Cattle bids made the auctioneer sing of prices not so bad, as he danced with an old rogue steer around the pen. The silent manoeuvre renders the crowd quiet, as the Boorowa lad lets out a familiar call, mirroring his late Dad. As the murmuring heartbeat starts again, the bustle continues on- this pen makes way for the next, the bidding starts again.
Counting time on through events, reminds me of the ticking stopwatch used to count grain. The contrast of hard hands to tie off fence wire, yet soft enough to cradle lambs and handle sheep. Although 12 months has passed, it's hard not to still feel your presence. A cracking season, healthy lambs and wool amassing faster than the period before. Still caretaking, still managing the landscape. The Quiet Stockman.
This week started with some rain soaked fencing with Nan, working down on the other block to build a holding pen. It was then to Canberra for a road trip on Saturday before feeding sheep on Sunday.
Travelling along freeways carved in my mind from years of travel, although frequented less often, country music murmurs in the background. Heading back down to Sydney during my weekends isn't normally my idea of fun, but MeatStock opened up a new perspective. Cue bearded bloke heaven.
A stiller Autumn night pauses the street, as crickets chirping to nature's heartbeat is met by a subtle acoustic country track playing. A year has passed since the first blog, as new memories become stored to make our house a home. So, what have I learnt?