Country/Girl: The Show

One of the reasons I committed to writing this blog weekly (which I’ve been doing for about 10 months, by the way, where is my medal?) was to document for my mostly city-dwelling readers what living in a country town is actually like. I haven’t really done that much lately, mostly because living in a country town is a lot like living anywhere else. Do you guys really want to hear about studying and going to work and paying bills and doing normal stuff? Nope. But I had a decidedly country-town experience this weekend, so I thought I would share it with you.

The Dalby and District Show, I’m sure, is much like many other country town shows. But it’s the only one I’ve been to, and it’s pretty cool, so I’m gonna tell you about it. We went last year, but I had only been in Dalby about a month, and everything was new and baffling and strange. I don’t think I really took much of it in, and it was a cold blustery day and I kind of just wanted to be at home, I think.

This year, though, we knew what we were doing. If you’ve never been to a country show, let me break it down for you. The Dalby show is a wonderful mix of old and new – cattle showing and dressage next to terrifying rides and neon lights. Think a tiny, way better Ekka, rather than a shit version of the Ekka. It’s way better because it costs a lot less, has far fewer gross people in it and is not associated with flu epidemics. It’s also just a generally more enjoyable experience.

My one criticism would be that the people who run it, while probably being great organisers, are not so great at communicating. It was almost impossible to find a schedule either online or in hard copy, and even when we did it was wrong. We deliberately arrived in time for the pet parade (a pet parade, people. A parade of pets. This is not a drill). You have no idea how excited I was for the pet parade, or how devastated I was to learn it had been cancelled.

After learning that my dreams were over, we went exploring. First up was the hall, which was filled with all the prize-winning… everything. Scones, flower arrangements, terrifying cake decorations that look like the bust of a gypsy, fruit, giant vegetables, crochet, photography, art, all the things. I suppose it is probably patronising to say these displays were adorable, and I don’t mean to be offensive, but walking up and down the aisles in that hall was like going back in time. The creations were generally quite impressive, but for me the true highlight were the names. A lot of the competitors are children, and it’s awesome to see them getting involved with tradition and culture, but most of the names were old lady names. Berryls and Beverleys, Mavises and Dots. The best part is finding the same name over and over again. Oh look Beverley took out first prize in the cakes, the crochet AND the flower arrangements. What a bitch. I bet all the Mavises hate her.

Of course at this point we start to see students. Boyfriend is a high school teacher, as you know, which meant choruses of “Hi Mr _____!” “Is that your girlfriend, Mr. _____?” (We were holding hands, he responded with “no!”- hilarious). The show is an excellent opportunity for teenagers to be teenagers. I’m sure living in a country town must seem a bit tough for some of these kids, so having rides and games and sugar and loud noises for a weekend must be the best. It was fun watching so many kids having such an excellent time.

After watching the fashion parade and seeing the sights, I had one thing on my mind. Sheep dog trials. Hoo boy was I excited about sheep dog trials. Unfortunately, I was in a minority. Far from the white picket stadium and jeering crowds of Babe, the Dalby Sheep Dog Trials were attended by a handful of the competitors and a couple of families. Still, it was genuinely one of the most interesting sports I’ve ever witnessed. The old man next to me could tell I was interested and shuffled over to me.

“You know how it works?”

Desperate though I was to say, well I’ve seen “Babe” about 50 times, I settled with, “no, fill me in”.

“You start with 100 points, and then the judges start taking them off for mistakes.”

Knew that, I think, whoever said watching TV and movies would rot my brain did not predict this conversation, obviously. “What kind of things will lose you points?”

“Going outside of the corridors, see them? Marked with the pink things? Yeah, your sheep go out of them you lose points. You miss an obstacle, you lose points. Every time a sheep walks back over ground it’s already covered, you lose points.”

“Tough gig then?”

“You betchya, best sport in the world”.

To be honest I’m inclined to agree with him, it was genuinely fascinating. The sheep were aggressive, stamping their feet and bolting at every opportunity. The dogs were beautifully trained, seeming to hear the thoughts of their trainers as much as anything else. One guy got so close to finishing the course, hand on the gate and everything (Babe viewers know what I mean) and his time ran out. Devastating. At another point, the sheep made a run for freedom and the dog leapt through the air to stop them. Would’ve been a disqualification, had there been any biting, but luckily (especially for the sheep), there wasn’t. Yeah... I know stuff now.

