It all started with a potato.

I planted a couple of kilograms of spuds a couple of weeks ago, over the side fence in the paddock the three little pigs had kindly dug up. In a bid to hold back the kikuyu, I asked whether I might have a wooden frame to build up the potato bed in, after they'd sprouted. 

And just like that, I had four raised beds. Thanks Adman. And they were so pretty and uniform it seemed a shame to leave them in the paddock. And so much more sensible to have them in front of the kitchen window, right? 

And so, awesome man, he dug up the turf, and with Dad and the tractor hauled them into place in the garden, in front of the kitchen window. Then dumped composted green waste by the trailer load into the bottom of the beds. Shovelful after shovelful. Dad took the tractor and scooped up delicious top soil from an available paddock, and voila, we have kick arse communally raised beds. Somewhere where I can never ignore them. 

I couldn't photograph the planted-out beds today because it's raining (yippee!) and I cared more about my nice camera than the picture. The carrots are loving the rain, I can hear them squeaking with joy. 

The potatos are also squeaking, still out in the paddock, frameless, and jumping up out of the ground, soon to be hilled in neat hilly rows. I've never successfully grown anything except spinach, celery and tomatoes. I'm a salad grower. I am terrifically excited about these vegetables. Particularly those spuds. 

In other news, I've bought a breeding trio of Barred Plymouth Rocks just because I think they're gorgeous. 


I'm keeping them seperate from the layers – they have a fully turfed yard thanks to Adam the amazing turf transplant specialist. (Also squeaking joyfully in the rain.)

I recently went halves with my friend Vanessa in an incubator, with lots of pretty chicken and local poultry auction plans!

Love a pretty chicken. 

Love chickens, generally. 

No movement yet on the duck enclosure. While I'm dreaming of that, I'm plotting dairy goats (to accompany the cow.)

I just heard both Dad and Adam topple off their chairs onto the floor, reading this.

CHEESE, fellas. Cheese. And duck eggs. LOVE. Everyone OK? No head injuries there? Hello, menfolk?


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