My sincerest apologies.  It has been far too long since I have made the time for a little writing.  I'm certain that you understand. Life, especially farm life, is really good at challenging anyone's ability to keep up. Dont fear, I have been constantly making short notes and little tags to remind myself of all the different things I need to discuss.  I have articles half written discussing the tragic attack on parliment hill, the very recent events in downtown Sydney, a magical trip down the sunshine coast, a long story about a half mad danishman, an in depth look at a dive bar, and so much more.  

To be honest, Im thankful that I have been too busy to write. My previous experience in Leeton has reminded me that I am at my happiest and healthiest if I stay occupied. Be it exploring, or working.  This recent job was also quite the adventure and not always a happy one.  For one thing, the people I worked with were and are world class.  There is a young man in that companies employ who can do anything, and if you ask me, should be doing anything else. They also have an older gentleman, he clearly remembers a time when things were different and maybe more positive.  You could clearly see him clinging to that memory and doing his very best to keep it alive in the public eye.  

It takes a certain kind of person to be out here doing this sort of stuff.  I realized that very soon after I landed in Oz. I also noticed that I like those kind of people. Risk takers, dreamers, idealists.  There are also hippies, vagabonds, and runners. It takes all kinds.  I have also noticed and I do not like structured elitist attitudes.  I know why people around the world love Canadians. The answer is simply this, we value freedom and equality and give those things to everyone.  Yeah we are polite, but we are also genuine.  That genuine nature is what carries us. I was half way around the world when a foolish, misguided youth took the life of a Canadian hero on Parliament hill. Australia watched in wonder as our nation handled that issue and continues to heal.  The world watched in wonder. The world watched us at our lowest and they watched us behave to our very best.  

So Im going to try to edit a couple of these things and see how they go. 

Take it easy. 

Day 1.2

Have you done any wind rowing?

Yes

Alright. We'll get you started on this block.

How big is it?

550 hectares.

Wtf is that?

That's one of a kind.

Day one in Young

Faith ran off to get a set of keys cut for me. She left me in charge of the office. I have already answered five phone calls and I think I sold a trailer. It's 9:30 am. This is going to be fun.

Foreign Entertainment Monkey

So, I have told a few people about this, now I will try to put my disjointed thoughts to paper.  This story happened back in June.  I was reluctant to share it, because like so many things down here it is comically over the top.  

The story starts with Cam and I cutting down and removing unwanted trees from the grape vines.  There are many species of unwanted tree and they grow to incredible sizes in a surprisingly short time.  Drip fertilizer and irrigation can do wonders.  The trees were usually six to ten feet tall and roughly as thick as my arm. For a comparison, put both of Michaels arms together, that should give you an idea.  The modus operandus was for Cam and I to bring a quad and a ute to the field. We would then double on the quad with a chainsaw to the tree.  After we felled the tree in the direction we wanted we would use the saw to chop the tree stump as close to the ground as possible.  This procedure usually left us with a fist sized chunk of trunk.  We would then tie the tree to the quad and pull the tree to the ute. The rows of grapes can be quite long. There are a section that are over 1000 metres long, so we did quite a bit of bouncing around.  

Now it is important that I take some time and describe Cam.  I have touched on his personality in earlier articles but I shall do so once again. Cam is from Western Australia. One of the wildest and toughest frontiers on this planet. One of the first things I saw Cam do, was casually shoo away a redback spider.  At this time he explained to me,

“There are millions of types of spiders here. Only three can kill you.” he paused, “there are hundreds of types of snakes here. Only three won't kill you instantly”.

Now this was June, I was still early in this adventure.  My reaction towards spiders had cooled considerably.  I had already shoo-ed a mouse sized huntsman out the door because I really didn't want to clean it up and he wasn't hurting anyone. What follows is my first encounter with a snake.  

Cam had just finished felling the tree. He lopped off the stump and I drilled in the poison. I looked up and to my left. On average the grape vines are planted 4-6 feet apart and the supporting posts are driven 12-14 feet apart.  This all depends on the variety of grape and the age of the field but it is from this rough grid that I was able to make my estimations.  About 40-50 feet away from Cam and I was a snake. I have seen snakes before.  I have even caught snakes.  I dont like snakes.  Snakes see me as food or convenient heat.  I dont trust them.  This particular snake was looking to its right, doing the tongue slither they are infamous for.  It was a ruddy black, but slick.  It shone like a freshly waxed car.  I guess its head was about two feet off the ground.  I dont think it had noticed us, if it had, it didnt care.  

I asked Cam what kind of snake it was and he looked as though he had seen a ghost.  The colour instantly left his face. His voice, normally brash and crass, became mellow and somber. He hissed, “We need to go, thats a king brown.”

I looked at him, and I still remember the first thought that went through my head, “you gotta be kidding me”

Cam looked terrified.  Too terrified. We have all done something similar.  Someone asks you about something and you intentionally over-react. To take the piss out of em, it’s an Australian verb.  It’s what was happening to me.

“It’s a snake.” I said defiantly.  No stupid lizard was going to scare me away.  

Cams eyes changed.  There was a hint of red behind their brown hue.

“They are highly aggressive,”

“Bullshit, it’s more scared of us than we are of it” said the idiot.

“Bullshit,” coughed Cam, “bullshit… You dont believe me?”

