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.
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.
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.
Inevitable. This is the word I've been reflecting on this week as time slows, then jerks closer, forward. All in time they say, or all in a days work. But surely, one day, it will come.
In a world subject to changing fast and trying to keep ahead, gentle giants and a few old maps question the revolutionising change. Amidst the rush, a wave of slowing paces the hallow hallways, screaming for a recognition of the past. Often unnoticed, it is still here. Always was. Always will be.
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.
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.
The week started with a hope of rain, molding a city skyscape of pessimists, while optimistic farmers took their chance to applaud every drop, secretly hoping for the next. Following highway lines, along country roads to home, the night took us to Biripi country to Teach a Man to Fish. Kattang words flowing, didgeridoo humming and tear filling tunes, the introduction to the film was enough to capture the soul of our people and fill us with hope. And somehow, the documentary sparked new hope, new reasons.
Following the wisdom flowing from our team last week, I was guided to listen. Just find the right people and absorb what is there, asking questions to chase the story and note what is not said, what is left in the space between us. Often they are words too hard to share, too painful to re-live as a memory or thought, let alone living in the shoes. Just listen.