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Playing with Nature at our Home in the Mountains
Posted On 2010-01-03 , 6:10 PM
There always seemed to be a hen sitting on eggs at our place, nine times out of ten they weren’t fertilised and the poor old hen just patiently sat there with her wings spread for the 21 days, strutting off for food and water once a day. Our kids loved it, watching, waiting - sometimes being rewarded with a bunch of fluffy yellow chicks that cheeped around in fluffy bunches learning how to search for food with their very attentive mother, hence the name broody hen evolved.
We lived in the mountains, miles from anywhere, on the shores of a lake in the South Island of New Zealand. The hen house was on a rise over looking the lake, strictly blue chip waterfront property, you can guess how much each egg would have fetched should it ever have reached the open market. They were totally organic, often the double yokers and were so orange, thanks to earth moving worms and grubs, that our American visitors wouldn’t eat them, they carefully trimmed the white away from the yolk and ate that leaving the yolk as orange as a road workers vest, lonely on the plate.
Also cholesterol reared its ugly head when the word ‘EGG’ was muttered. My life partner and father of my three healthy children adored mountain omelettes, to digress, a mountain omelette has roughly 10-12 eggs lightly whipped and poured into a pan with a knob of butter, pepper and salt and as you would expect his cholesterol level was dead low. You could see the glint in their American eyes as they prepared to put one of those many CPR courses into practice.
Everything was organic and fresh back then, we didn’t know there was another way, we raised and butchered our own meat, caught trout and salmon, killed poultry, picked wild berries in season - always coming out mutilated and bleeding as the biggest berries were always in the centre of the bush, picked wild mushrooms - doing mini marathons racing across paddocks often lured by a piece of sheep’s wool or a white stone.
We milked a beautiful jersey cow with eyelashes to die for, separated the cream in a large steel separator that probably wouldn’t pass health and safety now, but we all survived. We made cottage cheese and yogurt, brewed beer that bubbled away happily in the hot water cupboard in large a glass vat saved from some defunct wool company.
Ducks, in duck shooting season didn’t stand a chance if the cloud was low, they were plucked and gutted for the pot. Eels were smoked, salmon was filleted, rabbits spotlighted from the tray of the ute - skinned gutted and into the freezer. We didn’t need to go night clubbing, golfing, or fine dining - adventure was all on our doorstep.
One day we were out on the river beach where the Canada Geese nest, these magnificent huge birds had migrated from Canada some years ago and thought it was party time at our farm with two paddocks of new spring grass sprouting - wow - go no further. Wandering along we found a nest of four eggs hidden in the scrub, gently placing them in an old jacket we zipped home and carefully put the eggs under the broody hen.
She was in egg heaven, we knew the three eggs she was sitting on had not been fertilised as the old rooster had up and died, and we hadn’t found a replacement. This was definitely top surveillance stuff and we were duly rewarded with 4 fluffy goslings, all was well in the water front hen house.
Mother hen fussed around them, taught them to scratch for food and water by day and huddle under her wings by night. They knew better than to fly over the fence into my garden that was definitely out of bounds, so even hens can be trained and don’t need to go to chicken or gosling Pre School.
As these tiny fluffy creatures grew, and grow they did, they struggled for wing space under Mother Hen’s puffed out wings which definitely frustrated her. Then one day as we were all down at the lake kayaking and swimming, the kids on rafts sculptured from tree trunks, when Mother Hen bought her goslings down for a drink and they casually popped onto the lake and swam away.
Mother Hen clucked and stamped her little hen feet, squawking frantically as she raced up and down the beach, feathers ruffled, clucking and waving her wings and still the goslings pottered about the lake enjoying their new found freedom, enjoying the scenery and doing what comes naturally.
We raced up to the house brought some bread back to try and coax the goslings back to shore to no avail. Mother Hen was frantic and flustered raging up and down the beach waddling from foot to foot frantically throwing her head back and suddenly she flapped her wings wildly and fell over dead.
We were all stunned, guilty beyond belief - the goslings eventually came to shore and stood over Mother Hen, confused and not comprehending the implications of their benefactor.
We did, what a lesson, we will never interfere with nature again.
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Chiang Mai Dental Care, Thailand
Posted On 2009-12-08 , 1:41 PM
Before I left New Zealand to go work for 9 weeks on the Tiwi Islands 90kms off the coast of Darwin Australia, I visited my dentist for a check up. Now teeth have been my number one hazard, brought up in the 1950’s. The dental nurse always seemed about 80yrs old, wore a dark brown cardigan, would clutch you around the neck stretch your young mouth with a finger and examine your teeth with a fairy mirror. Then would set to work with the dreaded foot operated drill, boring holes in your teeth that I now have serious doubts were entirely necessary, we the victims should have a public apology.
