goosepark

market blog

2009-04-28T13:20:00.018+12:00

MARKETS

Long before the invention of money people traded with each other to enrich their lives. Markets were the result of this basic human desire. The I Ching, an ancient Chinese social commentary, defined markets as 'places where human beings could exchange goods so that each person could receive all those things that he needed'. They are an association of individuals, an organic (meaning formed naturally) gathering of people for mutual benefit. This common interest would seem to be a major factor in the development of societies. Markets could make work more enjoyable with the anticipation of a greater variety of rewards for one's labour.

A friend from Bolivia told me that in parts of South America people don't often have any money but no one goes hungry. Everyone produces something and takes it to the market where it is exchanged. I know it would be seen by some as a token gesture in today's money-driven world, as we are all reliant on the giants of industry for modern lifestyles, but there are still valuable principles at work in the small scale. I recently went to market with my woven goods and only enough money for a stall fee. I returned with fresh and smoked fish, free-range eggs, homemade bacon and fruit and vegetables, enough to feed me for a couple of weeks. All procured by a mixture of sell, buy and barter.

Two things I find most enjoyable about community markets are people-watching and socialising with locals and visitors alike. There seems to be an understanding that we are all there for the same reason and this has a harmonising effect. It feels ancient and natural. People have their own beauty when they are just being themselves, no pretentions. Most are naturally sociable. They are often amusing and the children delightful, their interest and curiosity obvious. From the very old to the very young, markets attract a surprisingly well-balanced and good-natured cross-section of humanity. It gives you faith in people.

Community markets provide an outlet for human creativity on an individual or small scale. They keep people active who cannot find other work. They give a sense of community and purpose to participants, buyers and sellers alike. People face to face. They foster a sense of fellowship, a sense of belonging, a sense that we need and benefit one another. They are small enough to recognise and celebrate each individual, as an equal. If we used the community markets more, the supermarkets and big chain stores less, we would maybe all feel a little more independent from the large monopolies and more connected with each other.

Supermarkets and malls can be very impersonal and alienating because of their sheer size, like huge awe-inspiring churches which are designed to make people feel small and insignificant. They don't often seem to be run by the people for the people but by an absentee faceless group of owners. The buyers and sellers have to pay the owners for the priviledge of using the building. Many small scale businesses cannot afford the high rents and are therefore excluded from trading, that's why larger operators, franchises and chain stores often monopolise these large expensive buildings. Community markets can appear and disappear leaving no trace. They are open to everyone, even children.

Plans to control everything seem to be prevalent in the modern world. Let's be honest. The human race has been making it up as they go along. Left or right, all human ideas are either flawed or incomplete because we don't know everything there is to know (i.e. we are not Gods). This affects our ability to put perfect systems into place. Tinkering, altering and reforming are a natural response to our wavering human perception of right or wrong, better or worse. It is trial and error all the way. It's called evolution.

As far as I can see, our only guide in our dealings with each other is a sense of fairness. Self interest (competition) and fairness (co-operation) motivate everything we do. Fairness or mutual benefit also operates in the balance of nature, it is how everything co-exists on the planet which keeps us all alive. Maybe we don't yet really understand how it works as we still seem of late to be overly fixated on competition.

Some ancient ideas and concepts are still valid, a simpler and purer form of what we have now. If we want to create a better society maybe we have to go back and re-learn the basics. If the foundations are fair and sound, the rest will hopefully follow naturally. Maybe even a large and complex society can be a beautiful thing as long as each member feels that he or she is treated fairly. Naive idealism to some. A work in progress to others.

flood blog

2009-03-19T18:50:00.020+13:00

FLOODS

I suspect that the main reason this beautiful property was on the market for four years at a bargain price before I bought it was probably the floods. OK the drive is steep, making a four wheel drive vehicle a neccesity and there is no mains power, but these are easily remedied by human investment of money and work. The floods however are a different story. No amount of human endeavour can stop mother nature when she decides to let rip.

About twice a year the heavens really open up and torrential rain turns the surrounding hills into waterfalls. All this water cascades into the river valleys and gentle streams transform into wild, convulsing giant snakes of brown water which spread out over the surrounding land. In a big flood, a stream barely ten feet wide in dry weather becomes a mighty force, two hundred feet across. Whole trees are tossed around as they swirl downstream, getting stuck momentarily, entangled on the overgrown banks, then being wrenched free by the power of the current and continuing on their journey towards the sea.

Most flood debris never reaches the sea, which is many miles away, it gets caught up on fences and other trees on the fertile farmland which covers the floodplain. It is sometimes deposited in the middle of paddocks which have become lakes, so when the floods subside there is usually a mess of tangled branches and weeds hanging on fences and sometimes huge logs smashed and split or lying whole, many yards from the river's normal course. Wire fences, which are usually almost invisible in the landscape, appear as solid with several feet of vegetation backed up behind them. Some have moved, collapsed, been partially buried or even disappeared from their original position, weighed down by debris and dragged along by the force of the moving water.

Although my house is built high above the floodline, the driveway descends steeply to the road which runs beside the river. So when the floods come the road is under water. My only option at these times is to wait for nature to finish doing her worst and enjoy a day at home. The floods rarely last more than a few hours or a day at most. It may be perverse but I actually get a big thrill from these displays of power by mother nature and often venture out to observe her at her most ferocious. I am reasonably careful to keep out of the way of danger, but danger is part of the excitement. Large trees howling, creaking and groaning, dancing wildly in the strong winds, and sometimes during these mad gyrations they can suddenly split and break or their roots can pull out from the soft waterlogged earth. So I have to keep my wits about me, my senses fully alive. And strangely I do feel fully alive in this weather and somehow at one with nature, with a sense of reverence and awe. I guess I must have pagan instincts.

But going back to the reality of life in the modern world, the other side is of practical survival, being able to go to the marketplace and buy and sell. As things stand at the moment everyone living in this area is dependent on the local council to keep the roads open. Unfortunately this road is probably one of the worst as far as maintenance is concerned because every time there is a sizable flood, sections of it near the end often wash out and need heavy machinery to repair. So we are all quite vulnerable really even if we strive to be as self-reliant as possible. Several people have lost cars to the floods, some while trying to drive the flooded road. If the council stopped repairing this charmingly scenic but dead end road some would be trapped down the end, or have to find another way out. Part of my rationale for keeping horses instead of cattle is for emergency transport in the case of a system failure by council, possibly due to bankruptcy. This idea may seem childish in this age of technology and may have no real practical use, especially since the horses are practically wild, but they were once a major form of transport and who knows...

The other problem with this road is how it is "repaired". Much of the money spent is futile and probably exacerbates the flooding. I say this as a resident who has watched convoys of trucks dumping thousands of tonnes of gravel on the freshly scraped road and then the next flood, sometimes only a day or two later, washing it all into the river. Every time the road is scraped back to hard clay the level is slightly lowered. The scrapings are dumped in unsightly rows along the river banks presumably as some sort of stop bank, which not only completely obscures the view of the river but only serves to channel the floodwater along the road. Large culverts which are first to let the water onto the road during a flood and then channel it, with all the gravel, out again, totally defeat the purpose of the ugly stopbanks. As a result of this system the river bottom has risen considerably, filled with gravel. Now, places that were once muddy-bottomed swimming holes are only ankle deep with a thick gravel base. I predict that if this is kept up for long enough the road will eventually become a river and the river a road. Clearing the river of years-old tree debris and roots and, of course, the gravel would probably go a long way to improve matters. But I'm not a road engineer so my opinion doesn't count. Sigh, I only live here.

food blog

2009-02-21T19:53:00.034+13:00

WHAT'S TO EAT?

Being surrounded by mountains and native forest is beautiful, I would even go so far as to call it a necessity for my sense of well-being, but it does seem to have drawbacks if I don't wish to go entirely native and eat mainly wild forest food. All serious self-sufficiency advocates say that growing food or catching it is fundamental. Food production is basic to survival. Yet after many years of amateur gardening I have never achieved total self sufficiency, not even near it. The odd well-balanced meal produced entirely from my land is an occasion for celebration, although most of the time my meals do have a home-grown component. Salads, herbs, summer berries, fruit and green vegetables seem to be the most successful, but even these seldom escape some form of attack from bad weather or local pests and diseases. I've more or less given up trying to grow any staples except a few different types of potatoes.

Food production is definitely not as easy as I had imagined it would be when I lived in the city and dreamt of a life in the country. Climate and soil type are major factors affecting cultivated crop plants, but so are the myriad forms of fauna and flora that inhabit the same environment. Other plants growing in the vicinity have an impact on what grows and what doesn't. An olive tree that had been growing for several years and set its first good crop this year was completely ringbarked by a giant borer that I was told lives in native bush but obviously enjoys a varied diet. The winter frosts wipe out the subtropical fruits, like bananas and the summer humidity rots the stone fruits, like peaches and plums. Apples seem to do fairly well except for regular attacks by the possum armies that come in waves throughout the year.

