When you speak

The heat of last Saturday seemed to be the perfect time to start building a veggie garden in our otherwise fairly empty backyard. Scorching the Earth and threatening more due to our changing climate, it was no wonder this season has been reflected as one of the worst since colonisation. Yet if people listened to our Indigenous Elders, they would understand that these severities aren't just from modern times.  Just more common, just more severe. 

Rethinking living

Amidst the early morning Gloucester fog, a cows head emerged near the roadside. Sitting patient in the field, the car noise seldom worried him. Ettamogah, a placid braford bull was the joy of my early drive to Sydney, signifying time and in many ways life. Somehow, he was at the right place at the right time, just like each of us. 

We have much to learn

"We have much to learn". These are the words enthusiastically sprouted from Sydney's Mayor Clover Moore at the Indigenous Streams Summit on Wednesday. Together at the National Centre of Indigenous Excellence, our mob got together to share stories of wisdom, strength and optimism in a world where our knowledge is often forgotten or devalued. Unhushed, these voices awaken to honest discussion. Lived freely through the words of our people. 

Another drafting yard

Chasing rainbows to the farm end, the welcomed rainfall greened the countryside further, encouraging more growth. It's crazy to think that in the past few weeks our rainfall has been measured again in the inches once again, refreshing the landscape and those dependent upon its revival in our area. Growth now awaiting time yet again.


Despite clocks moving forward, the second hand has made its way around a little slower than normal. Nights have shortened to the early morning only as the rooster continues to early morning crow. Locked into phone call schedules and guided by the constant buzz, this week has been driven by interruption.

Etched in skin

Tattooed deeply in my skin, crossing my heart, are three symbols, running boldly across my chest adjoining my mob name. Each mark is representative of the braford breeders before me, my Parents, Grandparents and Great Grandparents, those that fought and strived for the joy of a new calf. Each mark representative of where I have come from, who I'm accountable to and my passion.

Every little bit…

As the storms danced their way around the mountains, the temptation of rain teased the needy ground, desperate for a little bit more. Slowly the clouds opened up, unearthing more questions and false hope. Would this be enough for now? Will this get us through until the next fall? On and on the cycle goes, but ever vigilant that what we need is every little bit.

Farm Focused

Soil hasn't truly reached the soles of my worn out pair of boots, calves have only played together in my mind and notion of stepping up farming has just been tinkering in my thoughts. My eyes have only been cast across this landscape once this week, but there is a feeling things are getting ahead. Growing optimism from a few drops of rain. 


The press seems to flow a bit steadier this week, with time spent in motion travelling along past routes. Penchant a lapse of sleep in recent days strangles days like these, warmer scorched earth and optimistic ground peeking interest in the mind. Slowly, it catches up, taking effort and distorting thoughts.

Another Bale of Golden Fleece

Down Kenyu Road the lambs play, darting optimistically to a new season and the chance of later rain. It's a road I've come to love, every turn, every rolling green hill nestled in the landscape and each tree guarding from the weather above. Just out past the coffee shop and bridge where it all started.

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