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.
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?
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.
Flying back from New Zealand last week, I put on a movie and grabbed out a notebook to jot down some thoughts. To be honest, most of the thoughts are the same- the dream of farming on rolling hills, restoring and rebuilding the love of agriculture that flows from the blood of my ancestors, and understanding the role of my People in all of this today. The Worimi air and The Dance lyrics promised more, reminding me of the cause.
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.
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.
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.
The sun awakened to the waves crashing, calling for the beach and nearby dolphins to bathe in Worimi beauty. Nearby, a child's laughter warms the day, as pelicans play for attention and a feed. Saltwater, saltwater people, owned by this glorious county.
It's been a week since work finished, a time to celebrate and share, relax and unwind. The coffee consumption has slowed, naps occur frequently and the sun's rays kiss the skin more often. Worimi country lights up, translucent water illuminating dolphins and ancient trade routes, the nearby beach sparkling and glistening in the sun.