Ferocity of nature amidst an opportunity for mindfulness.

The breeze whispers through the top of the gum trees and the kookaburras are silent now, smoke haze fills the air. It is mid-morning and a small fire-sun glows brightly through the thick clouds above, the pungent stench of bushfire scratches our throats as we breathe in. This is holidaying in East Gippsland at the moment. Fortunate enough to be able to still enjoy a break by the beach, I am joined by my husband, daughter Bek, son Haydn and his family Belinda (partner) and daughters Milah and Tyla, along with friends Carol and Zac.

Earlier in the week, I left the caravan park, as the fires encroached on the perimeter of the township, expecting to return later that night. It would be 48 hours later before were able to get through after emergency services re-opened the highway. Many towns are still under imminent fire threat and isolated from main centres. With temperatures again set to soar on Saturday, bringing strong northerly winds and creating a potential catastrophe for firefighters and communities, the threat is far from over. Photos flood Facebook and social media sites, depicting black skies in the middle of the day; town centres decimated by fire and firefighters exhausted from their ongoing battles against the ferocity of nature.

The tourist towns are not only impacted by embers, fear and grief but will also suffer financial loss due to the evacuation of thousands of tourists. This will have a ripple of effects for months to come and all our hearts ache for the many people who suffer at the hands of this natural disaster. To date, three people have lost their lives and four are unaccounted for, homes and structures have also burnt. The number of animals perished is impossible to count. Farmers forced to euthanise scorched livestock is heart wrenching and another factor in the increasing suicide rate. The hurt is unrelenting. While we sit here around our recycled timber trestle table playing with play-dough, reading a novel and scrolling through phones, emergency alerts in the background remind us of the plights of our fellow families who will not have the luxury of rest or relaxation this Christmas season.

As I type away, my granddaughter is busy creating with play-dough, her sister sleeps soundly inside the van. Life is slow paced here. A nice reprieve from normal day to day that seems to function on fast forward. It is hard to imagine that I will start a new job in a few days and commence a new professional adventure. I am not sure how ready I am for this. On the home front, renovations are incomplete and Daryl and I will get stuck into the remaining painting after this week. Without a lounge room and painting paraphernalia on every other surface it is frustrating to live in this space. Daryl is mindful of the need to focus on some more outside tasks, fencing, and wood clearing a priority. To date, we have had six Tiger snakes near our house or chook pen, they have been relocated and are not welcome in these zones.

With more extreme heat expected over the course of the next two months our cattle are always of concern, thankfully enjoying the shade and protection of the morass at this time, our 18 remaining cows and 14 calves are looking healthy and content. Water is our highest priority at this time of year, for stock, gardens and trees. Keeping them well hydrated is the difference between them surviving or not. Our two cats, who were boarding at our neighbours cattery, were returned home the other day as temperatures soared into the low 40’s. Unable to keep cool they retreated to the air-conditioning in our bedroom for a brief period. This probably saved them. Our dogs were brought inside and happily snoozed on the concrete as a nice respite from the hot winds, gusting through the property. Even the alpacas came running for water they could lie in. The bees battled the heat, despite the gazebo overtop to shade them, which eventually was shredded in the relenting wind. Our bees have also provided us with more honey, pure liquid gold. Daryl was able to use his new bee keeper suit, which he got for Christmas, and for the first time did not get stung for his efforts.  

Daryl and Milah with Zac have gone for a stroll on the beach. No doubt another batch of shells will be brought back to add to the collection. The smoke haze is still settled, with the tree tops barely swaying in the breeze, the magpies warbling is the only music we can hear for now. Farming, work and responsibilities are far from our minds. For now, it is about family and friends and filling our minds and bodies with mindfulness and fun.

Until next time,

N

Feels Like Home

The soulful tunes of Norah Jones’s “Feels Like Home” is playing softly in the background on the antiquated CD player, a freshly poured glass of gin and tonic is pleasant company along with sounds of the ocean conversing with the sands situated just beyond the caravan park and with my feet up, seated outside the van, I am alone but certainly not lonely.

The gin is a Christmas gift from Daryl, purchased and then imported from England, it is a subtle reminder of good times in my recent memory. The beach, certainly the sounds emanating from its shore, fills me with a sense of belonging, peace and permission to indulge in the world of words whether it be through reading a novel or three or tapping away at my laptop as I am doing now. A perfect way to begin a brief sojourn from the real world. I am most fortunate and a little selfish, to be here. Daryl has just driven back towards the farm, with work commitments making his stay brief but I hope he would say enjoyable. Just the two of us, kids and friends were banned and we took 24 hours out of ordinary life. Later my longtime friend and her two young teens will arrive, tomorrow, my twin sons and daughter, with little people in tow, will join me and the van will be full of stuff and noise once again. I am looking forward to it all, but for now, I will relish in the serenity.  

