Just add Water
Add water to this all-bloke recipe for mateship and you'd leave Farmer Wants a Wife in the shade. There might be a scarcity of H20 in the bush but this did little to dampen our spirits.
A menu plan of toast on tap, cereal for dinner and mini magnums at midnight was supplemented by a barbecue of sizzling sausages and a visit to a pub nearby. Four chooks with streamlined cloacas kept us in eggs and a verdant vege garden on site provided a health dose of greens.
For two days and nights we sliced, diced and iced a plethora of issues both current and past. The genuine interest in one another's lives and cerebral interplay of viewpoints was as stimulating as it was insightful.
Here we were, mid 50s, balding, greying, flossing, farting and fumbling for eyewear together. We found safety in our number and secure in the thought that our lives were so much richer for knowing one another. It was a Big Chill moment, especially in the mornings.
Deep and meaningful conversation was supplemented with a smattering of smutty talk and numerous boundary rides on motorbikes, We piloted a drone, hunted vermin, musterered cattle, tended to trees and worried about the stressed-out landscape upon which we stood.
Truth be told, the cerebral one left the farmer and this conservative thinker behind. He was the mastermind and problem solver of a range of topics that included religious hypocrisy, how to pump 300, 000 mega litres of water up hill and run a kilometre in two minutes thirty seconds, thankfully not all at the same time.
Our host tutored his mates about the merits of regenerative farming methods and in the process instilled some hope for the planet. For my part, I celebrated our communal gathering and ability to simply communicate with meaning, an art that I fear is dying on the vine.
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