As the wattle blossom fades from the golden brilliance of last month to the urine yellow it was on my walk this morning, the last of winter 2009, the odd kerria bush takes the batton. It's a pity there are so few of them.
The cold wind from the north-north-east chewed the back of my ears as I went up the hill listening to the news on my transistor radio. The Minister for Tourism and Water, Tim Holding, is missing in the Victorian Alps after not returning yesterday as scheduled from a cross country hike. I met him less than a fortnight ago at the opening of the drainage scheme in Nobelius Park. He spoke well, and impressed me and others as a fine young man. I hope he's found fit and well quickly. The news bulletin said he was an experienced hiker and was well equipped.
I was surprised when I shook Tim Holding's hand, and had a brief discussion with him, to feel a warmth and sincerity about him that I was not expecting. He obviously has a love of the outdoors to go hiking in the mountains in winter by himself. It reminds me of a quote I came across recently attributed to Rachel Carson, author of 'Silent Spring'. It's worth sharing.
"Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts."
Monday, August 31, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Today I Write
If my post this morning seemed a little over the top, it's because at writing class last Friday, Maria asked us, for homework, to write over the top. Conservative as I am, that was the best I could do. I enjoyed it.
The mowing and pruning I did on Saturday was at Hughesie's, and the farm. I do the apple tree every year in Alan and Shirley's back yard at Avonsleigh. Alan is 87 now and Shirley is also octogenerian (I posted on Alan Shirley on 2 Oct 2007). Shirley has suffered for three weeks with a torn muscle/ligament in her neck and hasn't been able to do any gardening, so I mowed the small area of flat grass in front of the house that she usually does frequently with an old push mower. While at it I did the nature strip which I normally do several times a year. I didn't stay for a drink, I moved onto the farm and pruned the apple trees down the back, nearly finishing.
We (boys too) went out to dinner in celebration of Lib's birthday that night, to 'Forest Edge' restaurant in Launching Place Rd. just down from us. It's been open two or three years but it was our first visit. We were most impressed. It's up market and the food was excellent. It opened around the last state election. I was handing out How To Vote cards for the Greens and the owner of Forest Edge was handing out fliers for his restaurant. I told him this on Sat night. He said most people told him they put his flier in the ballot box to make it look like they were voting. I congratulated him on the meal and for surviving through difficult times. He responded, "Only the insane."
I heard on the radio that Aug 22, Lib's birthday, is also the anniversary of Captain James Cook claiming the east coast of Australia for England in 1770. How fitting that on the weekend The Ashes were in the balance as England and Australia battled out the decider at the Oval. I was so glad the Poms won. For years I've barracked against the Australian cricket team. Their brashness, cockiness, sheer bad manners and lack of humility rile me to the point of cricket treason. Before the deciding test captain Ricky Ponting was confidant, saying his team had the talent and now the form to win this game. He said England was panicking picking Trott for his first test and they would put pressure on him and not give him any easy runs. Well Trott was the hero with a second innings century and the victory was by a big margin. As usual when Australia loses the Aussie media and commentators whinged about the umpiring.
Lib worked on Sunday, I cooked. Amongst Lib's birthday presents was a new slow cooker so I put a curry chicken casserole in it and an ox tail stew in the old one. They are both tucked away in the outside fridge for use this week. In my list of loves this morning I should have included cooking. While they were cooking I did the vegies for the roast chook for our dinner yesterday and along with the washing and general housework my day was pretty full. I was happy to get the downpipe repaired, I'd been watching the leak spilling water down the fascia and onto the timber deck for weeks, and it builds up in the phsyche till peace of mind is seriously threatened.
The Gembrook market opened up again. I saw the stall holders setting up in the morning on my walk. It looked a bit light on for numbers but I've heard no reports how it went.
Mark and Jane Tobin had a baby girl named Poppy a couple of weeks ago. When I bumped into them walking down the main street, Poppy was in a pouch in front, the strap supported by Jane's neck. Everything is going well and so far Poppy is the perfect baby. They said Poppy was a wonderful gift after many years trying to concieve.
It's nearly spring officially. We're being hammered by the media and the authorities about bushfires. People are genuinely frightened. I'm hoping Edgar is right. Edgar used to have a florist shop in Camberwell that we used to supply. He sold his business many years ago and moved to Emerald, and lives on the top of a wooded hill facing north, a hot spot you might say. I bumped into him in the Emerald Fruit Barn last Friday as I often do. He follows a NZ long range forecaster who says September will be wet, October not bad, Christmas wet, January as hot as hell, to be followed by a wet Feb with the fire season over early.
The mowing and pruning I did on Saturday was at Hughesie's, and the farm. I do the apple tree every year in Alan and Shirley's back yard at Avonsleigh. Alan is 87 now and Shirley is also octogenerian (I posted on Alan Shirley on 2 Oct 2007). Shirley has suffered for three weeks with a torn muscle/ligament in her neck and hasn't been able to do any gardening, so I mowed the small area of flat grass in front of the house that she usually does frequently with an old push mower. While at it I did the nature strip which I normally do several times a year. I didn't stay for a drink, I moved onto the farm and pruned the apple trees down the back, nearly finishing.
We (boys too) went out to dinner in celebration of Lib's birthday that night, to 'Forest Edge' restaurant in Launching Place Rd. just down from us. It's been open two or three years but it was our first visit. We were most impressed. It's up market and the food was excellent. It opened around the last state election. I was handing out How To Vote cards for the Greens and the owner of Forest Edge was handing out fliers for his restaurant. I told him this on Sat night. He said most people told him they put his flier in the ballot box to make it look like they were voting. I congratulated him on the meal and for surviving through difficult times. He responded, "Only the insane."
