Diversity of life in the bush

Beautiful RAIN

One of the fascinating aspects of our new lifestyle is that the daily routine is so often unpredictable. We do plan of course … every Sunday over roast dinner we discuss the week’s activities. But a plan in the bush is only ever a loose guide as it can all be thrown to the wind. 

Perhaps it rains (to be so lucky) or there is always the threat of the inevitable flat tyre. The Traprock can be unforgiving in more ways than one! 

All too-frequent flat tyre

Check out the nail in the quad bike!?!?!

This is even worse if it happens to a tractor tyre. The tractor not working is very serious, as it means no ability to put out bales of hay/feed for the stock, no way to unload deliveries or move heavy machinery around … the list goes on. No tractor can be crippling to a day’s work.

Or your day might be disrupted because you find the stock are on the road, or in the neighbour’s or worse, the heifers are in with the bull … they do go looking for trouble!

Perhaps the Jehovah’s Witnesses turn up at the door. Can you believe it? They come more regularly than you would expect … driving for an hour or more to say “Hello” and basically chat about nothing and leave some literature which is destined for the burn bin before they have reached the gate. Why do they bother? Actually, last time I asked them not to come any more. Chris made the mistake of engaging them in philosophical discussion for sport one visit. Regrettable! He became a target, then, identified as someone ‘searching’. Little did they know he’d hide when the car pulled up at the gate after that.

Sometimes the extreme heat can drive you inside forcing you to abandon a more physically demanding task. We’ve been severely dehydrated on more than one occasion. It can creep up on you without you realising. In winter a nasty bitterly cold wind can keep you in, though Chris often goes out regardless.

You might run out of fuel and need to order a new delivery. Can’t do much without diesel to run the vehicles nor unleaded to run the pumps, bikes etc.

Solving water problems

There may be no running water in the house or the other day the waste water wouldn't drain away. Problems like that can’t wait; they take over.

Or there might be a power outage … that can be crippling  - no internet connection, no two-way radio! As our water pressure relies on a pump, no power means no running water in the house – no shower, no water to re-fill the toilet cistern (eek). At least you can plug in a crappy old phone for emergencies.

But despite all these intrusions, you know what? The awesome thing is that it doesn't really matter. This lifestyle means we can be adaptable and let our day develop anyway it wants. It just means rearranging a few priorities. As long as it gets done, it doesn't really matter whether it’s today or tomorrow.

Wouldn't change it for the world ... my day is my own and I love it.

Country women and their gardens ...

Many country women take great pleasure in their gardens. It’s one thing I’ve struggled with in coming to live in the bush. I’m not a keen gardener as I’d rather be in the office writing. But I’ve worked at it (with some help) and I have to say after five years, my garden is gradually improving. This year some visitors even commented, “Margot, the garden is looking lovely.” I was very proud as no one has ever said that to me before!

Spectacular colours

But today I had delight in sharing my neighbour’s triumph for a little while at “Cooinda” near Stanthorpe. Margaret Finlay’s spectacular array of colours and hidden delights took my breath away as I explored her substantial garden (which has grown over the years requiring the garden gate be pushed back again and again). 

The garden Gate

Contrasting colours

As I wandered, enjoying Margaret’s “contrasting colours” which appear random but I’m sure have been meticulously placed, I couldn’t help noticing the birds darting and diving around us chorusing the crickets and cicadas. I wasn’t the only one enjoying the garden. I'm told sometimes they are so loud it’s difficult to talk!

Margaret followed along contributing the names of the plants and telling me the story of her garden which echoes the story of her family. The Finlays have had their fair share of tragedy in recent years including losing a daughter and daughter-in-law to cancer. Her garden has become, in many respects, a memorial, nurturing family tributes to members now lost, amongst gifts from concerned loved ones and family eccentricities.

The garden has become Margaret’s life. It’s her work, her hobby, her passion … her retreat. I can’t see me ever achieving anything so heart-stopping at Spring Creek Station but I have to admire what Scott and Margaret have achieved. They’ve created a garden that the family loves to share for weddings, parties, barbeques, tennis tournaments. I imagined imbibing a casual glass of wine amongst the beautiful gums that have been gradually subsumed and provide a stunning contrast to the shrubs and bushes set around them.

It’s impossible not to be infected by Margaret’s enthusiasm. She made me realise a good garden is a learning journey: what works where; the importance of mulching, when to touch and when to leave alone. I shall have to visit again soon. I only scratched the surface! 

If you are interested and live nearby, they are having an open garden on 2^nd and 3^rd November (http://www.opengarden.org.au/regions/qld_calendar.html). It’s $7.00 entry and proceeds raised support Kim Walter’s Choices Program based at the Wesley Hospital in Brisbane. I guess they wanted to give back a little. They certainly inspired me.