I was given the bad news and several options to ponder on, the bottom line was, I did want to retain my natural teeth and if so I had to spend a large sum to do so. The sum of money involved was so astronomical that it had completely slipped my mind by the time I reached my car; such is the power of the brain.
So back to the drawing board, as you have probably gathered it takes all my strength to go to the dentist, my mouth dries up and I have been known to call from outside to say I have a gastro bug and bolt for the hills. So off I went to the Tiwi Islands with a few patched up teeth not knowing what side to chew on, as I quietly made up my mind about dealing with the problem in hand.
Four weeks into my contract at the health clinic I had lost two of the temporary dental patch up jobs and simultaneously had met a colleague who had just had his dental care attended to at a very smart Dental Clinic in Chiang Mai, Thailand. The results were brilliant and he was full of praise at the professionalism, dedication and friendly approach (no brown cardigans), plus the cost of the work was about ¼ of the price he had been quoted in Australia.
I perused the dental clinic online; it looked very modern and was situated in the smart end of Chiang Mai City. The dentists were all highly internationally trained and there was a price list for the various treatments. It didn’t take much thinking about, a quick e-mail to the dental clinic, arranged the appointment at the end of my contract, then booked a flight to Chiang Mai, also some accommodation that was recommended on the internet and I was away.
The Husband and I set aside 2 weeks as advised, we booked into a nice central hotel that supplied breakfast and had a good swimming pool, within walking distance to the inner city, markets and restaurants. We hailed a Tuk-Tuk the next morning and off we went to see the tooth fairy.
The dental clinic was extremely professional, crispy clean, friendly front line staff, chilled water, good coffee, excellent magazines none with Brad Pitt on the cover, several languages were spoken, one being English with an American accent. The atmosphere and equipment was all excellent.
After intense examination, several x-rays, the bad news was I did have a lot of dental work to do and could get some elective work done also if I wished. The sum total was 3 root canals, 7 crowns, a few old fillings needed spruced up so no mercy, retuning that afternoon the real work began with vengeance and a smile.
The organisation was great and everything flowed beautifully, all the dentists had their personal expertise. I became so programmed into getting up and going to the dental clinic that I turned up one day when I was completely free of appointments, they all howled with laughter.
We did have 2 days off so we did hired a 4WD and disappeared into the mountains near the Burmese border. We wallowed in hot pools, rode elephants, rafted rivers and walked in the hills; this was an excellent interlude and refreshing after days on end at the clinic.
The end result was a vast improvement; I could smile happily flashing my very natural looking teeth as I travelled back to the lovely Tiwi Islands for another five weeks contract.
Arriving back to my lovely balmy island, slightly over the noise smells and bustle of Asia, the silence, air quality and lack of smells was music to my ears and nose. The welcoming mob was at the back door of the clinic all lined up to see the end result, after all, seeing the end result is the bottom line.
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Run Away Winter in the Tiwi Islands
Posted On 2009-11-09 , 5:31 PM
Where we live in the heart of the Southern Alps in New Zealand, poking large logs into the log burner is an endless winter chore. The mountains had a good dusting of snow and it was only mid May, well May can be a bit like that. I knew worse was to come as winter hadn’t really officially started.
Throwing on a second merino top and tossing a beanie and gloves into my back pack, I was heading out for a hike in the mountains, answering the phone as I bounded down the stairs, wow! It was the agency I had been working with in Australia last winter. They were not only bragging about the lovely temps of 26C in Northern Queensland, but offering me a 9 week contract in the Tiwi Islands 80km off the coast of Darwin.
Now we are talking turkey! Tropical Islands - Northern Territory - spelt out warmth and endless blue skies. Could I be there in 5 days – well – yes, I quickly rang the husband who was taking the rich and famous out touring the high points of our area, he was 100% keen, so off I went out walking with the friends and of course regaling them with the latest developments.
Back home tired and hungry I jumped into over drive and booked air tickets to Brisbane, the agency took care of the rest of the travel arrangements. So all I had to do now was gather up some clothes and buy mountains of reading material, I was silently wishing I had one of those ‘Kindles’ and mentally put that on the list of things I really do need. (see Kindle video)
I put the Gortex Jackets, icebreakers, gloves and beanies in moth balls and ha ha let everyone in the world know where I was off to. I rushed around saying goodbyes to my 3 kids and 9 special grandchildren, I knew I would miss them heaps, but I have Skype on my computer and oh I love that Skype. The husband would follow at a later date when he got sorted.
Whew - Off to Brisbane - landed - swapped planes and on to Darwin, temps were about 29C there - de-lic-ious - a dive into the hotel's swimming pool, dinner, a sleep over and away on Tiwi Air at midday to Nguiu on Bathurst Island. There are two islands, Bathurst which I was to be on, and Melville, with a 500m stretch of water between them - brilliant sparkling turquoise crocodile infested ocean, I heard it was also shark hunting ground.
