We grew up in suburbia. 600-700m2 blocks, standard brick/weatherboard homes, single bathroom with a small backyard and a hillshoist. But for as long as I can remember, I romanticised the idea of a farm; a garden, chickens, sheep – maybe a cow? Land and a cottage farmhouse. As a “millennial” these ideas seemed so far-fetched – completely unattainable and nothing more than a pipe dream.
My parents had the right idea – they moved out of our four bedroom home in a very standard street, with a very standard yard to live in a bus. While they never got to travel, the did get to try something new and while down-sizing to a 6m rectangle on wheels seems even further from that acreage idealisation I had (and share with my mother), watching them transform that space into a liveable area really reinforced the idea that “home is where you wedge your tires” or whatever you chose to make it.
I’ve saved you the novella of how we came to buy our little slice of heaven, but for mum’s sake I will include that she found the property we came to purchase and likes to remind me constantly! If I ever get around to sharing the listing photos, you may come to understand why it didn’t leap out and say “come and inspect me, I’m everything you ever wanted – I promise!” and could have been overlooked if it hadn’t been for a pair of wiser eyes.
So here we are, two suburban kids on acreage, learning every day what it means to live with septic tanks and a greywater hose, a flock of happy chooks and a resident carpet snake; toads in the grass and frogs in the pipes, and fruit trees that were planted many moons before we arrived; with a dam filled with cat’s tails, and carved-out flood channel; grass that grows longer and lusher just by looking at and requires constant trimming; with a second-hand John Deere, a gas BBQ and a fire pit; bails of hay, a pile of pallets and a cubby-house on stilts; with two tool sheds, a wood shed and a green house; with a cattle ramp and more concrete debris than anyone needs; two bonfire sites, a black water sump and a pump connected to the washing machine; with chicken carcass’ under the house, fencing not made to contain Kelpies and very knowledgeable neighbours; all the new, interesting night sounds, and more bird calls than I could name; with a possum that lives in the car port, the squeakiest whirly bird I’ve ever heard and a garage door that doesn’t quite close right; with termite mounds in the gardens and footings that need replacing; with an indoor circuit board and wardrobe doors of every colour; with a blue laundry, a spare room with “poo” (brown) feature wall (and the only carpet in the house) and vintage lace curtains on every window; with a fireplace in the lounge and the narrowest kitchen counters ever created, and cracked tiles that creak in certain places; with “his & hers” driveways and a fairy bridge and the conifers straight from your grandma’s house; with a jacaranda tree and a tire swing and an entire garden bed of banksia bushes; with pretty flowers I’ve never seen before and the thorniest weeds you’ve ever touched, lantana everywhere and tomato plants everywhere else; with a rooster that has met the jaws of ever one of our living dogs and an old-ass cat that just keeps going, a back yard that gets real squelchy when it rains and metres upon metres of fencing that needs replacing, not repair… even with all those things, this place is heaven and we’re going to turn it into something great.
Thanks for coming along for the ride.
