This place

You clasped my hand as I went to leave, it was so cold. You were technically radioactive after the nurse put the injection through the cannula. The tears were welling and your voice cracking, more than usual. It broke me, more than usual. I offered to stay with you. I would have stayed in that radioactive room, if only to stop the tears, to hold you a bit tighter, to make you warm. But you insisted and I know the nurse really wanted to close the door and have me leave. He had a heated blanket ready. It is another two hours before I will see you. The poison must travel around your body and then the PET scan can happen. 

I went to the café on Level 7, it is noisy and the door to the Terrace Gardens slams every few seconds. There is a woman screaming abuse, her world has exploded. A couple sit huddled, hands clasped, broken. Uniforms rush from counter to counter, forcing food down as the clock runs out for them. 

We are texting, it’s the closest we can be. Sharing our own diluted versions of heartbreak and frustration, trying not to upset the other further; sparing ourselves the deeper fears we both hold, but never speak. 

Although today’s appointment will provide no answers now, this place is forever a keeper of our secrets. It is a place that reminds us of little positivity, unless you want to deep dive to find it, and we can and have, but only on those good days where our souls feel empathic and reflective. Today is not that day.

Here we are surrounded by invisible sickness, sadness, and grief. This place is the crusher of dreams, the place where normal life comes to die. It is the eternal reminder of our fragility and vulnerability as humans, the reminder that we are mere pawns in the game of life and presumption is a fatal flaw. This place is the collector of tears as they fall into the shattered hearts of its unwilling visitors. It could fill oceans. 

Its message is unwritten, unspoken, but smacks you with the force of a thousand whips - without health we have diddly squat. We are beholden to the medical empire and all its complexities. Without health we are ruled by pain, limitations, schedules, pills, lotions, sprays, elixirs, appointments, professionals, cons, conspiracy theories, alternate therapies, all vying for our attention because we ultimately want longevity. 

We want to live life with health and prosperity, we want to live life on our terms – but without health we have no terms; we are kidding ourselves if we think we do - our body dictates them all, our will to live determines every decision. If you come to this place, know the cost is all consuming. 

Life is forever altered, every tomorrow that you dreamt, planned for, is gone. 

Every tomorrow is now a blank canvas, shadowed but open for business, if you turn the sign around.  

This place is now part of our tomorrows. For us, there is no giving up, no backing down, we fight until we cannot fight anymore. 

Until next time,

N

The Storm

The thermostat read 24 degrees; the wind was warm

Heading out, for a moment I savoured the warmth on my skin

 

I was alone; I savoured the freedom to listen to author interviews as I drove

I ignored the empty seat beside me, it was not supposed to be vacant tonight

 

The trees began to strain against the wind as I made my way east

I knew the storm was coming

 

My friend and I met; he noted my missing plus one; 

We shared words, both spoken and unsaid, over caffeine and cake

The trees were tall, unrestrained

The storm was on its way

The thermostat read 28 degrees 

The event - charming with chatter and reflection, optimism, and advice – 

for a moment I savoured the normalcy of the conversations

For a moment I burned with envy 

My phone buzzed, my heart squeezed, my reality returned

The unrelated sirens echoed in the distance; the sun had given way to grey

 

Slipping away, eyes stinging, disappointment drowning me from the insides

My fingers typed without seeing the letters- homeward

The car shook, I looked around, the trees were dancing

The debris swirled around the car

I drove into the storm

The thermostat read 19 degrees

 

Disappointment turned into anger as rapidly as my wipers could wash the rain away

The pools of water kept grabbing at the tyres, urging me to spin me around

The thermostat read 16 degrees

 

My anger turned into fury

The branches slammed down as the trees released their deadwood

Enough with the dodging obstacles

I could barely see

The thermostat read 14 degrees

 

My knuckles whitened, the curves came too fast, my foot was slow to lift off the accelerator

Find the brake

The thermostat read 12 degrees

 

I stopped, I remembered to breathe

Enough

I needed to get home

 

