The Aussie Farm
Shelby Lines
Red, brown, orange! The gravel lays dormant, until contact and the dust rises to the occasion!
A swirl, a mist cloud of red dust covers the earth. The burnt red cloud of morning appears on
the horizon. The cows trot on. The dogs are yapping close at their heels. Musty hay drying
out in the shed. Farmers driving vehicles; motorbikes winding up to start and roaring to life
before they fade off into the background, adding to the hubbub of morning sounds. A tractor
rumbling in and out of hearing range from the distant paddock. The loud and changing hum
of the walk in cold room, and the ever so faint smell of oil and fuel leaching out from the
work shed. Ground covered in dirt, with dust rising and falling in the frenzy of activities.
Horses neighing from the paddock, its time for their morning hay buckets and they won’t let
up until its hanging from their necks. The morning passes quickly, the jobs are done! A shrill
sound rings through the air, it’s lunch time. For a brief time, the yard and paddocks are silent.
The dust has settled, and the silence is golden. The animals have been fed, the paddock has
been sown and the farmers have their mouths filled with freshly made sandwiches and billy
tea. As soon as rest is over the farm alights once more with noise, smell and a frenzy of
working. The heat of the afternoon creates a mirage in the distance. Hats come off for a brief
wipe of the brow and quickly put back on.
Animals are fed, firewood is collected, and the echoing sound of axe meeting wood
reverberates through the paddocks. Jolts of blood pumping. Tightly wound muscles locked.
Swinging to the sky. Crack. Two pieces of wood lie. Perforated edges dig into the beated
gloves. A rewarding satisfaction washes over like a wave. The afternoon is long, almost
unbearable in the intense heat of the direct sunlight.
The tell-tale sign of orange and reds in the Western sky bring relief for a moment. A change
of activities is imminent. Wood is chopped, collected and stored. Smoke fills the lungs of
those too close. Thick and hard to exhale. Musty, chalky pollutes the air. The chimney chugs
on. The emerging smoke exits the coal black flue. The howling wind settles as the flue is
closed off. Peering through the window into the overgrown bush. Dim light hits. Staring me
down. Amber orange fills the sky. A wave of warmth washes over. As time freezes. A Bitter
coldness arrives. The sun is set.
Isolated frozen fingertips meet relief with the red roar fire in the room. Quietness looms. A
brief moment of searching. The non diegetic noise hits. Birds whistling like a happy songs’
outro. ‘Red’ panting after a days’ of running. Sheep noring on the grass. In the distance a soft
‘mooo’ can be heard. Yet the fire burns on. Startled as an Alarming crackling comes from the
fireplace, like a gun shot was fired. The southerly winds blow the Icey air off the mountains. I
sit. Warm and in silence.
