DianaAustralian Drought
March 4th 2008 08:57
Bumping up the track enroute to feed hay I stopped the ute at the neighbour's dam cos the kids wanted to see their big dam 'empty'. In the green water at the bottom were the bodies of dead sheep. I should have got down and dragged them out as they were polluting what little water there was left, but I had had enough of dragging heavy dead sheep around all day. I knew the neighbours had 5000 hungry skinny sheep and barely water left to bath their baby.
So we continued up the road to our own 'lunar landscape'.
Our dear familiar paddocks, once so green and glossy, now sported a sprinkling of weeds and rocks. The merinos, recently shorn, appeared fragile, liable to blow away in the strong southerly which was ripping away our topsoil in clouds.
The kids and I worked silently at offloading the big square bale of oaten hay, using pitchforks. Within an hour we had fed out $300 worth which would last a couple of days. The wind had dropped and the sun was hot and merciless on the rocky plains. There was nothing pretty about the view, unless you fancied the desert.
Driving home in the heat, I recalled how, a few days previously we had had visitors. We had driven them over our paddocks and mistaken their silence for tiredness or lethargy from the heat, but when we got back for lunch they started in on us. Tentatively at first then increasing in intensity they voiced horror, distaste and disbelief at our attempts of eking out a living in this 'terrible, dusty, drought-stricken dump, miles from anywhere in a tumbledown ruin'. Then the clincher, the ultimate of guilt-inducing comments: 'think of your kids, for God's sake, what you are condemning them to, exposing them to!'
We were silent. There were no answers to those types of questions.
The day had started innocently and pleasantly enough, with strong coffee, banana pancakes and the weekend papers. We had got our instruments out and played some Corelli, though my hands felt thick and clumsy and lips coarse and chapped from the wind and sun.
Our kids had got theirs up on the horses, had led them through the bush, taken them for rides on the 4 wheel motor bike and shown them how to make damper. We had all been swimming in the river and the kids had camped out on Saturday night. Even their dog, a Spoodle had settled down and got along with our collies.
But we think the visual impact of the place, the dry, empty grassless paddocks, bony sheep and endless sun must have really got to them. We were used to it, in a way (it was a shock for us now to see green grass when we went into a town). They had been close friends in the city and we were sad they had never seen things in a 'good' year. Our youngest child had never not known drought. Had never actually felt heavy rain.
That night, I went and sat outside for while to stare at my favorite line of gum trees on the ridge where the sun goes down. Clouds were banking up dark and heavy as they had been doing for a while now. I wondered if they held rain? But the next morning dawned bright and hot again, the sky cloudless.
So we continued up the road to our own 'lunar landscape'.
Our dear familiar paddocks, once so green and glossy, now sported a sprinkling of weeds and rocks. The merinos, recently shorn, appeared fragile, liable to blow away in the strong southerly which was ripping away our topsoil in clouds.
The kids and I worked silently at offloading the big square bale of oaten hay, using pitchforks. Within an hour we had fed out $300 worth which would last a couple of days. The wind had dropped and the sun was hot and merciless on the rocky plains. There was nothing pretty about the view, unless you fancied the desert.
Driving home in the heat, I recalled how, a few days previously we had had visitors. We had driven them over our paddocks and mistaken their silence for tiredness or lethargy from the heat, but when we got back for lunch they started in on us. Tentatively at first then increasing in intensity they voiced horror, distaste and disbelief at our attempts of eking out a living in this 'terrible, dusty, drought-stricken dump, miles from anywhere in a tumbledown ruin'. Then the clincher, the ultimate of guilt-inducing comments: 'think of your kids, for God's sake, what you are condemning them to, exposing them to!'
We were silent. There were no answers to those types of questions.
The day had started innocently and pleasantly enough, with strong coffee, banana pancakes and the weekend papers. We had got our instruments out and played some Corelli, though my hands felt thick and clumsy and lips coarse and chapped from the wind and sun.
Our kids had got theirs up on the horses, had led them through the bush, taken them for rides on the 4 wheel motor bike and shown them how to make damper. We had all been swimming in the river and the kids had camped out on Saturday night. Even their dog, a Spoodle had settled down and got along with our collies.
But we think the visual impact of the place, the dry, empty grassless paddocks, bony sheep and endless sun must have really got to them. We were used to it, in a way (it was a shock for us now to see green grass when we went into a town). They had been close friends in the city and we were sad they had never seen things in a 'good' year. Our youngest child had never not known drought. Had never actually felt heavy rain.
That night, I went and sat outside for while to stare at my favorite line of gum trees on the ridge where the sun goes down. Clouds were banking up dark and heavy as they had been doing for a while now. I wondered if they held rain? But the next morning dawned bright and hot again, the sky cloudless.
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Comment by Zeus
My heart goes out to those experience this, it is upon their labours and heartache that our relative prosperity rests.
And all we can do is complain when lamb prices increase in the neatly wrapped plastic packages in our Aldi,
As to those who don't understand the resilience and experience imbued in kids by a culture such as this .. the less said the better. The latte-sippers think they're so worldly-wise, but we have a great and enduring and vital culture on our doorstep, in need of celebration and maybe a helping hand from time to time.
That's Australian values.
Comment by Caillech
This sentimental approach to farming is just a soppy take on a business venture. Why should we care any more failing farms than any other business? If a farm can't cope with a few dry seasons, so be it, get off and let someone else have a try. After the land's worth good money, and most farmers have little debt. Don't forget that in California the advent of big landholdings led to an increase in productivity AND much stronger communities ... because people had time to participate instead of being dragged into propping up lost causes.
As the writer points out, many people choose this lifestyle. Wonderful for them, but not deserving of handouts as a result.
Of course yes let's be humane and uphold citizens' rights equally, but for goodness sake, let's see farming for what it is: a business which has traditionally been very profitable and made many many many Australian millionaires.
Comment by Zephyrus
Comment by jon
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Jon.