Rural Ramblings: Wild weather makes for funny old summer

The weather has been wet and hot this summer in Northland. Photo / 123RF

Well it's been a funny old summer in Northland — rain, more rain and then, even more rain. It's hard to remember there was a time back in December when we were concerned our tanks (under heavy pressure from the return of the university students and assorted hangers-on) might run dry.

The rain arrived just in time for our neighbours — the timer on their garden watering system malfunctioned so their vegetables were drenched all night, almost emptying their tank, and they had to ration hard to make it through.

My sister and her husband, new to life on tank water, accidentally left the sprinkler watering their just-planted lawn all night and struggled along until the rain saved them.

It's odd to see things looking so green in mid-February, when it's usually dry and brown.

And with the added humidity, sometimes it's felt like we're living in the tropics.

Our elderly, obese chocolate labrador struggles with the heat and humidity and despite our best efforts to cool him, his noisy panting and grunting is a soundtrack for every sweltering summer evening. At least he's not bothered by thunderstorms, because we've had a few of them, too. On the contrary, he wags his tail in appreciation for every thunderclap.

The other farm dogs aren't so sanguine about loud storms. Jack and Jess, terrified by thunder during afternoon milking, sought shelter in the farm dairy office, cowering as far back as possible under the computer desk.

Unfortunately, they hid themselves so well that when everyone locked up to go home, nobody noticed the two scared dogs tucked under the furniture. Two very sad faces pressed against the ranch slider window greeted the first person at milking the next morning.

The warmth and moisture have proved ideal conditions for breeding flies, possibly my least favourite insect. I've spent the last couple of months waging war on the little beasts with fly traps, sticky paper, sprays and swats, but every time I think I'm winning, another wave invades the house and make themselves at home on every surface.

It's most satisfying to vacuum them up — the other day I spent a happy half hour counting them as I sucked them up, reaching 250. A blast of fly spray down the tube afterwards and it felt like a job well done.

It seems the warm, wet weather isn't finished with us yet. As I write, the remains of a tropical cyclone barrels towards us — bearing a truckload more precipitation (the tanks are now overflowing) and I see the weather forecasters predict a storm and rain-filled autumn for us, as well. No drought this year.

It wasn't great timing for our lawnmower to break down — it's never been a reliable machine, but this time it's given up for good. Right now, looks as though we could cut hay out there, but all the local mowing businesses are too frantically busy to visit our lawn.

I imagine this is normally their quiet time of year, but everyone's lawn has gone crazy. We've bought a new mower, but that's at least a week away from being delivered and in the meantime, we're turning into a tropical jungle.

I'm just glad that we live in a country without snakes because otherwise I'd be feeling wary about what lurks in the undergrowth.