I see the lights

The rain is steady

The thermostat reads 9 degrees

The storm did not win

Drought drain

Summer has morphed into Autumn but the temperatures would indicate otherwise. As I type this, the Vic Emergency app alerts are active – three significant fires are currently burning, putting people, their homes and livestock at great risk. This heatwave is rocking southeast Victoria and I doubt anyone is celebrating the blazing sun that continues to crisp the ravaged ground we walk on. A few weeks ago, we enjoyed a brief reprieve with 30 mm of rain and in a few days, we saw growth in the paddocks. Sporadic and scattered across the land it was a hopeful sign. We moved the remaining cows onto high ground and watched them ravish the fresh growth. It sustained them for a day or two but we have now returned them to the morass, supplementing the little feed available with hay. Anything that was trying to grow is now burnt again with temperatures in the high 30s making it impossible. The vegetable gardens and house lawn are green and while not thriving it’s certainly surviving, thanks to daily watering. The bees have had shade cloth put over their hives to help them during the rough days, but really it isn’t enough. I think without the green in the backyard it would be most depressing to look out the window. Walking though the paddocks is one way to deflate your spirits. The ground is cracking and I wonder when the rain will arrive. There has been much conversation in the media regarding government assistance for farmers and for the most part their efforts are a slap in the face, indicating their total disrespect for the industry and understanding of the job farmers do and the emotional, financial and physical investment each one makes to continue day in, day out. The debt that accumulates has the potential to drive the strongest person to consider extreme measures. This is not acceptable. The ramifications of not supporting our farmers is lost on the general population and I am saddened to consider a future where we import all our produce because we didn’t act smarter when we had the chance.

For now, Daryl and I continue to maintain our property with the limited resources we have left. We have downsized as much as possible without removing our future possibilities and decided to bring in a bull for the remaining 18 breeders. They should calve towards the end of this year and we hope decent Autumn, Winter and Spring rain will rejuvenate the ground before little hooves hit the ground. Even our hens have had enough of the heat and we barely get a dozen eggs from our flock of chooks. Once this lot of feed runs out, the girls will be relocated to other homes and we will consider if we replace them down the track. If we do, some improvements to the pen will need to be made allowing for greater efficiency and less time commitment. 

Flipping the page, it is fortunate that nothing is growing and we have reduced the animal stock-take as I don’t seem to be able to get myself back to good health. After another two weeks off work, due to illness, I am struggling to get back on track. I am booked in for further surgery on my hip in a few weeks and again will be out of action for another two weeks. Frustrated? Yes. 

Until next time,

N

Clouded view

A better view

Yesterday was my sixth day off work, not by choice. Most of the time I have spent the days hazy and tired from an array of painkillers. Feels like I've been taken back in time before my left hip was replaced. Unable to walk without a limp, unable to stand for any length of time and limited in my capacity to function without pain relief. The plan was for the right hip to be monitored and stabilised reducing as much deterioration as possible over the course of the next few years. My left hip was replaced with a shiny ceramic one three years ago, my right hip was to last five years - we are one and half years short of the plan.

I am not impressed. When I took this job, eight months ago I was relieved knowing that I would not be required to be on my feet all day. It would give me a balance of desk work, people engagement, autonomy and team, doing a job I enjoy. I didn't count on my body breaking down. Damn inconsiderate if you ask me.

And so I am fighting between bursts of energy whereby I burn the candle at both ends, frustrate my husband, as I try to achieve everything in a limited time before I crash and burn. Taking things to extreme as I occasionally do, I did crash only the other day, literally, into a 'speed bump' sign on my way home from work. Nothing like a message from the unknown - speed bump indeed.

I have one more week of work, five days to get a month's worth of work completed before I take some time off.  Chances of getting everything done are slim, I know, the job is ridiculous, but I will pretend it is possible. At least for the moment.

Looking outside the window I see spattering of rain on the window, I hear the wind howling around me and I can smell the dampness in the air. Forecasts for torrential rain and damaging storms are all around us, we are only getting the edges, barely enough to wet the ground. Annoying more than useful. Unfortunately the other parts of the state and indeed interstate are being battered about with flash flooding and homes damaged. This is also unhelpful and I hope everyone is able to stay safe.

Thankfully, we are not spending this weekend in the city as we did a fortnight ago given the weather would have dampened a few days of relaxation. Instead we enjoyed perfect conditions, to enjoy a surprise Bon Jovi concert, shop for some Christmas treats, explore another escape room  and even ventured to the roof top pool of our hotel for a paddle in between sampling a range of culinary delights. This is when the frustration of my hip really kicked in. The intensity of the pain was so severe we needed to find a doctor in the CBD on a Sunday morning. From this point we have not quite recovered.

