The other great part was the water. All the taps on the property took water from a natural, mineral spring close by. It was some of the best water I’ve ever tasted, and we could drink it by the bucketful. All I could think about was brewing some beer with it--man it was good.
On our way to Udialla Springs, we camped at a cliff top rest area where the wind was strong but the sunset was spectacular. We took this opportunity to air out our damp gear from the Bungles. On the drive in to Udialla the next morning, the rapidly changing Kimberly wilderness around us hinted that this WWOOF experience would be completely unique. Pink cockatoos (Galahs) began flying with us as the unsealed road changed from brown dirt to red sand, and we grew more excited about reaching the property. Udialla Springs is owned and managed by an Aboriginal man, Neville Poelina, along with his wife Jo and their kids Simon and Angelina. They run a non-profit business called ‘Uptuyu Aboriginal Adventures,’ a corporation that runs tours of the local Kimberly region through an indigenous lens. Neville and Jo are also currently readying their property for use as a permaculture center and wilderness camp. It will soon be a place of learning for not only establishing and sustaining a nationwide network for indigenous tourism, but also for positive exchanges between cultures and between people and the land. Needless to say, we were ecstatic about any help we could provide for his project. Neville and his new touring 4WD bus! Jo first greeted us as we arrived on their property, and she immediately welcomed us to join in the delicious fried rice lunch she had just prepared. Soon after we met Neville, whose first task for us was to take a wander around his land. In the late afternoon we began our walk and Neville joined us so that he could gather bush medicine for Phil, the kids’ live-in teacher (the kids attended School of the Air: an Aussie education system for children in rural areas to attend school via radio transmissions and now the internet). As we meandered through Neville’s beautiful property, he took the time to pause at various plants and trees to teach us their medicinal and practical uses, which his people have known about for thousands of years. Neville shows Julia the uses for Acacia Soap Wattle “This is really the land of milk and honey,” he said with a proud smile. “Come over here I’ll show you what I mean.” Just off trail Neville led us to a fairly innocuous tree where he pointed out a tiny hole in the bark no wider than a pencil. “Put your ear to the hole.” We all looked at him to see if he was serious; maybe we were about to experience an Aboriginal practical joke initiation. One by one we timidly placed our ears on the hole, and were amazed to hear the sound of tiny bees buzzing. “Those are honey bees. That tree limb is full of honey.” We all let out a collective “Whooooaaa.” At another tree, an Acacia Soap Wattle, Neville demonstrated how the curled seedpods created a frothy soap when rubbed together with the smallest bit of water. Barbeque at the sunset picnic hill We quickly learned Neville’s WWOOFing guidelines at Udialla: a hard days work for a good days feed. He and Jo were incredibly flexible on when we could work; we could even work at night and relax and fish all day if we wanted to. The “good days feed” part became apparent immediately. On the first night we were fed flame-roasted duck, curried eggs, fresh green beans, and salad. Every night was different; we never ate the same meal twice. Jo made several mean curries over the course of the week. One evening we had the freshest beef we’ve ever eaten – ribs from a young feral bull that had been hunted that very afternoon. The mornings were pretty low-key and we mainly ate cereal, though the family seemed a bit disturbed by how heavily we pounded the cereal and milk. Being American cereal junkies, we couldn’t help but feel that we were completely depleting their milk and cereal resources. Mar tests the bush shower The work to be done at Udialla was pretty variable and depended solely on whatever projects came to Neville’s mind each morning. There were a ton of projects, so there was no shortage of work for the three of us. One of our first assignments was to help Julia, another wwoofer from Ukraine, make an outdoor shower enclosure out of spinifex and chicken wire. Spinifex is a small, spiky shrub that grows all over the desert regions of Australia. According to Neville, Aboriginals favored the waxy plant as a kind of wall insulation and weather guard. We spent the better part of the next few days digging a 100-meter long trench for a much anticipated phone line between the main house and the schoolhouse. We finished the project much faster than they had anticipated, so we were able to begin our stay with a good first impression. In Memoriam: Neville's Ironwood Tree As the days progressed, however, it seemed more and more like we had used up all of our competence for that trench. Our next project should have been an easy morning job – Neville wanted us to cut down a specific dead gum tree just down the dirt road from the homestead for firewood. What we didn’t realize was that “just down the road” in Neville’s mind meant about 7-8 km down the road. Instead we found a dead looking tree