Margaret & Scott Finlay, "Cooinda"

Rousabouting

I finally got an opportunity to work in a shearing shed … something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time.

The music comes on, the motors start up … game on! The pace is fairly frenetic … set by the shearers. They get paid by the fleece so they work hard. 

Ricky hard at work

I didn’t really know what to do but had to learn fast or those fleeces would bank up and you can’t let that happen. As soon as the fleece is off, the shearer’s through the door dragging along the next sheep. The rousabout has to grab the fleece (in a special way) and throw it onto the classing table. The better you throw the fleece, the easier and quicker it is to work.

I did some shockers! They would end up more in a bundle and it was hard to tell top from bottom. Oops. The head is always supposed to be at one end but I truly had trouble finding it a few times. Thank God for the expert classer on hand to help.

I did throw a few good ones

But I did manage to throw a couple of beauties, very proud of that! And the only way to learn is to keep trying, and so I did.

Once the fleece is thrown, you have to work (usually in pairs) to pull off the skirting, then the neck and shanks and finally you separate the back. There are bins around the room for all the different bits.

Then you start again … in a hurry as the next fleece is waiting. If you do manage to catch up to the shearers, there is wool to be swept, bins to be emptied, bales to be trampled. So it goes for eight hours (with regular breaks of course).

It was tough at times. It makes you pull up for a second when you clamp down hard on an unseen prickle or burr. Perhaps worst of all was that nasty prickly pear whose needles are so fine they are difficult to get out! I can see a seasoned shed hand would need toughened skin. Working with the belly piece to pull out the stained bits (from urine) was not so nice a job … especially when the poor wether was fly-blown.  Eek!

The sheep are surprisingly compliant and quiet. They rarely bleat and seem mesmerised by the whole affair. They tell me it’s only because the shearer knows how to handle them. Despite a few nicks and an undignified look on departure (looking very skinny), they don’t really seem to mind. Perhaps they’re glad to be rid of all that weight.

Marie looking dignified

The camaraderie in the shed is uplifting. A good team working hard together brings a feeling of accomplishment at the end of the day.

I think I’ll be back in that shearing shed sometime. It was a little addictive and somehow an experience tied up with my sense of being Australian. After all, shearing and shearing sheds shadow the myths of our past as a fledgling nation created by our hardworking pioneers … and now I’ve shared just a tiny part.

I seriously thought I was good at mustering!

It's easy to get carried away with your own abilities sometimes. I’ve even boasted about my exploits amongst the Traprock Group at social events. Oops!

Ha! How wrong I was. 

We set off yesterday on a fairly routine work detail – to muster one of our breeding herds into the yards (which are in the paddock they are currently grazing).

Simple, should only take a couple of hours … until we came across our bull on the road.

He had jumped the fence, no doubt that sniffing impulse they have (they raise their head and flair their nostrils, quit disgusting really) had brought a cycling cow to his attention ... on the other side of the fence. He was now grazing with a few of the neighbour’s crew.  So, our first job was to get him back. He wasn’t far from the front gate, should have been a quick and easy rescue. Simple!

We edged them down the road and got them to the gate which was open, ready and waiting. All was going well ... until, a Belted-Galloway cross, mad as a meat axe, took off full pelt. That set us on a very merry chase indeed in country we don’t know well, rough country. My abilities were stretched to the max … no, I’m lying … I couldn’t keep up! Christopher took off on his two-wheeler in hot pursuit as he charged through the thick re-growth, bouncing over logs and bumpy ground, traversing gullies and gorges.

Maybe it's just because the bike is new????

He soon disappeared and I crept along behind trying to track him by the sound of his bike. I did manage to catch up (pretty impressed I managed to do that!) just as he had them pinned to a fence. It should have been an easy muster down to the fence back to our gate.

(Chris admitted later, he didn’t even know I'd come up behind him - shows how much confidence he had in my mustering ability!)

But the unpredictable happened yet again! That naughty Belted-Galloway took off at full pace straight into the middle of the scrub. I'm sure our poor bull would have been quite happy to toddle home, But I guess, perhaps, he had another agenda on his mind.  Hmm … whatever ... he followed her.

A more sedate type of muster ... my type

I gave up and was left parked under a tree in some shade confronting the reality of my still yet developing mustering skills. It wasn't long before I couldn't even hear Christopher.
It seems I have no problem, moving our well-trained, well-behaved stock around familiar territory. But mustering isn’t always so predictable, as I was reminded yesterday.

Now I'll have to learn to say, "I'm okay at mustering ... most of the time." Sigh, but at least I'm better than when we first started!