I have come to the conclusion lately that food production is a specialized skill that requires years of trial and error, research, experimentation, extreme vigilance and of course, much hard work and good luck with the weather. I now have great respect for those who can produce good crops of any type of food. As for being totally organic, this seems no less than a feat of magic to me, as I find it hard to remember a single crop of mine that has not been affected by some airborne fungi or bug or both, in spite of compost mulches and healthy-looking plants. And after waiting for weeks, months or years for a plant to produce, only to be beaten to the crop by greeblies, it makes me so mad that I want to resort to chemical warfare and blast the hell out of those pesky bastards! But that would hardly solve anything as who wants to eat it after that?

Anyway, despite my lack of regular success, I continue to grow a variety of foodbearing plants and trees in the hope that one day I will achieve that mystical state of self-sufficiency in food production. Cheers to all those hard-working and courageous souls who also aspire to such heights and to the grand masters who have attained. I suspect that I will remain a disciple however as there are not enough hours in the day to achieve all that I would like. Here's a few of my current food projects.

BEANS

My Dad gave me some beans several years ago. They are amazing! Completely stringless climbing beans. Heavy crops are normal. Even the older beans are stringless. When you can't keep up with them the pods turn white and they start to dry, leaving the plump beans to harvest and dry for winter soups, ideal with bacon. High in protein and carbs and fairly fartless these are one of the more rewarding crops I have grown. An almost balanced complete food. The only problem is vegetable bugs in late summer. I still haven't found a good way to deal with them. They attack and taint nearly everything in my garden and they really stink when I squash them. Any ideas?

BACON

Ah yes, the bacon. Looks good doesn't it. It's a sad tale of failure. Everything went according to the book. The hunt was successful. The butchering of the wild pig went without a hitch. Making the strong pickling brine, soaking the pig for a couple of weeks in pickling brine, the hanging to drain, the careful wrapping in waxed paper and then muslin, the hanging in a cool place to dry properly. Trouble was, the bathroom was not the right place to hang it, not draughty enough maybe. Anyway, it went mouldy and started to smell weird. Not like bacon. It finally dried out but no-one is game enough to try it. Botulism was mentioned. That really put an end to the great bacon experiment. It's still hanging there, completely odourless, but will probably only be used by a neighbour to bait traps for weasles, if he wants it. Any offers?

BERRIES

Hey, it's Baz, the berrymunching bear. This berry garden is just outside the back door, making sure we get to the berries when they're ripe and juicy, just before the birds. There are thornless blackberries, raspberries, boysenberries and strawberries all growing together in a 6 metre row. Summer snacks, yum!

NUTS

Macadamia nuts are well worth the effort. After harvest the outer skin peels off and they are left to dry until the nut inside the shell rattles. They're very hard to crack (I use a hammer) but the nuts are large, sweet and satisfying. They have a taste and texture similar to Brazil nuts.

These Chilean walnuts grow wild around here. They are very hard to crack and there is more shell than nut, but they are really tasty if you've got some spare time. The wild pigs love them and come down at night from the hills when the nuts fall. They eat them whole, shell and all, making loud crunching noises, sounding like large dogs eating bones.

GRAPES

The grapevine is from a seed I saved and planted a couple of years ago. The grapes were bought at the local supermarket, table grapes imported from Chile or California I think. It grew like a triffid under the clear plastic roof of the verandah and the grapes are huge and succulent and much tastier than the originals. The wine was made from another variety in my garden, the grapevine having a large crop of much smaller grapes. Well, you've got to enjoy the fruits of your labour and the results of hard work. What better way than this. 20 litres of the good stuff, hopefully.

BREAD

This is does not really count as homegrown, but it is homemade. I can't stand shop bread, it's like eating cotton wool. No substance, all air and additives that make you more hungry after you've eaten it.

BEER

This probably doesn't count either, but I always feel relaxed and happy after a glass or two of homebrew.

hunting blog

2008-12-23T21:17:00.027+13:00

TO HUNT OR NOT ?

I am not really qualified to talk about hunting as I have never killed an animal directly, eye to eye as it were, although I have set traps that kill them. Nevertheless I find the subject very interesting and worth thinking about, especially because many of the locals like to hunt.
My opinion is that most wild animals have a much more fulfilling life and better and more varied diet than animals raised in captivity. As long as they are killed quickly, they probably suffer a lot less than their cousins who wait in line at the abattoir sensing the fear and having no opportunity for escape. To most animals, hunting and being hunted is a natural part of life. They seem to accept it and recover their sense of well-being rapidly once immediate threats are over.
First, if you want to hunt wild animals you need to provide them with habitat to be wild. Many rare and wonderful creatures are being squeezed out of existence by land-grabbing humans or introduced threats, while others who are more adaptable become plagues because we have lost the where-with-all to manage their populations. This is a dilemma for modern man. How to live and let live.

POSSUMS (Trichosurus vulpecular)
Possums are a case in point. Introduced from Australia they have thrived on the extremely lush New Zealand forests and farms and become a destructive pest, whereas their Australian brothers are far less numerous and are protected from hunting in their natural home. So it makes sense to hunt the New Zealand population and not the Aussie one.
Possums are very cute, furry vegetarians who love to party at night, they remind me of monkeys. I have lost entire crops of oranges, lemons, apples... the list goes on and on, to these varmints not to mention their ability to kill trees completely by repeatedly defoliating them. They also occasionally eat the eggs and chicks of various birds, some rare native birds.

Having no wild predators, they have to be controlled by humans, which has led to controversy as to how. Poisoning is the method used by large scale land owners and national parks by dropping poison bait. The dead carcasses are poisonous to anything that attempts to eat them, like dogs, pigs etc, and the bait kills other unintended victims, creatures who may be attracted by the smell and eat a little, blackbirds, deer etc. This practice is justified in the name of conservation, as the sidekills are generally not protected species.

There have, over the years been various schemes for people to profit from killing possums but most have failed to survive. Why is this?

Farmers say possums cause TB in cattle, although the possums almost certainly caught the disease from cattle in the first place and because it kills the possums quite quickly once they catch it, it would not be very common in a population without a source of infection. I have never found TB in possums although I look for it carefully and it's easy to spot, so it must be a fairly localised problem in areas where cattle carry TB. Cure cattle TB and you'll probably cure possum TB.
Many people shoot them but don't eat them. Being vegetarians, possum's bodies are very healthy and clean and my cat prefers eating it to any other meat, and he's a fussy eater. Dogs relish it too. At the moment possum bodies are left to rot where they drop by nearly everone who kills them, because the meat is an aquired taste with a very gamey aroma and requires cullinary skill to make it palatable to people who have become used to bland food. If prepared properly it can taste a lot like wild rabbit.

Their fur is some of the finest in the world, light and very soft with a nice variety of colours ranging through black, deep reddish brown, golden brown, fawn and grey. The pelts used to be quite valuable to hunters but the anti-fur people don't distinguish between rare and endangered and rampantly abundant, making fur coats unfashionable and socially unacceptable. So the possums keep breeding and keep being killed, but their bodies are discarded like pieces of shit. What wasteful morons humans beings have become!

This simple fur stole or poncho was made from possums caught in my garden. The fresh skins are soaked for three days in a plastic bucket containing a solution of common salt and alum. They are then partially dried by hanging on a line out of strong sunlight, rubbed and stretched in the hands and hung to dry properly. Though sometimes rather greasy, they will keep for years in this state, or can be made into a garment which is then drycleaned to remove excess grease and any possum odour. The finished product is dust-free, incredibly soft and warm and feels luxurious. My next project will be larger, a double bedspread or fur rug.

PIGS
Pig hunting is a deeply political issue in these here hills! It arouses a red-blooded rage. There are two polarized points of view. On the one hand there's some farmers and growers of food who want to exterminate them altogether, on the other hunters who love to hunt pigs and even release them into the wild to keep their sport alive. A recent case of a farmer being shot dead allegedly by an enraged pig hunter refused access across the farmer's land, illustrates the point.
There's a third and less well-known argument put forward by Maori. Pigs were first introduced as a peace offering to Maori, who had very few edible animals living here, by Captain Cook, the first European to visit New Zealand or Aotearoa as it was called then. All truly wild pigs here are descended from this stock and are still called Captain Cookers. Because much land here was confiscated illegally from Maori they no longer have easy access to much of their traditional hunting grounds, but this disputed land often has a healthy population of "their" pigs.
Anyway, wild pigs can plough up orchards, gardens and pasture, even kill newborn lambs and generally make a nuisance of themselves if their numbers build up, so they have to be controlled. Even one large wild pig can be a serious danger if he becomes unafraid of humans. The pigs that are being raised and released by hunters are sometimes not very afraid at all, unless they hear or smell dogs. Then they're off. Wild pigs are nothing like the fat domestic ones. They can gallop up sheer hillsides, the sound of their hooves like horses. If I'm in the bush alone and hear one close by I make a bit of noise hoping it will go away, which they always have so far, but I still feel primal fear and the adrenalin rushing in. I always pick up a big stick just in case.
When we first arrived here, Baz my friend got quite excited when he heard there were wild pigs in the area. He fondly remembered those days years ago when he was still at school and he and a friend had been paid to hunt wild goats for farmers in the holidays. The old hunting instinct reawakened, he went out each night to look for pigs. There were lots. They came down into the valley from the hills about dusk and began rooting up the thick mats of grass on the river flat. Baz crouched silently behind trees and counted them. One night, a herd of twenty appeared, mostly young but with a number of large adults.
He took me down to watch them another night with strict instructions not to make a sound. An awesome sight! I felt like I was on some African safari watching hippos. The pigs seemed huge, and me having only dim night vision, I was rather scared being among them. When I got back to the house I read a rather long article in my wildlife encyclopedia which told me clearly that they are one of the most dangerous animals to hunt as they can attack and rip flesh from bones at lightning speed. Baz seemed unfazed by this information.

