for our first flock.

A couple of the ewes had an absurd amount of wool still on them. Char took to it like a natural. I tried it, but nicked a sheep, and then almost cried because I felt so bad.

Here’s what we were left with after the woolly half of the flock had been shorn:

We’re very glad in retrospect that we don’t have to do this every year, and our ladies now shed almost fully (save one or two).

Speaking of shearing, our alpacas, Alpacino and Pacman, had their first haircuts here at the beginning of the summer just past. It’s a ridiculous ordeal for the poor things, but it keeps them cool in the hot months. As you can see, they were heavily cloaked, their fringes obscuring their views.

We constructed a make-shift pen from old gates in our carport and ushered the nervous camelids inside, ready for the shearers.

The shearers were a couple of American/Canadian guys who come over to NZ in the springtime for all the shearing work. Poor Pacman was up first. The shearers were seasoned pros, grappling and flooring the flighty animals with prowess.

It looks brutal, but they aren’t in pain, just restrained. Nooses are looped around each ankle and the alpacas are stretched out via pulleys.

This allows the shearers to access all parts of the alpacas. They also trimmed their toenails while they were at it.

There’s so much luxurious fibre by the end of it. We’ve bagged it all up for now, not quite sure what to do with it, but reluctant to throw it away. If we don’t end up using it ourselves, we may just give it away to some felting hobbyists in town.

As you can see, once the haircut drama is over, we are equal parts fabulous and ridiculous.

In no time the boys were back to their usual antics… which sometimes includes some eyebrow-raising “brotherly love”…

Alpachino’s gagging for it.

Ah, they’re such good lawn ornaments, alpacas.

So many laughs, and they’re a hit with visitors.

You’re doing well to get through this lengthy post. Here’s an intermission with bacon, pancakes, and ice-cream for your efforts. (I think I made this for Char’s birthday breakfast, because there’s a balloon on the floor in the background.)

A couple of summers ago we finally got on top of our little veggie patch.

Future plans are to construct a larger garden and greenhouse elsewhere as we attempt to grow all our own food, but this little patch keeps our thumbs green in the meantime.

Our compost is great – all food scraps go there and it seems to decompose before ever overflowing, always remaining at the same height.

Under the fresh top layer, a delicious dark humus develops beneath, alive with tiger worms, which must have migrated from our leftover worm farm compost we brought with us when we moved.

We’ve been seed saving our peas every year since we moved here, and it’s surprising how just a couple of generations of selecting from the healthiest plants results in a stronger crop each subsequent season. One day we may be doing that with most of our produce. You can see the peas on the left, which are from a new packet, are considerably smaller than those on the right, which we selected from the previous season’s strongest crop. Both planted at the same time.

We usually have lettuce coming out of our ears. We need to eat more of it.

This batch of home-grown strawbs was super flavourful due in part to a regular feeding with a good fertiliser. Makes all the difference.

We went blueberry picking on a plantation about forty-five minutes from where we live.

Picked about four kilos. I’m not too much of a fan of the sandy textured bland berry, but they are an excellent ingredient in baking.

We froze a whole bunch to bake into multiple batches of blueberry muffins, to sustain our fat deposits over the long winter… They turned out pretty delicious, especially with their cream cheese filling…

Sometimes in the country after a storm, when trees come down over rarely-accessed roads, it’s up to you to deal with the mess. In this case, especially, where one of the trees at the edge of our property bordering a gravel road came down.

For this reason, among a hundred others, a chainsaw is a necessity in the country.

Our crappy old letterbox looked pretty sad when we moved here. One weekend Char decided she’d fix ‘er up.

First she ground the rust down with a brass brush drill attachment.

Then she sprayed it with a primer.

She trimmed the flag.

Then painted it red.

She ground the rust from the old Y post out front.

Primed that, too.

Then spray-painted it black.

And viola! (Pic is actually from more than a year later, hence the slight rust.)

Much less of an eyesore in the meantime until we build a new fence and letterbox to match!

Another minor project we tackled was replacing our crappy hot and cold kitchen faucets with a proper mixer tap. We’d put up with the inconvenience for so long because we expected we’d be renovating in stages, but have since decided to put renovations on hold and do it all at once. So, we resolved that in the mean time we might as well install a proper mixer tap to save ourselves the daily frustration of washing hands and dishes with two taps, one blisteringly hot and the other icy cold.

Naturally, due to the “she’ll be right” attitude of the previous owners (and most lackadaisical kiwis), the fittings inside the wall were mismatched, hodgepodge, make-do, and… well… perfectly suited to the motif of the rest of the cottage and farm at large. This, unsurprisingly, resulted in multiple trips to hardware and plumbing stores after discovering odd-sized couplings, flanges, and piping were necessary for the job.

It took various attempts at fitting, unfitting, and refitting.

Until finally we had a non-leaking, working mixer tap to see us through until proper renovations begin.

To close, what follows is an assortment of around-the-farm pics that can speak for themselves, taken over the past couple of years.

You made it! I’d better get on top of all the other posts on my list, or else the next in the series of “Around the Farm” will be just as big!

Wiltshire Ram Lambs

Posted by Nick  | 28 Mar 2017  | 0 comments

We’re selling our first lot of Wiltshire ram lambs. At the moment they’re being kept with their stocky dad, Gordon Ramsay, away from their sisters, whom are being ogled with incestuous eyes from across the paddock. Gordon also seems unable to differentiate his nubile daughters from his harem of last season’s mothers. Sicko.

Father and son, a handsome pair:

Half of our lambs this year were seven boys. And about half of them seem a decent size and have fully shed, like their pop.

A couple of the others haven’t shed nearly so well and are the runts of the group. Not surprising, since their mother had mastitis (udder infection), so we had to bottle feed them. It’s possible that the powdered colostrum milk we fed them didn’t have the same level of goodness as mumma’s tit.

Since then, those two woolly brothers have been a nuisance. Never-mind having to bottle-feed them three times a day, one of them could barely figure out how to latch onto the teat. He would bite it and deep-throat it like a real weirdo. We reckon that might have been what caused their mumma to get mastitis – they nibbled too hard. (I’ll do a post on this specifically another time.)

Yes, yes, I know he’s cute. You stop seeing them as adorable when you have to chase them through multiple gates over hundreds of metres when they insist on pushing their way their way through fences to what they think is greener grass on the other side. (Hint: It’s not, you’re just an asshole.)

Not only are those two woolly shits runty escapees, they are also really into their bigger brothers…

Runty, woolly, duds. Lamb stew, we think.

Hopefully the other big boys sell. They’re super healthy, docile, clean, and one hundred percent shed already.

Wiltshires get to keep their tails because they are self-shedding, which means there’s a lower incidence of fly-strike (eggs laid in poo around their bums which then burrow into their flesh, potentially killing them). It’s odd for a lot of people to see sheep with their tails, but now that we’re used to it, sheep without their tails look really odd to us.

One day these boys will be mating a harem each their own, with bollocks as big as their stocky dad’s. Well, the ones that sell anyway.

Look at the size of those cojones. My god.