Sunday Roast Lunch

Moving from the city to the bush was, as you can imagine a massive adjustment. I was quite lost for the first few years in lots of ways (and I still have trouble deciding what to wear each morning). So to create some structure and routine, I decided to implement some rituals. For example, morning tea is big everyday with home made cappuccinos and home backing. We always have a barbeque on Friday nights – to mark the end of the week. But it’s often too cold in winter, so it’s difficult to adhere to all year round (though we always make sure we have Friday drinks!).

But there is one ritual we’ve implemented that has stuck and we follow it quite religiously. Why … because we LOVE it. That of is course, Sunday Roast Lunch!

There are a lot of reasons why this particular ritual works so well and why we really miss it when we don’t get to enjoy it for some reason or another.

We love it so much because …

Firstly, we target the roast being ready for 2pm which means Sunday becomes the only day Chris knocks off early. If we didn’t have roast lunch, Sunday would just be like any other day.

Because I cook them so regularly, I’ve mastered the process. The roast comes out juicy, tender and mouth-watering.

Tender and mouth watering

Chris has refined his carving skill which also helps to guarantee tenderness. The veggies are also cooked to perfection – the potatoes crispy and coated in garlic, rosemary and olive oil. The other veggies are lightly tossed in cumin and chilli flakes with just a little olive oil … yum!

Crispy potatoes

The meat is typically home grown … either a beast we’ve prepared with grain for a few months, or one of our pigs grown out in our custom built pig pen, or it could be a sheep we’ve fed and prepared just for the purpose. All are slaughtered and butchered on site. Yes, it’s quite confronting and definitely a reality check to realise how the meat bought in the supermarket is actually prepared. But it’s also kind of satisfying growing and eating your own meat. It makes you feel self-sufficient.

 

But most of all, it’s just the experience of the meal itself: a few glasses of our favourite sparkling to warm us up to the meal; the spread of dishes enhanced by delicious homemade gravy; sitting on the deck enjoying the rural view and the sound of the birds. It’s a good time to reflect on achievements and plan the upcoming week and of course enjoy our favourite topic of conversation (in between world economics, philosophy and religion) – our children, all of whom we are very proud.

 

Sunday roast lunch is the best. I can’t wait for the next one.

Max

We have just experienced the interesting opportunity over the last three weeks, of hosting a young 16-year-old lad from Germany. Max, the nephew of a very good friend of mine, wanted to have a farm experience during his summer holidays. We planned it several months in advance.

Apart from enjoying having someone to look after for a little while (the tragic empty-nester syndrome) having Max in the house, whose first language is not English,  has given me an opportunity to see my language and culture in a new light.

Max’s English (currently B but he hopes to turn it into an A next year) is very good but of course we use many colloquialisms, not taught in the classroom, and we are totally unaware that we use them.

For example, we were out working on a fence. Max was busy putting on droppers, a task he had just learned how to do. I asked him “Are you getting the hang of it?” He didn’t answer. I reflected on my choice of words (as I’ve had to do often over the last few weeks). Why the hell do we use the word “hang” in that context? Weird. But there are lots of examples just like that. For example, we use “ridiculous” and “hilarious” in not quite the same way those words were originally intended. He had to adjust to "Hi" and "Righto".

Another example is “Good on you!” What does that mean exactly? Funny when you stop to think about it.

All this has reinforced an appreciation of a definition of language I read some time ago while studying my Master of Arts. “Language is an agreement within a social group as to the meaning of a word” [Umberto Eco]. We take our language for granted in Australia, particularly, I think because we rarely hear any other languages day to day, especially in the bush. I realise this is maybe changing in the city.

Max also made me look at my own prejudice towards Aboriginals … a prejudice I would have denied vehemently that I held. But prejudices can be so deeply ingrained in our culture that it’s “normal”, and we don’t “see” them. It came about while watching a news program and a young aboriginal woman was exhorting other young aboriginal women to follow her example in joining the armed forces. I made a derogatory comment about her use of the English language when I heard her say “Other womens should get out there and have a go”. Max challenged me by pointing out that English is not her first language. My quick retort was, “Yes, but she was born in Australia.” I didn’t think much about it at the time, but my mind kept coming back to it. My self-reflection forced me to confront the intolerant and prejudicial nature of my retort which didn’t take into account the known disadvantages she likely encountered in her education (and life) … interesting how a visitor from another culture can make you confront attitudes.

So while we are looking forward to returning to our normal routine, Max shall be missed and he will leave me pondering the use of language, culture and world perspectives. We have certainly had some very interesting conversations!

Max at sunset drinks

Max at work

Max on the bob cat

Highs and Lows of Travel

Travel is usually an exciting affair though I must admit, as I’m aging, it can be a bit daunting. We have just returned from a trip to Dubai to meet our new granddaughter, Livia, and I took the opportunity to duck over to Germany while so close.