A few months later, dressed in only shorts and carrying a sturdy kitchen knife, he went off quietly, stalking a large sow not far from my house. I suddenly heard an ear-splitting high-pitched squeal followed by an equally loud "Aaaaaaaaaargh!" then total silence. "Baz! Are you alright!" I yelled. No reply. Again I yelled. Not a sound. Then panic set in. What should I do? I was at a loss. Several minutes passed. Then a crashing noise as Baz emerged from the bush sporting massive deep scratches and cuts on his face and torso. As the bruises started to appear, especially on his face, he explained what had happened.
"I followed the tracks up to the top of a cliff and then sneaked up on her. As I was crouching, about to attack, I saw her laying down suckling two piglets and hesitated for a second. The scene reminded me of my wife and my two sons when they were babies. In that moment of hesitation a large open-mouthed black blur hit me full in the face with such force that I sommersaulted backwards over the cliff collecting every tree on the way down. She was so fast I didn't even see her coming. When I got up I was completely disoriented, still holding the knife. I thought she might come after me if I made a sound, so I didn't reply to your shouts, though they let me know which direction the house was. Thanks."
Baz took pig hunting more seriously after that.

The crossbow only worked well for the first pig who rolled on the rather delicate broadhead arrows and bent them enough to make further accurate shots impossible. The $20 price tag for each arrow plus the fact that they were unable to be straightened properly, not to mention the difficulty of finding them if they were deflected off target by a mere twig, missed and buried themselves completely in the ground, made this an expensive and frustrating way to hunt pigs.
The pig was a young female and perfect for eating. We had watched a TV program the previous night showing two guys smoking their pig on a fire of green leafy teatree branches to remove the hair and impart a smoked manuka flavour to the meat. I however, being a clean freak, had decided to first scrub the pig well in the bath to remove the creapy crawlies. As a result the wet hair refused to burn off and the pig was well-smoked before we removed it from the fire. After removing the charred skin, which I was told later is common practice with wild pigs, we used a book on self-sufficiency to butcher it properly and we made a pretty good job.

After several near misses with the crossbow Baz met a local pig hunter and decided to go the traditional kiwi way using a hunting buddie with pig dogs. Dogs are very efficient and do most of the dangerous stuff while the humans try to keep up and do the final coup de grace with a large hunting knife. Jason the pig hunter is a fanatic and jumps on the pig while the dogs hold it by the head. He seldom uses a gun. After the hunt the homebrew and the hunting stories flow freely with much merriment.

Pig hunting is a popular weekend sport for many kiwi blokes, but unfortunately they often forget or are in denial that their dogs can wreck havoc on the very rare and precious local kiwi population and other birds living in the forest. Kiwis are defenceless against dogs who are not trained to leave them be. There are free one-day kiwi aversion training programs for dogs in areas where kiwis live but not all hunters avail themselves of these. Baz often comes across hunters and their dogs in the bush and always asks to see the certificate that is issued when the course is completed. I have a pair of kiwis living and nesting on my place and feel very protective towards them.

energy blog

2008-12-10T16:30:00.035+13:00

THE POWER OF INDEPENDENCE

A building project to repair my rotting abode in the outer suburbs of Auckland over 20 years ago was the moment that initiated my move to alternative power. The project required the power cable to be removed, supposedly temporarily, but as the cable was being disconnected by the electric company and left coiled on the post across the street, I realised my view of the sea had improved immeasurably, no longer being sliced by the black line that I had unconciously hated but never-the-less accepted as necessary.

Burying electric cables was not an option there due to the massive system of tree roots that held the steep land in place. I was gazing at the view and suddenly thought of a dear friend, a hardworking hippie who had built his own large and beautiful home, grown his own food and lived in the country on alternative power since the eighties. I looked at the power pole and muttered to myself, "I don't need your power, I have my own power."

Well, I didn't have any power at the time, not electrical power anyway, so I embarked on an electricity-free lifestyle which gave me long, quiet evenings by the fire to ponder life. I came up with what seemed at the time some fairly radical ideas. "You don"t have to live like this." a voice in my head said. "Look at other possibilities and cultures. You can live your own way and make it up to suit yourself as you go along." The thoughts continued along these lines and I found myself enjoying them and feeling excited at the possibilities...

I didn't mean this article to be a philosophical rave, but it seems to have become one anyway. This is partly due to my feeling a need to justify the initial, and in my case ongoing effort and expense of setting up such a system for the long term benefits and the increased security of more self reliance and spreading the risk over more resources. The power generated directly from nature, even with global warming, will maybe become more reliable than that of the large monopolistic corporations that we currently depend on.

If we become too dependent on someone else we feel scared, weak and vulnerable, especially if we feel they don't really care. To feel strong or secure we need to feel able to provide as much for ourselves as possible. So what will happen if a system we are totally reliant on for our survival fails. We all go down with the ship. Electricity is the lifeblood of modern society. We totally rely on it for everything: heating, cooking, washing, lighting and communicating across distance, in other words, life support, not to mention all our other activities.

The less we rely on a few large institutions to provide everything, the more options we will have in times of trouble or breakdown. We are already totally dependent on each other, sometimes indirectly, for all our basic needs, tools and machinery. We are highly social animals. But the survival of a species relies on individual variation as an insurance against mass extinction. To be a survivor is to be able to adapt to change, find new resources and provide for yourself and possibly others.

This is the thinking behind alternative power, apart from all the ecological reasons. My home is where I live and work and it is good to have it largely self-powered so it still functions, sustaining life regardless of any single individual system failure and the probability of future economic hardship. All you really need is a bit of high-school physics and faith in human inventiveness, sociability and of course, nature. It is really another way of spreading the risk. And if you have access to larger amounts of money the whole setup can be planned to suit individual conditions and executed in one hit, rather than piecemeal like mine.

The reality is not always that straight-forward. Most of the present technology requires a practical mind with a can-do attitude. Maybe houses don't come standard with solar powered lighting etc partly because the system needs batteries that currently require monitoring and maintenance. But it's just another chore, less work than putting out the rubbish. As for toxicity, batteries are largely recycled and reused, more so than most electronic equipment. The batteries last 10 years or more if they are not neglected or abused and solar panels up to 30 years, a lot longer than most of our modern appliances which unfortunately have a short life purposely built into them, a crime in my opinion.

Solar waterheating units are pretty much free from maintenance. I have just bought one and this is the most expensive item of all, but it makes life a lot easier. Even on the grid, that would probably save more than half your average power bill, or looking at it another way, you could still keep clean and wash dishes etc even if the power supply was cut off. That is, of course, providing you had water, which brings me to the point of why don't more houses have emergency water supplies from rainwater collected from roofs and stored in tanks? In some places you would practically have a year-round water supply. All of this stuff together would cost less than buying a cheap new car.

Gas is another wasted resource. Most is squandered by generating electricity which is then transported all over the place via ugly pylons and wires when it would be a lot more efficient to use gas directly for heating, cooking and even refrigeration. Unfortunately this is another system let-down. Gas is very expensive for household use even though there is an abundant supply. A monopoly supplier doesn't help. I have been using gas for cooking and refrigeration for twenty years and the price keeps going up even though there are major new finds. I have yet to find a practical or affordable methane digester suitable for home use although I am sure I produce enough waste from sewerage, kitchen and garden to do most of my cooking, if only I could catch and use the methane that it produces.

My present house had no power connected when I bought it, but had three 60 watt solar panels mounted on a pole and wired to a battery compartment and basic power board which operated a 12 volt lighting system. So I decided it would be much cheaper to develop that system than to go on the grid which I didn't want to do anyway and it would have cost more than I had at the time. I have never liked the idea of being in debt so I wanted to be able to buy only what I could afford on a well-below-average income. A local electrician with a helpful attitude and an interest in alternative energy systems made things a lot easier.