Hot on the tail of a busy Christmas day, last night we strolled on the beach, watched the sunset and spoke with family from England, whose day was just about to begin. It is so easy now to keep in touch and we were thrilled they were home, albeit rugged up to fend away the winter chill, while we were in shorts and thongs. Our own day was filled with family festivities beginning on Christmas eve as we prepared our contributions to the day in the form of pavlova’s (Daryl's specialty) and roast turkey (my specialty), all the while entertaining two granddaughters so their parents could prepare and assemble gifts too big to fit under the Christmas tree. Celebrations began in the early afternoon, with a visit across the road where the cats will be holidaying for a week, their placement was the perfect opportunity to share a drink and gifts with our neighbour and some of her family, visiting from interstate. The little girls were very happy to play with two other girls and made fast friends. The cats settled, although I doubt they will thank me for their temporary relocation. The catch ups continued to Churchill and ended at the traditional Christmas eve dinner with most of Daryl’s family. Loads of food, kids running amuck is usual and a visit from Santa on his firetruck was a treat for all the little ones. The biggest treat however, by far, was the surprise appearance of my son Damien, who showed up from sunny Queensland, rendering me speechless for a few moments. With my eyes stinging with tears, I thought my legs would give way as I went to him, hugging him so tightly, we could barely breathe. I miss him so much and his unexpected visit seems to have been a carefully guarded secret within my own clan. As I prepared for Christmas morning, knowing all my babies would all be present was a priceless gift, and I couldn’t help smiling as we stuffed stockings well past midnight in readiness for an early start. Despite the fact my youngest baby is 19, they still get a childish buzz out of their Santa stockings, which is now carried onto their own children (without relinquishing their own!). Continuing with family traditions Christmas breakfast was a feast shared with special friends, who

we count as family, a visit from twin Santa’s and the exchanging of many gifts and letters. It is my choice to write each of the grandchildren a letter each Christmas, although they cannot yet read, I hope this will be something they will cherish many years down the track. The reality of feeding 30 odd people is never easy but I have to say my son and his partner did a sterling job getting it all together, and with a little help from the rest of us, we enjoyed copious amounts of fare and a drop of celebratory sparkles and ale. Onward, we arrived at the next feast sharing this part with Daryl’s son’s in-laws. A quieter affair it was just lovely, especially with the addition of their first child, who at only six weeks of age, was oblivious to all the fuss around him.

It was then time to pack and make our way to the van. Our place of rest and relaxation (interspersed with a few housekeeping jobs here and there). It had taken some convincing to get Daryl here for only one night, but he did and it was a good idea.

Sitting here now, I am part way through my drink, the air is slightly cooler and the families around me are filling the air with the fragrance of camp food, namely sausages on the barbeque. The magpies are attentive in the hope of an easy feed, while I can hear the hammering of pegs into the ground where the newest arrivals set up their campsites. Despite the third year of drought, the parks ground is relatively easy to hammer into, and we also spent a short time getting our outdoor flooring and gazebo in place earlier today, providing us shelter but also privacy and protection from the westerly winds, known to rise up and batter sites at its will.

I will see the New Year in from here and will be joined by Daryl, some friends and anyone else who chooses to come up. It will be a causal event, with a roast on the Weber, drinks and a game or two of cards. I expect we will see the New Year fireworks from the shores of Red Bluff and will ignore the crowds who will gather at Lakes Entrance. This is my kind of party, with as little fuss and fanfare as possible in the company of good friends and family. If you’re wondering who looks after the farm while we do all this relaxing, despair not, the animals are well tendered to with our trusty farm-sitter employed to watch over the ever-browning grass, the flock of hens, their protector alpacas and our small herd of cows with their young calves, in our absence. At last count we had 15 young babies running around, kicking up a lot of dust, so before we left the morass was opened and they all hoofed it down the paddock to feed on the green grass amongst the gum trees that will provide them with ample shelter in the upcoming days of heat. Temperatures forecast in the low 40’s are becoming more common and with bushfires already burning across thousands of hectares of Australia we are always mindful of the risks during the summer season. This year our fire season started early, interstate, with a ferocity we have not experienced for some years. For now, we are fine but vigilant.

The opportunity to take a break also gives a chance to put the paint brushes down and leave the chaos of house renovations for a time. They are coming along with the new kitchen now functional and I must say, looking fabulous, with our red gum bench tops and new oven. The laundry has also had a makeover and is not only more pleasing to the eye, it is far more functional. Never a fan of painting, I am enduring the process and grateful for every moment of assistance from family and friends. The process, like many major life events, has been the catalyst of a few flared tempers and fiery exchanges between Daryl and I in recent weeks fuelled by the end of the year fatigue and my resignation from my job, I am pleased to say we have made it through relatively unscathed. Leaving my former employer of three years was another major decision but I have no doubt it was a good choice given the instant relief of tension from my body and mind once I said a final farewell. Blessed to have secured another job I am excited about a different future.