Conversations about selling stock, buying feed, leasing, agisting, selling are frequent and again frustrating. Couple this with discussions and debates about our pending English adventure and sometimes its easier to bury your head into a good book, watch a lame sitcom or troll the pages of Facebook until your mind is numb. Or, as is my reality at present, take enough painkillers and you can be numb all over - physically, emotionally and academically. Makes getting anything completed near impossible.

With the end of the year on our doorstep I find myself reflecting and contemplating. Change again is raising its head and I'm at a loss.

Until next time,
N

Rivergum dry

Barren paddocks

The rain is falling softly, lightly indenting the dirt across the farm. It is welcome. It is but a drop in the proverbial ocean, not even close to being enough. 

Three years ago there were photos of lush paddocks with the greenest grass tickling the cows knees. Today, the contrast couldn't be more acute. Hard, compacted soil with sprigs of weed is the only growth to be seen. Even if the cows got down on their knees there is no grass to be eaten. Today is a another sad day, drought is very real and there is no sign of it breaking, despite the dampness in the air tonight.

A welcome sight - rain

We recently made the decision, knowing the result would be less than favourable, to send 29 of our younger steers and heifers to market, the food bowl is dry and in a few weeks they would be showing ribs. Hoping someone in South or West Gippsland, where the pasture is plentiful, would take them, we loaded them up on the semi and sent them on their way to a new home. Sold they did, at a huge loss. We are still reeling from the prices, despite knowing they would be poor, the harsh reality stings.  All our work, frosty mornings of feeding calves, drenching and caring for stock only to let them go for a song. A sad melody indeed.

We acknowledge that many are far worse, relying solely on the land for their income. Recently, the 'Need for Feed' convoy went through town and I was caught in the carpark as it barrelled by. Unashamedly, I shed a tear for the many farmers who would be waiting for this essential supply, knowing in a small way how heartbreaking these days will be for them. Tears also flowed for the generosity of the many who were carting hay and travelling to towns far from home to support their fellow Cockies.

Young ones off to sale

Townies will never understand, the heartache that comes with raising livestock, the emotional investment, not to mention the financial investment that goes hand in hand with any primary production. But they will feel the impact of drought in the coming months with food sources impacted and prices inevitably bound to increase. The other day the news reporters were trumpeting about some rains received in northern NSW, and suggesting this would be enough to make them happy. A months measure overnight - sounds good but.....seriously how ridiculous to think that a brief deluge would break a drought. The ground is so hard and unforgiving that weeks of gentle soaking rain is needed to seep into the layers of soil before there is a chance for recovery. Reporters who try to sensationalise the stories need to learn some lessons before reporting such dribble. This is someone's livelihood, their past and future all wrapped up in the land they work. This is their life and it is seemingly blowing away with every gust of wind.
So for us, fortunate enough to have a choice, we will not be able to sustain our remaining cattle, beautiful cows with young calves at foot. We have three round bales left, a handful of pellets and some bushland that will keep them in feed for a few weeks. Anyone who has ever breastfed will know that feeding babies is hungry work and these mumma's need grass. Again we will look to sell. Again we will be saddened and disappointed. Unless rain arrives - there is always hope while the sun sets and rises each day.

Orphan 'Winston' always hungry

Helping Poppy

Now that daylight savings is upon us we are able to enjoy the longer days and get the chores done at a more leisurely pace after work, this provides some down time and often a chance to reflect and complete some of the little jobs. At present the feeding of one very hungry orphaned calf (one of twins) keeps us on our toes as Winston demands his daily milk. Saved from the frosty night after his mum rejected him, he was so small he fit nicely in the footwell of the ute, easily carried across the paddock by Daryl. Nowadays he could easily knock us over on our backside with one head butt. He has grown from strength to strength and thinks he is our pet. With Spring in full swing, the veggie patch is being turned over for new crops to be planted. Daryl even had a little help from our beautiful grandchildren. The beehive is alive with activity and the bees are busy preparing, what we hope will be, delicious honey.

