Changing of the guard
AS MARY SIEGERT PREPARES TO PASS HER 4400-HECTARE FARM AT WONGAN HILLS, WA, TO THE NEXT GENERATION, SHE IS GRATEFUL TO BE CONNECTED TO THE LAND.
DAWN BREAKS while I walk my three dogs, Calli, Max and
Nelson. The morning light bathes the paddocks in a golden haze and I cross my fingers, hoping the brilliant pink dawn is an indication of rain. The galahs have started their chatter in the gums, magpies are warbling and a cheeky willie wagtail is flitting from fence post to fence post ahead of me.
I see lines of dust as sheep mobs head to water and a handful of kangaroos graze in the distance. As I do every morning, I remind myself just how lucky I am. I have this privilege of space and of an uncomplicated life. This is my farm, 4400 hectares of sheep and cereal crops in the central wheat belt of WA. At times, it is the most beautiful place in the world, but it can also — due to the influence of weather, markets, distance and isolation — almost rip my heart out. It is my haven, my home, a place of family, a home to my beloved dogs and my workplace for on- and off-farm jobs.
Farming is challenging and can be harsh and confronting. The summers are brutally hot and dry, but once the rain comes, the change is amazing. Barren paddocks become a vivid green of wheat and barley, followed by the brilliant yellow of canola. The sheep that have existed for months on hand-fed lupins have an abundance of pasture and their fat, woolly lambs are proof of that.
My husband’s grandparents came here from SA in 1951 to try broadacre farming. Since then, the farm has expanded and now my son is about to take over. He is the new generation of farmer. His world involves GPS and auto-guidance, with phone apps for everything from chemical application to tracking stock.
My home is the original 1920s homestead, a working farmhouse with a few superficial and, sadly, uninspiring, renovations, but it has retained its jarrah floors and open fireplaces. Back then, farmhouses were often built on unproductive land and views not considered, so my house sits on ground that cannot sustain the beautiful garden I dream of. My need to grow and nurture is satisfied by raised garden beds for vegetables and my wonderful girls: 12 chooks.
One day, grandchildren will play on this farm, as my daughter and son did. The new generation will continue those adventures in the granite outcrops, catch tadpoles in the soaks when it rains, help in the sheds at shearing, enjoy tractor rides and picnics in the paddocks during seeding and harvesting, and grow up caring for this landscape.
I can have city lights, shopping and holidays, if I choose, but I always have this farm to come home to. As I drive through the gate from a day out, a calmness descends and once again
I ponder on just how lucky I am.