Having a daughter working for Emirates brings benefits. But cheap travel comes at a cost. Standby is high risk and you never know exactly what might happen and so started our trip, which saw us waiting at Brisbane airport for 7 hours only to be sent home. We got on a flight the next night though, but I think all the stress took its toll. I’ve never been sick on a plane before, but our leg from Singapore to Dubai was a nightmare. I came down with a severe migraine and unfortunately for me, the pain becomes so intense that I start vomitting … and it doesn’t stop, not until the headache passes, which can take days. It was 7 hours of HELL! The crew and other passengers were amazing and really looked after me as did Chris. You can imagine how relieved I was to get off the plane, even though I had to be taken in a wheelchair to the Emirates Airport medical centre (amazing facility) to rehydrate and recover enough to get out of the airport!

Bathing Livia

But of course once recovered, it was all worth it to meet our little granddaughter and reconnect with our two grandsons. We have a daughter, Zoe and a son, Neal and his wife Lauren, living in the UAE. It is precious time with them, to understand their lifestyles and experience the extremes of Dubai – the multi-culturalism, 5 star shopping malls, the desert and other developments. This is the hottest time of the year in the Middle East – 40° to 45° and it doesn’t cool down much at night. You live in air-conditioning. So it was a relief, climate-wise, to move to the next leg of my journey, visiting my good friend, Birgit, in Frankfurt where the summer was more tepid. Of course, my anxiety levels were high getting back on that plane! Fortunately the trip was awesome and my travel-legs regained.

Lush landscape

Germany is stunningly beautiful. What a place, breathtaking. Though I have been there once before, this time I fell in love. The countryside is so lush and despite the high population density, the landscape is dotted with forests and fields such that you have a sense of openness. I admire the German’s for their organisation, structure and dependability. The cities, towns and villages are full of character, history and interest. It was so lovely to stroll around the malls on cobbled streets with alfresco dining everywhere. I can’t wait to go back.

Cobbled shopping malls

I returned to Dubai to see the family again and break up the journey home (especially after what happened on the way over). All was good. Ramadan had started. State and Church are not separate in Dubai, so it’s law. You cannot be seen eating or even drinking water in public all day … interesting. The family decided to enjoy Iftar (the breaking of the fast at sundown). Many of the hotels cater for this special meal and it was an opportunity to appreciate some Muslim culture at its best. We had a lovely evening … until Lauren and I awoke at 4 am in the morning with vomitting and diarrhoea! The day before I was due to fly home! Can you believe it?

We recovered within a few hours fortunately and I was able to tackle the journey home – 2 kilos lighter than when I had arrived.

But despite the ups and downs, I’m still hooked on travel and can’t wait to go again. I guess it’s just all part of the travel package. But I do hope to avoid any more vomitting during future ventures!

For the love of Country

Nicole Alexander says the inspiration and motivation for her writing comes from her desire to communicate the grazier’s deep love of and commitment to their land.

We’ve been at Spring Creek now for over eight years and although I understand Nicole is talking about generations of graziers managing, nurturing and developing their properties, I’ve had an inkling of what that feels like, even in my short time on the land.

The Grand Entrance

Several times recently, when driving back from town or back from a visit somewhere, I’ve had an inner stirring, a sense of pride, as I’ve driven down the road, approaching our grand entrance (it’s not really that grand but we are proud of it). It’s not that Spring Creek is looking its best at the moment. The winter cold and frosts have snuffed the green landscape. Though, thankfully, we still have plenty of grass from a good summer season, it has hayed off and gone brown.

The colours of the Traprock

But it’s weird, it’s that “hayed off” colour that I find so charming and appealing. It’s the colour of the Traprock.

We  spent last weekend visiting friends on their beautiful block outside Kyogle. The Richmond River district is such different country to the Traprock – green and lush. Though I thoroughly enjoyed imbibing their landscape for a while, I have to say, I’ve realised there is something far more endearing about the Traprock, despite its coarse surfaces, rocky outcrops and shaly valleys.

It has a rugged appeal of its own that I have truly come to appreciate.

I never thought I would have said this. I remember driving around the block with the previous owner, checking it out, considering the purchase. I sat in the back. I was quiet. I was overwhelmed with its size and the amount of work required to make it look “nice”.

But I’ve realised you never really make the Traprock look “nice”. There will always be fallen logs, dead trees, stump holes and regrowth. That’s part of the Traprock charm. (Yet it’s amazing what a few hours in the dozer can do to clean and clear some space.)

We’ve done a lot work. We’ve made a lot of improvements. We’ve built and repaired a lot of fences. We’ve made it home and I’m starting to feel that stirring deep within when I leave and return.

I’m surprised myself to actually feel that … maybe I even love Spring Creek. 

