This is Australia

July 15, 2014

Pruning continues. Between the endless complications that can only be understood and comprehended by those involved. Today, my french wine tractor lit on fire. As near as I can tell a solenoid decided to jump off of its retaining bolt. It then elected to land on a metal hydraulic fitting. Promptly after it landed, the live side shorted out and ignited two 3 metre lengths of wire.  My shock, surprise and sorrow were mitigated when I informed my employers of this unfortunate event.  They were understandably upset. However, the tone of the conversation turned a little bit ugly for my liking. This transition prompted me to ask,

“Are you angry with me because a solenoid detached and burned 6 metres of wire or are you upset because I didn't let this tractor burn to the ground?”

My serious tone, but lighthearted delivery, was well received. It is hard to take this place seriously. Life has a comical tone here.  

The comical tone is even more pronounced in this house. My merry crew has relocated to the workshop and the new accommodations suit us better than anyone could have imagined. Our senses of humor feed on each other. One liners and witty observations are always present and I dont know how lucky I am. The german man has found a safe and comfortable place to tinker and experiment. He has already begun to modify and improve his gameboy. It is quite the process to watch and learn.  He also found a dust and grime covered Honda 125. The bike needed a very good cleaning.  The air filter was plugged.  The ignition system was packed with dust.  The oil was countless years old. He did everything.  Then he kicked the snot out of it and you should see his smile when he blasts off into the oranges on top of it.  After his inaugural ride Dan noticed that the muffler was still throwing out some soot and oil. He noticed this because his green jacket developed a very thick black stripe. Dan scratched his head, then pointed to the sky. He asked me for a hose clamp and jogged into the kitchen.  In the time it took him to return Michael and I had found a few.  Dan cracked a “Duff” beer, promptly emptied the can, then sawed off the bottom.

Michael laughed and said, “Now you have a sponsor.”

“This is Australia.” was Dan’s reply.  

“This is Australia” has become our informal rallying cry. We use it to describe the incredible, the unbelieveable, the impossible, the unusual and the attitude of this country.  We use it to describe sunrises that completely cover the spectrum of known colour.  We use it to describe the everyday alcoholics that populate this crazy corner of the country.  We use it to motivate each other to attempt things we would not normally consider. Only in Australia would you find a castaway Canadian farm boy teaching an Italian accountant how to use a cutting torch. Only in Australia will you see a German graphic designer dropping the clutch and sliding sideways down a country trail. This environment is pure magic. I am watching people learn that the only limits in their lives are the ones that they place upon themselves.  The other day I had to bring the french tractor back to the shop.  I had discovered a breakdown that a previous employee had covered up. While it was in the shop I completely rebuilt one control arm on the Gregoir. The job involved welding, swearing, thinking, WD40, a very large hammer, all the big wrenches and creativity. To me there never was any question.  I was going to figure it out.  The tractor breaking, or more recently lighting on fire, isn't the worst thing that has happened to me.  It isnt the biggest challenge I have ever faced. It is just another challenge.  To me that is what “finding yourself” is all about. This is Australia, but Australia can be anywhere. Your Australia could be in New Mexico, or Spain, or Drayton Valley. Maybe that is just my opinion, but I didn't come to Australia to “find myself”.

What I have found is a cat. The cat was originally named “Puss Face”.  PF has a bad habit of losing fights with other tom cats and before my tenure at the workshop he had adopted Cam and Nadine.  After I moved in I began to call him T.F.C., which is the acronym and sanitized version of his new name. Now as the womenfolk moved in his name and alligences have quickly changed. Now he does not answer to “Milo”. Today Milo T.F.C. Puss Face was doing his best to scam some supper from the Italians.  Eventually Mabel was able to persuade Michael and he reluctantly agreed to let the cat have some pasta. Mabel twirled her fork on the plate, collecting a dozen or so strands of spaghetti. She deposited the pasta into a bowl and began to cut the pasta with her knife. I tried, but I couldn't contain myself. I laughed loudly and deeply.  The cat sat on the chair, his traitorous eyes locked on the bowl. Mabel carried the bowl outside and as she placed it on the ground I asked,
“Shouldnt you offer him some parmesean?”

Michael snorted, Mabel stuck out her tongue, and the cat purred.  

Take it easy.   

"Life will pass me by, if I don't open up my eyes"

I have been busy. 800 lambs, about 3 or 4 hundred more that were more calf than lamb. Sort and process the other 1600. It was hectic, it was hell, it was fun. I am glad to be done but I am also sad. No, I didn't leave a new girlfriend in the shearing shed. Sadly as the sheep work finished so did Cam’s tenure at Ciavarella farms. Cam is an incredible character. He is a type of man that could only survive in the last wild parts of the world. I suspect that he is a cash only enterprise. He is a little paranoid. He is an amazingly talented mechanic but he is also an admitted drifter and a bit of a heavy drinker. Cam is a true gypsy. He taught me a lot in the short time we shared and I returned the favour. I will miss him, and I know that I will see him again before I leave Australia.  That fool left his yabbie traps behind and I know that it was not an accident.  I also know that I will return them to him.  

All the endless sheep work had mildly blinded me from of my long standing tenants about life. I firmly believe that every day I am alive something amazing and awe inspiring happens to me. Maybe it is just a sunrise, maybe its a smile, maybe I save a whale from choking on a golf ball. I dont know what it will be, so I try to keep my eyes open and soak everything in. I know that it is impossible to catch everything but the things that I do are still pretty amazing. Like the ewe, who after giving birth promptly decided to adopt the sick and starving orphan that had been wandering the paddock all day. Or maybe it was the german nurse. The look in his eyes when he wrapped his hand around the little twitching legs of the just about born lamb that was having a bit of trouble getting out of mom. Maybe it was the rainbow that appeared to be landing a few scant feet away from the door to my shack. Each one of its colours more vivid and powerful than the last. Better yet, the howling winds and machine gun rain that followed it. I know that when I'm seeing those things, I am in a good place.  

I also know that I am doing good. My successful management of the sheep situation has lead to an increased role with this family. A role I am comfortable with and one that I strongly feel I can excell in. Which is good, I need to stay occupied. It is in of itself a distraction, but it is a healthy distraction.  It is also a distraction that allows me to slowly and gradually find solutions to the things that still vex and concern me. However, I am starting to sound a little bit narcissistic so I better lighten things up.

As I previously mentioned I am living with a young Italian couple. After I had finally finished working with sheep I decided to give myself a much needed cleanup. I was in desperate need of a haircut and my beard was reaching homeless man territory. So I asked Mabel, the young Italian woman, if she could please cut my hair.  I had watched her trim her husbands locks and she did a very nice job.  Well, I have given you that much. RJ needs hair cut, RJ asks ameatur hairdresser for hair cut, the rest you can pretty much fill in yourself.  The storyline is a comically recurring event in my life. Like each one that preceded it, this one was also special. Mostly because we were almost at the finish line. I could see the checkered flag. When Mabel moved the trimmer away from my ear I didn't suspect a thing. When I heard the blades buzz and chew above my head, I suspected that nothing was awry. When she grabbed my head and forcefully held it against her chest, I grew suspicious. When between her sobbing cries I could vaguely translate, “I made a small mistake”, I reached for the mirror.  When I looked down at the fairly large patch of hair that had fallen onto my arm, all that was left to do was laugh.  So laugh I did. We all did. A kitchen full of wandering travellers, laughing in unison at the bald patch on my head. I have had hundreds of haircuts. This is one of the worst looking. This is one of the best.  

Take it easy.

Location: Leeton, NSW, Australia

Status: The baldspot boss is permanently smiling.