When I think of the land, I think of home. I think of growing up and running down the bus stop track that Dad had just slashed. I think of getting really bad hay fever while moving lambs on my horse Bo. I think of changing seasons. Dry grass and hot arvos. I think of bonfires down in the paddock and the feel of heavy layers on my skin to stay warm.
When I think of the land, I think of Dad. I think of his hands. Dirty, strong hands. I think of his strength and his resourcefulness and patience. I think of him with his dogs, whistling at them and sometimes yelling at them. I think of opening gates for him, I think of him waiting for me to drive through. I think of his cheeky smile and daggy ways. I think of how his presence is the land. How he is strong, stable and alive. How he is alive in me. And how lucky I am to have him.
One of my favourite times of the year used to be lamb marking. Also because you’d get a day off school! I used to love heading out the day before on my horse Bo or Buddy (depending on the day ahah) and rounding up the sheep in the paddock with my dog Fudge (listening when she’d choose to). Dad would either be in the ute or on a bike. One thing I will always remember was riding in the cold, the bite on my fingers as I galloped along the fence line. This was the beginning of the best couple of days. As the mob came in we would let them rest for the night before coming over early in the morning to start our jobs. I would always have a friend over to help, Chevorne practically lived at our house growing up. She lived in town and I think over the years she definitely had the taste of rural life.
As the day went on lambs tails were thrown at each other, jokes were told and we would stop for smoko. I remember one time I went off to lie down near the shed and fell asleep with an old wooden fence post below my head. Everyone had a job… catchers, needle, ear tags, Dad was always on the tails. I loved it! Every bit of it… being in the paddocks, having the people around, telling the dogs to ‘sit down’ when they’d bark at the wrong times then watch them jump in the trough.
The land doesn’t only remind me of dad or marking the lambs. It reminds me of home. It reminds me of me at my core. A place where people are slow. People will stop and share, share a part of their day and I guess a part of their life.
The land holds us here.
The land for so many is the reason why they are here. We are all here and we are all apart of the same thing.
We are all here for the land and we all have a story.
A story from the land.
A story for the land.
A story to the land.
Stories of the land.
