The crawfish are called Yabbies. They come in a myriad of colors and sizes. I have heard that the river ones grow to the size of lobsters and are covered in boney white spines. When I catch one I'll let you know. Also, lamb. It's what's for dinner, and a few lunches.

Stargazing

Harold should have moved to Australia. For those of you who don't know him, my grandfather is a born and bred farmer. He grew up in southwest Saskatchewan, he survived the dirty 30's, he broke land, he built a farm, he adapted and he persevered. He also loved tillage. He has told me about his love of the smell that freshly turned dirt emits. He would brag and boast about the straight lines of his furrows. He challenged modern global positioning systems to match his overlap accuracy. My grandfather is increasingly saddened by the shift in agriculture away from tillage. He understands the reasoning and he enjoys the increased productivity of reduced tillage. But if he could I know he would turn a little dirt tomorrow, just so he could taste the richly scented air and feel the heat wash off of the black lumpy soil.

That is why I wish he was here. Down in this corner of Australia, with their 3 feet of heavy rich topsoil and readily available irrigation, tillage lives on. Tillage is, in my opinion, a dirty word. But here it is the norm. To suggest otherwise would be hearsay. I have found it very interesting because this convention is one that the Australian producer, in this part of the country, vehemently believes in. They believe in tillage almost as strongly as I despise it.

The other strange thing about this corner of Australia is the complete and total lack of drainage. Any slope or incline is completely man made. Every day I look out onto the horizon and I can see three hills. The closest one is but a pimple on the horizon. This land lacks typography. Consequently this land is irrigation heaven. Entire quarters of land have been given incremental slopes that allow the water to gradually flood an entire field. Often the slopes are opposing so you will flood irrigate a field in a North-South-North-South pattern. The slopes are created by bouncing lazer beams in a grid across the entire field and then using a lazer equipped bucket and blade to add the appropriate slope. It is quite the process and a great source of pride for the producers down here.

Until recently the vineyards and citrus groves were also irrigated in this fashion. That has recently changed because the price of water has increased exponentially over the past 5 years. Drip irrigation seems to be the weapon of choice in those applications. It doesn't look like half as much fun as flood irrigation.

I have almost been here for a month. It is strange to think about that. All the things I'm missing from yesterday as I blast around the world in tomorrow. The stars down here are incredible. This farm is almost remote. So when it is clear, the evening sky is filled with glitter. These stars are completely new. There was a time when I loved to stare at the stars but I shared that love with another and when she left she took the stars with her. That love of constellations has been returned to me in evening past. These would also be very good stars to share.

June 10, 2014

This morning I was sitting in front of the shop. I was waiting for everyone to get motivated and I was looking east through the wispy effervescence of my coffee. The coffee here is incredible. It is strong and dark, like Michael’s girlfriends. The aroma fills the shop from the very second you crush the beans and a single cup will colour any cup. I find that it tastes the best when you are casually watching the sun rise. The mornings here have been filled with fog and I really enjoy watching the sun burn through the wandering mist. The fog will linger under the naked grape vines and wrap around every orange tree. In the shade it will persist until the full weight of the sun fills the sky. As I sat on the shop stool, the stinky shop cat casually meandering through my feet, I listened to three murder birds singing a melodic chorus.  I wont bother trying to explain their song, but it is unlike anything I have ever heard. Each bird sang a different part but they blended seamlessly and I assure you dear reader that they practice a lot. As I sat there, watching the sun, drinking the coffee, petting the cat and listening to the birds, I realized just how lucky I am. There are going to be many things and infinite places in this world that I will never get to see. At least I was able to enjoy this morning and hopefully many, more like it. I haven't felt this sure of myself and my situation in a very long time. It feels good.  