Been MOOC'd lately?

In making the leap from the corporate office to running a cattle property, I had to go through numerous adjustments ... as you can imagine.
My work at Virgin Blue was implementing change at the corporate level. I was bumping heads with strong-willed general managers. It was extremely intellectually challenging to navigate their ambitions yet change their ways of working to help consolidate a young, fast growing company.
In coming to Spring Creek, I missed the fiery, stimulating intellectual debate my relationships at VB had afforded me.
I've had to look for new avenues for intellectual stimulation.
It's not that living in the bush isn't intellectually challenging at times. You are more often than not drawn into significant problem solving - the dozer stuck in a dam, the fallen windmill that has to be re-erected ... and these are more frequent occurrences than most would like.

Cute Jewish Professor

But ... it's different.
Then I discovered MOOC's (Massive Open On-line Courses)! They are brilliant. They are delivered over the internet, they're free and they're university standard.

The view from my office

I've just finished my first one: Neurons, Synapses and the Brain.
I sat in my remote farm house, looking out across the paddock, listening to a cute Jewish professor instruct me on the intricacies of neuroscience - at the perfect level for my current understanding. Brilliant!

A dendritic tree - a neural network

Discovering www.coursera.org has definitely filled a hole for me.
I now understand the current thinking and research on the workings of the brain. Why do I want to know about that, you ask?
Of course it isn't just for the pure fun of it ... it's research for my next book.
But overall, I guess it's about finding my way in a remote, isolated community. I still want to grow and develop and learn. I want to think along new lines and explore new avenues such as ... do we really have free will or are our actions dictated by the neural networks in our brain? Now that's an interesting debate and has sparked a few conversations.
Can't wait for my next MOOC and to see where that will lead my thinking!

Stealing Babies

As I've often mentioned, there are lots of emotional challenges running a cattle grazing property. One thing I don't really look forward to is ... weaning time!
Each year, just before winter, we have to take the calves away from their mothers.
Going into winter, our dry season, is tough on all the stock but particularly lactating mothers. Mums need to eat a lot of grass to sustain themselves as well as feed a 250kg calf. Cows can quickly lose condition when the protein store in the grass depletes.
It's better for cow and calf to be separated so we can provide the best care.
Having said all that ... they don't like it all!!!!

It's very noisy...
The mothers stand around calling and calling to their calves and their calves call back night and day.






The cows glare whenever you come near, their eyes pleading "Please give me back my calf!"

 And the poor things ... their udders are bursting.

But after three days and three nights, it's all over. The mums give up and we muster them to their winter paddock. The calves stay in the yards for a bit longer to make sure they are quite calm. Then they are released into a paddock near the house so we can keep a watchful eye on them.

All in all, it's a rather traumatic experience for all concerned and I'm always glad when it's over. It's hard to sleep with all that racket. At last it's done ... until next year. Sigh!

Rikki - Our Poddy

It’s tragic when you come across one of your cows struggling to stay alive. Such was Rikki’s mother when we found her – too late, her afterbirth not released had become septic. There was nothing merciful to do but shoot her. She could barely stand.

But what of her little calf – just a few days old? We managed to run her down, catch her, take her home and name her. She was terrified the poor little thing.

Morning feeding

Though she was depressed for about a week, she adapted quickly and learned to suckle the bottle the first day. She bonded with us too and was most upset when we retreated inside the house. She would stand at the back door, trying to get in.

Standing at the back door

Being empty-nesters, both Chris and I embraced the opportunity to look after someone again. We’re quite pathetic really, LOVING having someone dependent once more. The twice daily feeding regime was no burden at all.

But we couldn’t maintain her emotional dependence on us … tempting as it was. So we relegated her to one of the paddocks near the house holding some of last year’s offspring. She could make some new friends.

Each morning, Rikki would stand at the gate bleating, calling for her bottle. But it was never enough. She always wanted more, her sucking reflex so strong, driving her. Also, you had to be ready for her reflex to nudge the udder (which normally would release her mother’s milk). A sharp, sudden head butt could catch you off guard in awkward places (particularly for Christopher!).

Though it’s probably socially improper to share this with you, some of her new friends liked to take advantage of her sucking reflex. Some quickly switched on steers, would stand close by waiting for the end of her feed whereby she would happily oblige them by finding something else to suck … I’ll leave it to your imagination! These are the realities of living at close quarters with wild beasts who exhibit none of our social constraints!

Waiting at the gate

Though Rikki is more independent now, we still love her. It’s nice to give her a hug and she loves having her belly rubbed. I’m glad she wasn’t a young bull as we will be able to integrate her into our breeding herd eventually. Young bulls (once turned into steers) go off to market at the appropriate weight. That would have been a sad day.

