Uninvited Farmyard Guests

Whenever I visit the family farm in Tally Valley, south-east Queensland, I head straight for the orchard and chook pen. At this time of the year, the citrus trees (oranges and lemons, grapefruit, cumquats and mandarins) are laden with fruit, and the kitembillas (Sri Lankan gooseberries ) almost ready to be picked.  I even found a ripe black sapote (or chocolate pudding fruit) under one of the trees, an early specimen. This year, however, the white cockatoos were there ahead of me.  As I walked down the hill toward the trees, I spotted one with his sulphur crest on display, getting stuck into the yellow dragonfruit (how he avoided the prickles is beyond me). Quite a few of the trees had been netted which kept the birds at bay, but those with no nets had been savagely attacked.  Big hunks of fruit had been gouged out, leaving  just the white pith and skin. It always amazes me how much damage these birds can do, especially when they decide to attack the wooden balustrade around our old Queenslander homestead. My mother tells me they love the seeds. Fortunately the cumquats were untouched (too sour?) and I was able to pick a basketful, enough to make a good batch of marmalade (see recipe). I’ve always loved the look of cumquats and the way their bright orange fruits add cheer to a grey winter day. Along with screeching cockatoos, there are also bantams and peacocks to contend with.  They scratch away under the trees, much to my mother’s annoyance, though the sight of a peacock strutting through the orchard with his tail fanned out always takes my breath away. There are ducks and geese too, some of which leave their eggs nestled under trees (they make fabulously rich frittatas). With all that birdlife, it can get pretty noisy. It’s certainly no place for the timid of heart. At night, the scratching of the peacocks on the tin roof can be most disconcerting, as can the groans of the old wooden house when the wind is up. After many decades, I’ve become accustomed to such sounds. But there is one which still terrifies me. And that is the sound of tins and bottles crashing to the pantry floor in the middle of the night.  This has happened a few times when I’ve visited, and I know it means we have an uninvited guest: a carpet snake looking for food. On this trip, however, I was in for a big shock.  While sitting at the computer one afternoon, I felt something move on my left thigh.  I looked down and on my lap saw a snake head, its tongue moving from side to side. “Arrrghhhhhhhhhh……,” I screamed and leapt up, running out of the house. “What is it, what is it?” cried my mother, who was busy in the orchard putting fertiliser around the trees. “Where is it, where is it?” she demanded, when I was able to get the words out. By the time we got back inside, all six metres of it had curled up in a tight ring under a cupboard. After much brandishing of broomsticks and hurtling of tins, we managed to get him out on the wooden verandah and firmly close the doors. But he was not to be so easily defeated. Next morning we found him down in the chook yard getting stuck into the eggs. Fortunately, a friendly beekeeper was visiting the farm that day, and knew what to do.  He managed to get the snake into a hessian bag, tie the knot, and transport him to another part of the valley. I just hope he hasn’t found his way back by the next time I visit. Note: for more farmyard tales, you might like to read a book about the farm called “Bend of the River – a family pastoral” by Jerry and Skye Rogers (Lansdowne 1998).