After a quick yarn to the owners of the new hardware in town, I left the workshop where my Grandfather worked for 50 years, with photocopied picture in tow. I can't recall ever seeing it before, somehow hidden or forgotten in an old album, but there's something about it that makes me light up. With it, old facades embracing early model Holdens, a testament to the changing times.
Early morning fog lifted as the pressure from a lone garden hose released to the sight of purple horse shampoo. Touching up the soft, flowing feathers from just a few hours the night before, it was then onto the float and back inland for the Dungog Show. It was the first horse show since May, but Izz took it in her stride and reintroduced herself to the ring.
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.
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.