But then I always feel a little sad when the young steers and heifers go off to market. Life as a grazier is full of emotional challenges but, I guess, saying goodbye to your well-cared-for stock, is a minor one when all things are considered.

At least I won't have to say goodbye to Rikki ... not for a long time anyway.

Black Sabbath

A fan of heavy metal? Me neither. In fact I hate it so much I usually want to turn if off within a few minutes. But Chris has been a dedicated fanatic, following Ozzie Osborne’s career forever. It’s interesting that after all the years of listening to Black Sabbath blaring in the CD player while working in the paddock, the kids and I have actually developed a deep affection for them!

That’s why it was so exciting when we heard that Black Sabbath was coming to Brisbane! The kids chipped in and the tickets made a great Chrissie present. Chris would get to see his idol, Ozzie Osborne, LIVE.

He was a bit nervous though, I have to say. $160.00 a ticket hurts on any account but it wasn’t just the price; he was concerned about the band. Let’s face it, like us, they aren’t getting any younger! And the band members have been hard on their bodies and abused themselves severely over the years with drugs and excesses. Ozzie is an old man. Would he and the guys really be up to it? Would they give us our money’s worth?

Sold out

Well, on Anzac day we set out to find out.

What a night! It’s hard to describe the experience. We sat at the back of the Boondall Entertainment centre, amongst the black t-shirts and dread locks, looking down on the mosh pit and the press of fans (it was sold out).

Explosions of sound and light

The band took stage. I couldn’t help but marvel at how two guitarists, a drummer and one singer could manage to create such an explosion of music and sound and, well … life, which filled the massive auditorium. It even made my tummy vibrate.

As well as the sound, the stage was electric with light works, video projections and enigmatic performances by each member of the band.

We were in the presence of majestic talent and we were absolutely enthralled by every living precious moment of it. There was something magical and mesmerising about watching the performance of so many songs you have listened to over the years, unfolding before you … LIVE.

We didn’t want it to end.

We watched Ozzie worshipped by his fans and he gave his all back. He commanded the stage as he always has. His pitch may have been off slightly in one or two songs with a register now too low for his aging voice box, but he nailed it just the same.

Savouring the memory

Did Chris enjoy it? Well, he’s got the tickets stuck to the wall next to his desk in the office, wanting to keep the memory fresh for as long as possible.

But there is something about the visceral, ephemeral nature of a live performance that is captured for that moment, then lost. Though, I can say that even today, the memory lives within me. I don’t want to forget it. I won’t let it go.

For a few hours I was young again and I LOVED it.

A Motley Crew!

When we first came to the Traprock, one experience I looked forward to was … the cattle sales yards! It was a new market and we had to learn how it worked. The first one we attended was in Goondiwindi and I have to say, what struck me most was … what a motley crew!

I was used to boardrooms, meeting rooms, white shirts, ties, suits and black polished shoes. Well the fashion code indulged by graziers, particularly at the sale yards … was rather hard to follow! Yes, there were the obvious blue jeans, checked shirt and boots but there was a whole range of other delights that made me wonder how on earth you could learn to conform, and, did I want to?

There were shorts and long pants, boots of all kinds. There were akubras and ten gallon hats of all colours. There were t-shirts, work shirts and flannels. There were beards, moustaches, grey hair, crazy hair … I even saw plaits! I didn’t really know what to make of it all.

I remember what I wore that day. My fashion choice had been quite deliberate, though no doubt many didn’t know what to make of me. I wore my work boots but with a short skirt. On reflection I don’t think it was quite the right environment to be showing off my legs, even if my sock protectors did match my skirt!

Thank God I wore the boots at least – so much mud, poo and wee!!! 

Re-enactment of the Oops!! (no longer have matching sock protectors)

Overall the experience was a little overwhelming and I could not imagine myself ever having the courage to raise a finger in an auction to actually make a bid for some stock.  The auctioneers talk so fast and things move along before you’ve had time to think. But we needed stock to get our enterprise off the ground so it was just as well that Chris was able to adapt more quickly than me.

After many sales and many auctions both buying and selling, we’ve come a long way.

Attending the Stanthorpe sale yards last week, we felt right at home - though now I’m sure to wear a pair of jeans with my boots, just to look a little less conspicuous.

Our pen picked at at the Stanthorpe Sale

We came home the proud owners of 34 beautiful Angus heifers, ready to see the bull. We have so much grass at the moment; it was time to take advantage and grow our breeding herd some more.

Tagged and ready

They are all settled in now, tagged, drenched and loose in the paddock. I’m sure they are feeling right at home, just as we are these days … even if I haven’t completely conformed to the grazier’s sense of fashion!!