Unfortunately, we lost a number of trees over Winter, despite our efforts to protect them from the dry and frost but regardless the wind breaks, whose growth also stagnated over Winter, are being plied with water (thank goodness for the new bore) and are showing promising signs with buds and new growth sprouting along the driveway.

Spring crop 

Unfortunately, the water tanks are also dry and we have reverted back to town water (yuck) but its better than no water! When the rain does come, it is delightful to hear the sound of water running into the tanks. The carport now complete helps gather as much rainfall as possible.
Right now we can hear trickles of water running into the tanks..but you need to listen carefully.

The coming weeks will be filled with more heartbreaking decisions and no doubt you will see some photos of cows, with calves at foot, in the hopes we can find them a new home for a fair price.

Here's hoping.

Until next time,
N

Watch out for large holes

I came home today and found a very large hole at the front of my house, and my husband, surrounded by the canine family, looking more than exhausted as he rested on a very large drainage pipe. The hole has grown extensively over the past few weeks with the help of the tractor and auger, however today’s efforts were impressive, to me the observer, after the fact. Having bent the auger (who does that!) due to the ground being like concrete, and hiring a mini digger not fitting in the budget, it was left to major muscle on a crowbar and shovel. You will not be surprised to find that Daryl needed a shower, new arms and a couple of stiff drinks before he returned to his former self, albeit a little achy. This hole is indicative of the frustration we are facing of late, with no rain in sight, the ground continues to harden and remain dry and desolate. We are feeding the cows hay and lucerne and we are on the lookout for silage to supplement the meagre picking of the paddocks. We also feed them bread collected each Saturday from a local bakery for a small fee which we pay to take the excess loaves which would otherwise be thrown in the bin. Such a waste, if you consider that some weeks we get anywhere from 5 to 15 massive garbage bags full of bread. The sweet treats are sadly thrown in the bin, another example of how our laws encourage wastage. The cows and chooks love the bread, as do the damn rats if they can get hold of it. The cows will gallop down the paddock if they hear the ute and I’m sure they know when it’s Saturday evening and the bread collection is done. Speaking of animal feed, we have trialed a new chook feed and coincidentally the egg production has decreased dramatically. This is not a good sign. The egg orders are flowing fast and I am delighted each time we get a new customer. Our reasoning suggests It could be some chooks going into molting season, a select few chooks who are free loading or a protest in the change of grain. To try and work out the issue we have bought a couple of bags of the former feed and put it in their feed bins. If egg production improves problem solved and if it doesn’t then some of these chickens will be walking a fine line between free ranging and soup. Unfortunately, the new feed is much cheaper as we buy it in bulker bags and if we return to our old feed source our costs will once again be raised. This is not something we need right now. On the back of a long, dry summer/autumn season is the increased costs associated with the farm, including having to source hay rather than cutting our own. We had the depressing tasks of trying to balance the books last night, the resulting efforts sent us straight to the wine cupboard, a few glasses allowing the numbers to blur and eventually we couldn’t see the negative sign so clearly. Funds are certainly stretched these days with no income from the farm expected and only expenses going out. Our social life is severely on hold, not to mention other treats or gifts. It is not only the continuous warm weather that saps me some days. But this is the cycle of farming, no doubt in a season or two we will thrive again…at least that’s the plan.
 Back to that rather large hole, it is required to be used as a sump pit beside the carport concrete to drain away the excess water which runs off the concrete driveway we are intending to lay. Unfortunately, the house was built lower than the fall of the paddocks and every winter for as long as I can remember the area surrounding the house has flooded. Poor design is once again causing issues. My father tried to resolve the issue by running pipes into the paddocks and this achieved an ineffective lake of mud. Mind you he chose where to build this particular house and I suspect it was the cheapest option! 

The carport has been a long, slow developing project, but hopefully it will be ready before the winter season. In readiness for our slow approaching winter the chimneys have been cleaned and the combustion stove thoroughly scraped and all the excess ash cleared. We have tested the stove a couple of times recently and once again the water is boiling super-hot and the comforting aroma of wood burning permeates the house. I am eagerly awaiting the cooler days and chilly nights, unlike most people I know who relish the hot summer sun. The forecast still ranks a few days next week in the high 20 and low 30s, way too warm for autumn and I am hoping I can avoid the sun’s sting as best as possible. 