My first purchase was a couple of deep cycle batteries and various 12 volt incandescent light bulbs. Although these use more electricity than fluorescent bulbs they are cheaper and more robust when voltages fluctuate. Mine are all still going strong several years on and will probably last for many more. The kitchen light is an oddly shaped square fluorescent light which was here when I arrived, very good quality and expensive to replace (over $100) I found out later, but it still goes well. I did buy one $40 12 volt fluorescent bulb, but it was dead within a year, apparently unable to cope with the occasional low voltages of my imperfect system.

My next major purchase after that was a pelton wheel and four more batteries. I am lucky enough to have a small stream running down from the hills, which although a mere trickle in summer supplies water for three houses and can also be used all winter to generate power for my own home. It took a bit of help and effort to set it up, laying pipes, burying cables etc and $NZ a couple of thousand for all the materials, but the rain is now a welcome visitor as it brings more than enough power to keep the electronics (TV, dvd, video, stereo, radio, 2 computers, lights, kitchen whizz and various other gadgets) all humming. It's just as well we don't all live jammed up together out here, otherwise my newfound machine fetish might drive the neighbours nuts, as I used to be when I lived in the suburbs.

The pelton wheel itself is capable of producing enough power to run a much larger system than mine, but it is limited by the amount of water flowing in the stream.

There is no point in my having a wind generator here because I am sheltered from prevailing winds by the surrounding hills. It does get windy at times, but not enough to justify buying one. A friend near the coast where it's usually windy has the full complement of appliances (fridge, freezer, washing machine etc) all powered by sun and wind.

The computer needs mains voltage so I bought a cheap 500 watt sinewave inverter that changes 12 volts to 230 volts. This also enabled me to install power points to run a kitchen blender to make fruit smoothies etc, a better sound system and various lamps with low wattage bulbs that use less than half the power of the main lights. Unfortunately the inverter did not last long and I couldn't get it repaired or even contact the manufacturer. I have learned over the years to buy only good quality brands. Although they may seem more expensive at the time of purchase they are definitely more reliable and much cheaper in the long term. Also, they can usually be repaired so don't become landfill, which is the curse of modern consumerism, for a much longer time. The better-quality replacement has larger ventilation holes, so had to be encased in a plastic box to keep out mason bees.

I am now middle aged and have not owned a washing machine or vacuum cleaner etc for more than twenty years. Crazy! I hear you say. Not having children to look after meant it was easier to experiment with my own life. Living off the grid has involved more time doing physical work, but I none-the-less enjoy it much more than a gym workout. However, spending time on the computer has provided sedentary work which is most welcome as a rest from physical activity.

As I get older I plan to spend less time on housework so a few labour saving devices would be good. A washing machine, vaccuum cleaner and even a dishwasher would give me hours a week to spend on other activities. These machines require so much power that my current system is too small, so I'll need a generator to run them. Generators are very useful in emergency blackouts, as you can run everything on them. I am looking forward to using power tools for a bit of building rather than my dad's old handtools, although I do like the old tools so I'll still be using them too. I would probably only need to use the generator for a few hours a week so fuel would not be a problem, less than a litre.

Last year I bought a large solar panel because the one I had was not enough to keep everything going in summer when the pelton wheel was turned off. I hope to get to the point soon when my system is big enough for my needs and I'll look forward to a life of decadant luxury and indolence. Not likely! I still have to chainsaw up and stack several trees under the house for firewood in the winter to feed the woodstove that provides warmth, hot water and a cooking oven. Keeps me fit though. I reckon most people in our modern society get sick and die early from lack of fresh air and physical activity, apart from bad food.

Anyway, I'm not sure whether this article on my own lifestyle is a good advertisement for the average couple with kids to unplug, unless of course they can afford to splash out and set themselves up properly in a shorter time or if they are happy to live like hippies. My partner comes from a plug and play background and has been not-so-patiently waiting for a man-sized fridge with freezer for a few years. It finally happened recently and he's done trying to bend his 6ft 2in frame down to peer into my 3ft high gas fridge which sat on the concrete floor for safety and never quite got raised up to suit tall people.

But the good news is: I haven't had a power bill for all those years! And I'm still going strong. The technology for self-powered homes has been around for a while now but is still in its infancy in my opinion, although lately growing demand is speeding up its development. I expect it to be standard issue on new houses in the forseeable future, maybe for all household functions and certainly for most of them. Power cuts that cause helplessness and can endanger the survival of whole communities will probably be seen as an unacceptable folly. I hope so.

THE COMEDY OF ERRORS SECTION

Talking of folly, here's some mistakes and near disasters to avoid. A recent "100 year" flood nearly swept my pelton wheel away. I learned later that I shouldn't have put it over the stream, but over a ditch above the floodline with a drain dug under it back to the stream. Like Duh! I got stranded on the wrong side of the stream taking these photos and had to climb halfway up the mountain to cross back over so I could get home.

Another thing, don't plant trees in front of solar panels as they grow quicker than you think. I have to move my solar panels soon as a giant phoenix palm and a smaller nikau palm (neither planted by me) are starting to partially shade the panels in winter which greatly reduces their effectiveness. The trees are too beautiful and valuable to me to cut down as they give welcome shade in summer from the unbearably intense sun.

I have not included all the technical blah in this post, as I thought it might make it more readable for those who are not familiar with the concepts behind power generation and use. My own grasp on these is rather rudimentary anyway but that has not stopped me. I have learned on a need to know basis and applied my meagre knowledge to good effect without too much effort. If you wish to know the technical details of my system, leave a question or comment.

flax blog

2008-10-24T18:37:00.005+13:00

FLAXWEAVING

This unique form of the weaving craft was invented by Maori specifically for native flax (harakeke) and is a good representative of one of the most fundamental creative acts by human beings, taking raw materials from nature and processing them into useful articles of beauty. It requires no machinery, only a blade of some type and a good pair of hands. Maori mainly used the edge of a mussel shell, I find it easier to use an old table knife with bone handle and shortened blade. Kete is the Maori word for bag which has been anglicised to "kit".

I have been weaving flax for over twenty years and am largely self-taught except for some early tuition by a friend who had learned at weaving classes, and some excellent books on the subject. The first time I sat down and wove a kete I was hooked. The whole process is timeless in more ways than one. Weaving provides a way for me to contemplate and order my sometimes chaotic thoughts when life seems confusing or too complicated. While the hands are busy the mind runs free, a sort of semi-conscious meditation. I have found that the practical act of interweaving two dimensional opposing strands into a useful three dimensional form seems to have a corresponding mental process which allows my mind to integrate its own contradictions and produce clarity of thought and many ideas that are helpful and practical. It has occurred to me that it may be no coincidence that the ancient Greek goddess of wisdom was a weaver.

The plants themselves are a native of New Zealand, known as harakeke by Maori, phormium tenax to the botanist and horticulturist and flax to everyone else. It is no relation to European flax but the plant fibres were used in a similar way. The phormium plant has been bred into numerous forms and varieties for landscape design and is used all over the world for this purpose. Some have been bred for appearance and dramatic effect or to take up excess water in marshy ground. These varieties have often lost the quality of fibre so prized by Maori, so not every plant is suitable for weaving. Luckily many of the older types have been preserved by enthusiastic weavers and keepers of traditional Maori culture. There is one type that is used almost exclusively for easily extractable fibre and is specially grown for this purpose. This was widely used before the advent of synthetics like nylon and will probably make a comeback one day due to a resurgent interest in natural fibre and renewable resources.

The type and quality of the flax chosen will often determine the size and design of the project, some flaxes lend themselves to small fine work and others to large backpacks or mats, the length and strength varying considerably from bush to bush. The only way to ensure consistency is to use only one bush at a time or to propagate clone bushes by taking several cuttings from one plant. My own collection of plants is a mixture of traditional weaving varieties and a selection taken from cuttings of plants that have good weaving characteristics. The plants range in size from 1 metre up to 3 metres and when in flower attract many birds, especially the native tui, who gather in number and show off their spectacular vocal and aerobatic skills vying for the copious nectar produced by the flowers.

Flax can be used to make very strong ropes and twines or linen-like cloth. Most of the textiles of Maori culture were made from flax. These included various clothes (such as cloaks, skirts, leg coverings, soft shoes and sandals) ropes and bindings for almost all constructions (in houses and other buildings, boat moorings, lashings for tools, weapons and ornaments, traps for birds and fishing nets and lines of all types from the massive to the very dainty) and also coverings for walls, sacred objects and ceremonial vessels. Last but not least were the bags to contain and carry everything, from rugged backpacks made to be used for heavy loads on long overland treks to the most ornately intricate for small personal items of adornment.

A few remnants of these items can be found in museums but most have been lost due to the fact that these materials are biodegradable and have rotted away over time. The finest of those that remain were made in pre-European times and are usually discovered in dry caves or rock shelters by intrepid travellers. A finely-made backpack of pre-European origin was found in a rock shelter in the South Island not long ago, ending a debate as to whether backpacks were designed and employed by Maori in pre-European times, this maybe showing a lack appreciation by some contemporaries of the incredible level of workmanship and inventiveness of the many old-time weavers. That is not to diminish the skill of the Maori weavers of today who preserve the craft, but their number is very small compared to yesteryear.