I heard on the radio that Aug 22, Lib's birthday, is also the anniversary of Captain James Cook claiming the east coast of Australia for England in 1770. How fitting that on the weekend The Ashes were in the balance as England and Australia battled out the decider at the Oval. I was so glad the Poms won. For years I've barracked against the Australian cricket team. Their brashness, cockiness, sheer bad manners and lack of humility rile me to the point of cricket treason. Before the deciding test captain Ricky Ponting was confidant, saying his team had the talent and now the form to win this game. He said England was panicking picking Trott for his first test and they would put pressure on him and not give him any easy runs. Well Trott was the hero with a second innings century and the victory was by a big margin. As usual when Australia loses the Aussie media and commentators whinged about the umpiring.
Lib worked on Sunday, I cooked. Amongst Lib's birthday presents was a new slow cooker so I put a curry chicken casserole in it and an ox tail stew in the old one. They are both tucked away in the outside fridge for use this week. In my list of loves this morning I should have included cooking. While they were cooking I did the vegies for the roast chook for our dinner yesterday and along with the washing and general housework my day was pretty full. I was happy to get the downpipe repaired, I'd been watching the leak spilling water down the fascia and onto the timber deck for weeks, and it builds up in the phsyche till peace of mind is seriously threatened.
The Gembrook market opened up again. I saw the stall holders setting up in the morning on my walk. It looked a bit light on for numbers but I've heard no reports how it went.
Mark and Jane Tobin had a baby girl named Poppy a couple of weeks ago. When I bumped into them walking down the main street, Poppy was in a pouch in front, the strap supported by Jane's neck. Everything is going well and so far Poppy is the perfect baby. They said Poppy was a wonderful gift after many years trying to concieve.
It's nearly spring officially. We're being hammered by the media and the authorities about bushfires. People are genuinely frightened. I'm hoping Edgar is right. Edgar used to have a florist shop in Camberwell that we used to supply. He sold his business many years ago and moved to Emerald, and lives on the top of a wooded hill facing north, a hot spot you might say. I bumped into him in the Emerald Fruit Barn last Friday as I often do. He follows a NZ long range forecaster who says September will be wet, October not bad, Christmas wet, January as hot as hell, to be followed by a wet Feb with the fire season over early.
My Abundant Life
Saturday, I mowed, pruned, we celebrated Lib's 53rd birthday.
Sunday, I had a cook up and repaired a leaky downpipe.
Today, I write. Then work.
I love to write, I love to walk. I love to work. I love fresh air, breathing. I love cheese, I love roast lamb, beef, chicken, pork, potato, pumpkin, parsnip, peas, beans, silverbeet, broccolli, cauliflower, carrot, fresh parsley, tomatoes, onions, garlic, wine, tea, coffee. I love honesty, enthusiasm, willingness, determination, persistance. I love eggs, free range, fried, poached, boiled, scrambled, florentine, bacon, sausages. I love trees, leaves, gardens, flowers, bees, frogs and lizards. And lemons, apples, mandarins, canteloupe, yoghurt. I love mum, my sister, even Jod. I love the dogs. I love clouds, the ocean, fish, rivers, mountains, forests, lakes, silence, birds. I love a good book, a good movie, good people. I love love, dreams, sleep, the dawn, the night, the shade, wind, rain, sunshine, mist, the cold, water, grass, rock, earth, blue sky, stars, the moon. I love common sense, compassion, reason, justice, integrity, truth, sincerity. I love music, song, laughter, the open fire. I love memories, good boots. I love it when people wave to me. I love a good steak. I love the landscape. I love words. I love understanding. I love peace, and quiet. I love my wife. I love my sons.
I love life.
Sunday, I had a cook up and repaired a leaky downpipe.
Today, I write. Then work.
I love to write, I love to walk. I love to work. I love fresh air, breathing. I love cheese, I love roast lamb, beef, chicken, pork, potato, pumpkin, parsnip, peas, beans, silverbeet, broccolli, cauliflower, carrot, fresh parsley, tomatoes, onions, garlic, wine, tea, coffee. I love honesty, enthusiasm, willingness, determination, persistance. I love eggs, free range, fried, poached, boiled, scrambled, florentine, bacon, sausages. I love trees, leaves, gardens, flowers, bees, frogs and lizards. And lemons, apples, mandarins, canteloupe, yoghurt. I love mum, my sister, even Jod. I love the dogs. I love clouds, the ocean, fish, rivers, mountains, forests, lakes, silence, birds. I love a good book, a good movie, good people. I love love, dreams, sleep, the dawn, the night, the shade, wind, rain, sunshine, mist, the cold, water, grass, rock, earth, blue sky, stars, the moon. I love common sense, compassion, reason, justice, integrity, truth, sincerity. I love music, song, laughter, the open fire. I love memories, good boots. I love it when people wave to me. I love a good steak. I love the landscape. I love words. I love understanding. I love peace, and quiet. I love my wife. I love my sons.
I love life.
Monday, August 17, 2009
A Wild Bull from the 'Bogies
"As far as I was concerned, there was only one good job on the farm, and the bull had that."
Graeme grew up on a farm out of Warrenbayne. He was in the middle of an answer to my question as to why he couldn't read or write. He'd let it slip when telling me about his recent knee replacement that it was hard finding the specialist in Melbourne as he couldn't read. He left school at twelve, at the end of primary school. He had trouble staying awake at school, after milking cows in the morning, putting out hay, then milking again after school. He'd worked on the farm from as young as he could remember. There was never any pay. After leaving school he worked for years for nothing. On Sundays his father would get out the boxing gloves, give him a lesson, and a hiding, after which he'd sneer, "You'll learn eventually to keep your gloves up so you don't get hit."
