Farmer tells his story of drought and depression
Doug Avery talks to Jon Morgan about drought, depression and his autobiography,
Former South Island farmer of the year Doug Avery has written a book about his life on the land, his struggles with drought, earthquakes and depression and the recovery that has made him the epitome of the resilient farmer.
Not surprisingly to those who know Avery, it is a tearjerker.
‘‘I got the first draft from the publisher and we [he and wife Wendy] sat down to read it. We laughed and cried so much the floor had to be toweled down.’’
He pauses and says, his voice cracking, ‘‘This is my life captured.’’
The Resilient Farmer is his words, but put into order by coauthor Margie Thomson, who has also co-written two books with Sir John Kirwan, among others.
Avery is full of praise for Thomson. ‘‘Margie harmonised with me so well. I rate the book as one of the best things I’ve done in my life. It has had a profound impact on me.’’
The idea of a book first dawned when he was speaking about how he learnt to handle drought with the power of lucerne. People would come up to him afterwards and ask to buy his book. He didn’t have one.
‘‘They didn’t want to talk about lucerne, they wanted to talk about how did I manage to get myself feeling happy again. I thought I hadn’t disclosed how unhappy I’d been, but they could see the cracks in me.’’
As his awareness of the extent of depression in rural communities increased, the emphasis of his experiences with eight years of drought on his Marlborough farm shifted to focus on his personal struggles with depression and his ‘‘go-to toolbox’’ of recovery.
And so The Resilient Farmer was born, a website devoted to helping people, backed by professionals and with the public face of Avery’s increasingly popular talks.
He says that while he’s no psychologist he has a story to tell about ‘‘coming out the other side’’.
He doesn’t hold back. ‘‘We need a conversation with the importance of dealing with s...; learn how to deal with s... and place it correctly in your mind.’’
At his talks, people feel able to approach him because he has ‘‘made a declaration’’, often tearyeyed. ‘‘I’ve been where they are.’’
He says he can’t promise to make things better but he can try to help by sharing his story and what he’s learnt – the six things that keep him happy, his ‘‘toolbox’’.
His name for it is emotional intelligence. ‘‘It’s what’s required to live a happy life. I know about that because I had to rebirth my own happiness.’’
It’s all in the book, how he plumbed the depths of despair and how he got his life back on track, battled the drought and the depression that hung like a dark cloud over his life and hurt his loved ones – in her own chapter, Wendy movingly describes how it affected her – and much more, thoughts on how farm businesses can be run better, how to bridge the urban-rural gap, improving our international trade image, using less nitrogen, farming sustainably.
Worry is the most wasted human emotion, he says, it pollutes our ‘‘top paddock’’.
‘‘It’s a debilitator of exceptional proportions. Fear worry, anxiety, envy, anger, blame – all those things – they all have the greatest drain on our emotional wellbeing.’’
He tells those who are struggling, ‘‘don’t waste your brokenness’’.
‘‘If you look for it, in everything that happens - even the worst thing - there’s always something that is positive. That’s bloody hard to explain to a person who’s hurting, but there’s a powerful degree of hope in that. It’s the truth.’’
For him, that truth and happiness came from drought, lucerne and the Landcare Trust project that recharged his community.
‘‘That excited me again, made me feel valuable. I wanted to share this new found happiness.
‘‘I realised the things I’d been teaching weren’t only right, they were bloody right. Not half right, or close to right, they were 100 per cent right.
‘‘It’s about hope and as John Kirwan says, if you’ve got no hope you’re buggered.
No one can live without hope. The hard part is creating your road to that place.’’ So he tells people about himself. They are moving talks, his emotions run unchecked and affect all but the hardest hearts.
‘‘I know there’s a certain percentage who think I’m a loudmouth, but those people haven’t got an alternative strategy to getting the word out there. If I don’t do it no-one hears and nothing happens.’’
He was awarded a MNZM in the Queen’s Birthday Honours for his services to agriculture and mental health. ‘‘It’s got my name on it now, depression,’’ he says, and laughs. ‘‘I’m president of the Sad Bastards Club.’’
These days, he finds his happiness in working to create happiness for other people and describes a recent ‘‘lightbulb moment’’ during a talk in Wellington when, ‘‘All of a sudden, I said, ‘In actual fact I’ve lost my fear’. I stood there and looked at them and thought, ‘What have I said?’ The realisation was a shock to me. I staggered on and regained my composure.
‘‘It was an amazing moment. I really have lost my fear. That means I have created this comfortable zone where I’ve learned to manage my thoughts.’’ His voice is firmer now. ‘‘I’m as strong as a rock.’’