Some of the old boys on the island told me tales of how they used to swim between the two islands when they were kids, in the days when crocodiles weren’t protected and good money was paid out for their skins. In fact I had recently seen a TV programme on the value of the skins, hand bags fetching the prices of waterfront apartments at Double Bay. Now that they are protected the crocodiles have gone forth and multiplied, hence the numbers are increasing hugely and are the number one hazard in the Northern Territory.
The 20 minute flight from Darwin landed at Nguiu airport where Kim, another agency nurse was there to meet me in the clinic’s white 4WD ute. Kim was the Kids nurse at the clinic, a Queensland girl who had been there for 3 weeks and said “Don’t you love it” after every sentence. Well I didn’t know if I did or not, but nodded and smiled and loved the enthusiasm and was definitely warming up to love it.
At the clinic I was introduced to everyone, god I shall never remember all these names, the boss was in Hospital, the only person that knew the finer points of the clinic was on holiday and possibly had the dreaded swine flu. I was literally thrown in and don’t you love it? My accommodation was a solid 2 bedroom unit with a great garden, bananas; paw paws lemons, hibiscus, frangipani and bougainvilleas of many colours dripping off the branches. Gums and bamboo’s, a nice fern garden and the best part, there was plenty of water from a fresh water bore.
About 300m away was a nice long beach and the dreaded crocodile infested stretch of water and where the tide waxed and waned and on the other side of my house was a beautiful 25m swimming pool beautifully landscaped, clean and inviting. I was going to be just sweet here.
So down to the local totally fenced in super market, littered with plastic bottles, dogs, kids, pushchairs and red dust, I was so glad I had bought my old runners. Inside the noise was horrendous everyone yelling in Tiwi at their kids, families and each other. The food seemed thin on the shelves and I was so stunned I couldn’t think or begin to search for the basics, at this stage it looked like the basic’s where Coca’ Cola and potato chips and those ‘coke’ bottles were moving out the door so fast a greyhound couldn’t compete.
So this was my introduction to Nguiu – scary - now I had to get a handle on the culture, the people and the work. But that’s another story.
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Wrong Turn on to the Central Otago Rail Trail
Posted On 2009-10-25 , 3:40 PM
After pledging to sharpen up and improve our fitness, and it wasn’t even New Year, my good friend Val and I had rushed off and bought nice shiny bright red Mountain Bikes from an enthusiastic bike shop owner in the small lake side town of Cromwell, in Central Otago, New Zealand. The owner operator was so caught up in our excitement and long term planning that he threw in water bottles, helmets and a free check up (on the bikes) in the next 4 weeks.
Our first expedition the following week, was to be a short ride alongside the Clutha River from Clyde to Alexandra, both small fruit growing townships in the arid countryside of Central Otago. We whizzed through the ankle deep autumn leaves along the riverside track stopping to watch fish jump, vowing to bring along fishing rods next time, after all we had been to fly fishing courses hadn’t we, and spent hours untangling our lines out of the willow trees.
Along the way we explored derelict gold mines and eventually stopped for some lunch, designer bread and a tin of sardines quickly thrown together. The sardine tin refused to open despite much verbal and physical abuse, so it was designer bread only, washed down with warm water. On we rode through the township of Alexandra and onto a section of the Otago Central Rail Trail that was to take us back to the vehicle we had left in Clyde Township - this last leg should have been an 8-10km ride.
The Central Otago Rail Trail had been set up when the train line from Dunedin, on the east coast of the South Island, to Cromwell became obsolete. It was picked up by an enterprising trust after the lines were sold off and the railway sleepers which were, and still are, very trendy garden accessories fetching great prices. This acquisition smoothed the way for a four day adventure bike ride through arid sun drenched countryside; gorges, tunnels, and passing many old hotels and pubs that were alive and well during the gold mining era in the 1860’s. These relics of the past have all been revamped, reinvented and provide great sleepover accommodation with delicious fresh local gourmet menus and excellent selections of Central Otago wines, which are world class. So what more does one need?
So off we rode, heads down chattering non stop, until after about an hour we stopped took a look around us, and voila - these weren’t the Clyde Hills as we knew them - we had gone blindly off in the wrong direction! The tin of sardines was still not opening, we were literally starving, but we found a laden apple tree and feasted off that whilst deciding which way to go, back or forward.
The decision was to ride on, as we must reach a pub or café soon so we rode on and on getting deeper and deeper into foreign country side. I was booked to go to the movies that evening with friends, so I called my husband (cell phone) to cancel the arrangements as we were lost on the Rail Trail. His comment was “How the $!!?/# do you get lost on a Railway line?” - Well you could, we did and we were.