about 700 m from the property that seemed to fit the description. Turned out that very tree was a 150-200 year old ironwood tree that held special significance to both Neville and his extended family. And we had just chopped it into little pieces with a chainsaw. Just the other day, Neville had told us a number of such stories where people mistreated or did not respect the Aboriginal land of Australia and were thus subject to vengeful spirits and other mysterious forces of nature. We were obviously mortified. Fortunately, Neville was sublimely gracious about the incident and despite our insistence that we somehow atone for our deed, he told us simply not to linger on it. From then on we couldn’t seem to get anything right and definitely felt a bit cursed, especially when it came to cutting down trees. For another project, Neville wanted us to cut down some tall, skinny invasive trees for a shade shelter he wanted built. We ended up basically breaking both of his chainsaws. Devin was feeling especially cursed because he was the one who cut down THE tree and who was holding both chainsaws when they crapped out. In his defense, the chainsaws were not in the best condition and the trees we were cutting had incredibly sticky/wet wood, making the chainsaw work 10x harder than usual. Nevertheless, it became a running joke to keep all mechanical things away from Devin, lest they be inevitably destroyed. Woot. On a lighter note, when we weren’t destroying beloved flora and machinery, we had plenty of time to explore. Neville frequently encouraged us to go fish the Fitzroy River that ran through his property and happened to be a haven for barramundi, a prized fish of northern Australia, akin to striped bass of the states. Though I didn’t catch a barra, I did finally manage to catch A fish! After months of fruitless angling, I managed to land a nice little catfish in the moonlight. Devin, on the other hand, caught a beautiful barramundi using a simple handline and a Godzilla-sized prawn as bait, just as he was pulling his line in to call it quits. When the fish first jumped out of the water, the splash was so big and loud we all thought he had hooked a croc! Rather than immediately hate him, I chose the high road and lived vicariously through his joy and helped him net the fish. We decided to barbeque it whole the next night, stuffed with onions, garlic, ginger and a dash of soy sauce and lemon juice – flipping incredible. From now on, I am cooking my fish whole. No filleting, no scaling, just gut it, stuff it with deliciousness and throw it on the grill. Not only was this the first whole-cooked fish I’d ever had, I also took the opportunity to try fish eye for the first time. I felt like I couldn’t really call myself a fisherman until I’d had some eye. In case you’re wondering, it’s quite tasty – reminded me of sautéed duck fat. To reach the fishing spots required another fun-filled feature of Udialla Springs – push starting or tractor-pull-starting the rickety Toyota Landcruiser that was at our disposal. What the lumbering vehicle lacked in mechanical reliability it made up for in serious character. The doors only opened from the inside, the rear gate was held shut by bungee cord, the headlights required some telegraph-style manipulation before they would stay on, and you could only push start it in third gear. Out in the remote fishing locations, far away from the tractor, it was often nerve-racking when deciding where to park it, as it required human brute force and a good bit of incline and gravity to get the thing started. Steve tests the waters One of the greatest parts of living at Udialla was getting to know Neville’s family, as well as meeting all the fantastic people that passed through. For a large portion of our stay we had the pleasure of sharing the breakfast and dinner table with Jen and Alisdair, an ex-pat British couple from Melbourne. They spent much of their days wandering the property to help Neville document the local flora and fauna for his tourism business. Steve, an ex-pat Czechoslovakian (he left before it split) stopped by for a few days to test the water quality of the natural springs on the property and to upgrade their solar power setup. All had amazing life stories to tell and all were quick to offer a bed in their home if we were to ever pass through their towns. The other great part was the water. All the taps on the property took water from a natural, mineral spring close by. It was some of the best water I’ve ever tasted, and we could drink it by the bucketful. All I could think about was brewing some beer with it--man it was good. At the end of our stay we were reluctant to go but had to keep moving, especially since Devin’s departure date from Perth was fast approaching. On our last day at Udialla, Neville invited us to tag along with one of his professional tours he happened to be giving to a German couple that day. He took us to a shady spot amongst the gum trees and told us about the importance of Songlines in Aboriginal culture. These are oral storytelling devices that essentially outline a person’s life story and branch out from the Songlines of that person’s ancestors. These stories are complex and interconnected, as well as very practical. Family histories are preserved in the stories, and