Country Squire

THIRTY YEARS AGO, ROB INGRAM SET OUT ON A BIG COUNTRY ADVENTURE AND INVITED US ALONG FOR THE RIDE.

SUM UP THE LAST three decades in a single column. Sure, I can do that. After all, it has passed in the blink of an eye. And so, it came to pass, that in the late 1980s, a small publishing house in a big city noticed the only conspicuous gap on the newsstands was for a magazine celebrating the delights of rural living in Australia. Sure, there was Field and Stream, which depicted the majestic creatures of America’s northern plains and the weaponry to hasten their extinction. And there was Country Life, which opened up a world entirely populated by British women in head scarves and green wellies, and with many hyphenated family names to make up for their lack of a discernible chin. Country Style was to be different. This, after all, was the heyday — or perhaps hay day — of the tree change, the interurban phenomenon that sparked a metro-migration to the sticks. Communications ambassadors and brand evangelists left the rat race to grow winter savory in Wongarbon or carve bull-headed harps in Hazelwood. Our rural lifestyle has been shaped by the remnants of a heroic culture and existence, as well as the determination to create better natural and human environments. The Australian country homestead was as likely to have a rusty corrugated-iron roof as the British one was to have turrets and balustrades. Country Style would celebrate culture and character rather than pretension. It would applaud tree changers who dug up the lawn tennis court to create a garden and barbecue patio. It would salute the former financial adviser restoring Harley-davidsons in an old picture theatre. The vision was an admirable one, but early planning meetings unearthed a hurdle. No-one on the staff had ever had — or even desired — any experience of country living. “Ah!” the cry eventually went out at one of these sessions. “A writer named Rob Ingram has bought a property out beyond Mudgee. He could be our token bushie.” Little did they know that this bloke — who would come to be known as The Country Squire, and his wife, who would reluctantly be called The Chosen One — were themselves still at entry level in the prickle bush of rural enlightenment. Have you ever seen spring lambs joyfully skipping up the ramp at the abattoir? That was us. The only thing in the animal kingdom more innocent and foredoomed is a city couple embarking on their first fumble with country living. We weren’t trying to get in touch with Mother Nature… or even just leave a message on her answering machine. And we weren’t into the wholegrain and handicraft dream of self-sustainability. We were just a bit over the pretence and pretension of big city living. And so, we created a special bond with the land. We call it a special bond. The bank calls it a mortgage. We thought the grass might be greener over the Great Dividing Range. We can report that the grass is, in fact, greener over the septic tank. Elsewhere, at the moment, there is no grass. That’s a downer. But speaking of septic tanks, the last time ours was pumped out, the sewage tanker had a warning sign painted on it. It read: May Contain Election Promises. A sense of humour solves most things out here. So, what’s the verdict? We have certainly found more joys than pitfalls living out on the Central Western Slopes. And I hope I have managed to convey this through the Country Squire column. City folk often equate small town living with loneliness and boredom, but density of population doesn’t necessarily mean more social interaction. In big cities, people crave privacy. In small towns, there’s a true sense of community, plus the social and psychological support that brings. It has been a pleasure to share the quality of country living for 30 years and to have been part of Country Style’s inspirational depiction of Australia’s regional lifestyle. Congratulations Country Style… you’ve done us proud.

WE CREATED A SPECIAL BOND WITH THE LAND. WE CALL IT A SPECIAL BOND. THE BANK CALLS IT A MORTGAGE.