Yesterday morning I finished my stay at the farm in Paparoa after two long, hard and very rewarding weeks. I’ve already mentioned pretty much everything I did on the farm, but one thing I’ve left out is my overall reaction to the experience.
First of all, to allow a complete stranger to come live in your house and feed them is as idea that I’m not sure would work in the USA. It works here of course, because there are ignorant people like me who will feed chickens, cut the tails off lambs, and shovel shit for no reason other than the novelty of the idea. In any case…it works, and a lot of people are doing it. I’m glad I’ve finally gone WWOOFing, and I hope to do it again.
But it takes a certain kind of family to constantly allow strangers to come work for them. The Borgers were exceptional hosts. They taught me anything I wanted to know about farm work and the logistics of running a business and supporting a family. They have three kids and a fourth on the way, all of whom are home schooled and are actively involved with work on the farm. And not in an exploitive, Chinese kind of way…they actually enjoy farm work. Miriam (age five) came along with us to tend the chickens one day and was not afraid at all to go waltzing into the shed with 1500 chickens to collect eggs (a task that after two weeks I was still somewhat hesitant to do…anything in that much quantity freaks me out…especially when it squawks).
The Borger kids are wonderful…friendly, inquisitive, and well-behaved. They are also hilarious. Lillian, the youngest (18 months) didn’t cry or throw a fit the entire time I was there. She walks around and yells “Mama” or “Dada” and her favorite pastime seems running around with her hands outstretched behind her back screaming what sounds like “Gooooaaat”. She was charming. James (age six) and Miriam seem to be inseparable best friends, and they never ceased to make me or each other laugh. However, the funniest thing I witnessed was hearing Miriam switch, without warning, into third person mode. She would say “Miriam wants water” or “Brother, don’t hurt Sister…Father can you pass the mashed potatoes”. It was hilarious.
Anyhow, what I’m trying to say is that I’ve appreciated everything I was given with that family. It’s true that I had to work hard on the farm, and I didn’t make any money, but that was just what I was going for.
In addition, I’ve noticed an attitude, not just with the Borgers, but with other Kiwis I’ve met too, to go above and beyond to assist people that they don’t know and may never see again. I worked with Steven the butcher for a total of no more than ten hours, and after knowing him for that short amount of time, he offered to take Jan and I canoeing. He drove all the way out to the farm to pick us up, then drove to the harbor, introduced us to his paddling friends, then waited an hour while we went paddling (taking the time to grab our cameras to get pictures), and then drove us back to the farm. On the way back, he mentioned that we could go opossum hunting with him if we wanted…again meeting us on his own time, with his own gun and ammo, for no other reason than to be friendly and share his knowledge with us.
One final example, and I’ll leave you with this. As I was leaving the farm, an older couple that helped out there years ago were arriving. I spent maybe an hour with them, and in that short amount of time, they offered to let me stay with them if I’m ever in Wellington. I now have all their contact information and will look them up when I pass through.
I’m not saying that this type of attitude doesn’t happen in the US, but it is definitely refreshing to have it so often here. I hope it continues for the next 11 months.
Shavin’ Sheep
Saturday and Sunday have been filled with more great (and uniquely Kiwi) experiences. Yesterday was sort of our day off, but we ended up helping Bert with a process known as sheep crutching…a nasty job which involves shearing the dags (that’s NZ for sheep turds) from the rumps of the sheep.
Crutching is a necessary job for any sheep farmer because if you leave the ass area unkempt it is susceptible to fly strike, which is when a fly lays eggs in the shit and the maggots bury under the skin…a nasty disease which often leads to sheep dying from infections. So, to prevent that awful mess, we had an awful mess of our own to deal with…shitty sheep butts.
But first, you have to catch the sheep. Just like when we did the sheep docking, we had to wrangle the sheep from their paddock into a holding pen and then catch them one by one. But, unlike when we did the docking, we were now dealing with full grown sheep - up to 100kg/220lbs. The basic procedure was to step into the pen with about ten sheep in it and grab one by the neck, reach over and take hold of its front legs, and then hurl it up vertically and plop it down onto its butt…at which point it just kind of sits there, like a fat guy on a couch.
However, as you can imagine, this is much easier said than done. On some sheep it was no problem and we just flipped them right up, but some of the bigger ones (horses as Burt calls them) were basically impossible to flip over and I exhausted myself trying.