since there is such an interrelationship between the people and the land, these same stories can be used like oral road maps, providing information about that family’s traditional land – where one might find water or food in the area, for instance. Angelina shares some wildflowers with Mar Neville then told us a Dreamtime (creation) story of his people that explained why the blue-tongued lizard and snake are enemies intertwined with a Dreamtime story about how the Kimberly landscape of his property was formed. At one point in the story, the lizard leads two exhausted boys, who had been running from a snake, to a secret place where water can be found. At this point, Neville’s two children began removing loose pieces of paperbark piled at the foot of a gum tree to reveal a cooking pot-sized hole in the tree base. We were amazed to find it full of crystal clear water. Angelina scooped the water into a small cup for us to taste. This was some of the sweetest, purest water I’ve ever tasted, all the while in the middle of desert scrubland. Apparently if you were to dig a well anywhere else in the area, you would only find brackish water, yet here was this tree that somehow managed to maintain a small cauldron of pristine water with an essence of tea tree oil. It felt like for just a moment I was allowed into an entirely different world of knowledge, a kind of connection to the land that most of humanity has entirely forgotten. It was such an incredible privilege to bear witness to one of the innumerable secrets that Aboriginals have uncovered from the land. We drove out of the property heavy-hearted but enlightened and overjoyed to have left Neville feeling that we had been accepted into the family – as schmaltzy as it sounds, we felt our hearts glow.
0 Comments
Dev and Mar prepare for the joy of crossing the border The day after our Kakadu jaunt, we exuberantly crossed the Western Australia border, finally shedding the stubborn, expensive magnetism of the Northern Territory. After driving through the quarantine checkpoint (WA is extremely serious about its environmental restrictions – they confiscated all our fresh produce and our jar of honey), we could immediately sense a difference from all the other Australian states we had been through before. Like a breath of fresh air, the landscape was vibrant and ornate, full of new and diverse plants and trees and rock formations. The road itself seemed new and refreshing, free from swarms of backpackers, irritated commuters, and Grey Nomads (retirees in caravans). As we drove deeper and deeper into WA, we felt energized, as if Australia had opened up a secret door just for the three of us. The guys do some test lunges with their pearly whites... Ew. Our first stop in Western Australia was the town of Kununurra, where we restocked on water and classic Aussie men’s wear. The guys had been hankering for some stubbies for a long portion of our journey and finally found some suitable pre-loved pairs in Kununurra. To enlighten those back home, stubbies are shorts. Not just shorts but incredibly short shorts that allow tans in places where the sun don’t usually shine. Rugby players show off their sculpted quads in stubbies, but more often than not, stubbies are seen on your everyday Aussie country man – the rounded, doughy guy who shows off a little too much as he steps out of his dirty white ute at the gas station, shirtless and holding a beer can. Ben has been itching to write a blog essay focused on the stubbie phenomenon, so when we’re in a more settled place, stay tuned. You’re in for a treat. In Kununurra we gathered some info on the Kimberly (the so-called last great frontier of Australian wilderness) and forged our game plan for our adventures through it. We had been in contact with another WWOOF host who said we could join them at their property before they left for a vacation at the end of September. Without much time between our arrival and their departure, and wanting to leave northern Australia before the wet season began, we decided to do a short explore in the Bungle Bungles (a unique geological landscape in the southeast Kimberly) and then make a b-line for Udialla Springs (where we would WWOOF) on the southwestern edge. Into the Kimberly and the Bungle Bungles! The Bungle Bungles (or Purnululu National Park) is located down a 53 kilometer, one-lane, unsealed road full of corrugation and blind crests. We were told at the information center to allow roughly 2 hours of drive time for this shortish track so as not to get in a wreck or completely destroy our vehicle. It ended up being a breathtaking ride, but due to the fragility of our very light 4WD vehicle, it took us a good three and a half hours to reach the park. Once in, we had another half hour of slow drive time to get to a good camping area for the night. Too close for missiles, we're switching to guns. Just as we began to cook dinner, the skies opened up and we had our first taste of the northern Australian wet season. Devin worked on a sauce in the back of the car with a lid from a plastic bin on his head to keep out the rain while I attempted to shield the noodles on Ben’s camping stove from the water with my body. In the end I ended up completely soaked underneath my rain gear but the budget noodles with a