Piggy love

A farmer for a day

There was a time when your ‘country cousins’ were actually blood relatives. They had a farm way out the bush somewhere, kept a few cows and pigs, and you went to visit them during the holidays when you were kids. You collected the eggs, played in the barn, and ate vegetables for tea pulled from the garden.

But with farms becoming larger and 85 per cent of Australians now living in urban areas, the chances of being related to a real farmer are pretty slim. Country cousins are now the tiny twigs of the family tree, and the gap between people from the city and people from ‘the bush’ is getting wider.

Does it matter if town kids haven’t visited a farm? Does it matter if they don’t know the difference between a boar and a sow, a heifer and a steer? Will their life be worse if they haven’t held a warm egg straight from a chook’s bum?

They'll probably still grow up to be good wholesome people without these experiences, but there is a thing called Nature Deficit Disorder – it describes the human cost of being alienated from nature. If children don’t get regular contact with the environment they can have trouble concentrating, get anxious, become depressed, and get fat. We all know that, but now there’s a name for it, and a movement to get kids playing more outside.

We had a great response to our request for volunteers to help us plant 600 native trees in a shelterbelt. More than 30 people rocked up, most we’d never met, wearing gumboots and carrying digging gear. And perhaps that’s an indication of the desire of people to get outside and get their hands dirty. One’s man’s work is another man’s novelty nature experience.

Guy gave them the full tour of the pigs, while Eliza cooked up pork shoulders and bellies, and as lunch was digesting the kids all had a cuddle of a piglet. Now that’s paddock-to-plate education.

One tree planter told us we’d ‘restored her faith in community spirit’, and it was lovely to hear the sounds of strangers chatting and laughing, birds calling, and stakes being hammered in.

Thank you to all our volunteers, we hope you can continue to be involved in the farm and watch your trees grow.

On a cold and frosty morning

As the sun peeped out from behind Mount Dial this morning we met our first calf born on the farm. 'Licorice' had given birth to a heifer overnight.

Licorice (nee Allsorts) is a cow Guy reared a few years ago, and we saved her from being choppered. She's a cross between Jersey, Ayrshire, and Friesian - that means she's a super milk producer.

She's been teasing us for a few days: sticking her tail out, starting to make milk, and spending time by herself. All signs of an imminent calving. But she strung it out, increasing the anticipation.


It's truly amazing how much life calves have when they're born. This one was jumping around as I took photos, and wanting to investigate beyond the gate, with little thought of mum.

Puss also thought it important to meet the newest member of the family. She knows about piglets, but calves? They'll take a bit of getting used to.

The pleasure and pain of rain

There's an amazing sense of security in a full dam - even though we don't use the water for anything.

We pump our house and livestock water from the spring that runs all year on the other side of the property. Last year our top dam filled in July when we had more than 100mm of rain over a weekend. Our neighbours, who have lived in the road for years, said they'd never seen it full till then.

This year it's overflowing again.

So far for August we've had 210.4mm, which is pretty reasonable. The weather man says the rainfall on the north-west coast this month has been average to above-average. It's funny how we forget what's normal. A couple of dry winters, then this, and we feel like we're on Noah's Ark (the rare animal breeds add to the illusion).

While it's lovely hearing the soil slurp up the moisture ready for summer, we're a bit sick of the mud. Even the pigs are getting a bit sick of the mud - really.

We're pleased the forecast for our tree planting weekend is fine, fine, fine.

However, with the soil as saturated as it is, the mud's not going to go away immediately. If you're coming to plant with us, don't forget your gumboots!

Sharing a love of shelterbelts

Increasing biodiversity by using sustainable farm practices is one of the main aims of Mount Gnomon Farm. Eliza and I actually met when I was working as a Landcare coordinator, and she (journalist) interviewed me about different Landcare projects that were happening in north-west Tasmania. It was almost inevitable that a few years later we are putting into practice some of those things we talked about on our own property.

One of the main goals of Landcare is to find a balance between biodiversity and production. In my Landcare job one of the most rewarding things I did was develop a project on native shelterbelts. The project resulted in the printing of a booklet about the benefits of growing native shelterbelts, and some tips for farmers on shelterbelt design. It’s exciting to see farmers in the region now using the guidelines in the booklet and installing shelterbelts on their farms.

Last year we put in two of our shelterbelts: 600 native plants organised into three rows per belt. Each row has its own attributes. The first row is made up of small native shrubs like tea trees and needle bush (hakea). These plants will give lots of dense shelter, but they also make suitable nesting and feeding habitat for native birds. The mid row is made up of taller trees, such as eucalypts and blackwoods - trees that will reduce wind and provide shade. Eucalypts also provide feed for birds. The third layer is tall shrubs or mid-sized trees. This row provides more habitat, but also helps guide the wind over the taller mid row.

By having three rows of diverse and complementary local natives, a shelterbelt creates vital habitat for native animals. While there are healthy stands of remnant bush in north-west Tasmania, it’s often fragmented and bird surveys show that some species are disappearing from certain locations. Native shelterbelts help make a link between habitats – they’re a protective corridor. They also extend native habitat further onto farms, so more of the farm will see the benefits of birds eating pest grubs and insects.

Shelter on farms is really important for free range pig production, as pigs have limited ability to regulate their own temperature. While the temperate climate of the north-west suits free range pigs, in winter and spring the pigs need protection from the cold south-westerly winds, and in summer they need shade.

Shelterbelts will reduce Mount Gnomon Farm’s carbon footprint. The shelterbelts are 10 metres wide, the minimum width requirement for carbon sequestration and future carbon trading. Pigs aren’t ruminants, so they produce less carbon emissions than sheep or cattle, but our free rangers do root up the ground, which quickly releases soil carbon. Farmers have traditionally stopped their pigs from digging by putting a ring in their snouts, and while this would help cut the carbon emissions on our farm, we think that animal welfare should come before the environment in this case. Planting trees around our property is one step to balance this out.

This winter we’re putting in another two shelterbelts. We got more than 600 seedlings sitting in the garden waiting for somebody to plant them. While we enjoy planting trees, we’d love you to come and join us and learn how to install a native shelterbelt. We’re planning a big day on Sunday August 29. Eliza will cook a Wessex Saddleback roast for lunch with home-grown organic veggies for everyone ... plus some other treats I suspect too. If you would like to join us, send us an email, we plan to start at around 10am.