Last night was Michael’s birthday. So his wife, Mabel, very efficiently organized a party. After a full day of chasing lambs, I was thankfully able to prepare some pasta with a cheese sauce. My little brew received the Italian seal of approval. The bosses wife was also impressed and she is old school Italian. I am in a little slice of Italy and it is wonderful.  Michael spent the majority of the night vigorously attending the grill and we feasted on an assortment of lamb, pork and beef. The frenchmen decided to wrestle beside the fire. The German girl got bombed, the German man told us about his Russian relic of a car. Out of the blue, “Someone Like You” came across the radio and suddenly there was one Italian, one Canadian, two Australians and one Frenchmen all singing along.  The frenchmen will soon be leaving our happy little commune and that will certainly be an adjustment.  They bring a certain type of energy that cannot be duplicated.  I suspect that the quiet will be quite unsettling. However, the destructive mess they leave in the kitchen will not be missed. It was a fun and eventful bonding evening. I was lucky enough to meet some other Australians with which I was able to discuss agriculture and the challenges faced by producers on the red continent. Their struggles are eerily similar to North American ones.

June 18, 2014

My apologizes for the length between posts but life is funny like that. Hopefully the little teasers were able to tide you over until now. My life has been filled with sheep. Sorting sheep. Chasing sheep. Tagging sheep. Feeding sheep. Eating sheep. Swearing at and threatening sheep. It’s incredible what a small group of dedicated individuals, armed with long sheep beating sticks, can accomplish. I will be very happy to finish the sheep work. Hopefully the end is in sight but after 2000 ewes and almost double that in lambs I am beat. Grapes are right around the corner. The equipment is almost ready. The only things left to do are some minor tuning and adjustment of the saws. I recently talked to one of the farm owners and hopefully I will be able to take and train one of the Italians. The Italian I hope to work with has raced karts and formula one cars so I think he will be able to handle a tractor. He is quite the card. Michael and I have been doing a lot of work together and he is very talented.

Thus far our greatest accomplishment has also lead to our greatest source of discontent. Two or three days ago him and I corralled and detained a large spider. I shit you not, that thing was twice the size of a fat Canadian mouse. The group elected to name him “Mr. Tickles”.  Michael spotted the spider casually marching along behind the couch in the tv room. So I naturally grabbed a tupperware container and screamed in a high pitch manner in order to distract and confuse the beast. Mr. Tickles was very happy in his tupperware prison and I always checked the seal before I left for work. Neither Michael and I are fans of the myriad of spiders you can find here. So you can imagine our shock and surprise when we returned from the shearing shed to find that Mr Tickles had disappeared. After a frantic search it was decided that we would first kill Mr. Tickles then kill whomever and whoever released him. We never found Mr Tickles. So now, somewhere out in the wilds of Australia there is a spider. A spider I captured in tupperware box. A spider that has seen my face and knows its jailors name. If you will kindly excuse me I am going to go shave my beard and dye my hair.  Until next time.

Take it easy.

  

Wanted

Just a sunset, a bunch of lambs and the last photo of the aforementioned "Mr. Tickles"

Mr Tickles

Today I caught a spider. It is as big as a mouse. We named it Mr Tickles.

International Relations

After many hours and many raised voices, the game that shall not be named is known by two Italians and two Germans.

Experience

"How much backhoe experience do you have?"

"Very little"

"Ok, go take that backhoe. Load those bales, then clean out that irrigation ditch."

"10-4"

More pictures

Sheep and spiders.

Taboo and definitions

June 6

As I alluded to earlier, everyone here wants to learn English. I am constantly bombarded with questions pertaining to the English language. It is incredible, rewarding and fun. It is also a challenge because I must force myself to use the proper pronunciation and grammar whenever I speak. The two Frenchmen in an effort to better understand this bastard tongue, invented or stole the game called "Taboo". The basic premise is that one person explains a word without using certain phrases or words. The Frenchmen decided to up the ante and include movements but limits are placed on the number of words allowed. Basically, we play charades/taboo and hilarity ensues. We also create our own words which forces me to be the resident editor of all spelling. A role I am ill equipped for.

Well dear reader, there really isn't much more to share. I have settled into a routine here. There are two utes waiting my for loving touch and one troopie. The troopie is a Sunday project and I have been informed that if I get it running and I clean it out I can call it my own. Tomorrow it will get a visit from Mr. Pressure Washer and Mrs Spider Poison.