Gord and I were at Frieda and Will's daughter Tammy's place at Upper Beacy yesterday. The occasion was Frieda's 60th birthday party. Lib didn't come. She was called out early to fill in for a nurse whose two year old daughter had got into a box of sleeping tablets and was rushed to hospital. Lib's matron had a breakdown recently and is off on stress leave, so Lib is acting DON. The power was out due to the earlier storm and the throng were crowded inside round the 'Coonarra'.
Graeme was carving meat at the bench when we arrived an hour late, but before the feast began. Carving seemed a labour of love to Graeme as he deftly and reverently sliced a number of joints as people went back for seconds and thirds. Later he showed me pictures of his fishing chalet in Tasmania, and of trout strung up on a rope. When someone opened the door to come in the cold air was sweet and inviting so we stepped outside and leaned on the rail overlooking the pool and view to the west. The rain had stopped. At 61 and still a large, powerful looking man with shoulders like the proverbial brick outhouse, long curly hair and a bushy black beard, there was something in his eyes that matched the wild stormy day. If you replaced his neat slacks and sloppy jumper with leather, he'd look like the chief of the Hell's Angels.
"The old man was a miserable bugger. He'd never give you anything, not even a compliment. If I was fencing he'd come along and say, 'That's not bad, but you should have done this.' Whatever the job, there was always something better you could have done. At school it was brought in that every kid had to have a bank savings account and make a deposit every week. When I left school he made me go to the bank, withdraw the money and give it to him."
"As soon as I was old enough I started doing jobs off the farm, to get money. Carting hay, shearing, digging spuds, fencing, anything I could find. An old neighbour used to do some concreting around dairies, and septic tanks and things. He taught me a bit about concreting. We'd dig the hole for the tank by hand then box it and pour a square tank with V in the bottom. When I went to Melbourne after I'd saved a few bob I got a job with an Italian concreter at Dandenong. This was the mid sixties. I didn't know my way around and couldn't read the signs. I had to ask people when catching a train or tram."
"From memory I was getting $35 a week with Joe Viccarro as a labourer. Louie Lunardi offered me $50, so I changed employer. After a while I started doing a few small jobs of my own on Saturday mornings, putting driveways in mainly. At one time I was milking cows some mornings at Narre Warren, then doing a full days work concreting before knocking off and weeding carrots for a couple of hours in the evening. Then I'd do my Saturday morning private job then head up to the Strathbogies with the ferrets and catch a load of rabbits. Back Sunday afternoon I'd sell the rabbits at the Hallam pub. A customer'd ask how fresh are they and I'd tell him they couldn't be fresher and go and wring their necks. What I couldn't sell at the pub I'd take to the Sandown dog track and sell live to the dog trainers. There was good money in it."
"One day the concrete truck didn't turn up to my Sat morning job, said he'd come Monday. I told Louie I was crook and had to take the day off. He was too smart for that and found out from the concrete place where my job was. He came round to the job and took his barrows (he loaned me his barrows for Saturdays), and sacked me. I didn't mind, I was getting as much for the Saturday morning job as I was in whole week working for him. So I went on my own and concreted for years. I did a lot of work around Toorak that paid real well. I did all the cable boxing on the Melbourne loop. I concreted all over the joint. I met Will on a building job. He worked with me for awhile. We did about two acres of concrete for a huge pig farm being built at Corowa. He called out to Will, "When did we work at Corowa on that pig farm?"
"Too long ago. Some time in the seventies". Will is a builder. He and Frieda lived in Gembrook when our boys were at primary school with their son Liam. The boys shared much of their childhood and our two families spent a lot of time together. Frieda nursed with lib at Salisbury House. I planted about three acres of trees and shrubs on Will and Frieda's place as a joint business venture, beginning the day Princess Di died in 1997. A few years later Fieda's mother died leaving a large inheritance, so Will and Frieda sold up and moved to Phillip Island where they built houses during the boom, and then tourist units for disabled people on a 15 acre property at Ventnor, which is now a thriving and demanding business. Will said, to me, "I don't even like thinking about those days working with Graeme. We'd drink till midnight then get up at 4.00am to start work at first light."
Graeme wasn't drinking. I recalled seeing him at Gembrook some ten years earlier, probably Frieda's 50th. He was off the grog by then. His third wife was there yesterday. They're now separated but are the best of friends.
"I did a lot of work at Appleton Dock. The wharfies were on strike and had a picket line. I drove the truck through the picket line with my head out the window yelling, 'Get out of the fucking way or I'll drive over you then throw you in the sea.' The bloke with the big red sign waved me through after that, saying I was a comrade."
"Why'd you give the concreting away."
"I was sick of it. Around then I started playing football at Emerald with Will. I got sued for $6000 by an opponent. He was running behind me kneeing me in the back of the legs. I told him if he did it again, I'd belt him. He said, 'Have a go', so I swung round, knocking him down with a punch. He lost all his front teeth. I built a big log cabin for a rich bloke who played footy with us, out of treated pine poles, then started a business doing them. Will worked for me for a while. I got sick of building cabins too. I'd always done fencing here and there. I used to be into show jumping horses and would go everywhere to jumping events. I sponsored some and along with a cash prize I'd donate a horse rug to the winner which had written on it 'XX Fencing' and my phone number. A lot of rich horse people who won events rang me up for fencing work. Some of them had nightclubs and hotels in Melbourne and more cash money than they knew what to do with. There were two lesbian shielahs, one bought a six hundred acre property for her girlfriend to ride around and keep her little pussy wet. I did $40,000 fencing work for her. Money was nothing to them. I never had a bad debt. One builder was late paying and avoided me. I knocked his front door down with an axe in the middle of the night. He wailed that the cheque was in the mail. I locked him in the boot of my car and told him he doesn't get out till I get the cheque. The cheque came in the mail that day."
