Smokin' - I inhaled!

There is a whiff of the new season in the air round here... not the scent wattle blooms (currently causing havoc with my sinuses!) or the sweet aroma of newborn animals suckling at their Mamas, but the smell of... fire!

Don't panic, don't panic!!

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This is a 'good fire'... let me explain. We have been very lucky in the past year, with some lovely (small) falls of rain. Bushies call it "grass rain" - as opposed to "heavy, soaking, days-on-end enough-to-replenish-underground-water-supplies" type rain. There's a difference. And while we would love the latter, we are very welcoming of the former too. And we have had pretty good grass rain over the past few months. So the grasses have grown, finally, after years of drought had stunted pretty much everything. And after years of property owners not being game to burn off the old dead grass (in case the spring and summer rains didn't come to help the sweet new grass come through), they are now feeling (quietly) confident enough to light up the dead grass in the some of their paddocks.

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Call me crazy, but I kinda like the smell of burning grass... to me, it smells like the happy anticipation of a good season, the promise of a sweet carpet of grass for our cattle, like a cleansing, fresh beginning.

As my Dad would say:

Let's have a bit of red steer!*

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And so, little drifts of smoke have been trailing into the skies... like this:

...signalling a paddock alight, somewhere down the road, with a good, planned "cool burn".

(As opposed to the horrific, unplanned, out-of-control bushfires of TV news flashes.)

A cool burn takes place soon after some rain, where the earth is still moist and prevents scorching and (generally) burns reasonably slowly.

Animals have time to move away from the flames and only very dry old grass, timber and dead leaves burn up.

TLW and Dash haven't really seen this phenomenon before and are fascinated. It's a great chance to show how dangerous and good fire can be at the same time. As their Pagi says:

Fire is a wonderful servant, but a terrible master.*

(*He's got a million of these lines... handed down from generations of old cattlemen. I could say something about him now being an old cattleman... but's it's still Father's Day in some parts of the world, so I'll restrain myself!!)

The paddock looks blackened and surreal and devoid of nourishing forage at the moment - but in a couple of days, especially if forecasts come good with a shower of rain, it will burst into vivid green life. It's an amazing part of the cycle out here, where our livelihoods depend so much on us working hand-in-hand with Mother Nature.
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The fire in this series of pics are of a neighbour's burn. Next post I'll show you how we take measures to prepare for our own planned burn.

It involves two little bright sparks, some hot orange machinery and a hot, hot man behind the wheel... don't say I didn't warn you!

Sale tips and goodbyes...

I was away for a bit last week... you might not have noticed, thanks to the wonders of blog-scheduling. But you will have to trust me on this: I was away from Granite Glen for about 36 very hectic hours. We went to a cattle sale some 5 hours drive from away (little woman in tow, Dash happily sleeping over with some friends) and SSB and I climbed onto the sharp learning curve that is a stud bull sale.

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I won't bore you with too many details, however these are among the things I DID learn:

1. Always, always pack wellies (check) and lots of warm clothes (ummmm) when travelling south in Australia. And umbrellas. Umbrellas are remarkable items when the heaven's open. I speak from experience.

2. Never send your husband and father off with too many instructions, or even too long a checklist - they tune out after checkbox number 2.

3. Specially-made spaghetti bolognaise (for your demanding three-year-old) in a restaurant is no guarantee of a properly-eaten meal.

4. Ice-cream, however, is.

5. Don't get too caught up in planning outfits you wish to wear to a bull sale - the one you have cattle in is bound to be held smack in the middle of a deluge of cold drizzling rain. Therefore anything you wear is hidden under rubber boots and drizabones and MUD. Guaranteed.

6. Don't get caught up in washing and polishing your bulls too much before a sale. See second half of explanation in #5. (except our bulls don't wear drizabones and boots... but they should have!).

7. Don't get too personally attached to the animals you prepare for sale... or you may get a bit emotional when someone else takes them home. See example below:

This is Quota... who I adore. And my hubby. Ditto. Quota was the very first bull in the sale, which is a tough spot to fill. Most people weren't even sitting down yet.

Hello big fella. You OK? I would come out and give you a cuddle, but I don't think that's protocol here in the world of serious stud cattle breeders. But you know I want to.

