At the farm, it’s evident that the drought has made its mark along the Coast. Surrounded by burnt ground from a raging inferno, the land wilters, begging for the few metres of rainfall that normally meets the ground. Instead, metres of rain is replaced by metres lost from dams and it’s hard to think of the once kneehigh green grass that used to make walking through the paddocks difficult.
It all takes it toll- each day of heat and smoke harder to remain optimistic, with each fall of rain a trigger of second guessing how much comes next. Slowly, I think it’s wearing the hopes of legacy. Slowly, the past discussions of climate change, recently accepted, seem all too real.
And yet the bellows of a new calf change the thinking, forcing a ponder of now. Yet we’re holding on, despite unaware of a reprieve.
We picked up more hay for the horses and Stroud Road cows and hope that it’s all not needed. Hopeful that the Karuah River will once again flow and fresh pick becomes viable for the horses.
The Wolseley and Morris fired up for a drive along the driveway, providing some light and new hope. I received the forms to get the Wolseley registered this week, and I’m hopeful to get it out on the road next weekend. At least that’s the aim.
Meanwhile, the Bucketts Way has kept me company for a good 8 hours or more this week, as I’ve travelled down to Newcastle and the Central Coast for meetings each day. In between driving and meetings, times opened up for more coffee to support the day of sleep on Saturday. Burn out reigned hard, broken by naps and a more conscious effort to sleep better. The late sunsets struggle to make this a reality.
So, another week down. Another week hoping for rain, hoping for change and opportunity. Another week mindful of what’s gone first and what’s to come.