Graeme bought a beef cattle property at The Gurdies in the 1980s and, having an eye for cattle developed from childhood, he prospered. Not being able to read or write was no handicap as he had a good head for figures and could calculate in his head at cattle sales by weight and price per kilo. His accountant did all the written stuff. I remembered in the '90s Will going down to his farm to help him build a dairy.
"Why'd you go into dairying Graeme, after doing so well with the beef cattle?"
"It was a mistake. Maureen always wanted a dairy farm and I gave in to her. It was at the time when milk prices were very good. It didn't last. Around 2000 I was nearly bankrupt. Maureen and I split. I paid her out and took the debts myself, but kept the farm. An accountant, whose farm I'd worked and made him some good money, said he'd do my books for nothing for one year. I couldn't pay anyone to do anything, I did everything myself. I was up at 3.00am and worked all day everyday. I can remember waking up sitting on the motor bike, after stopping when the cows were going through a gate. They were still in the lane waiting to be milked. More than once. At the end of one year I'd removed some debt and the accountant said he'd do the books for another year. Things improved, there was deregulation. I sold the milking cattle and kept the breeding stock. I have no debt now. Dairying's buggered again, they're getting 18 cents a litre for milk that's costing them 32 cents to produce. Farmers are hanging on by the skin of their teeth month by month. Half of them'll go out. Then it'll come good again."
"What do you do now?"
"Export young dairy breeding stock. We sent 220 calves to Russia last week. Only six were mine, I bought the rest from other farmers. We send to Mexico, many places. I work through Elder's. It beats milking."
"Is there good money in it."
There's no good money now. The farm's worth $2 million. I don't have any money to speak of, unless I sell the farm or the chalet. I don't know whether to sell or not. As I said, there's only one good job on the farm, and not even the bull gets to do that anymore. I've never been anywhere, except Tassie. I wouldn't mind seeing the rest of Australia, especially up north, the big cattle stations. What do I do? How do I do it? Buy a caravan I suppose. I can't see myself driving around with a caravan behind. Where do you pull up? Around here I know where I am, where I'm going. In Tassie I leave a four wheel drive permanently at the Devonport airport and know my way to the chalet."
I could understand the uncertainty if you couldn't read signs or maps. I said he should write a book. Will laughed. "He'd have a bit of a problem with that."
Graeme grew up on a farm out of Warrenbayne. He was in the middle of an answer to my question as to why he couldn't read or write. He'd let it slip when telling me about his recent knee replacement that it was hard finding the specialist in Melbourne as he couldn't read. He left school at twelve, at the end of primary school. He had trouble staying awake at school, after milking cows in the morning, putting out hay, then milking again after school. He'd worked on the farm from as young as he could remember. There was never any pay. After leaving school he worked for years for nothing. On Sundays his father would get out the boxing gloves, give him a lesson, and a hiding, after which he'd sneer, "You'll learn eventually to keep your gloves up so you don't get hit."
Gord and I were at Frieda and Will's daughter Tammy's place at Upper Beacy yesterday. The occasion was Frieda's 60th birthday party. Lib didn't come. She was called out early to fill in for a nurse whose two year old daughter had got into a box of sleeping tablets and was rushed to hospital. Lib's matron had a breakdown recently and is off on stress leave, so Lib is acting DON. The power was out due to the earlier storm and the throng were crowded inside round the 'Coonarra'.
Graeme was carving meat at the bench when we arrived an hour late, but before the feast began. Carving seemed a labour of love to Graeme as he deftly and reverently sliced a number of joints as people went back for seconds and thirds. Later he showed me pictures of his fishing chalet in Tasmania, and of trout strung up on a rope. When someone opened the door to come in the cold air was sweet and inviting so we stepped outside and leaned on the rail overlooking the pool and view to the west. The rain had stopped. At 61 and still a large, powerful looking man with shoulders like the proverbial brick outhouse, long curly hair and a bushy black beard, there was something in his eyes that matched the wild stormy day. If you replaced his neat slacks and sloppy jumper with leather, he'd look like the chief of the Hell's Angels.
"The old man was a miserable bugger. He'd never give you anything, not even a compliment. If I was fencing he'd come along and say, 'That's not bad, but you should have done this.' Whatever the job, there was always something better you could have done. At school it was brought in that every kid had to have a bank savings account and make a deposit every week. When I left school he made me go to the bank, withdraw the money and give it to him."
"As soon as I was old enough I started doing jobs off the farm, to get money. Carting hay, shearing, digging spuds, fencing, anything I could find. An old neighbour used to do some concreting around dairies, and septic tanks and things. He taught me a bit about concreting. We'd dig the hole for the tank by hand then box it and pour a square tank with V in the bottom. When I went to Melbourne after I'd saved a few bob I got a job with an Italian concreter at Dandenong. This was the mid sixties. I didn't know my way around and couldn't read the signs. I had to ask people when catching a train or tram."
"From memory I was getting $35 a week with Joe Viccarro as a labourer. Louie Lunardi offered me $50, so I changed employer. After a while I started doing a few small jobs of my own on Saturday mornings, putting driveways in mainly. At one time I was milking cows some mornings at Narre Warren, then doing a full days work concreting before knocking off and weeding carrots for a couple of hours in the evening. Then I'd do my Saturday morning private job then head up to the Strathbogies with the ferrets and catch a load of rabbits. Back Sunday afternoon I'd sell the rabbits at the Hallam pub. A customer'd ask how fresh are they and I'd tell him they couldn't be fresher and go and wring their necks. What I couldn't sell at the pub I'd take to the Sandown dog track and sell live to the dog trainers. There was good money in it."