Once they’re flipped over, we passed them on to Bert who did the real nasty part of shaving off the dags and pooey wool. Pretty gross. And then we had to sweep up the shit and sort out the really pooey wool (this gets cleaned and becomes socks apparently) from the nicer wool. At the end of the process the sheep is let back to the pen where it is free to wander around with a new clean, bare ass.
Outriggers
Sunday morning, we met up with Steven the butcher and went to Kaipara Harbor, a huge body of water on the northwest coast of NZ, which was about a 20-minute drive from the farm. There we were introduced to the Kaipara Waka Ama, a local paddling club that uses modern versions of the traditional outrigger sea canoe that the Polynesians used to explore the South Pacific.
We were given a quick rundown of how the waka (canoe) works and what to do in case we take a spill (the harbor was really choppy). Then the club members, many of whom were Maori, gave a quick blessing/prayer to the water, and before long we were off paddling our way across the bay. Now, I have some experience canoeing and kayaking, but I’ve never done anything like this. There were two wakas with five of us in each, and we had to time our strokes and alternate sides every 12 strokes. The stroke rhythm was very fast, maybe one stroke per second, and within five minutes my arms were exhausted.
But we couldn’t stop. The person in the middle of the canoe was calling out every twelve strokes so we knew when to switch sides, and if I missed even one stroke, he would give a little pep talk about timing and how we all need to be paddling as one. We paddled against the tide and wind for about 30 minutes before we paused for a break along the opposite shore. Before long, we were back in the canoe paddling our way to where we began.
By the time we finished, my arms didn’t work at all. I used what little energy I had left to thank everyone in the club for letting us join them for a paddle with a handshake, but when I extended my hand it just flopped around like a dead fish. I can now cross “Join Group of Maori in Sea Canoe Excursion” off of my list of things to do before I die, and in a few days I should have full use of my shoulders and arms…
Shootin’ Opossums
The opossums in New Zealand are much cuter than the ones I’m used to seeing back home, but they aren’t native to NZ and they are a huge problem. They have no natural predators here and their population has exploded over the past few hundred years. So they are seen as pests here.
When we were coming back from the paddling this morning, I asked Steven the butcher what some of his hobbies were, and one of the ones he mentioned was shooting opossums. At hearing this Jan’s eyes lit up, and Steven mentioned that he’d take us out hunting tonight, when the nocturnal animals are most active.
So, at 8:30pm Jan and I drove over to Steven the butcher’s house. I could hardly control myself from cracking up when I saw Steven, who was dressed in the most Kiwi outfit I’ve seen since arriving in this country nearly a month ago. He had on a blue flannel jacket (more like a duster, really), rubber boots, and extremely short shorts. In addition, he had a .22 gauge rifle with a flashlight attached to the barrel, which was powered by what looked like a car battery that he had strapped around his waist. When we stepped out of the car and said “How ya going?”, it struck me that I was far away from home. But no time for that…it was time to shoot opossums.
We spent almost two hours walking through the bush by the light of our flashlights. I spotted about five opossums. Their eyes glow in the spotlight, and to kill them the idea is to get almost completely beneath them and then fire right at their head. If the shot is good, the kill will be instant and your prize will fall right out of the tree.
Steven shot the first one to show us how it is done, and then I had a go at the second one. Holding the rifle steady while pointing it upward is pretty difficult, but I had a pretty direct hit on my first try. After a second precautionary shot, the opossum fell out of the tree to ground before me. Sorry buddy.
Later, Jan shot two opossums as well before we called it a night. It wasn’t my first time shooting a gun, but it was the first time I’ve ever been hunting. I didn’t love the idea of killing for sport, but I see it as a form of nature conservation, helping keep NZ the way it was before we started screwing it up. At least that is what I tell myself to help fall asleep at night…the truth is it was pretty damn fun to shoot those animals out of the trees. If I see an opportunity to work for Opossum Control NZ, I may just have to consider it.
All for now…tomorrow is my last day here on this farm. I’m still working out where to go next.
Not too much new to report after one week on the farm. Days have been filled with the usual morning chicken routine (egg collection, feeding, preparing cheese) and then usually a break before some kind of afternoon activity.
Today we got to wrangle some more piglets (really more like pigs), give them injections, and put a nose ring in their snout. I learned that pigs, even the little ones, are pure muscle and they put up a hell of a fight when you grab them from their friends and their mommy and pierce their nostrils. I also learned where the expression “squeal like a pig” comes from…their screams were unbelievably loud. When the bigger pigs hear the squeals, they try to come help…apparently pigs look out for each other…so you have to work quickly and watch your back because a gang of pigs is quite intimidating.