It was nerve-wracking as anything watching the hammer fall on my big black buddy. Apparently a nice man bought him to take back to a sweet mob/harem of Brangus girls. I hope he is a good boy for his new owner. I'm sure gonna miss him round here.

Bye, bye Quota!

Luckily I get to take the beast on the left home with me. That softens the blow a little.

Little Cowboy

Since forever, Dash has wanted to be a cowboy. Not that he has always loved horses... cause he has his wavery moments when he'd rather be pretty much anywhere than with a shetland who nips his nether regions! But once he's on top he's generally all systems go... And not that he always loves cows (or bulls) but he's pretty cool from a safe vantage point on the fence...

And me? Well I've always thought Dash looks the part...

Specially from his vantage point on that fence... in his belted-up straw hat we bought almost three years ago, when we lived in the city.

That hat has seen us through many rodeos, campdrafts, shows and even survived a thousand faces like this. For the un-Dash-initiated, this particular look says: How long til smoko d'ya reckon?

The Mini Marlboro Man then fixes his Ma with the "when you gonna stop takin' photos and get me some tucker" look!

And my all-time favourite: "You're my best girl" look.

I'm a sucker for this one. Even with a trace of Vegemite on the jawline. Especially with a trace of Vegemite on the jawline...

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What's your favourite memory/image/moment of the youngest bloke/woman in your life??

Spring stars

Have you recovered from my last post yet. Sorry 'bout that. Keeping it a bit more, stomach-friendly today... seeing as how the seasons are a'changing here at Granite Glen.

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Spring is ... well, springing.

The very first buds are coming out on the peach tree...

The blessed snakes are out sunning themselves already (didn't they just go into hibernation last week?) and the frosts have begun to recede. Dash has packed away his heavy duty school coat and trackie daks, the creepy crawly is frantically trying to bring the pool back from deep green to clear blue, and the t-shirts have been retrieved from the back of the cupboard.

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So in essence, the weather is warming up again but the real test of spring has only just arrived... in the cutest possible way...

baby calves!!

Wanna meet one??

Here's one I chanced upon whilst driving through the paddocks this week...

I'd like you to meet... um...

Well, he doesn't have a name yet. Or a number. I'm sure his Mum has one for him (Yoooooouuuuu! or something to that effect.)

His Mum is keeping a close watch on these human who keep lurking around her early arrival.

Brangus mums are very good at their job - and they have to be.

Wild dogs (Australian dingoes that have bred with ex-domesticated dogs) lurk around the timbered country here at Granite Glen, and mama cows need to be watchful and (when necessary) fierce if their offspring are to make it to weaning.

As we pulled up closer to this shiny black bundle of knees and ears, our little bull decided to take matters into his own hands (hooves?) and clamber to his feet. He is only about 24 hours old, so this is all still new to him. You can tell he is just a day or so old as his umbilical cord is still intact. It will dry completely and fall off in a couple more days time. This little guy is in a hurry to get stuck into his brand new life!

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Hey Ma - what's happening?

Everything is moving and wobbling and...

Whhhooaaa....

He's got himself into second gear, and is not sure how to stop...

it's downhill... ohhh.... oh. It's OK.

He's managed to find the brakes...

Hmmmm...

Grass. Lots of dry grass.
Mum! Where'd you go?

Hey, what do I do now??
Where do I find reverse in this thing?

Oh... I turn around...

right...

Hey! I'm back.

It's OK. I'm alright.

But there was lots and lots of grass over there!

I got lost for a sec, but it's OK now.

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Hey! What's that?

That strange creature with a black box stuck to her face?

Mum... I'm just going over here... now where's first gear again?

I think this creature likes me Ma!

She keeps clicking and saying "Look this way darlin'!"

I think I'm gonna be a movie star.

Do you like this angle lady?

I'm ready for my close-up now!

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So clearly this little black duch has gone crazy, hearing wee black bovines actually speak! She's blaming it on the weather!! And not on her over-active imagination...

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What does the change of seasons mean to you at the moment?