I suppose I should explain some of those terms. The Aussie vernacular is easy enough to comprehend but it is as endless as any regional dialect. Moving on.

Ute = small 1/4 ton sized truck,  usually powered by a 4 cylinder diesel, always horribly overloaded. For example, the ute I just finished repairing and currently operate has a 600L fuel tank, a 15 gal air compressor, a generator, a tool box and I have been informed that a chemical tote (1000L) fits in the remaining space.

Troopie = any Land Rover or Toyota SUV with enough capacity to carry 7 people. Usually reserved for older models. The quintessential outback mobile.

On the piss = drunk

Goon = cheap wine

Winter = a mythical season

Muster = gather or meeting

Football = Rugby, either kind, or soccer, or Australian rules football, or American football. They make no distinction and thus confuses me.

Bog = slough or to get stuck

"Too easy" = a response, usually given after a set of instructions are recieved, intended to convey that you understand.

"Piece of piss" = another type of response, usually given to indicate that the job will be easy.

There are always more so I will keep you posted. I will also bid you goodnight because the sunrise will be here soon and I quite enjoy them down here.

Until next time, take it easy.

Mission Accomplished

Whenever I am riding a quad and I see an antelope I always try to catch them and slap them on the rump. To date, the antelope has always eluded me.

Today I was riding on a quad, clearing scrub brush out of an orange grove. Kangaroos are not as elusive or as quick as antelope.

Just Another Day in Paradise

June 2:
Kangaroos hopping around aimlessly. Trees heavy with oranges. The grape vines are starting to bud and shoot. The skies are polluted with black faced and wide billed storks. The trees are filled with cockitels of every colour you could imagine. Every corner carries a new surprise. I have even begun to apply the Australian nonchalance towards the myriad of spiders that infest every non-spider filled crevice. Seriously, nothing is sacred to those eight legged death monsters.

This adventure has taken a turn towards the surreal. I am earning an international relations degree simply by breathing. As I have mentioned before, this country is rife with international backpackers. Last night the Frenchmen who are staying here taught us all how to make crepes. The instructions came with the expected level of French flamboyance and shouting. The Frenchmen are soon bound for home but they said that they never missed it because throughout their journeys they could always prepare a dish from their mothers cookbook and suddenly they would be home. The Italians hummed and hawed but ultimately agreed. The Italians also inform me that lentil soup is a lucky soup and if you eat it you will have good luck. Food and laughter need no translation.

June 3/4:
The moisture is finally retreating which is a welcome relief for the backpackers. In the past two days their ranks have swelled with the addition of two Germans.  I feel a little guilty because I'm am currently stabled with them but I am not employed in the same capacity as them. All my years fighting with and cursing that little Nissan are finally paying dividends. The majority of the vehicles down here are Nissans and Toyotas in the 1/4 ton body size. The only real difference is that they almost exclusivly run small four cylinder diesel engines. It feels really good to be doing something I know and helping in a field I can thrive in.

It also helps that this international melting pot is full of characters. Quinton, from France, has more energy than a puppy and about the same attention span. He waves his arms like a helicopter whenever he tells a story. Remy is another Frenchman but he is quiet and reserved. He usually keeps his hands occupied by rolling cigarettes. He says that his English is no good but he has delivered some of the funniest and wittiest one liners I have ever heard. Mabel is Michàels young wife. They are both from Italy and I like them the best. Mabel is your prototypical doting Italian wife, always offering you food or drink and always caring or cleaning. Michàel is a butcher and a carpenter. The first is his trade the second a hobby. His talents and hard working attitude are humbling because of the stories he tells about his home.

For example, the norm in Italy is to work for one month then spend the second month petitioning your employer for your due wages. The number one thing I have picked up from these Europeans is that much of destination Europe, is broken. These young men and women I am living with all agree. Europe needs drastic changes if she is going to survive. They look towards North America as a beacon of hope and prosperity. All of them speak English to a degree and I am throughly embarrassed because I have failed to learn another language. But dear friends, it is late and the dawn comes early. Until I see you again,

Take it easy.