Spring Tractor

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a bucket blocks the rain from the exhaust of this rugged tractor in spring
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little farmers bring magic to farm work

A spring sojourn outdoors freshened up our lives and added colour to pale young islander’s cheeks.  It has been an extra wild season here on the nor’ west coast with bursts of sun, storms and rainbows stretched across whole valleys and into the sea.  The farm in Flowerdale Valley is an ocean of vivid green pasture and the dairy herd have been labouring under cover in the rough nights.  Their young sleep on straw floors of the shed.

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newborn calves come to suck on any outstretched fingers, covering them in warm thick slime
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bright fluffy sky

The herd is now full, back on the track to the dairy.  Raspy calf tongues suck our fingers like teats, far into their throats seeking milk from their mother’s udder.  They recognise the slender warm feel of another.  Big brown eyes are cheeky and warm while their heads nudge fruitlessly at the gate.  Theses gentle animals bring us giggles, their mother’s milk is so rich it goes to the chocolate factory.  The milk truck rolls in and the tractors cart silage along the tracks.

Dry beds and fireside meals at Currajong with family make worn faces smile and bring magic to farm work.

clear the track
clear the track

You can see the weather coming from miles away.  The wind has been ferocious bringing with it crackling and thundering wet- weeks on end-  onto the land. The old Spring tractor lies abandoned in the paddock, facing the elements.  Sitting on the driver’s seat, the wind roared like an engine and little farmers hands shifted gears; imagination alight, making the rusted parts move about.

get her going mate
get her going mate
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dairy bling
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rolling waves of weather ruffle the green sea
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filling up with creamy milk; half a cup of it going into that cake of chocolate you are eating

We race the clouds to find cover and pull coats around ears.  The milk tank fills with some kind of natural wonder; real milk.  The skies begin to clear for warmer days, rivers subside; their raging paths have quietened to the sea.

 

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work/play, this week

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Angela, a plastic beauty celebrates her birthday with “rainbow” play dough delights.

This week, some kind of normalcy ascended over our clan.  Home was, sweet home, not a concept about a place that we were still hoping to inhabit fully.  We have begun to collect some new memories about this space with its brick home, perched above the grandeur of Bass Strait.  We’ve had our hands coated thickly in the soil, rich fertile soil a reddish brown.  The first red wine stain has persistently marked the carpet from an evening with friends.

One afternoon we all sat, rested, watching children’s tv and drinking tea.  The house did not smell like paint, more like the washing drying inside while more Spring showers ripped across the skies.  The weather failed to tamper with our spirits, instead we embraced the coziness of a fresh living room.

This week, we gathered at the beach and the big clumsy dog explored the seaside hamlet terrain leaving his scent about the place.  The little black cat left a rabbits paw by the front door.  We answered questions about the new house with positive notes of “settling in” and really believed it.

This week, there began a fresh file of fiction on this laptop.  We made “rainbow” play dough, and Angela the doll had a birthday party on the new dining chairs with a colourful array of salty treats followed by a treasure hunt through the nooks and crannies of the house.

This week, another job is on the horizon; work/ play mingle like friends and old routines wend with new.