Summer of Hope
Some say farmers are always complaining, but most are hopeful. Hopeful for abundant green pasture and healthy livestock. Hopeful for good soaking rain.
It’s so dry here this season. The greenest patches of the lawn are hugging the sprinkler heads, creating little green plates for the Kangaroos' evening delight. Trees that burst into life two seasons ago after flooding rains are curling up their leaves and shedding early, giving up on autumn.
The smell of cinnamon and oud fills the early morning air, seeping from dew on the crispy grass stubble and gum bark. I wish I could bottle it. In another hour, it will evaporate and be crunchy underfoot. Another reminder that we need rain, a top-up in our tanks, gardens and dams.
It’s disturbing to be greeted by parts of dam walls you’ve never seen before. Pumps sucking mud from the dam base, clogging the pipes, burning out the motors. The seasonal creeks are stagnant and green; the winter overflow was non-existent last year, not one trickle.
Livestock greet you at the fence, drawn by the sound of the tractor, their food delivery friend. Luckily, we have hay in our sheds – or was that good planning? Our flock is eating hay from their homeland that smells sweet and familiar; they look good, and we are lucky.
Hay is in demand; livestock markets are filling as farmers, unable to feed their stock, are forced to sell. They will be selling in desperate times, hoping to buy again down the track. We are ok for now. Will we be able to sow pasture this season and feed the flock next year? We hope. We need rain.
As news comes in from up North of flooding rains, we send love and hope that families are safe. Only an hour away, it’s raining, washing out sporting events in the city. Here, not a drop.
Yet, we go on. Connected to the land, uncertain of the seasons, not complaining, persevering, but with hope.