Living with the Wild Life

Living in the bush and especially running a cattle enterprise, changed my perspective. This might sound really basic, but it made me realise that humans rule this planet. We are at the top of the food chain. Yes, there are some species that still give us a run for our money (lions, sharks … etc.) but for the most part we keep the wild life at bay. We are in control.

This is harder to do when you live in the bush. Thankfully we don’t have many life threatening predators in Australia, though I have learned, of course, to be snake wary and am always conscious of foot placement when out in the paddock, particularly near water sources.

Unfortunately, some of our favourite Australian icons do get in the way. Even though we love them of course, the kangaroos can be a jolly nuisance at times.

The garden gate

For example, they love to jump in front of the car when you are whizzing down the road, particularly at night. “We hate those kamikaze ones,” my neighbour said once. I know just what she means.  No matter how hard you look, how much care you take, you can always be taken off guard by a kamikaze wallaby or kangaroo determined to put themselves under your car.

The problem becomes exacerbated due to the proliferation of the ‘roo colonies, loving the conditions we create for our stock – open grazing lands, permanent water sources. They thrive, they propagate … and at times they plague the landscape.

I was woken around 4am the other morning to a strange sound. It took me a few moments in my sleep drugged state to realise it was two massive male kangaroos going for it … just outside the garden gate. I could hear them spitting and bashing the crap out of each other. It was a real contest and it went on for a long time. (Next time I’ll pull out the video, if I don’t scare them off.)

Another much loved icon is the goanna. I don’t mind them really, though of course I don’t want one to run up my leg so always approach with caution. But they make a ruckus when they get in the chook pen and can’t get out! The poor chooks get very upset and I don’t want to share the eggs with them … their mine!

Goanna holes!!!

I can’t keep the goannas out of the garden. We are very diligent about keeping the garden gate shut to deter them but they can just as easily shimmy up the gate post. Why do I care do you ask? Because they dig great big holes in the garden beds and in the lawn! They have favourite spots where they will return again and again … such as under the rose bushes. I guess they dig for roots or something.

Keeping the wild life at bay can be challenging at times. But when all things are considered, I’d still rather listen to a couple of ‘roos in a street fight, than listen to the yells and fights of humans when the pub shuts.

I guess that’s why I’m still here, ‘roos and goannas despite.

New blog to be kept in sync

Hi My Blogging Friends!
I've just recently agreed to blog on a more regular basis for The Highlife Magazine on their website. Check it out at: My new Highlife Blog

So rather than maintain two blogs, I've decided to keep them in sync.

As I will be blogging more regularly for Highlife, I won't be prompting when a new blog is posted. I'll simply  post the blog here as well as with Highlife (more or less weekly) and note it on Facebook news feed.

So if you would like to follow my blogs regularly and you aren't a friend of mine on Facebook, you will need to register your email in the box to the right "Follow by email" under "About Me".

Comments always welcome.

The Candle Party

Folks in the bush sure know how to party!
I've been here full time for five years now and we are really starting to feel like we belong (as much as you can for a new comer).
When you live on an isolated property you gain lots of benefits - privacy, peaceful bush setting, sense of autonomy ... the list goes on. But one thing you lose is company. Of course there is always hubby to talk to but, lively stimulating conversation not withstanding, sometimes we just need more ... being the fundamentally social beings that we are!
So when an opportunity presents to socialise, graziers are usually quick to respond ... even if it maybe a fairly traditionally feminine-ish type occasion.
I had the opportunity to organise such a fortuitous event on Saturday night - a PartyLite Candle Party.
Sound possibly a little Ho Hum? No way, not in the bush and ESPECIALLY not in the Traprock!
About twenty graziers (husbands and wives) graced our verandah last night for a serious shin ding!
Elaine our gracious CandleLite hostess (who drove all the way from Toowoomba) presented the product range and facilitated the more formal part of the evening - though it was a bit hard to hear her at times due to the ruckus on the verandah as the boys downed a few drinks in apparent quite quick succession.
The girls held their own in the lounge room though, I might add, enjoying a few vinos. Unfortunately they may have been a little less fortunate in sharing the hot snacks circulating as they pondered their purchases. The meat balls didn't seem to get very far from the kitchen!
The presentation concluded, orders secured ... it was time to party.
The lights were dimmed, the candles burning, it was time to up the playlist tempo.

Shaz and I took to the dance floor first but it wasn't long before others followed and things heated up.
The party was raging and so it did for hours until exhausted, hot, spent but glowing, we emerged for a quick cool down on the verandah.
Then just a few more golden oldies were played and it was on again.
The last guest left about 3am and Chris and I lingered a bit longer for that one last drink, chatting and musing as we reflected on the evening - great company, great conversation, great fun.
Who would have ever thought from a simple Candle Party!
Can't wait for the next Traprock social opportunity ... whatever it may be.