We got some lunch and some lunch dessert, bought some plants and then headed home for a while. We live just around the corner from the show grounds so we could hear the noises and shouts all afternoon. We headed back (no need to pay twice, just flash your ticket, take that Ekka) for dinner and fireworks. The next evening we watched them again, from our back door. I’ve never been one for fireworks, to be honest, but while leaning against Boyfriend, watching bright lights explode in a dark, country sky, I couldn’t help but think, “This is alright, you know? This is alright.”

Country/Girl: Anniversary

Country/Girl - loving life at the Chinchilla Melon Festival

Well, well, well what do we have here? ANOTHER anniversary to blog about? Well what do you know?

One year ago (tomorrow… details, details), I moved to Dalby, Queensland, Australia. In the scheme of things, it wasn’t so large a move. My friend Amy, for example, moved to the UK last October. I mean, way to show me up, there, friend, sheesh. But still, it certainly was a pretty giant change of lifestyle. I left a city of more than 2 million people, full of my friends, family, job and familiar *everything* to come to a town I knew almost nothing about, and which has less people in it than the suburb of New Farm, where I used to live.

Before I left people either wanted to tell me I was crazy and that I shouldn’t do it, or that everything would be magical in the country because “gosh darn the people are so friendly”. So how do I feel, after a year of actually living here? You’re damn right I’m gonna write a list!

·      Well gosh darn, yes, the people are pretty friendly. But not because of an antiquated, simple attitude, or because of some idealised city-person imagining where all the farmers lean on posts and tell you to have a nice day, missy. People are friendly here because they identify as belonging to Dalby. They are filled with pride, a sense of belonging and camaraderie that you simply won’t find in a city. They want to better their town, they want people to like it, they want you to feel welcome so that you become a part of it too. 

Also. It pays to be nice when there’s not that many people around. You don’t want to piss off too many people in a place where everyone knows everyone.

·      And yeah, that’s not a myth. A lot of people know a lot of people here. People define themselves by their connections with others. Everywhere, I mean, all people do that. But the boundary of where those people are is smaller, and the likelihood of an overlap is significantly increased when you live in a small town.

·      Perspective changes. Dalby is not actually that small. When I lived in Brisbane I could not conceive of somewhere tinier than Dalby. The first time I went to Newcastle, the 7^th largest city in Australia, I thought it was amusingly small. And now, well, I recently drove through somewhere called Macalister. That’s what happened, I drove through it, in about 45 seconds. Whoosh.

·      Similarly, Dalby is not even a little bit remote, like I used to think it was. In reality, three hours from Brisbane and one from Toowoomba is not remote at all. And we live in town, too. Drive 10, 15 minutes out of town and you start to see real country. There’s a 24-hour Maccas here, this is a metropolis. 

·      I thought I knew how to drive. But now I *know*, you know? Driving in the city poses its own kinds of challenges, but you have to be ruthless here. If I hadn’t learned to be ruthless, I’d still be waiting to cross the highway at the intersection. Right of way has a different meaning when you’re dealing with roadtrains. 

·      Some of the things I thought would be hard, like getting a job, were easy. 

·      Most of the things that have been actually hard have been things I never even thought about. Like what do you eat on a Sunday when all the shops are closed and you haven’t got anything in the house? And how do you deal with cravings for Japanese or Thai food when the nearest restaurant is more than an hour away? Actually most of the hardest things have been food related.

·      Worse than food cravings, have been people cravings. I’m not so sure that this has anything to do with living in Dalby, and a lot to do with not living in Brisbane, but I do get kind of lonely here. I miss a lot of specific people, but mostly I miss being amongst people who’ve known me a long time. I miss being comfortable with friends. The strangest thing about this is that a lot of my friends have left Brisbane in the last year, anyway, and I really feel like moving back would not solve this problem. When we see one another, it’s brilliant, but we have all moved on, in some ways, and most importantly, we must continue to move forward.

·      Shaking up my life has been the best thing I’ve ever done. I was stagnating in Brisbane, on a career path I wasn’t happy with, doing the same thing all the time without any goals. I have experienced more new things in the last year than I have in my entire adult life. I’ve learnt so much about myself, and what I’m really like, when given the space and time to sort that out. Moving to Dalby was a change that turned me upside-down and shook me. I’ve been going through the stuff that fell out of my metaphorical pockets and working out what I want to keep ever since. 

