SARSFIELD NR BAIRNSDALE
JULY 8
WE are in a little place called Sarsfield, near
Bairnsdale. We arrived last night with just a few hours of daylight left. It is
a family farm with an adjacent wooden cottage. The
owner’s son, a fifteen year old boy called Ashley, immediately gave us a tour
of the property. He did it with a certain relish. He loves living here. I told
him we are city people, naïve and curious. Simply adorned with t-shirt and
shorts, he was full of chatter and friendliness and charm. We visited the large
sow who wandered over from behind her fence repaying our curiosity with
curiosity of her own. Her body was warm and her back felt like the straw you
find from the bottom of an outdoor broom.
Then we saw the myriad ducks and geese soldiering
around, seemingly at random. Not quite as friendly, they kept a few paces ahead
of us, expectant of food. Ashley collected white buckets filled with pellets.
His slightly older sister, Tiffany, joined us in her tracksuit. She had food
for the ducks. The four of us were to feed the pigs. Their large pen was
mud-filled. We approached them excitedly and what a raucous sound they
provided! The air became filled with heavy grunts and high pitched squeals. I
thought of the young porkers in ‘Animal Farm.’ Some of the pigs climbed on
other pigs’ backs. We splashed the food randomly on the soft surface of the
muddy floor and patted their backs while they ate.
When Ashley finished his farm stories and the animals
were satisfied we wandered back to our cottage to prepare dinner. By now, in
the twilight, a heavy mist had descended spookily all about us, sitting on the
surface of the land. These are all new experiences. Stars began appearing. I
swear the sky towards the horizon was a distinct mauve or lilac colour.
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