Who's Minding the Farm? by Patrice Newell

Author:Patrice Newell
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781760144135
Publisher: Penguin Random House Australia

The response? Utter silence. The lesson? Never pay in advance. We wanted to put Mr Red River in his own crush and examine his testicles.

But a crush and weighing system is only part of the investment of yards. Months later, with most of our cattle sold because of the drought, the yards slipped down the priority list. Even quality yards aren’t a saleable asset on a farm. Every set of yards is unique, just as its position is, and every stockperson I’ve met has strong opinions about how their preferred yards should operate. I often admire what seems the gold standard, only to have someone rubbish them.

After our cattle crush woes subsided, it was time to buy some other unaffordable things we’d wanted for years. Garlic being so labour-intensive, us labourers needed more mechanical help. I love old things, the reinvented, the recycled, but sometimes new gear is essential.

Our garlic business had started without any investment in equipment. The most important tools during year one were our hands. Graeme, though, loved ancient farm machinery, especially the Massey Ferguson 35, a tractor as old as me. So after that first crop he looked all over for one. Sometimes we’d drive past a farm and spot one rusting in a shed. We’d call in – was it for sale? But most Massey owners love their oldies. They were part of the family, of the farm’s history, and those we asked were always planning to do it up sometime.

Imagine Graeme’s delight when we visited a garlic grower at Waikerie, on the Murray River, and got a guided tour of his treasured tractors. But he too had none for sale. Eventually we did find the perfect Massey, persuaded the reluctant owner to sell it, and had it delivered to Elmswood. The red paint had long since faded, the tyres were flat and the engine needed work. Graeme liked it that way. It meant he could do it up.

Every true farmer loves their old gear and tries to keep it running. That’s why you see on every dinkum farm what I call Heath-Robinsonian machines, because they’re made up of all sorts of spare parts. Over the generations, farms become mechanical museums, with most farmers also being good bush mechanics. Reg was, then Phil, who took over from him as manager, and Graeme and John. Each one of them would stare at a broken machine for a while and then get stuck into it. They could read cogs, levers and pulleys like a musician reads a score, and soon the machine would be alive again, digging post holes, slashing weeds or baling hay. And our managers were the same with their own cars and trucks, most of which were veteran vehicles if not technically vintage.

The new machine I most wanted had a fine name: rehabilitator. This is a kind of one-pass plough that can go through a good stand of grass and break it all down. Pretty soon you have a bed ready to plant. I also wanted a weeder.

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