I have chosen to keep to traditional Maori design, although I am not Maori, because I know that I cannot improve upon it. I certainly haven't reached the level of skill of the old-timers and never will, but because I am a practical soul I like to make useful things for people in their daily lives. A bag is something that everyone uses and the fact that these are non-toxic, biodegradable and the plants are easily renewable persuaded me to attempt to earn a living as a weaver. Admittedly, I'll never be rich doing this but life is more than just about money, so here goes! The local market is definitely not large enough so the internet can hopefully help me by reaching more people who might be interested in buying my craft. After all, this is the brave new world.

A display of my weaving

I often work on the covered verandah

THE PROCESS

It pays never to be impatient or to rush at any stage of the weaving process or mistakes will cause waste and disappointment with the final result. A steady effort is required over many hours.

Flaxbushes grow continuously and can be harvested regularly without harm to the plant as long as it is done correctly. The leaves form a series of fans from the base, each fan grows from the centre outwards, new leaves forming at the centre and the older leaves toughening on the outer edge. These older leaves are cut off cleanly near the base such that they callous over and the plant remains unharmed. One or two new fans form at the base of old fans after flowering. The centre of each fan is never cut and will grow new leaves rapidly after a harvest. It is custom to leave at least five leaves on each fan, I usually leave seven unless they are damaged or drooping out too far and in contact with the ground. Then they will start to rot if not cut.

Bushes that are cut properly look very healthy and attractive, have less insect damage or fungus diseases and seem to grow more rapidly than when left uncut. This may be because the old leaves eventually die off in the bush but remain intact for some time, providing shelter for insects which attack the younger leaves and reducing air flow around them which leaves them prone to fungi. I also feed mine with weed mulch around the base occasionally to increase growth.

Uncut bush

Cut bush

Once the leaves are cut they are laid out all in the same direction and tied securely together at both ends, usually with the spine of one or two of the leaves, the bundle is balanced and carried on the shoulder to the weaving area. Care must be taken not to split or damage the leaves by rough handling or dropping the bundle which can be very heavy, over twenty kilograms for a large project. Of course two or more trips from the bush with fewer leaves per bundle is an option. An average shopping kete takes about twenty leaves. I personally like to harvest one whole bush at a time. This provides enough flax for between two to five bags.

The cut leaves are laid on the ground and then one by one each leaf is split into about six equal strips by inserting the blade of a knife through it to make evenly spaced slits running along the grain and using the fingers to separate each strip from the leaf, then pulling it off the hard basal butt with a tug which leaves a tuft of bare fibre on the basal end. The green vegetable matter is left covering the rest of the leaf to the tip. When all the strips have been removed from the leaves the parts remaining are bundled up and replaced around the base of the bush as mulch to rot down and feed it. This stage takes about an hour.

The strips are left to dry a little so they will not shrink too much after weaving. It is important to dry them just the right amount or the final result will not be good. If they are left too long they roll up lengthways and split when scraped to make them flexible. Flax scraped when wet will separate into two layers and be completely useless. Air humidity is an important factor when preparing flax as it determines how long the flax must be left to dry, varying from a few hours to a couple of days. It pays to keep an eye on it at this stage.

Once the strips are dry enough they are pulled or drawn over the back of a knife to make them flat and flexible ready for weaving, the technique is similar to stretching paper strips to make them curl, but this is done on both sides of the leaf. The leaf has a dull underside and a shinier upper surface which dries a lighter shade. The underside is done first as this prevents the strip rolling up, the shiny side is done next to increase flexibility and assist drying. After softening the strips go much paler. This process requires care, patience and often much physical effort, as the green outer covering of the leaf is very tough sometimes. Any structural or insect damage will make this job take much longer because defects must be cut out and discarded, as any weakness will not survive the softening process. This stage of preparation may take a couple of hours depending on the damage or resistance offered by each type of flax.

Next the strips are tightly plaited using the fibrous ends to reconstruct a palm leaf shape with a rope spine which will form the base. It is said that because there were no suitable palm tree leaves for weaving in New Zealand, Maori made them from flax. This would seem to indicate that this weaving craft was developed originally in the Pacific islands where coconut palms are abundant and then adapted to suit the locally available plant species, although the style here has become quite distinctive due to the unique qualities of the native plants that require different techniques to manufacture all the necessities of life. A lot of creative thought and experimentation must have gone into designing the myriad practical articles in use, not to mention the extremely complex decoration of many of these articles.

When constucting the spine the individual strips must be counted carefully as correct construction requires accuracy of numbers. Also the patterns can only be produced from sequences of strips facing the right way up or down (or dyed) and laid in a precise order. The total number of strips must be divisible by four and also into the pattern sequences. One missplaced strip will throw out the whole shape and pattern of the finished article. It is almost impossible to correct a mistake once the weaving process is begun, so this step is the foundation which will determine the aesthetic quality of the finished article.

Once the plait is done the whole piece is turned over, plait side down and every second strip is bent back to face the opposite direction, held in place by a row of weaving. Then it is turned over again, plait side up, and the other side is done like the first. This ensures that all the strips are in correct sequence and those of the same colour face in the right direction.

I have chosen a simple pattern to illustrate the technique to make a flat bottomed bag that stands up by itself, a practical but fairly simple design. A lot of practice is required to achieve good quality work, some Maori weavers say a hundred finished kete to make a weaver. I suspect that nowadays just to finish one kete is quite a challenge as it will take a couple of days for the average beginner. Modern life where time is money is not designed for such arts, unless one can somehow make the time. However the satisfaction is commensurate with the effort. One woman I taught said she felt as if she had given birth after completing her first kete, a wild exaggeration maybe but the time and effort required is definitely a major factor in the sense of achievment. From start to finish it still takes me the best part of a day to complete one.

Once a few rows have been woven on each side of the spine the whole piece is turned over with the plait side up and folded in half. Then every second strip is reversed downwards using the method shown.

The next step completes the base and starts the sides. The piece is turned upside down and the strips closest to the weaver are folded upwards and woven into the others so that they form a rim which is the part that will sit on the ground. There are various designs for the bases of kete but I personally like this one because it does not tip over spilling the contents. There is some debate as to whether this particular type of base is traditional Maori or was brought here later by the Pacific Islanders, but the lack of old woven articles makes this rather difficult to find out. I am almost certain that Maori would have discovered nearly every possible permutation of weaving technique using this material over several hundred years but they had preferences that determined common traditional style.

Weaving up the sides to form the body of the kete takes the least time, unless a very complex pattern is chosen. Many of the patterns are a real challenge in themselves and may take hours to work out. I have attempted many only to become hopelessly lost and finally to abandon the idea and undo the whole thing, so I tend to keep to a range of patterns that I have learned to do successfully. Most of my weaving is fairly plain and traditional to emphasise form and function, and I prefer to employ the naturally occuring leaf colouration for patterns rather than resort to chemical dyes, or embark on the onerous task of traditional dyeing which takes days and requires powdered bark from protected trees, black mud or rare berries. Other weavers may prefer doing much finer detailing, often incorporating shells or feathers, or making elaborate shapes with many colours as pieces of art for display.

The very practical nature of flaxweaving has great appeal to me although I quite often go to bed with aching muscles after a full day's work.

Now the top is constructed. This must be strong as it usually takes the most wear and often supports the weight of the contents when handles are attached. The function of the bag is of importance to me as it is a practical article which is meant to be used and should last well. The techniques used for finishing the top are similar to those used for the base and the final plait is several layers thick to compensate for the thinness of the leaves near the tips. This sequence shows how the end of the final plait is pulled through to conceal the join and the ends of the leaves are cut off from the inside to make a neat finish.

The best part of finishing a kete is to put your head inside and inhale the rich sweet smell, reminiscent of freshly mown grass or a haybarn with a slightly earthy hint. The only thing to do before making and attaching the handles is to put it in a sunny spot and admire it for a few days while it dries and changes colour, becoming harder and much stronger and going several shades lighter which brings out the patterns. This drying may take several days if the weather is wet so I often dry them over the woodstove in winter as leaving them in a raw undried state for too long can spoil the colour or even send them mouldy.

Drying time

SELLING MY WORK

One reason for my blog is to help me earn a living. I hope to enjoy my work as well as create a viable lifestyle which will keep me happy and healthy. What more can I ask for. Because I cannot produce everything I need, I have to trade in order to survive. So here goes.

I make bags mostly. They appeal to my virgoan sense of practicality and my libran sense of aesthetically pleasing objects. Backpacks are useful because they leave the hands free while carrying things. They are ideal for days at the beach and walking with young children or dogs, for cycling to the local shop or tramping over rough terrain in forest parks.