We only had to do 19 today, and Bert handled most of them, but I was pretty exhausted after doing my share. It was another experience I wouldn’t have guessed I would be doing just a few weeks ago…I will never forget the sound and feeling of the little piggies nasal cartilage being punctured by those metal rings.
Oh, also…some people have commented on my observation about the intelligence of pigs. Apparently they are smarter than I give them credit for. Bert told me that he once witnessed two pigs team up to carry a large log across their paddock (pasture) and throw it down on top of the electric fence enclosure, which shorted out, allowing them full access to the adjacent vegetable garden. So, on my list of observations after day one, scratch off “Pigs are not intelligent”.
I have taken a bunch of pictures, but I can’t post them just yet. We have limited bandwidth here on the farm, and I don’t want to exceed Bert’s monthly limit. But I will put them up here soon…and maybe a video to show you first hand what the morning routine is like.
I only have another week on the farm, and I’m still trying to figure out what to do next…probably head back up north in my new (used) car to finally do the backpacking trip I’ve been hoping to do before swinging back through Auckland and on to the South Island.
A bit more about the farm: I’m not alone in helping out. There is another WWOOFer, a 20-year-old German named Jan (pronounced ‘yawn’ for those who don’t sprechen sie Deutsch). Jan and I live separate from Bert and Rebecca’s house…it’s basically an apartment with a kitchen and living space, two bedrooms, and a bathroom. Very comfortable.
Today Jan and I woke up around 6:45 and did the morning routine, which includes going around to the six pens of chickens (1500 in each) and collecting eggs, feeding them cheese, changing their waters, and picking up any that have died at night (only two today). This takes about two and half hours. When we finished, we came back and made a huge breakfast of fresh sausage and eggs (we have an unlimited supply of both for free).
We were lucky today, because Burt had to take the pigs to Auckland for slaughtering so we had the afternoon off. I took a nap and then went out to do a bit more work around the farm…unloading palates of cheese and scrubbing out the egg delivery truck.
Around 5:00pm, we were finished with our duties for the day and I got to take the dirtbike out for a spin. I have a motorcycle license, but it’s been a few years since I rode a real motorcycle, and my only experience outside of our little 80cc scooter was during the four-hour practical part of the license exam. Anyhow, it was the most fun I’ve had in awhile.
The farm has a few dirt roads and some are very rocky. There is also a lot of mud down the hill near the pastures where the pigs roam. I took the bike all over the farm…spun it around in some mud, splashed through some puddles, and put it to the test on some rocks. The 200cc bike is a beast and it was so much fun to drive. I will definitely be taking it out again whenever possible.
We have very little work to do this weekend, and Jan and I can borrow the old car, so I think we might go out from the farm and do some camping. But first, we have to get through tomorrow…more pig wrangling I’m told. It’ll be early to bed again today.
I left the Bay of Islands yesterday afternoon to head south again to the town of Paparoa, in the central part of the Northland region. There is a farm here that I signed up to WWOOF on, and for the past 36 hours I’ve been getting in touch with my farmer side.
Bert and Rebecca own a 400 acre farm and they specialize in organic, free-range chickens and pigs. They collect eggs from about 9000 chickens, which are sold throughout New Zealand, Australia, and primarily the US as FRENZ brand organic eggs (ever had any?). I was told that because of the freshness of the eggs (and the international date line), it is possible to eat the eggs in the US before they’ve even been laid. Chicken farmer humor. Anyhow, they also have about 400 pigs. They kind of stumbled into pigs unintentionally, and they continue to get more and more…the sows have more piglets constantly. In addition, there are some sheep, cattle, goats, three dogs, 2 cats, and a large veggie garden.
Bert and Rebecca aren’t traditional farmers, they’re university-educated city folk who saw the market for organic farming and wanted to run their own business. They’ve had the farm here for about six years. They are great to learn from because they’ve just recently learned a lot of it themselves and they are constantly learning more.
Here’s a quick list of duties I had on my first full day on the job:
Here’s a quick list of things I learned on the farm today:
Unfortunately, I don’t have pictures of any of this yet…I was afraid to get my camera muddy or damaged, but I would have loved to get a photo of the pile of severed lamb tails after a few hours of docking. It looked like a massacre (which it kind of was). Also, the scenery here is absolutely beautiful, especially on a day as sunny as today was.
Okay, I think that’s enough for today…I need to get some rest for another big day tomorrow. I’ll try to take some pics and post them soon.
