Leeton

Words fail me and that truly is a rare event. Here I lie, on a decrepit futon, in the communal cook shack, somewhere outside of Leeton N.S.W. For some stupid reason, I am abnormally happy. The smile I currently sport has not been seen in over three months.

I saw my first kangaroos today. I was riding the train from Sydney to Leeton and it took every ounce of self control I have to refrain from losing my mind when I saw them. Not a single person in the car paid them any mind. So I smothered the frantic and excited 7 year old RJ, who wanted nothing more than to jump, shout and point. By the end of my trip I had seen around 15 kangaroos, and I still shove 7 year old me down whenever I do.

It is only 9pm here, but it is already blacker than the inside of a cow. It is raining here and the word the locals are using is "tropical". Sheer walls of water greet you at every door and distort the view from every window. This family I hope to work for have been farming in this part of Australia for 110 years. They are proud of it and rightly so. The past ten years have been filled with drought so they are welcoming the rain. Even if they complain about it. I should also note that around here drought isn't really what I would call drought. I understand that the word is subjective. A Leeton drought might be a western Canadian dream. Even so, I treat the word with the reverence it deserves.

I'm not exactly certain what my duties here will be. This farm has grapes, sheep, wheat, canola, oranges and a whole bunch of sad broken tractors. I suspect my first tasks will involve said broken tractors. There are also 1000 acres of grapes that need to be tended to in the coming month. Nick is very excited because last year their grape crop was ruined by an early frost. I took a short look at the grape handling equipment and well, you have to see one for yourself. The machine I examined was no larger than a 1460 International combine. Four hydraulically driven wheels encapsulate a open middle section that straddles the grape vine. The harvester then processes the vine, mechanically stripping the grapes and feeding them up over the right side and, I'm assuming, into some sort of trailing wagon. However, the grape harvest is a long time coming. First the vines must be pruned in order to stimulate new growth. I don't know what the pruners look like, I don't know where they are but if I was a betting man I would wager that I will get to know them intimately.

This family is right on the edge of the Murray basin. The Murray is a massive irrigation district and a huge crop producer in Australia. What I find interesting is how these producers are managing their water resources. I have already heard one complain that the price of water does not offset the potential crop gains. Now I have no idea what the percentages are but from the look of the land it is good to see that they have found a compromise. The land here is aggressively farmed. Also, everyone has sheep. Seriously, there was a guy running sheep in his backyard when I passed through one of the numerous towns.

These plains remind me of Regina and winterpeg. Salinity and drainage were the complaints overheard in the shop. Along with the other endless gripes of farmers. The weather, the crops, the prices, the costs. I suspect that at some point, everyone hates their job. I also believe that no one hates their job more or loves their job more deeply than farmers.

I am currently stabled with the orange pickers. In accommodations that can best be politely described as rustic. Hopefully, within the coming week, I will be moving into something a little more removed from the elements. The orange pickers are an interesting bunch. A pair of Frenchmen and a young Italian couple. The frogs are ending their orange picking tour and the Italians have just started. Many farms down here rely on this constantly changing flux of labor. The owner, Nick, was telling me some of his horror stories after he picked me up at the train station. The problem is this. Most visas are granted to young people from developed countries. One of the rules is that you can only stay for one year however, that year can be extended if you work for the government or you work in certain agricultural areas where labor is scarce. My initial plan was to take the goverment route but I lacked the accounting degree and business acumen they were currently looking for. So I put my ears to the dirt and found the Australian version of kijiji. Through it I connected with Nick and started heading west. I strongly suspect that these next few months will be interesting. Unless I get bit by some sort of venomous creature. 

On an unrelated topic, only a fool would argue with an Italian woman.

Until next time, take it easy.