However you spend the last remaining warmth of autumn I hope it is with a happy heart and soul filled with sunshine.


 Til next time, N.

Life...

Most nights I think about not having a glass of wine; most nights I end up pouring a glass of claret and often a second. It is one way of slowing the thinking process, slowing the heart beat and ultimately relaxing into a warm, happy place where life moves a little slower, the noises are a little duller and my responses are a little softer.
In my world, I have learnt this is a good way to end the day. I doubt I am alone in my strategies to get through and I suspect many people have more than a drink or two, and I've decided this is ok. Rebuilding a farm, working full-time, studying, managing the affairs of a demented relative and worrying about our very large brood, can fill up a person's day. Lately, I have watched Daryl work himself to exhaustion, gallantly trying complete numerous farm projects and support me as I try to help transform and keep the farm flourishing. I have watched him battling to reign in his own emotions as he tries to reconcile his reality, with the infinite hope we all have as parents. The frustration, the hurt, the disappointment  he feels is worked through with a shovel, shotgun and a lot of sweat. I manage by writing, reading and generally escaping in words. For two people who seem to have such differing coping mechanisms we are well matched. We share common ideals and goals, we share a dream invested in this land, and we hope for a future filled with our ever growing family and friends.

Unbreakable bonds

Farming, for those that have never experienced it, can seem like an endless list of jobs, never ending tasks that need fixing and 24 hour responsibilities for the welfare of animals. They are right, but there is also the satisfaction of achievement, of being close to nature and forming bonds with our stock and pets. There is the sense of space, freedom and a million stars twinkling down at you on a clear night. It never gets tiring. These are the same stars that used to look down on my parents. They ran this farm for more than 30 years, poorly towards the end but stubbornly attempted to hang on to it, regardless. They no longer see the twinkling stars. Next month will be four years since my mother died and my father doesn't remember what day of the week it is, or who I am on any given day. While we did not share a positive parental relationship, I cannot help but feel empathy for him in his current state and some days I think I understand my mum better, these days, than I ever did growing up. I suspect she suffered some serious mental health issues and my brother and I paid the price for it. My father, absent and distant during our formative years, has returned to this state thanks to a stroke impairing his cognitive function and exacerbating the Alzheimers Dementia that had already invaded his brain. He will spend his last days contending with declining physical health and reducing cognitive function. Health care staff will make him as comfortable as possible, keep him fed and cleaned and medicated. I will make the decisions effecting every aspect of his remaining life. My

Quite the team

husband supports me as I do this. We are a good team.
The wine does not dissolve any of the disappointment, solve any of the challenges or wipe away memories, but it does symbolise celebration and enjoyment of life. So here is a toast to all that life offers. May the stars keep twinkling above you and remind you that each day is a gift.

Until next time,

N

Looking for a dash of old-man wisdom.

There is nothing more effective to get you to back to basics than spending time with the little people in your life. 

Simplicity, beauty and wonder is reignited through the eyes of a toddler or infant. We had the pleasure of entertaining our two grandchildren this weekend, farm style. The world through the eyes of a two-year-old is sweet and new and full of adventures. She is excited by the hens, pecking wheat from her pudgy little hands and gets equally frustrated when they won’t come and get food, when she calls them. She squeals with delight when the cows, 10 times her size, wrap their tongue around her fingers, trying to grab the bread she is holding and meant to be throwing to them to eat. She finds the bread soft and squishy and inevitably it ends up in her mouth, instead of theirs. She is learning to ‘ride a bike’ and delights with being pushed down the bumpy driveway. It’s like four-wheel driving, toddler style. In her element, she revels in feeding a new calf, nearly as big as she is, perfect cuddle size. She is learning to call him Nudge and confidently runs her hands over his thick, velvety coat. For her, a weekend on the farm, is full of new opportunities and when we take the time to see it through her eyes, it is indeed, very special. Our youngest grandson, at eight months old, is new to the world of Rivergum, just starting to notice the sights and sounds around him. Rugged up for the winter cold, he giggled his way along as he walked on the laying boxes and looked quizzically as the hens milled around his feet looking for more food. Sitting comfortably in his pram, also successfully traversing the rugged road, he seemed fascinated by the three dogs around him and the strange noises the mother cow was making, while confined into the cattle crush. It is easy to let life get complicated. I know it is of late, and maybe a weekend back to the basics is what the doctor ordered. 

