For Sale

Our farm is on the open market. 

Each time I say it, my eyes fill with tears I refuse to shed. Yet, as I type this, I can’t see the screen clearly, as a few unruly tears escape. 

Selling the farm is breaking Daryl’s heart, therefore I break too. 

My parents bought the farm in 1974. I was four years old. I don’t remember moving in, but I remember the old house. It reminded me of a very old lady.  Grey, weathered and unkempt. Over 100 years old, she creaked anytime someone walked through the hallways, the floors were uneven as the foundations began to sink, wind swirled under the doorways well-worn from footsteps running in and out, and the windows were naked without coverings until my mother made some. They matched the god-awful wallpaper she hung on every crooked wall! But at least they added colour and kept the summer heat out. The combustion stove was lit 365 days a year as it heated the hot water system; stifling on the hot summer days is an understatement. There was no air-conditioning back then, not even a fan. Our front door was situated under the bullnosed verandah and was known as the formal entry – it was rarely used but did provide some respite from the sun and the perfect hiding place for the snakes. I always used the back door.

My mother bought the farm while dad was working off-shore – quite the surprise when he returned. 

She was like that. Impulsive, hot headed and determined. Together, they worked as if possessed to make the farm a success. They were eccentric and suspicious of most people, yet they poured everything they had into their land - money, sweat and raised voices.  My brother and I were the ‘apprentices’. 

The farm was as success, a well-oiled business, for many years. After much bickering, the new house was finally built, and I remember the process in intricate detail. We moved out from the old lady house and into our fresh new brick home. 

Fast forward. My parents have both passed on. The farm fell into disrepair following years of ill health for both my parents before Daryl and I bought the farm. After eight years, the property has been revived. The soulless brick house, I moved into when I was 12, is now a warm inviting home that has been renovated to bring joy and comfort. Its walls hold so many stories; memories it will harbour forever.

The farm has been totally rebuilt. It is low maintenance and if you take a walk down through the bushland it's magical. This is Daryl’s favourite place – the one he will miss the most.

The hard work has been done. And we are preparing to say goodbye. 

Our plan was to ‘retire’ from the farm when we got close to 60.

Our plan was to enjoy the low maintenance farm life for the next five years or so.

Our plan has been smashed into little, tiny pieces by cancer.

We now are making new plans. 

We are trying to see beyond our current circumstances.

We are working on moving forward.

We are not always very good at this, sometimes we just go backwards.

We get slammed but then we get back up and go again.

Selling the farm signifies so much in our little piece of the universe. 

Daryl fell in love with farming in a heartbeat; the moment I reluctantly agreed to go back. 

Daryl thrived amongst the gum trees, the summer haze, winter frosts, newborn calves, and tonnes of firewood.

Daryl found solace in his darkest days amongst the magic of the morass.

After 48 years of being a part of my family, I hope the new owners will embrace Rivergum and make it their own.

After 48 years it is hard to imagine this place will soon be part of our past. 

After 48 years I’m not sure how to say goodbye…but I suspect there may be a few tears.

Until next time,

N