veggie and peanut satay sauce turned out quite nicely. Bounding into Mini Palms Gorge We unfortunately had only one full day to take advantage of the park, but luckily other than the multi-day 80-kilometer track (which we would’ve loved to do) we were able to tackle the park’s five other hikes, which were absolutely spectacular. [The park has only a handful of hiking tracks because the rest of the land is designated as Aboriginal living space and culturally sacred areas.] We began our day in the northern half, hiking through Mini Palms Gorge and Echidna Chasm. Although these had their own unique beauty, I felt so much nostalgia for Utah, particularly with Echidna Chasm: a slot canyon much like ones we had explored in the Escalante region of southern Utah. Piccaninny Creek Bed and The Bungles In the afternoon, we made our way south and hiked through the official “Bungle Bungles” – beehive-shaped rock formations with striations of red sandstone and black cyanobacteria. At this point in the day the sky had turned overcast and we welcomed the misty rain, which not only cooled us down but also discouraged any other potential tourists from hiking, leaving us alone in this mystical wonderland. We weaved through the Bungles and ended up along an incredible riverbed, eventually reaching a magnificent lookout point. Ben’s camera battery unfortunately died right before we reached the lookout, but the landscape we traversed to get there was absolute magic. Across the riverbed we rounded a corner into a cluster of bungles that encircled a small patch of rolling rocks and sand covered in brilliant yellow and purple desert flowers. The lookout itself had us up on a rocky cliff between two bungles, looking down at the bungle formations in the distance. Piccaninny Creek Bed and The Bungles With the sky overcast, we had trouble determining the time of day, but decided that it was getting close to dark. With one hiking track left and daylight running low, we made a quick choice to haul-ass down the trail to view Cathedral Gorge. We jogged through the dimly lit canyon, weaving in and out of a dry, sandy riverbed until we reached the Cathedral itself. Again, I was amazed by the resemblance this place had to Utah, which has a spot known as Golden Cathedral. These two Cathedral spaces looked, to me, almost identical – both rounded, sheltered caverns of rock with rainwater pools sitting just under runoff points in the rock above - the only main difference being that the runoff point in Utah is a fully formed oculus. We paid our respects to this beautiful place and its resident nocturnal animals and then went at full tilt trail running speed back out of the canyon until we reached the car park right as it became completely dark. Awesome. That night, the rains came down on us once more. Not wanting a drenching repeat of dinner the night before, we hunkered down in the car, each with our own can of spaghetti and sauce, passing around a large can of baked beans. Quality camping fare paired with The Princess Bride. Unbeatable. We took the long drive out the next morning light and exhilarated. On our way out of the Northern Territory, we decided we needed to visit the national parks before leaving the Top End for good. We had heard great things about both Litchfield and Kakadu, although locals seemed to prefer LItchfield due to entrance and camping fees at Kakadu. We began our explorations at Litchfield and spent a night camped out in the bush off a 4WD track in its jungle wilderness. The environment was beautiful, but it was challenging to deal with both the thick humidity and the swarms of bugs that were drawn to our lights and dinner table. We had camped just a short distance from Florence Falls, and in the morning after packing up, we hiked the trail to the falls. Part of the appeal for camping at this location was that Florence Falls was safe for swimming - one of several croc-free pools in the park but one of very few in all the Northern Territory. As we rounded the corner to the falls, we were blown away by how magical it seemed. Twin waterfalls poured into a clear, deep pool with ancient-looking rock formations and tropical vegetation surrounding. Without hesitation we jumped in, and the water was blessedly cool. After checking for submerged rocks, Devin took this opportunity to leap from some rocky ledges and entertain the rest of the swimmers. After a good long swim at Florence we visited Buley Rock Holes, another swimming spot where the river had carved deep pools into the rock. Once we had had our fill, we took a 4WD track to the Lost City, a spot in Litchfield where great sandstone spires loomed overhead like crumbling ancient ruins. We truly felt like we had wandered into the Jungle Book. It was awesome adventure territory - our type of playground. Kakadu National Park (This picture for Adele) After Litchfield it was time to venture into the famous Kakadu. Upon entering the park, however, we began to understand why it has gained its reputation with the locals. The entrance fees ended up being $25 per person for a 14-Day pass, which would have been OK had we either been staying for 14 days or had an option to buy a cheaper, one-day type pass which is all we really had time for. But no. Ouch. It left a bitter taste in our mouths as we drove