In contrast, only last weekend, we celebrated my father-in-law’s 90^th birthday. Once again, surrounded by relatives and friends to mark the occasion, I could not help but see some similarities with the needs of our little people. Love, laughter, warmth, comfort and appreciation for the simple things in life were the common threads. 

My father-in law is an amazing man. He lives

independently, still cooks for his large brood and all their off spring, plays bowls, helps out on the farm and enjoys nothing more than a trip up bush to relax. He does not dwell on the complicated anymore, he has had his share of celebrations and tragedies in his long life, and now seems to exude a sense of peace and contentment, enjoying the most important things in his life – his family.
So, I am now left to learn from my grandchildren and my father in-law and take lessons from those that have lived wisely and those still to navigate this amazing journey we call life.

Some days I think we do remarkably well, relishing in the joys and challenges the farm, our own large brood and the many connections we have made in our lifetime present to us, but I must confess, in this past week I am feeling particularly bombarded with complications and the need to make decisions. Some days I crave for the simplicity of childhood where decisions are the issues of the grown-ups, or the days of retirement where people have learnt not to give a hoot about some issues or what other people might think. There is freedom in both ages at the beginning and the end of the life circle.

Age is a peculiar concept. It is naturally the chronological record of how long we are alive, it sets the parameters for when we can achieve certain things such as school entry, driver’s licenses, voting and when we retire. We make judgements according to people’s age – he is too young for that, she is too old for this, she can’t wear that at her age, he should know better at his age. We celebrate the collection of years with gifts, parties and cake, it is a tradition passed down from ages gone by and one I suspect will continue for generations yet to be. However, it seems there are few guidelines for the middle years. It has been long accepted that by the time you reach your forties you are less inclined to be influenced by others or fashions or social expectations, there is sense of , I’m nearing fifty therefore, I need to do what I want, in the time I have left. Essentially half my life is already over and I’m not wasting anymore on people who really don’t rate that highly in my world – anymore. Problem is, that has not quite happened to me, and I find myself battling with anxiety because I know my actions will impact on other people and that bothers me.

Try as I may, neither my day job nor the farm, my children or my husband can distract me for too long. My mind has a terrible habit of churning over troubles, whether I am busy or idle. It follows me into my dreams and sets itself into the crevices of my mind without invitation. My mind is in turmoil. I think I’m tired of thinking too much, the inability to let go, the subconscious need to be considerate of others, the conscious knowing of being used and tossed aside. 

Right now, I need a little more toddler-time with a dash of old-man wisdom.

Until next time,

N

Move, do, be..in the knowledge you simply can.

Ghostbusters - Rivergum style

Daryl, Jacob and Cob (and Penny) suited up for the job

Did you ever have the misfortune of watching Ghostbusters? You know the goofy guys who could eliminate ghosts from your home, office, city with super dooper laser strikes? Well I did, and today I couldn't help notice the similarities as the workers got suited up for today's adventures.
Insulation was the order of the day.

Team work

It's taken 16 months to get this organised, with the insulation sitting in our shed for at least 12 months.

If Dad had utilised the free insulation scheme this job would not have been needed.

Between shift work and finding a suitable day that some of our offspring could help, it has been a challenge.

But not so much of a challenge as putting this stuff in!

The profanity was flying thick and fast as Daryl and the two Jacobs sweltered in the roof cavity spreading the yellow blankets down.

Keeping out of trouble

Ignoring the dead rats, dodging the huntsmen, swiping the cobwebs and trying not to inhale the dust the guys were not especially impressed.

Balancing on bearers, avoiding the ceiling plaster and knocking heads a few times made for an eventful session. Suited up and taped at wrists and ankles with duct tape the guys didn't have much breathing space. They emerged red faced, sweating and thirsty.

After four hours they couldn't get out of their 'ghost' suits fast enough and into a shower. Looking out the back door all that remained was a soggy pile of socks, t-shirts, suits and gloves - promptly placed into the bin.


Right now, the helpers have returned to their own homes. New helpers, in Carol and Zac, arrived and we are relaxing with a wine and dessert, wondering if the house is just that bit warmer thanks to a first class layer of insulation.



Until next time,
N