No one said it would be easy, and no one was right.
Justin and I are now slaves to the land. For better or for worse, in sickness and in health. Till death do us part.
A bit morbid for 8:40 in the morning, but after a burst water pipe late last night; the thanks we get from three sick calves in their supposed 'weak' state, Justin was out doing repairs soaked to the core trying to restore an entire water supply from the dam to all the surrounding paddocks - 1300ha. The last ride down to check on the pump I was in attendance. It was chilly, dark and unusual work for 9pm.
This morning we were both up just before the crack of dawn, back on the four-wheeler and with ladder in tow off to check another tank 3 paddocks away at the top of a hill. I can say that the sunrise was magnificent. I should also mention that I could not feel my hands or feet. Justin carried on with switching off electric fences, climbing to the top of said reservoir and checking the progress of it filling and then proceeded to retract the whole mission very quickly indeed. The cup of tea Justin had slurped down only 15 min's earlier had finally stirred his innards into a frenzy and he was now becoming very volatile. I was asked (somewhat impolitely) to race down ahead and open the gates up in anticipation of the great escape.
Life with Justin is one big comic strip, even the most dull situations can, and often do take a twist of fate into hilarity.
So farm life doesn't really have any set hours. It's pretty full on when things go wrong and cows and bulls are very thirsty critters. They may go one day without water but after that they drop off pretty quickly from what we've heard. We'd rather not find out by experience.
I begin my new job today. As expected I am longing to get back into any kind of payed work - both for financial reasons and for the mental stability. I could never be unemployed for more than 3 months I reckon. I would just go stir crazy. You lose your confidence, your identity, your purpose for being. Even if you scrape up dung voluntarily - it's a start. I love working. So does my Mum, when she's well. Unfortunately as she gets older it is becoming harder and harder for her to maintain the gut-wrenching physical jobs that she is likely to be employed for. With few skills, except for being a keen worker at anything, the last few employment opportunities that have surfaced for her have been either working on a conveyor belt at a chicken abattoir or a conveyor belt in a large bakery. Both require round the clock hours, mostly twilight and in excess of 10 to 16 hours. Other jobs that Mum has done include working on a trawler in Yamba (requiring both Daniel and I to be babysat overnight), vacuuming cinema theatres - again at night, truck stop attendant and cook, cleaner of just about every facet, and once long ago a nurses aid.
For all my Mother's weaknesses there is two strengths. And luckily for me she managed to pass on only the strengths.
Mum is still in Hospital, 7 weeks after I admitted her. I spoke to her yesterday and she feebly explained that some Dr has told her it will be at least 3 days before she can have unescorted leave. One of the many stepping stones to getting out of the psyche ward and proving that you are no longer a danger to yourself and others.
Mum has struggled with my move overseas. We have been preparing her for it for over 5 years, but it still impacted greatly on her ability to cope.
Frustratingly though, Mum still insists that she does not require "legal drugs" to make her better and is adamant that her bipolar disorder is just a cruel figment of a "controlling government body" and that if everyone just left her alone and stopped stealing all her important documents she'd be fine.
We tried that, it didn't work.
