Anachronisms created mixed feelings this week, focused on farming across seas. While being exposed to some of the newest ag-tech at the MobileTech Conference this week in New Zealand, it's hard to remove the thought of Braford cattle roaming ancient Worimi country and Clydesdales pulling antique carts. Tech, or no tech, this joy keeps me awake at night.
We woke early, loaded Izz into the float again last weekend. A little weary from the early starts and a passing storm the night before, she eventually made her way onto the trailer for the journey to Nabiac. After a trip over the mountains, we arrived a little weary ourselves and got straight into washing the feathers that glide within the wind. The Nabiac Show was in town.
I'm still not sure the ground is there, other than in soul and spirit singing out loud. Country tunes have guided me across familiar roads, as my phone revives from exhaustion from the constant calls. My tyres are tired from running, weary eyes peer outside the bags amassing under my eyes. But this week, I wouldn't have it any other way.
I'm sitting in our new home. Views of the Buccan Buccan play through the rear windows as paint lines walls throughout. A soft breeze continues to provide life and flow here. Each breath an opportunity for new life.
Penchant an opportunity to remind me of the drive, the nub of this week has been watching myself move each day from beyond. Each footstep taken, word uttered or memory reflected, all in awe to the vision splendid of the past. As this country grows around me, I bathe in the enlightenment of tragic pasts and hopeful tomorrows, singing familiar songs in foreign tongue.
Being back home this week has helped distil my thoughts from the last few, allowing time to see the stars and connect a few dots. A different time, a different momentum, all stacking up to what we see. And then eventually to what we don't. The past, left stagnant for what was, urging the creator to pay respect for the future.
Around a circle, we ran. Words ushered, chanting for inclusion and for acceptance. When entering the ring we listed the traits in which we give, those in which we hope to embody for now and into the future. Song and candle flickering started the embracement of this place, and soon the joy, with a paradoxical serious undertone, became apparent.
I seem to be unsure where this week really went, trading hours with phone calls and meetings, and sleep with coffee. Minutes mysteriously and mindlessly wondered to familiar paddocks for empathy, returning sown ground and found gems. Yet as the time ticked by an old fob watch in my mind, the hunger still waits to be unleashed.
As I sit and stare out the Cathedral windows, in which no doubt you must have done a hundred or so years before, my splintering week must feel trivial to your time here. Cramped, two to a bed, used as a slave, in some sort of emerging nation, very different to the struggles I am presently feeling. Yet here we are, sharing grief and respect in the stagnant halls.
This week I feel it's only apt to entitle this blog after our celebration of culture, a moment to pause, reflect and dream. Along the jetty at Coffs, overlooking the white peaked ocean, I find it hard to reconcile the landscape. At one end, American inspired piers path boardwalk style stardom over our ancient coast, while the other blasts of my culture, promising a new wave of solid foundations for the future.