"One day the concrete truck didn't turn up to my Sat morning job, said he'd come Monday. I told Louie I was crook and had to take the day off. He was too smart for that and found out from the concrete place where my job was. He came round to the job and took his barrows (he loaned me his barrows for Saturdays), and sacked me. I didn't mind, I was getting as much for the Saturday morning job as I was in whole week working for him. So I went on my own and concreted for years. I did a lot of work around Toorak that paid real well. I did all the cable boxing on the Melbourne loop. I concreted all over the joint. I met Will on a building job. He worked with me for awhile. We did about two acres of concrete for a huge pig farm being built at Corowa. He called out to Will, "When did we work at Corowa on that pig farm?"
"Too long ago. Some time in the seventies". Will is a builder. He and Frieda lived in Gembrook when our boys were at primary school with their son Liam. The boys shared much of their childhood and our two families spent a lot of time together. Frieda nursed with lib at Salisbury House. I planted about three acres of trees and shrubs on Will and Frieda's place as a joint business venture, beginning the day Princess Di died in 1997. A few years later Fieda's mother died leaving a large inheritance, so Will and Frieda sold up and moved to Phillip Island where they built houses during the boom, and then tourist units for disabled people on a 15 acre property at Ventnor, which is now a thriving and demanding business. Will said, to me, "I don't even like thinking about those days working with Graeme. We'd drink till midnight then get up at 4.00am to start work at first light."
Graeme wasn't drinking. I recalled seeing him at Gembrook some ten years earlier, probably Frieda's 50th. He was off the grog by then. His third wife was there yesterday. They're now separated but are the best of friends.
"I did a lot of work at Appleton Dock. The wharfies were on strike and had a picket line. I drove the truck through the picket line with my head out the window yelling, 'Get out of the fucking way or I'll drive over you then throw you in the sea.' The bloke with the big red sign waved me through after that, saying I was a comrade."
"Why'd you give the concreting away."
"I was sick of it. Around then I started playing football at Emerald with Will. I got sued for $6000 by an opponent. He was running behind me kneeing me in the back of the legs. I told him if he did it again, I'd belt him. He said, 'Have a go', so I swung round, knocking him down with a punch. He lost all his front teeth. I built a big log cabin for a rich bloke who played footy with us, out of treated pine poles, then started a business doing them. Will worked for me for a while. I got sick of building cabins too. I'd always done fencing here and there. I used to be into show jumping horses and would go everywhere to jumping events. I sponsored some and along with a cash prize I'd donate a horse rug to the winner which had written on it 'XX Fencing' and my phone number. A lot of rich horse people who won events rang me up for fencing work. Some of them had nightclubs and hotels in Melbourne and more cash money than they knew what to do with. There were two lesbian shielahs, one bought a six hundred acre property for her girlfriend to ride around and keep her little pussy wet. I did $40,000 fencing work for her. Money was nothing to them. I never had a bad debt. One builder was late paying and avoided me. I knocked his front door down with an axe in the middle of the night. He wailed that the cheque was in the mail. I locked him in the boot of my car and told him he doesn't get out till I get the cheque. The cheque came in the mail that day."
Graeme bought a beef cattle property at The Gurdies in the 1980s and, having an eye for cattle developed from childhood, he prospered. Not being able to read or write was no handicap as he had a good head for figures and could calculate in his head at cattle sales by weight and price per kilo. His accountant did all the written stuff. I remembered in the '90s Will going down to his farm to help him build a dairy.
"Why'd you go into dairying Graeme, after doing so well with the beef cattle?"
"It was a mistake. Maureen always wanted a dairy farm and I gave in to her. It was at the time when milk prices were very good. It didn't last. Around 2000 I was nearly bankrupt. Maureen and I split. I paid her out and took the debts myself, but kept the farm. An accountant, whose farm I'd worked and made him some good money, said he'd do my books for nothing for one year. I couldn't pay anyone to do anything, I did everything myself. I was up at 3.00am and worked all day everyday. I can remember waking up sitting on the motor bike, after stopping when the cows were going through a gate. They were still in the lane waiting to be milked. More than once. At the end of one year I'd removed some debt and the accountant said he'd do the books for another year. Things improved, there was deregulation. I sold the milking cattle and kept the breeding stock. I have no debt now. Dairying's buggered again, they're getting 18 cents a litre for milk that's costing them 32 cents to produce. Farmers are hanging on by the skin of their teeth month by month. Half of them'll go out. Then it'll come good again."
"What do you do now?"
"Export young dairy breeding stock. We sent 220 calves to Russia last week. Only six were mine, I bought the rest from other farmers. We send to Mexico, many places. I work through Elder's. It beats milking."
"Is there good money in it."
There's no good money now. The farm's worth $2 million. I don't have any money to speak of, unless I sell the farm or the chalet. I don't know whether to sell or not. As I said, there's only one good job on the farm, and not even the bull gets to do that anymore. I've never been anywhere, except Tassie. I wouldn't mind seeing the rest of Australia, especially up north, the big cattle stations. What do I do? How do I do it? Buy a caravan I suppose. I can't see myself driving around with a caravan behind. Where do you pull up? Around here I know where I am, where I'm going. In Tassie I leave a four wheel drive permanently at the Devonport airport and know my way to the chalet."
I could understand the uncertainty if you couldn't read signs or maps. I said he should write a book. Will laughed. "He'd have a bit of a problem with that."
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
It's a Worry
Another letter came from George in Peru last week. I copied some of his March letter in a post on 21 July. This time I'll copy my letter to him. I haven't written till now. I'm not really being lazy. It's just a way of killing two birds with the one stone as it's hard to find the time to blog regularly.
