Sabatino Tartufi recently had an extraordinary discovery. The largest White Truffle in history was found on their farms in Umbria. Weighing in at 4.16 lbs, it is a world record!
The truffle is currently locked under security and it will be auctioned with proceeds given to charity. Further details regarding the find and auction to be released soon. Stay tuned!
On a cold rainy Saturday morning we took the kids to the museum (www.otagomuseum.govt.nz). The ‘hands on ‘ science experience’ section for kids caters for all ages and the butterflies in the tropical forest exhibit are a joy. The tropical heat was a treat, but I could not un-layer enough and was perspiring towards the end of our visit. We were in time to see a release of a batch of ‘new’ butterflies and the kids had butterflies perched on their hands and shoulders, and one of them had to be reminded that breathing would not dislodge the persistent butterfly on his arm.
But the most marvelous thing about the museum visit was the ‘science show’, presented by an enthusiastic young paleontologist. This is the type of scientist we need – the non retiring kind – a showman who can make science exciting and fun. His audience ranged from 4 (my grandson) to ancient (me) and everyone was kept on the edge of their seats throughout the show. There was smoking liquid nitrogen, water cold enough to be from the Antarctic, fossils passed around, flaming helium and exploding balloons. Wonderful stuff and the scientist kept everyone in suspense and never disappointed with the outcome of the experiment.
Congratulations to the museum for the contribution I am sure it is creating an early interest in science, especially here, in lovely Dunedin!
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I want to state that this post is not a reflection on all quail breeders in New Zealand, with whom I hope to maintain a positive relationship, but an isolated, and hopefully, rare case.
I am trying to get more good unrelated quail (Coturnix coturnix) birds to enhance my breeding programs. Lack of available birds, costs and unwillingness of some breeders to work together in my efforts to enhance the quality of the Coturnix coturnix in New Zealand has forced me to buy eggs and hatch with the hope of finding some good birds among them. Needless to say, it is an uphill battle. I am reporting here on one specific “Breeder” that has sent me three batches of eggs. The first batch had a hatching percentage of 0%. In the same machine were eggs from other breeders which have achieved hatching percentages well in excess of 60%. Consignment two is still in the incubator. Consignment three, of 100 eggs, arrived with 52 visually broken eggs and perhaps many more with hairline cracks – 13 of the unbroken eggs were under 8 g in weight (too small to incubate) – All egg yolks are a palish yellow color, pointing towards very unhealthy and underfed birds. The breakages occurred because the sender cut and stacked the egg trays in such a way that each egg tray actually rested on the eggs below, instead of having the trays supporting each other protecting the eggs (see last photo which is an example – the other photos were actual as the eggs were received). The “Breeder” refuses to reimburse or replace any eggs as he claims that the courier to be at fault. I have used the same courier for hundreds of egg consignments wit good results.
The neighbour has a garden that Monet would be proud of. She picked us this exquisite bouquet of dainty flowers and perfumed old fashioned roses. They looked so good on my ‘old fashioned’ table cloth that I had to share!
The fireworks started before dark and when I went to close the chickens at dusk I found they were sitting high up in the Ngaio tree. I tried to entice them down but when darkness fell I gave up. To protect my animals from stoats, hedgehogs, cats, dogs and all the wild things, real or imaginary, that roam the back yard at night I make sure that everyone is in and closed up properly. After a final check around the yard, with the racket of the fireworks still going on all around, I went to bed, hoping that nothing would get at my chickens.
At 1 am Alvin, the rooster, perched high in the tree, bathed in bright moonlight as well as the light of a new street lamp and fireworks still going, looked out over ‘his’ valley and registered his joy by crowing. The rejoicing went on and on. Every crow louder and clearer than the preceding one and probably heard by neighbours kilometers away. Mrs Back Yard Farmer, a light sleeper, started muttering at the initial crow, the mutterings grew louder and transformed into threats regarding wrung necks and then degenerated into some impressive swearing in at least two languages. By 4 am Mrs BYF had enough. It was when she rose from her bed like the proverbial phoenix, incandescent with rage, I realised that I did not take into account the most dangerous wild thing that could roam the back yard – an angry Mrs BYF. Armed with a few brooms and the flashlight on her phone she braved the dark, wet steps at the back door, located the rooster in the tree and threw brooms at him until he fluttered to the ground and took refuge under the coop. Mrs BYF, thinking her job was done, started the perilous journey back to the house only to hear a loud crow behind her. This time she tried to find the rooster, intending to murder him if she got her hands on him, throwing stuff at him as she went.
By daybreak Mrs BYF had returned to her bed and I pretended to be dead. Should there ever be a repeat of this Guy Fawkes night I am certain that the only thing that will save my neck is the lack of a big enough pot. The rooster will be cooked.
Back Yard Farmer 