They are very comfortable on the back and shoulders and easy to get on and off. I use one constantly in the garden to carry small tools etc and gather fruit from trees as I wander through the orchard. The uses are many. The only limitation is the size of the hole in the top which is often slightly smaller than the width of the body of the bag. I make various sizes from child to large adult, for light loads or heavy depending on the type of flax. They might seem a bit stiff at first use but they soon become flexible and mould to the wearer. They should last at least a year with constant use or indefinitely with occasional use. If you get caught in the rain and get wet, just empty the bag when you get home and hang it in a draughty or sunny spot to dry out. A nail in the wall will do. Don't hang it up with a heavy load or it will stretch out of shape, just leave it standing on the floor or a bench until you get around to emptying it. That's about all I can say about its care.

Handbags and shopping bags are my other main items, although I often produce small shoulder bags and the occasional sunhat or other vessels and baskets for holding loose items to be kept within easy reach on a shelf or bench. The only limitation is that they need to be kept fairly dry for they will go mouldy if left in the splash zone near the kitchen sink. The handbags or shopping bags are light and strong and should last very well if they are not abused too much. I have noticed that the handles can wear faster if rings are worn on the fingers while constantly carrying a full bag. However, the handles can be replaced if they wear out before the bag.

Some of the articles I make are listed on Trade Me, a New Zealand online auction site, or you can send me an email (click my profile) if you live overseas and tell me what you want. I can make to order within my usual range and arrange payment and postage to your address.

goose blog

2008-10-06T15:32:00.003+13:00

HOW IT STARTED.

Several years ago I decided to trade in my home on the outskirts of Auckland, where I had lived for 16 years in a small bach on a steep bushclad quarter-acre, for a life in the country. Laingholm had gone from a small almost rural settlement, consisting mainly of baches nestled in a bush valley on the shores of the Manukau Harbour, to a fashionable suburb of "million dollar views". New infill houses more than doubled the population and dominated their surroundings. The rush hour traffic made opening the french doors onto my deck a health hazard, not to mention the constant noise of human activity. Car alarms, burglar alarms, cellphones, vacuum cleaners, kitchen whizz's, stereos, power tools, lawnmowers, weedeaters, leafblowers, chainsaws, motors of every possible description, both loud and faint. The valley echoing every day to a thousand machines. The fresh sea breezes and birdsong in the trees over-dubbed by "progress".

Alternatively, I had a rooster and chickens who provided fresh eggs and manure for the garden along with bees who provided gallons of honey and kept the many fruit trees pollinated and producing good crops and gardens of salad greens and berries. I was attempting to live as natural and simple a life as possible, even giving up electric power and all that it brought in its train, living instead with candles and a wood range with a wetback for hot water, two gas rings, lots of books and a battery powered radio. I set traps in the local bush reserve to catch possums to help feed my carniverous pets, cured their skins and made slippers etc and learned to use and grow native flax to weave traditional bags and other articles to sell at the local craft market which luckily was a large popular event held once a month. I had several friends and aquaintances who taught me much of what I needed to know and read books to learn the rest.

Although the experiment was largely successful, I became an oddity in the suburbs, my lifestyle out of step with a new neighbour who quite justifiably complained about the rooster's nocturne. He was loud at the wrong time and had to go. I decided that it was time for me to go too.

So after much searching, I bought 50 acres of land in the Far North. It is very rough steep land, mostly bush (native forest) and scrub (old pasture recolonised by introduced privet and weeds) about 7 acres was waist-high ungrazed pasture, 5 acres of which is fenced off as a large paddock. A stream runs down from the top boundary through the bush to a small pond in a grove of eucalyptus and bamboo near the road at the front. Very beautiful.

View down the river valley

View across horse paddock and valley to far ridge

Garage and beehives with view to top boundary marked by pines on ridge.

House and garden with geese at work

Stream with bamboo and eucalyptus trees

The house was surrounded by one-metre-high kikuyu grass, an extremely tough South African import, a pest to some, with rampant growth and the ability to climb and smother bushes and small trees. This posed a problem of lawns which are an essential firebreak between house and bush. The uneven ground made lawnmowing very difficult, so after cutting it down with a sickle and mowing it several times, I decided that something that eats grass made sense. "Geese eat lots of grass and aren't overly destructive of gardens or trees" said an article I'd recently read. Sounds perfect! So I purchased 4 geese, 2 males and 2 females to mow the lawn. As I was leaving the previous owner muttered "I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into". She was so right!

Geese can be some of the most quarrelsome creatures I have ever met, except, maybe for some people. But they can also be the most peaceful. It quite often all depends on the seasons.

Before beginning this article about geese. I would like to explain my approach to the subject of anthropomorphism (humans giving other creatures human attributes). I've always felt a close affinity with nature, and can spend hours at a time observing plants and animals without getting bored. I have come to the conclusion that the reason I do this is the same as our ancient ancestors, an endless field study, ultimately to understand our own nature and behaviour by observing others. Hence all those old stories about animals who have human qualities. If we objectify others we can never really know them. We are all sentient beings but focused on different things.

I cannot help but notice the similar drives that all creatures share. The drive to survive, to have a place in the world, to be accepted in their own society and to breed successfully. All of us, both animal and plant. are programmed by nature. But only humans seem to be able to contemplate the past and future as well as the present and ask why, how etc and make up explanations, some better than others, about the world. My feeling is that we humans have a lot more in common with the other creatures than our vanity allows us to admit. I can see direct parallels that allow me to accept the underlying primitive needs that motivate much of our behaviour, the deeper needs that are often hidden from ourselves as we complicate rather than contemplate our existence. Maybe, if we understood and accepted these primitive needs we would find life a lot less confusing and angst-ridden. Anyway, enough of that, on with the goose story.

There is a lot I don't know about geese. I have read a few books and articles but they were mainly about fattening them up for the table. One excellent book is The Year of The Greylag Goose by Conrad Lorenz. He lived with a wild colony of geese in Switzerland and studied their behaviour. Nearly everything I have learned is from observation of my own geese and my conclusions may not be very scientific.

Although geese are considered a primitive species by some they, like other birds, have many remarkable qualities which are still not fully understood, like their navigational and high altitude flying ability, for instance. Some of my geese occasionally fly but never very far, they are domesticated and have lost their migratory instincts. I feed them corn and homemade bread every couple of days mainly to keep them close by so they mow the lawn around the house. If I stopped they would probably wander away eventually, as they are free to roam and a farm fence is no serious obstacle for a goose.

Their social habits I find fascinating. Being highly sociable herd or flock animals they spend very little time alone. Within this colony which now numbers sixteen the individuals have formed into smaller units, nuclear families which maintain a more intimate social life between themselves, slightly separate from and often rather antagonistic towards the others. These family units sometimes wander off from each other during the day, but reunite in the evening with characteristic squabbling as they choose a spot and settle down to roost for the night.

These dynamics change with the seasons, and at breeding time family bonds loosen as the young mature geese tentatively leave the parents to find a mate and start their own family. Because I have stopped them increasing lately by eating all their eggs I'm not sure what will happen to their social structure, whether it will reach some stability due to their usually monogomous habits or not. I'll have to wait and see.

Tai-Chi on the lawn

Feeding time

Late afternoon

There is, of course, the pecking order that has to be constantly maintained or changed providing lively social relationships between individuals and families to determine everyone's place in the order. Goose politics I call it. It can be extremely loud at times, way above safe decibels for humans. Each goose has its own individual cry and vocal style which is recognisable, ranging from ear-splitting shriek, high pitched yapping, low gutteral bark to the fog horn which can be heard a kilometre away. This last one is used freely when one gets lost, which is quite frequent, lost usually being merely out of sight. All together, they can sound rather like an out of tune orchestra playing at full volume or a loud city street full of cars honking their horns. At other times peace reigns, all is quiet and they appear as the most exquisite garden ornaments. Often there is just the contented soft grunting as they eat their way across the landscape, sometimes for hours, even days at a time. Then inevitably things get louder again as squabbles break out and everyone joins the argument. Sometimes I have to drive them away from the house so I can hear anything. Strangely, none of the books I read about geese made much, if anything of the noise they make. I guess they assumed I already knew, but I didn't and it was quite a shock!

THE FIRST FOUR

The original four were siblings, offspring from a part Sebastapol male and a Pilgrim female. Two of them, one of each sex, exhibited smooth Pilgrim plumage. The other two had loose curling feathers "frilly pants" typical of the Sebastapol breed. The males are white, the females retain similar colouring to their ancestor the Greylag goose.

I named them Sebastapol, Gurtie, Marilyn, and Mr Bumble. Sebastapol was the dominant male, very posessive of the females, noisily proclaiming himself leader and using menacing gestures to keep Mr Bumble in his place. Marilyn was the pilgrim female. She was very popular with the males who often fought for her attention. She used her popularity to keep Gurtie in her place, the males were both besotted by her and would even chase Gurtie a short distance away to please Marilyn. Gurtie, the Sebastapol female was less attractive to the males who often ignored her when Marilyn was around. Gurtie accepted her lesser status gracefully and did not challenge Marilyn. Mr Bumble, the Pilgrim male, was the military wing. He usually walked at the rear keeping an eye out for possible threats, chasing the cat, a wild pheasant, other small birds, anything that might be a threat to the troupe. He injured his foot once on some half-buried barbed wire from a fallen fence and became quite lame, developing bumblefoot, large painful lumps on the sole of his foot. But he eventually healed completely and now can run as fast as ever.

