A blessing and a curse
COUNTRY STYLE READER ALICE MOFFITT REFLECTS ON THE CHALLENGES AND JOYS OF LIVING AND WORKING ON THE FAMILY PROPERTY AT KAMERUKA IN SOUTH NSW.
THE INEVITABLE APPROACH of lambing time fills me with equal parts dread and excitement. Dread at the slow, monotonous morning and afternoon paddock checks, the worry of missing a ewe in trouble and being the one to find the lambs that didn’t make it. And yet also delight, at seeing so many new babies everyday, skipping and jumping like naughty school kids, wagging their tails as they drink and watching in awe at how the ewes are able to find their babies from hundreds of others just by smell.
The pleasure of being able to work outside in the fresh air everyday, surrounded by the brilliant ever-changing farm landscape, is contrasted by the horror at watching my hands age from daily sun exposure, having my ears regularly caked with dust from working in dusty cattle yards, being shivery and wet to my underwear on the motorbike in the rain, or sweaty and flustered when fencing in the heat.
Living and working on the farm allows for many conveniences like the non-existent commute, being able to pop home quickly to hang out a load of washing and being able to call into Mum’s house for lunch. However the on-call, all-consuming nature of farming is evident late on a Saturday night, when I can’t remember if I’ve checked the irrigation or I need to help a ewe who’s having trouble lambing. The realisation that I need to get off the farm more hits when a trip to town to pick up vaccines from the vet suddenly sounds terribly exciting.
I’m proud to be part of our small, resilient community, one of those typical, affable, yet surprisingly diverse Australian country towns, where everyone knows everyone and you don’t have to go far to find a lighthearted chat that lifts the weight off your shoulders. However, I admit to cursing the small-town familiarity on a Sunday morning dash to the general store, when I’m braless and haven’t seen a hairbrush for days, or when I’m having a tough week and simply don’t feel like talking to anyone.
But I mostly feel privileged to be able to work alongside and learn from Dad. It also provides just as many lessons in tolerance, biting my tongue and not letting personal issues get in the way. And, although I’m conscious of not letting the farm consume every minute of my days, dinner table chat with my partner often predictably ends up in work talk. Yet, the perks of working with my family thankfully seem to outweigh the challenges, especially when my niece and nephew visit and try to help in the yards or my sister delivers smoko to the shearing shed.