Tassie Adventures

The start

It was a perfect day when Chris and I set off to climb Cradle Mountain after a lovely restful night at the Lodge. I was really excited about this challenge because the track to the mountain is the start of the Overland. I wanted to re-live the excitement and apprehension I had felt in 2009 setting foot on the boardwalk, fully decked for six days hiking in the wilderness. We came across other hikers, struggling with the steep climb to the Cradle plateau, the weight of their backpacks dragging. I could sense their fear and trepidation as they wondered what the hell they had got themselves into.

I also wanted to take this challenge because Birgit and I had decided not to climb the Mountain (an Overland side trail) and I held some regret about that. The weather closed in that day in 2009 and you couldn't see the top of the mountain so we rationalised the climb would not be worth it as you wouldn't be able to see the view. Deep down, if I'm honest though, I was terrified about the Overland challenge before me and I was just too darned scared to give it a go.

Not today!

The first part of the day's hike was enjoyable though challenging at times due to the ascent. But I was not really prepared for the clamber to the summit! The track disappears and markers, peeping out of strewn boulders, show the way. It is a scramble on all fours more than a climb and even using hands, arms and legs, sometimes it was a stretch to find a suitable line. All the while my heart was beating in my head such that I thought it might burst, with rests needed more frequently, the higher the ascent. Yes, I made it but it was a push and at times I was left wondering why the hell I liked to take on such challenges! I was glad Christopher waited and stayed with me through the most difficult sections. But what a view at the top!

We returned to the Lodge after 6.5 hours climbing, walking and descending. Everything hurt. Why had I thought that I didn't need to prepare ... that I was fit enough???  I wasn't and I knew the next day's challenge would be even more demanding. Thank God for a glass of wine ... a justified reward.

Next ...

I have to admit I was rather nervous when I awoke the next day. We prepared ourselves for the hike into the Walls of Jerusalem to camp and take a look around. We were delayed entering the park until the heat of the day, fully decked carrying 15-16 kilos each. Unfortunately we had no track maps and no idea what to expect.

It was worse than I anticipated. The first two hours were a sustained, steep and quite difficult climb. Was my heart thumping again? You better believe it! At times the pain in my chest had me wondering ... my heart and lungs were working so hard. Chris was ahead and out of sight. He made it to the Trapper's Hut in about an hour but retraced his steps to help me with my pack for 300 metres of the climb. I was slow and needing to rest more frequently trying to keep my heart rate manageable. Why did I think I didn't need to prepare????

Two hours sustained climb and we emerged within the Walls. The track was easier  ... pleasant even, except for our fatigue and the need to lug our packs to the camp site. We arrived at the Wild Dog camp ground in just under 4 hours! We were exhausted, me more so.

We had the camp to ourselves and ventured no further, electing to setup, rest and eat. It was a beautiful night though cool. I do love the isolation of camping in the wilderness. It is something special ... makes you appreciate your surroundings in a way nothing else can.

Despite this, I did shed a tear that night as I went to sleep, wondering again, "Why the hell do I want to take on such challenges?" To make our haul into the camp site worthwhile, meant hiking around the Walls in the morning. But my fatigue and energy were such that I wasn't sure I could manage it. I just wanted to hike out and have the adventure behind me.

Chris survived the night with no mattress. He padded the wooden platform with clothes and seemed to manage better than expected. No doubt the bottle of wine he'd carried in his pack helped!

After a good night's rest, I managed to muster the courage to take a look around. We left our camp to explore the Walls. I'm glad I did, despite my reservations. The walls were spectacular imposing structures. We followed the Western Wall for a couple of kilometres. The track was easy and we had no weight bar water and light refreshments. We explored for several hours and as we returned to camp to pack up I marvelled at the scenery around me. I remembered why I made myself take these challenges. In making such an effort, I had been able to see and experience things beyond the reach of most people. Putting in some real work and pressing through some difficulties was the only way to experience some of nature's majesty.

We packed up and hiked out. Yes of course it was easier going down hill but a sustained descent presents its own challenges and is hard on feet and knees. My God, we were glad to get back to the car, take off our packs and boots and move onto the less challenging aspects of our holiday!

Would I do it all again? Yes I would and will! I've learned that some rewards are only found by pushing through to new thresholds but next time I would definitely prepare myself with suitable training! The whole experience made me reflect on something my girlfriend Susy Goldner shared with me once. She believed such a physical challenge was fun in the preparation and planning and wonderful to share and brag about with friends and family afterwards but considered that the doing was not necessarily the best part. Maybe she's right, but I do love being in the wilderness.

Though I'm tempted at times, I can't stop pushing and trying. That would be like giving up ... and that would be like getting old!!