Mystery Photo: Answers you may not want to hear

Oh dear... how I have loved reading your clever, witty, silly and downright crazy takes on what events lead up to this strange and mysterious photo:

You guys are loopy, you know that?? THAT would be why I like y'all so much, I guess. We drink from the same crazy trough! (That would be a chilled chardonnay, regardless of label, thanks!) And the winner:

Jayne and Kate!

Too funny ladies, I coudn't split it! Well done - you are all sufficiently loopy to be part of my team!! Email me your what your favourite picture is and I'll get it printed and into the post. And for anyone who hasn't participated, please read the comments section from this post. It's very, very funny reading!!
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So, in the name of actually answering the question proper, here is what actually went down here at Granite Glen:

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Jeanie and I were on the phone. We were chatting (as sisters are wont to do) about weddings and school P&C's and various other things when I asked her to pause mid-sentence. We do this a bit with each other - luckily we have known each other for a few decades (only three I'm admitting to here!) and we cut each other some slack in the cut-you-off-mid-rant department.

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I had spotted my two offspring out of the corner of my eye... and they looked, well, furtive, as they dashed into Dash's bedroom. Something wasn't quite right. So I interrupted Jeanie, but kept the walkabout phone with me and investigated...

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Dash, what are you doing?

Nothing Mum, just playing with my sister...

TLW, what are you guys up to?

Nuffin Mummy!

Dash, why are you sitting in your wardrobe?

Nothing. Just playin'

Hmmmm... Can I have a look?

There's nothin' there Mum!

OK, then you won't mind if I look then?

Whatever!

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Dash stalks off offended that I won't quite take his word for the "nothin" going on in his closet... I look into the gloomy depths of the space as he stops in the doorway and half-turns to watch what I'm doing. I lean in past the shoes and hanging shirts and there in the corner is... a Milo tin.

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Hmmmmm...

What's in here Dash!
Nothin'.

Really?

It's MINE!

Can I look?

OK then. But's it's mine, OK.

We'll see...

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So with me following my son clutching his lurid green Milo tin, we all trooped outside and investigated the find.

Dash, can you pop the tin for me?

The lid comes off and I peer in to see - instead of something chocolate and powdery and delicious - something ginger and furry and slightly funky coiled up inside. My stomach tilts a little as I identify what looks remarkably like a dog's ear.

Jeanie gasps in my ear!

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TLW: It's a dead puppy Mummy!

Me: What??

TLW: Can we keep it?

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Suddenly I have a flash. My father had killed a dingo the previous afternoon. And he had mentioned briefly the possibility of taking its scalp to town the next time he went in. Dad had asked if Dash wanted to see the dead dingo being scalped... I replied I didn't really think he was old enough yet to be part of that. He gets a bit squeamish and has the worst gag reflex of anyone I have ever met (a hangover from his early health dramas)... he throws up when he coughs too hard or gets a whiff of a bad smell. So I said No thanks! to Dad and thought no more of it.

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For those of you who have lovely mental images of our 'native' wild dogs roaming the edges of the desert, I should explain. Dingoes are prolific throughout rural Queensland, and they prey on the baby calves that are now arriving in force here at Granite Glen - while in small numbers we don't worry too much about them, they breed up and begin attacking stock. The government gives a bounty to people who bring in a scalp - the top section of the hide (including ears) to prove that a dingo (and not a domestic dog) has been culled.

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So anyway, I had completely put the conversation with Pagi out of my head til I was on the phone to Jeanie, disovering my son stowing a Milo tin stuffed with dingo scalp into his wardrobe. We both thought through the potential outcome had I not been standing facing Dash's room as he and TLW raced in there with their 'treasure'. We are about to be away for a few days, and it's warming up here as we hit Spring. The very last thing I would have been thinking, when the aroma of rotting meat permeated the house, was a dead dog stashed in a beverage tin in a clothes cupboard. It could have been weeks before I worked it out. And Dash would not have been the only one retching I suspect! I'm almost dry retching now just thinking about it...

So there it was. A day-old dingo scalp. On the lawn. At least it was better than rotting in our house!

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And I said to Dash: Please wash your hands when you've put that disgusting thing away where Pagi can find it. And I said, you know: Pagi wanted to show you how he scalped it, but I know you don't like that stuff...