·      I’ve learnt so much about Boyfriend, my partner in crime this year too. I’ve seen how strong he is under pressure, how clever and brave he is. I think we’ve seen each other at our best and worst this year, and it’s set our future together in stone, and onto a really exciting path. 

·      Moving somewhere, anywhere, I think, gives you a real sense of empowerment. But moving somewhere so different and scary, somewhere with a different culture, in many regards, and a different way of life, has made Boyfriend and I both feel like we could do anything, we could move anywhere, and be ok. 

Country/Girl: A Good Day

Plants, they're a thing.

“Is it very far from your house?”

“Yeah, it’s right on the edge of town, probably about as far from my place as you can get. About a 5 minute drive”

Small town living is still such a new experience to me, but sometimes I do catch myself saying stuff like this, without any trace of humour in my voice. Perspective changes when you move somewhere like Dalby. Once I thought Toowoomba was a tiny, hole of a place, and now it seems like a massive city. Driving through it takes aaaaaaaaaages. Beautifully, I know this must mean that there are people living in even smaller towns who think Dalby is way too big and I have met people who consider those of us that live in town to be ‘townies’, not real country people like those who live on properties in the region.

I am obviously not a real country person, because I’m so new, but I really am loving the small town life. Yesterday was a really good day, let me step you through it.

7:45am – I drag myself out of bed at the earliest time I’ve had to in a long while. Ah, unemployment, you sexy beast. It is way too cold to be alive.

8am – I eat a delicious warm breakfast of porridge with berries and, of course, a cup of tea. This has become so routine for me I find myself going to sleep actually excited about my breakfast in the morning. It’s so delicious. And this is huge for me considering I spent many years not being able to stomach anything before about 10am.

8:15am – I doll myself up all corporate like

8:45am – I leave the house for a job interview. It’s nice and close so I walk.

9am – Job interview. I’ve already been interviewed by this company, and I’m not 100% sure what to expect here.

9:15am – I realise he is offering me a job. Not the job I applied for but one I have absolutely no experience in. He says I have the right attitude/temperament for it and would like to train me. I am chuffed but stunned and ask him if I can think about it, he is more than happy to oblige.

9:30am I am home already and spend some time contemplating the position I have been offered. I also call my mum and drink some tea. I spend some time cultivating my tea tumblr and interacting with humans I know on the internet.

11:30am I call my Nana. We talk for more than an hour about all sorts of things, but specifically we discuss gardening in great detail. She is a master. I describe my little yard to her and she gives me advice on what I can do with it. She spends some time trying to convince me to take furniture from her even though we live quite far away from each other and none of it would fit in my house.

12:45pm – I contemplate the special dinner I might make for my friends when they come up this weekend and write a shopping list.

1pm – At the mall in town, I discover the GLORIOUS news that the deli now sells sushi. It is a brand I know to be actually good. This is the only sushi in town, and I am so excited I order a sandwich instead. The sandwich has Brie on it and I am so excited about the sushi I text my mum to let her know. She calls me again and we have a brief chat.

1:15pm – I look for some people I need to interview for the ABC Open workshops I am doing. There are 2 people in particular I see all the time who I think would be really interesting to talk to. Of course they are nowhere in sight.

1:30pm – I go grocery shopping. Riveting stuff here, people. Oh, also I buy a crotchet needle and some yarn because I’m AWESOME.

2:30 pm – Deciding to take some of my Nana’s advice, I go to the giant Mitre 10 and buy some dirt and a trowel. One of the ladies who works there is super rude for no reason, and this is so out of character with pretty much everyone I’ve ever met here that I am stunned and outraged. They don’t sell plants, but the nice man at the counter tells me where the landscaping place is.

2:40pm – Driving around town to all these little places, I get a sudden and overwhelming rush of love for Dalby. The sun is shining, everyone (except that Mitre 10 lady) is lovely and helpful. The streets are wide and everything is close together. I’m running all these errands and they’re all within spitting distance of each other. I don’t even care that I accidentally scraped my car with the trowel.

2:45pm – THE LANDSCAPING PLACE IS AMAZING. It is beautiful and full of lovely plants and garden things and house things and I want to spend FOREVER there. I manage to only spend about 20 minutes there, and pick out some great little plants that are on sale. I tell the guy I will probably see him again soon because I’ll kill the plants and he encourages me to try not to.