into the park. In addition, we discovered that many of the camping areas in the park, which on many official park maps were designated as free, had signs that asked you to pay extra fees for each person in your party per night. Either $10 for campgrounds with toilets and showers or $5 for basic bush camping. We determined that our camping fees were in our $75 that we had blown for a one day, one night stint. Particularly because the toilet at our bush camp where we spent the night was out of order due to a large, hairy monster spider that had rented out the toilet bowl. That night did not improve much either. As the sun set and the annoying black flies slowly departed, the mosquitoes came out with a vengeance. It got so bad that in the muggy, riverside heat of the evening, we had to put on pants and long sleeves and eat our dinner underneath our mosquito head gear (thanks for leaving those Adele!). Sadness. The park was redeemed, however, by the incredible bush walks we were able to take on our two days there. We were able to view some incredible Aboriginal rock art, followed by an intense long hike through a rapidly changing landscape of sandstone cliffs and gumtree forests. We had the trail all to ourselves which was fabulous. The second day, Ben got some required fishing time in and Devin and I had a walk through the wetlands. All in all some awesome adventures at Kakadu! Part I: 28 Days Later - Outbreak at Wilderness Farms A few days before we left Wilderness Farms, we discovered that our rear left wheel (the same wheel that had caused us trouble near Hughenden) had been punctured and was completely flat. The day before we left, the guys changed the tire to the spare and Devin and I began our preparation for the night’s American-style dinner: chili and fresh bread. Earlier that same day, Colin, Tom, and a new WWOOFer all suddenly came down with a terrible illness – the same one, it seemed, that had afflicted a few others earlier in the week. This particular bug materialized very quickly; one moment you felt just fine and the next, you’re puking your guts out and become completely immobilized with body aches and fatigue for a good 24 hours. The instantaneous onset and the apparent randomness of its victims had everyone at Wilderness wondering who would be next. Later that evening while we were making our dinner, people were placing their bets. Stefanie, one of the fabulous WWOOFers from Paris, marked me as the next “infected.” I had felt slightly off in the afternoon but I dismissed it as fatigue and the celebratory beer at the end of the workday that I drank on an empty stomach. As the night wore on and I continued to make bread, I suddenly had the urge to walk out into the woods. A few steps past the fence and I was yacking Exorcist-style into the wilderness at Wilderness. Afterwards I crawled back to the open-air kitchen and spent the rest of the night slumped over, instructing Ben on how to finish off the braided bread. When I finally caved and decided it was time to go lie down in bed, Ben began walking me to the house. Before I could get out of sight and earshot of the rest of the party, I had one last, Monty Python’s Meaning of Life finale puke. Fabulous. Devin in the throes of Wilderness Farms Ebola The next morning I was feeling weak, exhausted, and without appetite, but all in all a bit better. We had a long, heartfelt goodbye with all our new WWOOFing mates and found out that a few more had gotten sick after I left. As we were putting our last few things in the car, we found Devin lying pale on his bed, fallen victim to the bug. The three of us packed Devin in the car and very slowly, we made our way out of Wilderness Farms. Our original plan post-farming had been to hike and paddle up the beautiful Katherine Gorge for a few days. However, with Dev and I incapacitated and Em and Ben ticking time bombs for illness, we decided to rent a room at a local homestead for the night. Despite our regrets about the gorge, this turned out to be a great decision as Emily became ill that very night. Ben miraculously never came down with any symptoms – I’m guessing it’s due to a Samson-esque power in his massive curly hair (which he hasn’t cut since we were in Boston). We’re still not sure where the bug originated from but we’re guessing it must have resulted from either something in the organic soil or from something in the river, which was the source of our drinking water. Part II: Breakdown on the Stuart Highway As we limped out of Katherine after our rest at the homestead (thanks again Em/Adele), three of us weak from our 28 Days Later virus, we headed back towards Darwin so Emily could fly to Cairns to begin her solo WWOOFing in the Daintree. The highway between Katherine and Darwin stretches for about 300 kilometers and is speckled with just a few small one-street towns and roadhouses. We had traveled 130 kilometers north of Katherine, near Hayes Creek, when Ben, who was driving, noticed a strange rumbling coming from our car. Just as he wondered out loud whether it was the road or the vehicle, a tire suddenly blew out and Ben managed to safely slow us down and bring us off the road. Once we got out we realized the tread on the spare tire had managed to completely peel off like a candy wrapper, resulting in the