And Dash said: Ohhhh Mummmmm... why didn't you let me?? It's not fair!

Can someone please tell me what happened to my citified, gag-sensitive kid? Cause he's no-where to be found round here!

And the moral/s of the story?

Always check your Milo tin, and the corners of your kids cupboards!

Mystery Photo: the Dash File

I was on the phone to Jeanie this week... this is not an unusual occurance - we talk all the time. This conversation got a little interesting though, inspired by some goings on in the Granite Glen homestead... and Jeanie said:

I really think you should blog that!

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So me, being me, decided to not hand it to y'all on a platter. I decided to make the story a bit more interactive... so here it is:

Your challenge (should you choose to accept) is to tell me the story leading up to this image:

This week's mystery photo.

And it's a corker.

Trust me.

Best story wins a print of your favourite BB pic.

Please note: Not necessarily the story that is the closest to the truth.

Cause their ain't no way you'll get close to it.

Believe me!

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So head to the comments section and let's have it folks...

Your best version of what happened in the lead-up to the image above.

I can't wait to hear what goes on in your heads!

Big Bulls, little men and offerings...

It's bull sale season 'round here. And that means things get a little frantic for those in the stud cattle industry... lots of information gathering, marketing, careful selection and preparation of stud animals for the sale ring. Lots of vet inspections, testicle measurements (I kid you not), scanning of various bull muscles (other than crown jewels) and photography for more marketing!

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. So if I have been a little, um, erratic with my posting lately, you'll just have to understand... bear with me?

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Anyway, yesterday I decided to try and get some up-to-date photos of our bulls - we have almost 20 two and three-year-old boys here at the house. They get supplemented feed and generally pampered as we lead up to three sales over the next five weeks. And we kinda get used to having these hulking big fellas roaming around our house paddock. They are over 800 kg each and yet as curious as kittens and treat us like we are double their size. They watch the kids on their bikes but never get nervy or show any aggression. To me, that is the litmus test. They passed.

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Dash decided he wanted to ride his bike, and as I refused to let him ride it through the paddock (hey, the snakes are waking up in this neck of the woods!) he reluctantly agreed to ride up and down the road rather than come in the car with TLW and I. I headed through the grass and attempted to get some decent bull photos.

Well hello gorgeous! Please note the lovely polled (no horns) head and solid structure. A lovely example of a black Brangus bull...

This is Q278 - we have named him Quartz. His Genestar (genetic markers taken from tail hair samples) have come back with amazing results. We like him! He's also a pretty good-looking red Brangus bull... and his SC (scrotal circumference) was impressive too!

(Enjoying Bull Assessment 101 so far?)

And this boy is Q094 - Quota. He is a hunk. A big black hunk. (Yes his facts and figures are great, but really, he's fabulous bull eye-candy. And gentle as a lamb). Whoever buys this one will take a little bit of my heart home with them. Who said I'm not tough enough for this gig? Hmmm...

Here are a couple of very nice red boys... but the sun is getting low and my light is getting a bit grey. Hang on, what is that flash of blue there?? Look carefully, at the top of shot...

Quota! Don't eat that pretty purple flower... it's Blue Heliotrope. It's a weed and it's not good for bovines... Quota!! He's not used to his new name yet... heh.

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Ah well, I'm sure he'll work it out. He didn't get to 850kg by eating weeds!!

Time for this tired mum/photographer/cook/bottle washer to head for home...

Hang on. Who's that calling out?

Mum! Mum... I got somethin' for ya!

Dear Lord... a posy of...

Blue Heliotrope. It never looked so good!

How could anyone resist this offering?

I didn't ever try...

Even cross-eyed, my boy is cute as ... (and it I can't say that, as his Mum, who can?). I somehow feel a smidge sorry for the girls he courts in years to come... thinking they might not stand a chance with those big brown eyes... I know I don't!!

Hang on.

He's caught a glimpse of himself in the rear-view mirror...

Hello Handsome!

(Or as Dash would say: Hamp-sum)

Dear me... that's quite a face darling. I think we're safe from all those girls for a few years yet!

Anyone think there might be enough testosterone around these ridges?