A Bit of Earth

One of the things I told myself I was absolutely going to do once I moved to Dalby, was grow an edible garden. Other things on the list included ‘learn the ukulele’ and ‘write a novel’, so I guess we can say it was a fairly ambitious list. But despite having bought then abandoned a ukulele and lol don’t even talk to me about a novel, I have in fact, been rather successful at cultivating a small garden. And yes, some of it is even edible.

Please don't look too hard at the sad basil on the left, the sad basil and I are working through its issues

I had a few rather disastrous attempts at it, and then suddenly I just got into the groove of it. Every time I go out there, something is a little greener, a little bigger, a little better. I water regularly, I re-pot as necessary and I am always adding little things to it. Unfortunately, my real estate agent is a ruiner of dreams, which means I can only keep things in pots, but despite this hurdle, I really have cultivated my own little corner of Dalby. I grow things I would like to grow, I try things that seem ok. It’s mine, and this one little thing makes me happier than I can possibly express.

I’ll try though, in blog form, no less.

There is a deep satisfaction in making something from nothing. I think it’s one of the reasons I like knitting so much. You start with string, essentially, and you weave that shit together in a complicated little knot over and over and the next thing you know you’ve got something functional. In my case, that’s always a scarf, because I haven’t quite progressed to anything more complicated than that, but shit it’s still something new that didn’t exist before. Writing is much the same. Pulling words out of your brain and twisting them into some kind of story, or even just a sentence… that is some amazing stuff right there. I’m doing it right now, every word I write did not exist in this particular order before I came along and put them here. Isn’t that a truly fantastic thing?

I figure I can just grow the plants *over* the ugly shit in the yard, and pretend its not there

Gardening is that fantastic sensation PLUS the feeling of helping something to grow. It’s not just making something; it’s making something live, it’s creating life, and it’s friggin awesome.  Knowing that I made this thing, and that it wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t applied myself, if I hadn’t tried hard, and persevered, gives me a really big sense of accomplishment. And I know that it’s just a little thing, I didn’t save a rainforest, or grow a whole human inside me or anything, but it’s empowering, it fills me up with a giant ball of happiness.

View out our back door

It’s funny actually, but I’m sure this is the feeling people have when they do make a whole human, except multiplied by about ten thousand. But to be honest, I’m just content with zucchini plants and flowers for now, lol babies seems too much. I’m full of joy and bouncing with happiness about a bunch of plants, can you imagine if I made a baby? I’d be hysterically jumping on the furniture. It seems too much, and I’m very content with my herb babies and my vege babies, and anyway, they are much cheaper to feed, and they don’t poop themselves… and if ants get on them I’m not the worst person ever.

And I won't be sent to jail when I hand pollinate this zucchini plant in Spring.

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. 

Weather with you

Weather happens every god damn day, whether you want it to or not. Whether you weather the weather or whether you don’t, it’s always there. And yet we humans talk about the weather like it’s going out of fashion. Or more accurately, like it’s the height of fashion.  We can’t get ENOUGH of weather talk. It’s too cold, it’s so hot, can’t get over the frost this morning, did you hear we’re in for a storm? What’s with these clouds, eh?

There are a million, million jokes about talking about the weather; it’s the cliché, the standard filler, only boring people talk about weather. For some people it’s highly relevant; farmers, fishers, tornado hunters – they all need to know, discuss and go on about it. But what the fuck are the rest of us doing?

Sure, it’s easy small talk, the kind of stuff you can pull out with coworkers you don’t know that well, or neighbours, vaguely related family members and members of religious faiths who won’t get off your doorstep, but I think it’s more than that.

Since moving from my hometown, almost every single member of mine and Boyfriend’s families have mentioned that they look at the weather forecast for Dalby on a regular basis. We’re no longer in town, no longer united by Brisbane weather, so they keep an eye on our weather. There’s no logic to this, if it’s cold here, they aren’t going to call us up and remind us to wear a scarf, but they just like to know. I still check the Brisbane weather all the time; it’s comforting in a weird way.

I think we talk about the weather because it’s one of the few observable, unambiguous things that unites us. No one can say whether we all experience life in the same way; do we love the same way, hate the same way, find the same things funny? How can we be sure that other people even think the same way, or about the same things as us? We can’t. But we sure as hell all know what it’s like to get rained on, to feel hot, to scream and then giggle at our own fear when lightning strikes a little too close for comfort.

So every morning, you probably look up the forecast online, or catch it on the news. You probably make a comment about it to someone you live with. Failing all that, you at least stand on your front steps and judge whether or not you’re going to need a cardi. And once you’ve gleaned this information, you probably go to work or uni or whatever, and mention it to someone there. “I thought it was going to be freezing this morning, but now I’m boiling, damn it I did not need this cardi!” And in your mind you might think, “geez what a boring conversationalist I am” – but remember, you’re just connecting yourself to the rest of humanity. All you’re doing is saying “LOOK I AM JUST LIKE YOU. WE ARE THE SAME. HOW SHIT IS SWEAT?!” You’re just participating in the great small talk of life, and there’s nothing so wrong with that.

What’s with these clouds, eh?