rest of the tire to collapse and pop. We then realized that the shoulder on which we had pulled over was no wider than the car itself, on a curve, sandwiched between a guardrail and oncoming road trains. To make matters worse, as Ben dealt with RACQ to arrange a tow truck, the sun dropped below the horizon and it began to rain. Enormous road trains hurtled by in both directions, spraying us with water and road grime as we urgently discussed what our next move should be, including whether to leave the car and head up the road on foot. Just as things were looking rather desperate, an angel appeared in a beat up ute (pickup truck) and pulled over onto the opposite shoulder. “All of you need to get in the truck right now before you get killed!” she yelled across the way. “There’s a roadhouse just up the road from here. You can wait for the tow truck there.” Completely flabbergasted, we immediately gathered up what we needed from the car and carefully made our way across the road while spouting tongue-tied thank yous in her direction. At the roadhouse, Ben continued to coordinate with RACQ as we huddled over our pints. “I saw you guys stranded there and I just thought that if I didn’t pick you up and something happened to you all I wouldn’t be able to live with myself,” the woman said, exasperated with worry. To our amazement, she then offered up her camper trailer for two of us to spend the night. This gesture was a huge relief to us, since only two of us could ride back to Katherine with the tow truck, leaving the other two at the pub. Now the only real issue was that Emily would have to miss her flight from Darwin the next morning. Ben and I arrived in Katherine around 10 pm that night, not the least bit thrilled to have experienced a second tow truck ride in less than 2 months. We begrudgingly checked into a pricey motel and the next day made our way to the mechanic to check on poor Alby. Two tires later (and one Wilderness Farms paycheck down the drain) we made our way north again on the same damned stretch of Stuart Highway that seemed to now be mocking our aspirations of making it across Australia in one piece. Part III: The Backpack CrisisLeaving Katherine for the 80th time, we headed up the Stuart Highway towards Darwin once more, picking up Dev and Em in Hayes Creek along the way. We finally made it back to Darwin and drove straight to a familiar caravan park to spend a short night before Emily’s rescheduled 5 am departure to Cairns the following morning. As soon as we drove up and Devin went to pay and check us in, he quickly realized that his daypack was missing. This daypack contained most of his precious possessions: his wallet with IDs and credit cards, his cell phones (both American and Australian), his digital camera, his GPS, his newly acquired light-up poi balls, as well as the canvas bag itself. We tore through the car to see if it was tucked away somewhere, but alas, it was nowhere to be found. We called the roadhouse where he had spent the night, but the barkeep who answered was less than helpful and we eventually found that the backpack was not on their property if it had been. Concluding that it had either been left in the Hayes Creek parking lot and stolen, or had fallen off the roof along the highway, we were at a loss for what to do. Between this distress, residual illness, and the emotion of Emily’s departure, Devin was a bit out of sorts. Later that evening, just as Devin was deciding to drive all the way back down that long stretch of highway alone, a message materialized on Ben’s phone from a woman who claimed to have Devin’s pack. Apparently it had been on the top of our car for about 100 kilometers and fallen off between Hayes Creek and Darwin. Someone had found it on the side of the road and brought it into a mining operation where this woman worked. When we finally connected with her, she said she would be driving into Darwin the next day and would deliver the backpack right to our campsite as she used to live at the very same caravan park long ago. This kindly woman did return Devin’s bag, but unfortunately, whoever had initially found the bag had taken his camera, cash, and GPS. Luckily his pain-in-the-ass-to-replace items (cards, IDs, phones) were all still in tact.
In between, we had a tearful goodbye with our fourth Musketeer at 3 am at the Darwin airport. Since then, we’ve spoken with Em via email and she had been doing great at the Daintree Zoo – walking wombats and relocating crocodiles to name some of her awesome activities. Miss you Em! Cockatoos flying out of the rockmelon field Before we had even crossed the border into the NT, we had determined that the four of us would do a WWOOFing stint after our concert deadline, and had called several hosts in preparation. Two different hosts had previously told us we were welcome to join them, so we rang up the closer of the two, Wilderness Farms, a 350-hectare organic farm just north of Katherine. By Friday we found our way onto their impressive property and were greeted by a mob of WWOOFers also working there, and by Caroline, one of the two owners. The other workers came from all over: many from France and Germany, but also from Belgium, Italy, and Canada. Tom, from Germany, toiling in the squash patch After the first few grueling days