Rams roam in the front paddock along a tree lined driveway, connecting the Kenyu Road to the old farm homestead. Time trapped, stagnant, the old promising home seems a mere ruin to the naked eye. Yet in my heart, I know it promises much more.
Confirmed by a forgotten orchard and a blacksmith’s shed, my mind becomes lost in thought, mesmerised by every horse shoe nail, antique paint tin or garden tool. While missing the bellowing leather below and the departed timber floor, this is yet another memory for my future. The beauty, restored for a dream.
Nearby, Nan’s new hay delivery is matched only by the lone silos on the hill, fresh with barley seed. Somehow, the wind and sun have been less forgiving out there in the past few weeks. Slowly drying, the land responds to the pressure built up around the country, patiently taking its toll on the land awaiting revival.
So with that, we drive. Destination unknown, each kilometre a tale from Nan of a previous fire, working dog or pleasant memory. Meanwhile her mind is back at the farm, and I can’t help but think my soul is walking the paddocks with her. Wanting more, craving for the legacy to live on. Boorowa basics, blessed beginnings.
Despite all the stories and lessons, I know that this challenge will always be there- awakening my Worimi ways and paying tribute to the Buccan Buccan and honouring the Amerton adventures I hold dear. A tumultuous relationship fracturing my soul and demanding attention. One that I hope to rectify. Forever.
Back at home, the heat continued to make its mark on the landscape. But to me, this country thrives. After a chance encounter, I met Max, a 83 year old native bee apiarist who was looking to escape the nestle of hives he kept. With a hive in stow, these wonders buzzed our home to new joy.
Meanwhile, the chooks roam new found grass, relishing on new soil. New recipes come from books kept closed for some time and more changes sketched for the future. Our little home certainly makes it mark, with more plans for the next few months.