I have kept and bred from these four geese for several years now and have sixteen altogether. I had reservations about inbreeding siblings, which is not considered wise, but decided the two parents being of different stock would ensure a large enough gene pool to avoid weak offspring.

Sebastapol with Marilyn

Mr Bumble

ANATOMY

Having recently lain for several hours watching shining frogs frollicking and mating in sun-drenched pools from recent rain near a west coast beach, I was horrified to be presented with a decomposing frog's corpse to dissect at zoology class at university in order to study them. I felt guilty and sad as I carved up this tiny delicate human-like creature that had died miserably for my benefit. I knew then that this was not the way for me to learn about frogs. Needless to say I soon dropped out of university. I'm not suited to formal academic education, but my natural curiosity and practical nature seem to sustain my interest in learning.

My real joy comes from watching living creatures, especially in a relatively natural environment doing their own thing, and sometimes hunting with a camera. I have trapped and killed opossums, which are abundant and can wreck a small orchard in a matter of days, skinned them and cured their pelts, marvelled at their beautiful, muscular bodies and intricate organs, then cooked and eaten them, but I must admit I didn't really enjoy doing it although I know it's natural and would do it if I had to. I just wanted the experience of providing for myself, as a hunter gatherer.

So I will omit to tell you the length of a goose's intestine, if you wish to know that you can find out elsewhere. I've never killed one or dissected one and have no desire to do so. I'm happy to leave that to someone else. It's not that I don't want to know, but its already been done a thousand times, why not use someone else's data. I much prefer to see creatures alive rather than dead.

FEEDING

Geese graze almost exclusively on grass and pasture plants, much like sheep, spending several hours a day wandering back and forth, bills slightly angled, snatching the tips of the grass and cutting it off cleanly. Often they fan out and cover quite a broad area and if they are close you can hear the rhythmic tearing of grass.

They also love to spend time in waterways, having widened the stream and pond on my place quite noticably by chewing and tugging at plants growing on the sides. Geese have been used to keep waterways open for centuries as they clear away excess growth that would otherwise eventually choke the flow of water. Because they stir up the fine mud on the bottom which is carried along by the current, the depth is maintained or very gradually increased and the bottom does not become stagnant when the water flow is very slow. Having clear drains is essential here as seasonal rains can cause severe flooding.

The only time of the year that geese eat anything other than plants is in late summer when they can be seen hunting grasshoppers, grabbing large numbers of them off the long grass, their movements more like herons stabbing at fish than grazers. They seem totally absorbed in this activity, behaving more as individuals than as a group, often wandering a long distance out of sight from one another looking for their prey in the long grass. They also occasionally eat spiders who happen to live within reach near the ground or under and around the house or other buildings.

Another favoured activity is dabbling in mud, especially in winter when heavy rain has left pools of water. They work enthusiastically in these, digging their beaks into the soil and working the hole they have made into mud by rapidly sucking water and soil in and out of their bills, mixing it together into fine mud. They appear like jackhammers, heads down, their whole bodies shaking rapidly. An enthusiastic dabbler can create quite a large mud hole fairly quickly and they often like to return to the same excavation. Other geese will also work the same hole when no one is using it. It pays to take note of the location of these as they can be nasty traps for unwary humans. They range in depth from a few inches to over a foot, and are sometimes hard to see if the ground is generally muddy. Luckily there are seldom more than two or three at any one time.

The sides of their beaks have a row of small teeth carved into bony protrusions along the inside, not unlike a rasp, which enables them to chew through quite tough materials like tree bark and achieve a very tight grip on objects. This ability is often used in aggressive behaviour when feathers are sometimes ripped out from the rear end of a fleeing rival, or to get a good grip while fighting to establish dominance in the pecking order.

BATHING

If given the opportunity geese will spend some time in water every day. They are very clean animals and love to bathe and preen themselves. Bathing can take a few minutes or up to an hour if the water is clean and plentiful and there are no others waiting to use it. Of course the more dominant ones will get in first and take their time leaving the water somewhat murky for the lesser ones, except when they're in a sociable mood and then Mum, Dad and the kids all pile in for a communal bath. These occasions can be quite tranquil for a while but eventually a tight squash leads to jostling and squabbling, like kids in the back seat of a car.

In large ponds where there is plenty of space they all bathe together, but keep a short distance between each family group. After each bath they will spend up to half an hour preening themselves. They have a grease gland at the base of the back, above the tail which they rub with their bills and then distribute over their feathers, taking much care on the chest, back and wings. This waterproofs their entire bodies so water just beads off leaving them completely dry in even the most torrential downpour. They also preen to remove any loose feathers and smooth them down to keep out the cold and wind. During the annual moult after the breeding season they preen frequently and the lawn becomes strewn with hundreds of old feathers which the wind picks up to blow around like a small snowstorm. Many sparrows descend to retrieve them and often collect mouthfuls at a time to line their nests. This is Flame taking a bath.

Geese never seek shelter in a storm, even during a lightning storm they will stay out in the open, standing as tall as possible, almost on tiptoes, heads pointing upwards towards the driving rain. Even quite young chicks will adopt this pose, the harder the rain or hail the taller the stance in order to deflect the force of it.

SLEEPING

Geese don't really sleep, they snooze. It is nearly impossible to sneak up to a goose. They take several naps during the day but keep an eye open most of the time just in case or if they hear a strange sound. They usually sleep at night, possibly because their night vision is not good, but on full moon with a clear sky they can be active all night. I read that in places where they are hunted their sleeping patterns vary according to the most dangerous time of the day, they stay awake when they are most likely to be hunted. Wild geese often sleep in the middle of lakes and come ashore to graze in the day or at night when its safest.

FIGHTING

The thing I like about goosefights is that there are never any serious injuries. It looks like a combination of Sumo wrestling and boxing using wings instead of arms. The fight starts with both geese facing off, then one lunges forward and grabs onto the other's wing near the shoulder. The other instantly responds in the same way so that they are locked together, chests hard up against each other, pushing as hard as they can with their feet to force the other backwards, Sumo wrestling style. Then the wings are opened, pulled back and brought forward with great force, just like a punch only both arms at once. Both geese stand on tiptoes digging their claws for traction, and whacking each other as hard as they can. Usually one is slightly stronger at the start but this only makes for a more determined opponent and both can drive each other back and forth as they try to gain ground. Sometimes the force of their wings hitting can lift both off the ground momentarily.

If one is obviously too strong the other breaks off the fight by letting go and turning tail and fleeing, the victor giving chase for a short distance before returning to his chosen mate calling triumphantly while others of his clan gather round him admiringly. The whole group gets very excited at these bouts and cheer both combatants on with great enthusiasm, unless they drag on too long whereby the crowd can go to look for a snack, keeping an eye on the fight ready to congratulate the final winner. Even the loser is greeted by his own team, especially if he tries to impress the ladies by pretending to be the victor. In the heat of the fight the females don't just watch from the rear, they often push right to the front and cheer the loudest as they seem to know that the whole spectacle has been for their benefit. It all bears an uncanny resemblance to a prize fight.

I was hoping to post a video but being on dial-up, I had to resort to composing these pictures from the video clips.

Battling Angels

Sebastapol Wins

Fighting Trio

Goose Ballet

MATING AND NESTING

The first breeding season was extremely noisy and chaotic, lots of arguments between the females and all-out fighting between Sebastapol and Mr Bumble. The males often challenged each other for leadership (or for Marilyn) in long hard battles but Mr Bumble was usually the first to break, Sebastapol loudly proclaiming victory and leading the females to the bath while Mr Bumble resumed his role of guard at the rear.

Mating commences with the male entering the water, dipping and raising his head to invite the female to join him, which she does, dipping and raising her head in time with his. He then manouvers alongside her, grasps her on the back of the neck, mounts her rather clumsily and pushes his tail down to facilitate the mating. She is pushed underwater momentarily, weighed down by a now semiconscious male who utters gutteral cries of orgasmic ecstacy. Its all over in about 10 seconds. He then rolls off, exits the bath and stands nearby preening himself with an air of satisfaction. The female meanwhile stays in the water, bathes thoroughly then exits and preens herself for about 10 minutes before resuming to graze or sitting down for a short nap. Thus is the typical sex life of the geese.

About to do it

Looking for a good nesting site

The nesting site is chosen individually by each female. She takes a few weeks to select a suitable location, wandering over an area of several acres, usually with her mate and another male rival and sometimes juvenile offspring in attendance. The males show an intense interest in all her movements, often chewing off long leaves of grass (including my irises) and laying them carefully down beside themselves in mock nest-building gestures, maybe to stimulate the female to build her nest. Back and forth they go, often revisiting a prospective site several times until satisfied.