So it was onto the next tree - the next corner - and yea! around the next corner there were buildings with red roofs. Falling off our bikes with excitement we could hardly walk to the counter of the Chatto Creek Tavern, I will love that place forever. After ordering cappuccinos and chicken wraps, the best we have ever tasted, we regaled the bar with our plight.
The general consensus was to go back the way we had come – but as we could barely make the counter from the bike seat we had to think of smarter options. Then the owner of the establishment came to the rescue. We could take her car the 15kms back to Clyde, collect our vehicle and come back to collect the bikes. Whew - forever grateful we fell into her ‘BRIGHT SHINY RED SPORTS CAR WITH THE ROOF DOWN’ - driving took on a new dimension; we vowed to exchange our boring grannies cars for one of these - after all our bikes would look pretty smart on the back of one of these numbers, with the designer sunglasses on of course - on second thoughts the bikes wouldn’t even fit on the back of one of these delicious little cars.
Back to Chatto Creek and a ‘few’ chardonnays later we departed for the journey home, best friends with everyone in the establishment and prepared to get plenty of ragging from our partners and family when we finally got home. They didn’t let us down!
A few weeks later I dropped into Chatto Creek with a team of organised cyclists, having biked for 2 days solid I couldn’t let them pass Chatto Creek Tavern without having one of their very delicious chicken wraps.
As I crossed the threshold a voice bellowed out “WHOEVER LET YOU OUT AGAIN”
And that’s another story.
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Buy Travel Insurance - To Do it or not To Do it?
Posted On 2009-10-13 , 6:51 PM
Zipping back and forth across the Tasman and popping up to Asia occasionally, we had never ventured out of the country with out Travel Insurance.
We always deliberated over the issue - could we risk avoiding buying Travel Insurance or alternatively should we be responsible and lash out and buy - lashing out always won. Then there was the pouring over pamphlets and latterly web sights to see who had the best deal, because that’s what we were after the very best deal available.
Insurance had always conjured up images of tall concrete sky scrapers totally owned by ‘The Insurance Companies’ financed by my humble contributions. It’s called ‘Peace of Mind’ by some, whilst others referred to it as ‘The White Mans Plague’. I wanted to belong to the latter group but somehow my wanting to be in control of my life I always joined the “Peace of Mind” group.
After many years of buying and never using, which I must add, we were totally fortunate, ‘The Insurance Companies’ were certainly on the make here, I tried to resist on our last trip. The general plan when you go to distant shores is enjoy new climates and cultures and that you stay healthy, and you certainly work on this as the last thing you want is to end up in a foreign hospital out of control of your life.
You certainly don’t want to lose your luggage, your digital camera, notebook computer etc. not that we generally take anything of value but our whole life is on the computer all the family photos, I should imagine it would be totally inconvenient to have to replace your gear in a foreign country, even though you have the occasional flash of tossing the whole wardrobe and splashing out, it all gets too hard and takes valuable time.
Last trip we made a calculated decision not to buy Travel Insurance, and the very next day ABC television announced a really sad story of an Australian man who went to India minus insurance, which he no doubt cursed the day he made that decision, he fell down a bank whilst walking down a road and injured himself so badly he wound up a paraplegic. His medical bills to date were $35,000 and my bet is India isn’t the most expensive medical destination in the world. To fly him back to Australia it was going to cost him a cool $250,000. A really sad story, well presented on TV and lucky for him appealed to the Australian public and no doubt the airlines. The funds were quickly raised for him to return to his friends and family.
Then I recalled the horrendous time my niece had, contracting Malaria in Indonesia, she knowingly hopped a plane to Kuala Lumpur and ending up in Hospital there on renal dialysis and life support. My sister fronted up every morning at Administration to pay her daily NZ$1,000, which fortunately the Insurance Company reimbursed. They couldn’t have been more helpful, bringing in translators, supplying accommodation, support person and constantly checking on her and my niece’s progress.
Ah so this is where the money goes. I didn’t mind a bit of that although I would have preferred my niece not to have had the horrendous experience. Fortunately the story has a happy ending, and despite all odds Pip now participates in Iron woman competitions and runs marathons, etc.
I digress - so a quick turn around, we could not wander or explore and enjoy distant shores knowing we could be a liability to our family. So ‘Peace of Mind’ lured its lovely head yet again and off we ventured not a worry in the world knowing if anything happened we would be taken care of.
I do strongly recommend if you can’t afford Travel Insurance - stay at home - or lower your sights and aspirations and buy it, do the back packers and eat McDonalds - way to go, at least you get to go.
We do recommend Travel Insurance - it’s affordable, covers the field, and we know they do care when the chips are down.
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