With a new decade knocking on our figurative door, I am hopeful 2020 will bring opportunities for change, challenge and contemplation. I turn 50 next year and while this is not a significant event for some – it is for me.

Whatever 2020 means for you I hope it is just perfect.

Until next time,

N

October 8th - 5,270,400 seconds

It is exactly two months or eight weeks or 61 days, 1464 hours, 87,840 minutes or 5,270,400 seconds since we returned home from our holiday adventure to the U.K. Exactly the same period of time we spent touring around and living the proverbial dream. 

With grand plans to create a photo memory book, write letters back to our family and a number of other activities to record and relive those magical memories, our reality is quite different.
Returning home, exhausted from the long-haul flight we spent the night in Melbourne, barely slept before being picked up by family for the final drive to the farm.

Tonight, I am sitting here, reflecting and wishing we were wandering around the Scottish Highlands, even though I suspect it would be rather chilly. Instead we are slowly preparing for our kitchen renovation, set for the first week in November, along with a laundry rebuild, painting and reflooring of the west end of the house.  The cupboards, stove, sinks and fittings have been selected, most purchased before our trip to ensure we were ready to go. Paint options are still up for discussion as are splash backs, fan styles and floor colours. Keeping in the theme of renovations and repairs, the beach van continues to get a facelift and it is quickly becoming a place of choice, drawing me to the ocean air and sandy shores; washing away the gradual build-up of melancholy and confliction which continues to cover me, like a fine mist, that I don’t notice until my clothes are damp. The van is slowly, with the help of friends, transforming into a place of solace, rest and rejuvenation. One of my good decisions.

One of our not so good decisions however, recently included running cattle through the yards in strong winds. Behaving a little crazy, we noticed their heightened behaviour as we herded them into the cattle yards. They kicked and yahooed, bovine style, eventually conceding defeat as we shut the gate behind the last one. Unfortunately, our dramas did not end there. After dealing with infected injections sites, squeezing puss from swollen lumps and repeatedly avoiding slamming the crush bar into my face, the worse was still to come. The guttural scream emitted from Daryl as he was slammed against the steel fence by one of our Angus cows, weighing approximately 500 kgs. sent shivers down my spine and I felt the tightening of my heart, for a brief, eternal moment, as I expected the worse. Relieved to see he had been released by the quick thinking of our friend Zac, Daryl was scarred but not permanently damaged. I realised at that I had lost my courage, for working stock and fear instead, had set in. Previously, in Daryl’s absence I had started trying to funnel the herd into the race, each time they turned I was acutely aware of my own frailty, I knew I couldn’t get out of the way quick enough, I can no longer jump onto the yard railings to escape their hard heads, or side step a quick strike from their back legs as they refuse to walk down towards the crush. Despite my large length of poly-pipe I was stuck and fearful for my safety. Redundant really, at least, as a farmer of cows. 

 Perception is without doubt a powerful potent. 

The paddocks are green, at least from a distance, they look lush but as we walk through them, it is evident the drought is not over and the patches of dirt unable to produce a blade of grass remind us of the effects of the dry. Funnily the morass is flooded and the mosquitoes are in a frenzied space. No amount of repellent will keep the critters away, leaving us with welts to thank us for venturing out. The snakes are also on the move and I suspect we shall see more of them as the temperatures rise.

 On a brighter note, we have replenished our flock of hens and it is most enjoyable to have them run to us and say hello anytime we go into their pen. Slowly the egg count is building and we look forward to sharing our lovely produce with family, friends and acquaintances. 

It’s now the start of Spring and I have celebrated another birthday, we have well and truly settled back into normality and the frustrations and joys of our daily lives fill each moment. The bees survived winter and they are busily filling their hive with pollen and making sweet nectar for us to collect in due course. The fruit trees that survived the bitter frosts are now in bud, although it appears we have lost two more and all our citrus. Our tractor is fixed and our All-Terrain Vehicle has been given a thorough check up. The motorbike is still temperamental and only works with a lot of help, but the ride-on mower is at least now working again after tire issues. We have purchased a run around car and the old Ford ute now rests in the hayshed, used only for farm functions. The increasing cost of fuel was a driving factor to change the way we commute.

Our youngest is finishing her final year of school, exam prep is well and well truly underway. Her determination and drive to succeed is reminiscent of a younger version of myself and I am so very proud of her. She is also in the final stages of preparation for another extended adventure overseas in the new year. How I miss the enthusiasm of youth and the energy that springs from hope. Today, I feel older than my years, clouded in my views, and small, despite my expanded holiday-waistline.  Maybe in another 5,270,400 seconds things will be different. 

Until next time,

N