Good views and morning sun seem to appeal to geese, but not always. They can also venture into fairly dense scrub, some near the house, others several hundred meters away, depending on their level of trust in humans. The hand-reared ones nest closer to the house. It is important for the female to feel comfortable with the chosen location as she will be stuck there for about a month and may prefer to use the same nest site year after year. Heated arguments can ensue when one female encroaches on another's site or tries to nest too close. Sometimes a deafening all-out war can rage between two families over a favoured nesting location.

Eventually eggs are laid, one egg every two days, about the size of three or four hens eggs. This takes a few weeks with much bathing and mating between eggs, much fighting among the males and almost constant cackling from all concerned. Even with all the doors and windows shut (it was, thankfully, very cold outside) the racket is almost unbearable at first, but after a while it becomes background din, like living in a noisy street.

Gathered goose eggs with brown hen's egg.

Then all goes strangely quiet. The females spend all day on their nests, getting off once in the morning for a quick bath and a meal, snatching frantically at the grass, a noisy trot around the house, a quick plunge in the bath, preening briefly and literally running back to the nest. Then total quiet 'till late afternoon, (feeding time) for another quick break, all in a hurry with noisy males in attendance.

The males sit for hours, waiting, quietly, preening and eating a little then after a barely audible signal from the nest, suddenly erupting into a deafening chorus, calling loudly and running to greet the females, who have carefully covered their eggs with grass and downy feathers before emerging for 5 minutes or so. This goes on for about a month.

HATCHING AND RAISING YOUNG

When the first breeding season came around the geese were only a year old and showed no inclination to mate. I more or less let them do their own thing and merely observed. The second year they mated, or should I say Sebastapol mated with both females. So the first generation, Ping, Bling and Wing were probably Sebastapol's.

All the geese become quite aggressive once the eggs are laid and approaching them is a bit nerve-wracking. Their eyes have a wild stare and no longer show any recognition of my benign intentions. The males stand guard near the nests and greet me with much hissing and threatening gestures, all tameness gone, ready to attack. The females also hiss with swaying necks while flattening themselves on their nests. They remind me of snakes ready to strike. When I turn away the males, emboldened by my retreat, charge up behind me. If I start to run away they will give chase and actually attack, grabbing the backs of my legs. Luckily I wear long rubber boots and thick trousers which make these attacks amusing rather than painful. They soon release their hold if I stop, show no alarm and no reaction.

Closing in for attack

Hissing

Because they had chosen to nest so near the house beside the driveway, I had to pass by them several times a day and sure enough after several days I could stay calm when walking among them. This seemed to prevent actual attacks although not the aggressive postures. Some of Gerties' eggs were infertile and two exploded under her, covering her underside, the other eggs and the nest with a putrid yellow slime. The smell was disgusting and she stood a few feet from the nest unwilling to resume sitting, so when she went off to have a bath I removed them, washed them and replaced them, cleaning up the nest as best I could by removing the broken eggshells and laying fresh grass over the sticky mess. This worked well until a day later another egg exploded and she gave up sitting completely. The infertile eggs were probably due to youthful inexperience, enthusiasm rather than accuracy in mating technique.

Ping and Bling were hatched in a cardboard box with a thick towel over a hot waterbottle after I listened to the eggs that I had removed and heard a faint, hesitant tapping coming from within. I knew they must be very close to hatching and sure enough after a few days of constant warmth and regular handling, both eggs developed cracks at one end. After much waiting and a little help from me, picking off some of the cracked shell, two heads on long necks emerged, one from the end of each egg, looking remarkably like twin ETs. They greeted me, wide eyed with green-yellow slicked back feathers and constant peeping as their swivelling heads followed me round the room. I found out later that the mother takes baths at least twice a day to keep the shells moist, making them softer and easier to break out of. These two were trapped for a couple of days in their rock hard eggs with just their heads poking out until I lost patience and carefully broke them out by hand. By this time their feathers had dried and fluffed out making them appear larger and very cute. So in spite of an earlier decision not to interfere, I had.

Two days old

A few weeks later

Well-behaved puss

I kept them in a large cardboard box lined with newspaper, a hottie wrapped in a towel at one end for sleeping and a sprinkling of grass covering the other end with water and food dishes in the corner. I noticed that they learned to drink water the next day, throwing their heads back to let the water trickle down their throats with such enthusiasm that they toppled over several times before they became better balanced and steadier on their feet. It was hard to get them to sleep until I learned that they liked their hottie quite hot. They would sprawl on top of it with a flap of towel over their heads, often with their legs sticking straight out behind, like miniature sunbathers. Food consisted of wholemeal bread soaked in milk and a few chicken pellets also soaked, with an assortment of grass stalks to chew on. Not the most natural diet for a goose, but they both ate with great gusto and both thrived, having little outings from the box, running around the kitchen and living room and tugging at everything that looked interesting, including my hair, furniture coverings and the carpet. After several weeks I realised they would soon have to move outside.

Protective enclosure for orphans

Meanwhile Marilyn had hatched four eggs. All the geese gathered around the nest, craning their necks to see their new family, watching the small tufts of greenish yellow fluff appearing and disappearing from around the mothers underbelly as she moved, shifted around and resettled to reveal her chicks. As they hatched she moved the empty shells to one side and extended her wings very slightly to allow them to crawl out from under her and nestle right up under her wings. Their muffled peeping was answered by the seemingly mesmerised adults with soft clucking. This went on for a couple of days. By the third day they were standing up and a day or two later the chicks were walking and pulling at bits of straw. Next they were taken out on a short excursion, only a few metres from the nest, close by Marilyn who was surrounded on all sides by her protective adult retinue. Gertie, now an aunt rather than a mother watched the chicks with an urge to get closer but was kept at bay by hissing Marilyn. Thus the troupe ventured further each day, until it all went wrong.

They were taking rather long trips, too long for the chicks, who were often trailing behind, caught up in the long grass, frantically peeping all the while. The adults were not waiting for them and so I retrieved them, hopelessly lost deep in the undergrowth and returned them several times. Anyway the outcome was not good as I could not follow them around all day although I did for much of it. The chicks were being marched to death, and over the next week one by one they disappeared. I spent hours searching for them, even at night with a torch, when I realised they were missing, but to no avail.

I can only put this odd behaviour down to inexperience on the part of the parents who seemed to be driven by some urge to travel cross-country. The land here is not really ideal for geese, especially uneven, steep and much of it overgrown with open drains and ditches and large holes leading underground, all either formed naturally or dug to cope with the often torrential rain that races down the mountain and causes spectacular flooding of the river valley. Much of this terrain, except for around the house, requires much effort, baby geese need to be really fit to survive.

I later found out that geese make lousy parents for the first few years of breeding, but that first year I intervened and took the last remaining chick from the inept parents as I could not bear to watch the inevitable. The last chick, a female named Wing, was introduced to Ping and Bling and I became Mother Goose.

Ping and Bling

Wing

Wing again

GOOSE SOCIETY

As numbers gradually increased I observed some possible similarities and differences between geese and human family groups. Wild geese apparently behave very differently to domestic geese and my interference is bound to have had an effect on group dynamics. But the behaviour I have observed in individuals and families must have some basis in their intrinsic nature. Sometimes at certain times of the year the group seems to merge into a harmonious whole with almost no bickering, but this is only a brief respite.

Basic societal structure consists of adult pairs forming nuclear family units within the group as a whole, allowing unpaired siblings or younger geese to play a role in raising young. The males especially cooperate in this way often forgetting past battles in order to carry out parental duties.

Each season as new pairs form the basic structure is maintained except there are more nuclear units. These units seldom combine and males can even fight over custody of mothers and chicks if they have failed to produce live offspring of their own or have lost them due to misadventure or carelessness. The females on the other hand, unlike most human females, seem more possessive of their own chicks and quite hostile towards others that get lost, driving them away with nasty pecks if they approach or try to join in. The only time the females seem to get on is in mother-daughter relationships and even these can fall apart at sexual maturity, the daughter sometimes vying with the mother for the same male's attention if he is not the male who raised her.

It all gets rather complicated but there seems to be a natural tendency for females to, if possible, avoid mating with their own siblings or immediate family members if they grow up together. However, parent-offspring pairings are more likely than sibling ones. My interference by removing chicks and then later reintegrating them back into the flock played havoc with their recognition of close family and has led to pairings that may not have occurred otherwise. It reminds me of similar situations in human society where through estrangement or adoption, siblings or parents and biological children can develop strong attractions to each other when reunited, attractions which may not have developed had family members grown up together. All this is speculation of course as all the geese in the group are very closely related.

So ends my first post. It's rather long and I have been on a steep learning curve trying to edit it, having inadvertently deleted then reposted many photos while trying to get the spacing right. I will feature the individual characters in this goose saga separately in future posts.