Just like Dad's

Decided that I needed a change of scenery this afternoon, and got in the car and drove further out along the peninsula. And went to Scandrett Bay; known by Maori as Purahurawai, meaning the expansive sparkling waters. In 1998 the Auckland Regional Council bought the farm known by the Scandrett family as Lisadian. This Pakeha family had owned and farmed the land since July 1864. The purchase by the Council was in order to develop another Regional Park for the people of Auckland to enjoy. 

It took a number of years of negotiations to develop the property, which continues to have sheep and cattle in the fields. Some beachside baches were removed, although at least one is able to be rented for a beachside stay. The Regional Park was officially opened in 2004, by then Prime Minister Helen Clarke.

Unlike many similar old farms, not only the old homestead, but a number of the farm buildings remain, including this milking shed. I recognised it, in the sense that it is the same design, and size as the one on my father's farm, where I spent the first eleven years of my life. To the right of the milking stalls is a small "separator room". At least I will call it that, as the milk was pumped from the cups we had put on the cows, into a vat in the room, where it then was passed through a separator.

The separator used centrifugal force to separate cream from the milk, the cream going into cans to be put out for collection to be taken to the butter factory in Paeroa. So as to not waste the "skinny milk" Dad had some pigs who were fed the milk.

This shed brought a lot of memories back.

Before I noticed the shed and really looked at it, I had walked along the length of the small beach of Purahurawai. Fairly soon, I was subject to alarm calls by a Tuturiwhatu which ran alongside me. There was an altercation between that dotterel and its mate (which had run out to join it) and a pair from further along the beach. Having seen off the first pair, one of the second pair screeched and ran towards me, puffing itself out and adopting a threatening posture each time it stopped and "eyed" me. When I turned and walked back the way I had come, it was satisfied, and the calls stopped.

I was certainly seen as an interloper. There is an area on bank and sand around which is strung some sort of rope to discourage humans from interfering with the nesting of Tuturiwhatu and also oystercatchers.