When Leonardo painted trees, he was deprived of these/ He did not know they could unfold, such miracles of hanging gold/ Or that a honey-throated thief would come and sing past all belief/ Paean of Spring, Antipodean.

October

A month of milder weather and plenty of rain has turned the pastures lush.  Lambs that were small and gangly in September have grown plump and woolly. On the deer farms the young stags are growing fresh sets of velvety antlers. The willows at the river are in leaf, and the little willow hut built in July has burst into leaf too.  The wildlife highlight of our month happened at Mavora Lakes, around an hour's drive North East of here.  Mavora is outside the National Park so we were able to take our dog with us.  No sooner had we set foot in the bush (forest) than a little native robin came hopping towards us.  He showed no fear of us or the dog and came right to our feet.  Fortunately Moss the dog stayed perfectly calm and still, but this moment reminded us of just how vulnerable native birds are.  New Zealand is the last country in the world to have been settled by humans.  Native birds simply haven't had time to adapt and don't recognise a dog, or a human, as a threat.

While we watched the robin and the robin watched us, a pair of tiny wrens spiraled their way up a nearby tree trunk and a grey warbler whistled its lovely cascading song.  Across the lake a bellbird chimed. 

 Mavora is very worth while a visit, providing you are comfortable driving on unsealed roads.

November

The river below Mararoa Cottage is under restoration.  Five years ago, willows which had overgrown the area were bulldozed and burnt.  We were living in the cottage  at the time (while we renovated the house) and all winter we watched great piles of trees burn like the fires of Mordor below us.   In the spring, river birds returned to the area in their thousands and for the next three years we enjoyed the sight and sound of them.  However, plants want to colonize the newly cleared river flats too, and this spring the lupins have won.  The wide shingle areas where the birds nested are now smothered in pale yellow flowers.  I'd rather have birds, but I do love the colour and perfume of the lupins.  

Not far from Mararoa Cottage, along the Milford Road, more famous purple lupins also create problems for birds.  Here, a compromise has been reached and volunteers clear plants from shingle islands to give birds nesting space, while leaving plenty of plants (millions) to wow us with their blooms.   

December

December is our first Summer month, and this year it has been unusually hot and dry.  Our property is within a kilometre of two rivers, the spring-fed Whitestone, always cold, and the larger Mararoa, which this year has been both shallow enough and warm enough for swimming (we politely avoid the anglers, who are taking advantage of improved tracks along the river).  Walking off-track is no longer so pleasant as the meadows have become dry and scratchy and full of seeds that stick to our socks and the dog's paws.

On the farms around Mararoa Cottage, fawning is over and the deer have young at foot.  Earlier in the month we were lucky enough to watch one newborn fawn taking its first unsteady steps.  Adult deer are formidable looking creatures, but the young are cute as bambi.

I love the forests of Fiordland, but nothing equals being above the bushline in December.  Providing the weather is kind, the stunning views and the openness of the landscape give you a great sense of freedom.  The textures, colours, shapes and scents of the alpine plants, the bird and insect life and the striking rock formations make the effort of getting there worth it!  There are two roads into Fiordland National Park, the Milford Road (highway 94) and the unsealed Borland Road.  Both roads pass though alpine areas with walking tracks.  The blog photos were taken on Mount Burns, accessible from the Borland Road.

January

The sunny weather has continued and haymaking is over.  Guests from New York City were delighted to be able to watch hay cut and baled from the kitchen window of Mararoa Cottage as they did their breakfast dishes.  The bales are big round ones, each containing the same amount of hay as ten or twelve of the old type.  Some of the bales are wrapped tightly in plastic, causing the hay to ferment slightly and increasing its food value.  We don't make hay on our two paddock property, but every summer Paul mows a grass maze in the tiny paddock beside the cottage.  Walking around it to reach the four corners and the centre is a pleasant thing to do. A sort of walking meditation.  Unless you're a kid, of course, in which case it is a race.

Our hens had grown old and gone off the lay.  One went broody.  We got some fertile eggs from a breeder and slipped them under her.  She sat, warm and plump as a tea-cosy for twenty days, and they hatched over a weekend.   One we saw still wet and coiled in the half shell; scaly legs, serpentine neck, hungry eye - more reptile than bird.  Half an hour later it was all cute fluffiness, but I felt we'd caught it with its guard down, and seen a glimpse of TEETH (metaphorically speaking). Now, a week or two later they are growing fast and are such keen little hunters they can snatch cabbage white butterflies out of the air.