Dear George,
Elvie’s letter writing days are behind her now. Her macular degeneration has diminished her eyesight to a degree that makes writing arduous, and she has many things to struggle with daily. We thank you for your last letter. Your letters give us a boost and our memories of Pat are part of that.
I particularly like reading your news of the economy and politics of Peru. I think I told you when you were last at the farm that Lib and I had toured there in 2005. It was an experience we won’t forget in a hurry. The riots in the north that killed over 400 police and indigenous people didn’t make the news here; I didn’t see it in any case. The road blockages and boycott of the Inti Raymi festival you described around Cusco brought a strong flashback to our trip when on the first day of our tour, about an hour or so south of Lima near Ica, the farmers blocked the road with rocks and logs preventing us reaching our first night’s destination. Large numbers of police in full riot gear and rifles cleared the road briefly and we got through in the early dawn but it was an anxious time we spent holed up in makeshift accommodation with gunfire splitting the night air at regular interval. The strike, caused by farmer revolt at trade agreements with the U.S, went on for weeks after we got through and we were lucky our trip wasn’t ruined then and there.
Not that we have been without our own dramas. I doubt you get much of the daily news from here over there. Last week the front page of the papers had photographs of federal police in full military gear including automatic rifles standing boldly in the street at road blocks in Melbourne. Raids overnight involving more than 400 Federal, Victorian, and NSW police in several locations took place simultaneously as terrorist cells were routed and plans to attack military bases were smashed after many weeks of sustained intelligence. Four men, two with links to Somalia, appeared in court soon after. Their intentions, allegedly, were to obtain automatic weapons and storm the Holdsworthy Army base and kill as many soldiers as possible before they were killed or captured. Controversy followed as the Australian newspaper published the story of the raid on the front page that morning, on sale before the raid took place, in a touch of the bizarre. It was a pity, I thought, that the police pictured in the newspaper had such military bearing and appearance, right down to their tin hats that resembled those of Germans in the old WW2 footage.
Even more disturbing to me, ‘The Australian’ weekend magazine carried the story of ‘Tyler Cassidy’, who was shot dead by police at a suburban skate park in February. At 15 years old, Tyler was the youngest of 48 people to be shot dead in Victoria since 1987. He was disturbed and threatening police with two knives. Four police officers present fired 10 shots in total, five of which hit Tyler, one going through a lung causing him to drown in his blood. The story was distressing as it was written sympathetically to the boy’s mother.
There’s been a spate of street violence in Melbourne lately. The front page of the Herald Sun on Monday had the headline “NEW BLITZ ON SREET THUGS”, subheading, “Cops Get Tougher Search Powers”. It makes you wonder where we’re headed.
Despite all that, life is treating us well. We enjoy our work at the farm and try to keep life simple. Elvie, Meredith and Jod give their best regards, as I do. And thanks again. Keep up the good work in Peru.
Carey
Dear George,
Elvie’s letter writing days are behind her now. Her macular degeneration has diminished her eyesight to a degree that makes writing arduous, and she has many things to struggle with daily. We thank you for your last letter. Your letters give us a boost and our memories of Pat are part of that.
I particularly like reading your news of the economy and politics of Peru. I think I told you when you were last at the farm that Lib and I had toured there in 2005. It was an experience we won’t forget in a hurry. The riots in the north that killed over 400 police and indigenous people didn’t make the news here; I didn’t see it in any case. The road blockages and boycott of the Inti Raymi festival you described around Cusco brought a strong flashback to our trip when on the first day of our tour, about an hour or so south of Lima near Ica, the farmers blocked the road with rocks and logs preventing us reaching our first night’s destination. Large numbers of police in full riot gear and rifles cleared the road briefly and we got through in the early dawn but it was an anxious time we spent holed up in makeshift accommodation with gunfire splitting the night air at regular interval. The strike, caused by farmer revolt at trade agreements with the U.S, went on for weeks after we got through and we were lucky our trip wasn’t ruined then and there.
Not that we have been without our own dramas. I doubt you get much of the daily news from here over there. Last week the front page of the papers had photographs of federal police in full military gear including automatic rifles standing boldly in the street at road blocks in Melbourne. Raids overnight involving more than 400 Federal, Victorian, and NSW police in several locations took place simultaneously as terrorist cells were routed and plans to attack military bases were smashed after many weeks of sustained intelligence. Four men, two with links to Somalia, appeared in court soon after. Their intentions, allegedly, were to obtain automatic weapons and storm the Holdsworthy Army base and kill as many soldiers as possible before they were killed or captured. Controversy followed as the Australian newspaper published the story of the raid on the front page that morning, on sale before the raid took place, in a touch of the bizarre. It was a pity, I thought, that the police pictured in the newspaper had such military bearing and appearance, right down to their tin hats that resembled those of Germans in the old WW2 footage.
Even more disturbing to me, ‘The Australian’ weekend magazine carried the story of ‘Tyler Cassidy’, who was shot dead by police at a suburban skate park in February. At 15 years old, Tyler was the youngest of 48 people to be shot dead in Victoria since 1987. He was disturbed and threatening police with two knives. Four police officers present fired 10 shots in total, five of which hit Tyler, one going through a lung causing him to drown in his blood. The story was distressing as it was written sympathetically to the boy’s mother.
There’s been a spate of street violence in Melbourne lately. The front page of the Herald Sun on Monday had the headline “NEW BLITZ ON SREET THUGS”, subheading, “Cops Get Tougher Search Powers”. It makes you wonder where we’re headed.
Despite all that, life is treating us well. We enjoy our work at the farm and try to keep life simple. Elvie, Meredith and Jod give their best regards, as I do. And thanks again. Keep up the good work in Peru.
