The picture on the wall.

On a distant fridge, a picture hangs with a single clydesdale. It's what dreams are made of, reflecting the perfect horse of the judge over the weekend's proceedings. His eye casts over the 60 odd horses on display, filtered by that distant view, as he selects his favourite.

Meaningful Lyricism

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.

Heavy Horses and Merino Memories

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.

Running.

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.

Shooting Star Wishing

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.

12 months on.

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?

Homestead dreams

This week has naturally focused on Polly, who has slowly started blending into everyday life around here. At times, her instinct has had her rounding up sheep in the backyard and at others calming her puppy ways to connect with a child. Then come the puppy terrors and the occasional need for affection.

The Worimi Way

Despite a few recent sleep-limited nights, it's hard not to feel empowered and driven. I can see exactly what I want, I've been dreaming of where I need to be and the ducks fly seamlessly into row formation. It's here, now. The ridge line promising guidance.

Farm IT

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.

Thank God I’m a country boy

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.

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