3:15pm – sitting in my backyard, happy as a kid in dirt. Because I am, in fact, a kid in dirt. I pot all my new little plants in pots I stole from my mother’s garden last time I was in Brisbane. I make a little corner of the garden come alive with herbs and lavender and things. There’s a strawberry plant too but I don’t have a lot of hope for that one, it’d be too good to be true to have my own strawberries.

3:45pm – I get the old, ugly hose working and water everything. I also clean the outside walls a bit and fill a plastic bag with crap the last tenant left in the yard; cigarette butts and broken pegs and things. I decide not to despair about just how much crap there is and take it one plastic bag at a time. If I chip at it for a few weeks it should be nice again soon.

4pm – I shower all the dirt off me and contemplate that job some more.

4:30pm – I potter on the internet again.

4:55pm – I get a call from another place I have been interviewed at. He asks me to come in for a THIRD time tomorrow morning at 8:30 and I agree hurriedly before really finding out why.  SPOILER – it’s to offer me the job, which I totally just accepted! Hooray! 

5pm – I wash the dishes and Boyfriend gets home. I regale him with my excellent day (while wearing soap sud gloves) and make him come and stare at herbs, which he says look great.

6pm – I make Shepherd’s Pie while Boyfriend plans his lessons.

7pm – We eat Shepherd’s Pie. Delicious. It’s excellent ABC TV night so we watch Doctor Who (Are you my mummy?), Randling, Seven Dwarves (such a great documentary, I love it) and Laid (although at this point Boyfriend has gone back to planning).

10:30pm – We go to bed and I spend half an hour half sleepily convincing myself that the interview the next day is actually a race and if I get there after the other final applicant (there was no other final applicant in the end of course) then I’ll lose the race and they’ll give me a silver medal but no job. 

Country/Girl: Actually Doing It

Actually doing it.

And when I say it, I don’t mean sex.

And if I did, that wouldn’t be any of your business.

Which is why I am not blogging about sex. I'm blogging about the country. 

So. After months of talking about it, of blogging about it, of planning and packing and being actually quite calm with occasional bouts of crazy… I’ve done it. I’ve moved to the country.

Specifically, I have moved to a town of about 10 000 people called Dalby. You may have heard of Dalby, for the first time, just recently, on your radio. Because 3 days after I moved here, Triple J announced they are bringing the One Night Stand here, and now they won’t stop talking about it. They are even doing ‘Dalby facts’. Apparently Dalby is famous for crumbed steak, which begs the question, what is crumbed steak? I mean I understand the principle, it’s delicious steak, wrapped in less delicious crumbs. I just don’t understand the reasoning, the why of it, if you will. Why would anyone ruin a perfectly good steak with crumbs? I’m not sure. I shall do some research and report back.

Triple J also reported on the Criterion pub’s famous Burger Challenge. Now this I can attest to. I went to the Criterion last night, where about 20 people were all set to do this fabled Burger Challenge. As the burgers came out of the kitchen, a piece of mind exploded. They are so huge, so indescribably giant that for about 10 minutes all I could say was, “that’s not a burger that’s…” and there my sentence would end. I don’t know what they were, but they were more food then I would eat in four or five days. The challenge is to eat one in half an hour I think. Again, the why of this baffles me, I have no idea why anyone would want to do this. Except maybe to really piss of starving people.

So other than the excitement of Triple J bringing live music to a town just after I move to it (coincidence? I think not), what else has been happening? Well. Truth be told, a whole lot of not much. Isn’t that why you move to the country? It’s quiet here, and peaceful. Sometimes the main road smells like manure, but we can’t hold that against the road, or indeed Dalby. Sometimes a kingfisher sits in my backyard and sings. Sometimes I write, a lot of the time I watch TV on my laptop. It’s been like an excellent little holiday where no one expects me to do anything or be anywhere and everyday Boyfriend comes home and makes me laugh.

Soon I will need to get ‘gainful employment’, as I believe it’s called. Soon I will need to do stuff that isn’t just watching TV. But for now, I am having a gloriously relaxed time, walking around town, writing around my laptop and drinking tea around my house.

If you ever get sick of your life, or don’t know what you’re doing with it, or aren’t sure why you have it, may I highly recommend you go to the country for a little while, if only to encourage Triple J to put Matt Corby in it too. 

Country/Girl: Roadtrippin

The thing about living in the country is that pretty much any drive further than Woolworths can be considered a roadtrip. Literally 4 minutes out of the centre of town you hit sorghum fields and windmills, cows that stare at you and potholes that could swallow you whole.