Carey
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Mowers Fire Up
I mowed the grass around the house yesterday, the first time in many weeks. There were plenty of neighbours' mowers going too.
I planted 6 white lilacs at the farm. These I'd had in pots for 12 months after digging them up as suckers at Huit's last winter. I made room for them by cutting out 5 big crabapples that we hadn't been able to use for the florists (the birds and black spot always ruined them) as part of my renovations.
Speaking of Huit, I saw him and Wilma as they were going in to church this morning. Wilma, looking lovely, ducked in out of the cold quickly. Huit and I had a chat about the onion weed in his shade house, and my beehive near his vegie garden. I told him I'd move it one day this week, while it was cold and I can lock it up in daylight. It's been a bit savage and got after him a few times last season when he mowed nearby. I saw George Hilder too, he asked would I prune the roses at the back of his house.
I noticed the 'CLOSED DOWN' sticker on the market sign has been removed. I read in the local paper that it's hoped the market will start again in late August. For a happy but brief time I thought I'd be spared the Sunday traffic jams and the dreadful sign, but it appears not so.
A young lady whose house I walk past daily asked me did I see anything out of the ordinary yesterday. Someone smashed both the passenger side windows of her car with large rocks between 11am and 3pm. I walked past well before 9am and didn't see anything unusual, but that's a strange thing to happen in the middle of the day, especially in a quiet place like Gembrook, with no apparent motive.
The good news is there are still no bellbirds to be seen or heard.
I planted 6 white lilacs at the farm. These I'd had in pots for 12 months after digging them up as suckers at Huit's last winter. I made room for them by cutting out 5 big crabapples that we hadn't been able to use for the florists (the birds and black spot always ruined them) as part of my renovations.
Speaking of Huit, I saw him and Wilma as they were going in to church this morning. Wilma, looking lovely, ducked in out of the cold quickly. Huit and I had a chat about the onion weed in his shade house, and my beehive near his vegie garden. I told him I'd move it one day this week, while it was cold and I can lock it up in daylight. It's been a bit savage and got after him a few times last season when he mowed nearby. I saw George Hilder too, he asked would I prune the roses at the back of his house.
I noticed the 'CLOSED DOWN' sticker on the market sign has been removed. I read in the local paper that it's hoped the market will start again in late August. For a happy but brief time I thought I'd be spared the Sunday traffic jams and the dreadful sign, but it appears not so.
A young lady whose house I walk past daily asked me did I see anything out of the ordinary yesterday. Someone smashed both the passenger side windows of her car with large rocks between 11am and 3pm. I walked past well before 9am and didn't see anything unusual, but that's a strange thing to happen in the middle of the day, especially in a quiet place like Gembrook, with no apparent motive.
The good news is there are still no bellbirds to be seen or heard.
Friday, August 07, 2009
A Longshot
In my post 'Old Soldiers' of 14 June I copied a letter I wrote to Phil Allchin who spent WW2 in the same unit as my father-in-law Bill Meek. In it I explained how I met and was good friends with George Atchison who was in the same unit for the duration of the war. Phil replied with a warm letter that included some photstat photos and info sheets of some of his army mates. He closed his letter with the words, "Was your great or great great grandmother Hannah Williams? Just another longshot."
I didn't follow up on that till the day before yesterday, when I asked Mum was there a Hannah Williams in our past. Well there was. My maternal grandmother's grandmother was Hannah Williams. Previous to that she was Hannah Allchin, before her husband Ebenezer died and she remarried to Francis Williams (no relation, to my knowledge, to the 'Williams' on my father's side). She was born a Wilson, daughter of Joseph and Hannah(nee Boulton).
Interestingly, Hanna Williams/Allchin, born a Wilson, had a brother, Joseph, who was the grandfather of Edgar, my grandfather. So Edgar and Annie, my maternal grandparents, were second cousins. At least I think that's right.
I know this because Meredith found for me a copy of the Wilson/Pitt family tree our uncle Ron did some years ago. My grandfather Edgar, a Wilson, married 'Old Nanna', a Pitt, shortly after WW1. Old Nanna's mother (Hannah Williams' daughter) married Percival Pitt. We always called our grandmother Annie 'Nanna' or 'Nanna Wilson' to differentiate between Lyle's mother who was 'Nanna Myrt' (her name was Myrtle), but she became 'Old Nanna' to Meredith's girls to distinguish her from their Nanna, Elvie. It stuck, and she became 'Old Nanna' to everyone till she died in 1996, aged 99.
When Hannah Williams was married to Ebenezer Allchin, they produced one child, James Allchin, whom I suspect is the link to Phil Allchin, making Phil and I relatives.
I rang Phil in Perth last night, to briefly tell him of my discovery. I'm going to photocopy the family tree and send it to him. He told me on the phone that Hannah Willams had four husbands in total so I look forward to learning more about my family history as this story unfolds.
I didn't follow up on that till the day before yesterday, when I asked Mum was there a Hannah Williams in our past. Well there was. My maternal grandmother's grandmother was Hannah Williams. Previous to that she was Hannah Allchin, before her husband Ebenezer died and she remarried to Francis Williams (no relation, to my knowledge, to the 'Williams' on my father's side). She was born a Wilson, daughter of Joseph and Hannah(nee Boulton).
Interestingly, Hanna Williams/Allchin, born a Wilson, had a brother, Joseph, who was the grandfather of Edgar, my grandfather. So Edgar and Annie, my maternal grandparents, were second cousins. At least I think that's right.