He looked around and seized the fist sized lump of stump.  Cam looked at me, reeled back and tossed the stump chunk at the snake.  It landed beside the snake. Maybe two feet in front of him.

In less than two seconds, maybe less than one, that snake struck the stump chunk a minimum of four times. It was black blur and with every strike it hissed and grunted.  After it was certain that the offending stump was dead the snake snapped up. Snakes can't talk, but this ones eyes did.  That snake looked right at me, its tongue flicked three times and his black soulless eyes said,
“Hey buddy, did ya throw that at me?”

I turned to my right, where Cam had been standing, all that remained was the chainsaw.  Cam was already at the ute, over 100 feet away.  It is at this moment where I experienced the most amazing sensation. I nearly pissed myself.  My body realized it was time to run.  I need to move fast.  My body came to the conclusion that if I voided all that extra water I was carrying I could probably run faster.  The other logic could be that my brain thought that the snake would take pity on the piss soaked man and would be reluctant to strike such a pitiful being.  I didn't stick around to ask the snake. Wanting to piss yourself in fear is something I wish no one ever has to experience and I also wish everyone could. It was a true “this is it” moment. My life didn't flash before my eyes, I didn't find inner peace, my only thought was I don't want to die in piss soaked pants.  I ran, in indescribable pain. I ran, flooded with fear. I ran, motivated like I have never been before.  

I jumped in the ute and slammed the door.  Neither Cam or I could talk.  Our words were jumbled sentences fueled by adrenaline. The snake had covered the ground and was casually inspecting the quad. It took one look at the ute, flicked its tongue at us and I can only assume that it mocked us as well. Cam and I left the field.  Cam got drunk and I think I wrote a letter.  

Bravely brave Sir Robin...

 

Short Native Grasses

August 20, 2014

It has been a while.  Over a month. There are times when I regret not writing more and there are others where it is probably for the best. The past two weeks have been very trying. The job continues and it is going very well. The equipment is no longer held together with tape, wire and prayer.  I have managed to upgrade to tack welds, crazy glue and hope.  The crew has shrunk, which is a source of lamentations and joy. I find myself torn between two choices. Each choice can be easily justified and defended but neither one feels right.  

Simply put, I find myself trying to do a good job for bad people.  The kind of people who wantonly and casually exploit and disadvantage others.  The kind of people who steep every conversation with lies.  My temper has cooled, but the violent cracking of these keys cannot hide the rage I suppress when thinking about this human scum.  I'm disappointed, because there was a time when I believed the lies.  When I gave them the benefit of my doubt.  I wasted my compassion on these people. Now I wouldn't spit in their mouths if they were dying of thirst.  I watched quietly as my boss tried to coerce the young Italian couple into saying until the end of August.  First he approached the husband,

“Well I was just talking to your wife and she said that she wants to stay, why don't you?”

Mere minutes later, he made the inverse statement to the wife. He tried every bullying tactic you could imagine.  He pressed and pressed, he threatened and yelled. Eventually he pushed the couple to the edge.  They were scared and confused.  It was at this point that they discovered the fair work ombudsman.  The tables of power rapidly turned and the ensuing rodeo of panic is one I will never forget.

Firstly, the Italians quickly learned how underpaid they were.  This was something that surprised me.  I never thought that my boss would do something like that.  There was a part of me that was starting to believe again that people are inherently good. Kudos to them for quickly killing that little bud. The Italians were understandably upset, but they were very diplomatic about the entire thing.  They admitted that they had not done their due diligence, a very strong argument could be made that it was their fault for accepting a lower rate of pay.  So off they went to the bosses house, armed with their new information and the knowledge that we are currently very short of manpower.  Their request was simple, fair wages for the last week of work, and that the last week of work would be no more than 70 hours.  Now I wasn't there, but my understanding is that they were initially told to go fuck themselves. After some seriously hateful words were exchanged, an offer was made. Fair pay, or an audit. An honest man has nothing to fear, and I'm told that the wife was so flustered she couldn't speak. The ensuing panic is still settling.

It makes me sad because I was beginning to trust these people.  They have offered me a tantalizing management position. 1200 acres of prime irrigated cropland.  600 acres of “dry” crop.  A dream that I dared to desire. This isn't the place, because these are not the type of people you work with. Which brings me to my immediate juxtaposition.  I pride myself in the quality of my work. I want to, and I will do everything I can to, be the best. Now I ask myself, do these people deserve that kind of effort? Do they warrant my worry? Should I stress and fret about the work I'm doing for them? Bear in mind, these people have openly expressed to me that they were in no way unaware of the short deal they were giving to the Italian couple.  They laugh about it.  I sit quietly and listen to their shrill howling.  Then the other side of me kicks in.  The neighbours have stopped and talked to me.  Hell if it wasn't for a couple neighbours, I wouldn't know dick about pruning.  They are amazed by my work.  They shake my hand and beam.  They offer me jobs. So I think that is what I have consigned myself to do.  I will continue to do this job, in the most professional manner, to the very best of my abilities.  I will amaze and astound, because every day that I do is another day closer to my freedom.  

In a country where you can be whatever you want, where you can let your actions speak for you. Im going to be certain that my work speaks volumes. Im also going to take a page from Milton, and they better not try to take my stapler.  

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.