I’m still 2 weeks off actually living in Dalby, but I was there for the weekend visiting Boyfriend, and we went on a bit of a roadtrip for our friend Tom’s 21^st Birthday. That is to say, we went to go see Tom for his birthday, we didn’t just drive into the countryside in celebration of his birth or anything.

It wasn’t *that* far, but upon reflection, except for one big day of driving in New Zealand once, I think it’s the furthest I’ve ever driven in one day. I think I’d convinced myself it was going to be easy, given that I now regularly drive the 2 hours, 40 to Dalby. I thought, 4 hours to the coast? Pfft, easy! Well…. It wasn’t excruciatingly difficult, but my bum did go numb and by the time I got there I felt moderately incapable of speech.

Fun things about our roadtrip:

I discovered what a windmill is. No, that makes me sound like an idiot. I KNOW what a windmill is, I’d just never thought about the word wind… mill… it’s a mill… driven by wind. DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE I’M AN IDIOT. I bet a bunch of you had never thought of that either. I like words that do that to you. SHUT UP.

I didn’t kill any birds.

I did scream a lot whenever we came near a bird until Boyfriend freaked out and asked me to stop…. I still did it anyway.

I bought petrol in a tiny town called Cooyar. The pump didn’t have an electronic dial, just the kind with the numbers that flip down like an old clock. It was awesome.

Blackbutt. It doesn’t matter if you’re both adults and one of you is a teacher and everything, that shit is still funny.

The creepy little shop in Kilcoy makes REALLY good food.

Boyfriend’s students are literally everywhere. Even when we’re in some random town hours away from school. They. Are. There.

They are always watching.

No one knows how to pronounce the D’aguilar highway, but we have started calling it “The D’ag”.

Despite both being wordsmiths who love language, hours of driving will make us both stumble when trying to play word games.

Word games are still a good way to avoid napping while driving.

We should have been able to think of a lot more Australian towns starting with D.

Our own town SHOULD have been the first town we thought of.

This is the route we took:

We did it twice, obviously.

And this is the route I take to Dalby… I also did it twice.

So over 4 days I drove for about 13 hours. Effort! 

Country/Girl – First Impressions

 The drive to Dalby takes 3 hours, 4 and a bit if you stop for second breakfast in Toowoomba. “What about elevensies, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, supper, he knows about those, doesn’t he?” My first impression of the drive was that it wasn’t so bad really. My second impression was that maybe I should have a second bum that I can swap in when the first goes numb. Also some people drive like psychopaths the second they get out of sight of a town. “Civilisation can’t see me! Quick, overtake at 120 into oncoming traffic!” Other than a numb bum and near death, it wasn’t so bad really.

My first impression of the town was, “wow! Small!” Then, “huh, flat”, then “aw, pretty” and finally “ah! Hot!” We did a little recon trip to the school where Boyfriend will be working. It’s quite big and has a lot of art rooms. Also the year 11 and 12 lunch areas are brightly painted and fun, still strewn with photos and cards from graduation.

We were up there to look for houses in which to live. As Boyfriend is moving there ON FRIDAY it seems kind of prudent that he might have somewhere to put his things and sleep in. It really won’t do to have the new teacher sleeping on the street and piling stuff up under bridges. Though he is a drama teacher… weird shit like that is to be expected sometimes I think. My first impression of real estate agents in the Dalb was the same you might have anywhere “WHY ARE YOU SO RUDE AND SNOOTY ALL I WANT TO DO IS GIVE YOU MONEY AND MAYBE YOU CAN LET ME LIVE IN A HOUSE?” It wasn’t all bad, but there were some corkers. By lunch time I was tired and grumpy, sunburnt and disheartened with the whole thing. And we hadn’t even inspected any places yet! The Coffee Club stinged us $60 for lunch, just like home! So nice to have a bit of familiarity in your luncheon… or was it elevensies?

We had one really nice real estate agent. And in the end, after a few inspections, we put down applications on two places through her. We are waiting to hear finalisation, but it’s looking like we’ve been successful with one of them. So huzzah! The Drama teacher Bridge Troll of Dalby will have to wait for another opportunity for his reign of terror.

My first impression of the drive home was “hurrrrrngh! Why?” and my first impression of my bed when we got home was “zzzzzzzzzzzz”.

x