I know this because Meredith found for me a copy of the Wilson/Pitt family tree our uncle Ron did some years ago. My grandfather Edgar, a Wilson, married 'Old Nanna', a Pitt, shortly after WW1. Old Nanna's mother (Hannah Williams' daughter) married Percival Pitt. We always called our grandmother Annie 'Nanna' or 'Nanna Wilson' to differentiate between Lyle's mother who was 'Nanna Myrt' (her name was Myrtle), but she became 'Old Nanna' to Meredith's girls to distinguish her from their Nanna, Elvie. It stuck, and she became 'Old Nanna' to everyone till she died in 1996, aged 99.
When Hannah Williams was married to Ebenezer Allchin, they produced one child, James Allchin, whom I suspect is the link to Phil Allchin, making Phil and I relatives.
I rang Phil in Perth last night, to briefly tell him of my discovery. I'm going to photocopy the family tree and send it to him. He told me on the phone that Hannah Willams had four husbands in total so I look forward to learning more about my family history as this story unfolds.
Monday, August 03, 2009
Black Wattle Flowering
A work friend of Lib's sent an email saying she'd be off the radar for ten days as she'd be in Thailand. Another sent one with the subject 'Gossip' and an E address to which we could send any titbits from Lib's work to her while she and hubby holiday at a cottage in the south of France for four weeks.
My response to both was short and sweet. Who'd want to be in Thailand, or France, when the black wattle's flowering in the gullies and on the hillsides around Gembrook. A spectacular show is there for all to see every day. The currawongs call me out early into the cold and damp, kookaburras let rip, wattle birds cackle and choff and dance in the trees in foreplay. Who'd be in France. I love the cold of winter and savour every day of it.
I wouldn't want to miss the conversation I had on Saturday morning with Kathy, the cleaner at the pub on weekends. I have to watch the dogs closely when I get to pub, so they don't tuck into the scraps or the result of a heaving stomach out front or in the carpark. She couldn't believe the mess that greeted her. The pavement was littered with broken glass, buts, pizza boxes, foodscraps, cans, and shredded paper. Clumps of human hair were scattered about, as it was inside the bar. What went on the previous night she didn't know, but the mess in the morning was the worst she'd seen. What worried her most was the sharp bits of broken glass sticking up, thinking of a kid on his bike out early and taking a tumble. She just focused, she said, and picked up the debris and swept and scooped it into big garbage bags. Most of it was done when I came along. She said there was enough to do inside to keep her going till lunch, when she'd have a free beer.
Nor would I like want to miss the wave from Jane and her husband Mark yesterday morning as they walked with their dog Reggie. Jane's baby, their first, is due on the 12th of this month. As we passed I was on my way down the hill talking to Harry and his beautiful German visitor, Anya, who's in Australia for three months. Harry came from Germany in 1952. His wife Hannah escaped from East Berlin some years later. Harry met her in Melbourne, as arranged by family, to help her acclimatize. A romance developed. They married. Anya, a lawyer just finished her studies, is Hannah's cousin's neice, if I recall it right. (I posted about Harry way back on 21 June 2006)
Harry and Anya turned off, leaving me admiring the wattles again. Happy yellow splashes on the winter landscape. Brilliant light green tinged the sweet piitosporums, as new growth, some of it four inches long already, springs out of the darker green foliage beneath. Come to think of it, it's not long till October when they'll be covered with their subtle flowers and the air will be filled with the magnificent fragrance.
Lib's taking holidays in October. "Let's fly to Alice Springs and hire a car," she said on the weekend.
"Sounds good to me. I can think of nothing better than a picnic each day in the Macdonnell Ranges."
I hope I don't miss the sweet pitto flowering.
My response to both was short and sweet. Who'd want to be in Thailand, or France, when the black wattle's flowering in the gullies and on the hillsides around Gembrook. A spectacular show is there for all to see every day. The currawongs call me out early into the cold and damp, kookaburras let rip, wattle birds cackle and choff and dance in the trees in foreplay. Who'd be in France. I love the cold of winter and savour every day of it.
I wouldn't want to miss the conversation I had on Saturday morning with Kathy, the cleaner at the pub on weekends. I have to watch the dogs closely when I get to pub, so they don't tuck into the scraps or the result of a heaving stomach out front or in the carpark. She couldn't believe the mess that greeted her. The pavement was littered with broken glass, buts, pizza boxes, foodscraps, cans, and shredded paper. Clumps of human hair were scattered about, as it was inside the bar. What went on the previous night she didn't know, but the mess in the morning was the worst she'd seen. What worried her most was the sharp bits of broken glass sticking up, thinking of a kid on his bike out early and taking a tumble. She just focused, she said, and picked up the debris and swept and scooped it into big garbage bags. Most of it was done when I came along. She said there was enough to do inside to keep her going till lunch, when she'd have a free beer.
Nor would I like want to miss the wave from Jane and her husband Mark yesterday morning as they walked with their dog Reggie. Jane's baby, their first, is due on the 12th of this month. As we passed I was on my way down the hill talking to Harry and his beautiful German visitor, Anya, who's in Australia for three months. Harry came from Germany in 1952. His wife Hannah escaped from East Berlin some years later. Harry met her in Melbourne, as arranged by family, to help her acclimatize. A romance developed. They married. Anya, a lawyer just finished her studies, is Hannah's cousin's neice, if I recall it right. (I posted about Harry way back on 21 June 2006)
Harry and Anya turned off, leaving me admiring the wattles again. Happy yellow splashes on the winter landscape. Brilliant light green tinged the sweet piitosporums, as new growth, some of it four inches long already, springs out of the darker green foliage beneath. Come to think of it, it's not long till October when they'll be covered with their subtle flowers and the air will be filled with the magnificent fragrance.
Lib's taking holidays in October. "Let's fly to Alice Springs and hire a car," she said on the weekend.
"Sounds good to me. I can think of nothing better than a picnic each day in the Macdonnell Ranges."
I hope I don't miss the sweet pitto flowering.
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