learning the work routine, we began to feel a strong bond with the other WWOOFers. This was not only because of the long hours, but also because the other owner of Wilderness Farms, John, was a bit unpredictable and ornery. While occasionally spouting somewhat coherent and reasonable philosophies from his travels and experiences, more often than not he was erratically driving his tractor around the property and yelling at workers with a whiny, incoherent back-of-the-nasal-cavity noise, usually criticizing their inadequate progress. He had a tendency to leave out important vowels when he spoke, so that all you could make out was a garbled Aussie drawl. Whenever he finished describing what needed doing with a particular job and drove off, we would all reconvene in a WWOOFer huddle and attempt to decipher what he actually said. As native English speakers, we often had the responsibility of translating as much as we could, but usually we were just as lost. Colin adds some UDL to his nightly meat fry In addition to the WOOFers, there were two farmhands who stayed on the property for months at a time. Paul, from Tasmania, was one of the nicest people we’d ever met. He was great having around when you had a question but didn’t feel like approaching John or Caroline, who always seemed enormously busy and pretty cranky about it. Paul was a big fan of what he called “vacuous pop music” -- you could always tell he was driving the truck when your farm work was accompanied by bass-thumping club music. When he wasn’t working at the farm, Paul spent much of his time in India (the bastard), or in Tassie to see family. He highly recommended we give Tasmania a good look, but to be wary of the many leeches that inhabit the island. Colin, on the other hand, was a real salt of the earth kind of guy. With his dilapidated straw hat, sun-charred leather skin, cut-off denim shorts and effortless fluency (and versatility) with expletive language, he was a shining example of a true backwater Aussie. Not to say that he was any bit uncultured. I (Ben) was frequently blown away by his almost encyclopedic knowledge of music, as well as by his many experiences traveling abroad. Colin was also really hilarious to talk to, especially after 4 or 5 vodka passionfruit drinks and a baker’s dozen of cigarettes. It was actually a rare occasion when Colin wasn’t accompanied by a can of UDL Vodka Passionfruit and a smoldering hand-rolled cigarette. Devin gets splattered by Honey's dog grime in the squash field The daily routine changed for us after a few days. We began just as WWOOFers but once we proved to the management that we were reliable, hard workers who were willing to stick around, we were offered extra paid work for the remainder of our stay. This meant that instead of working from 7:30 AM to 1:00 PM and ending our day, we would work from 7:30 AM to 6:00 PM and get paid from 11 to 6. The work itself was physically demanding as it was almost entirely picking and packing of fruits and vegetables, often in the hot NT sun. In the morning, the women would go pick zucchini and then meet up with the guys to pick button squash. Guys would also pick rock melon (cantaloupe), watermelon, and butternut squash. In the afternoons, all of us would often pick capsicum (bell pepper), eggplant, cucumbers, and pumpkins. Packing was sometimes a great relief, as it required being in the shed and out of the sun, often getting splashed with water while washing vegetables. Devin after a long, dirty day amongst the mango trees For several days, Devin and I spent our afternoons among the farm’s mango trees doing maintenance work on their irrigation lines. At first it seemed like the cushiest outdoor work on the farm – spending the hotter part of the day in the shade, enjoying the occasional refreshing splash from the sprinklers. It was also great to spend some quality bonding time with Tom and Jonathan, two backpackers from Germany and France. It really seemed like heaven for the first hour or so, right up until we discovered the bane of citrus farming – citrus ants. Also known as green ants for their bright green abdomen, these little miscreants would wait until you were busy cleaning out a sprinkler head before 5 or 6 would start crawling up your leg, biting you along the way. Tom had a particularly intimate encounter with the ants. He and Devin were working on a clogged sprinkler head beneath one of the mango trees when Tom noticed a stream of ants crawling out of his hair and down his neck and shoulders. As he began frantically brushing them off, Devin looked up to see that Tom had a grapefruit-sized ant nest resting on his shoulder, with dozens of very pissed-off ants pouring out. With girlish screams, Tom ran wildly out to a clearing, ripping his shirt off and swearing in both German and English, while Devin fell over laughing. The swimming hole/river Although the work was taxing, each afternoon after knock off (quitting time), we would take a glorious cooling dip in the river that ran behind the property, washing off the days dirt and veggie crust under the palm fronds. After a swim and/or a shower, there was a feeling of great satisfaction in another hard day finished and a slight energy in being clean with achy muscles. Dinners were always superb and everyone took turns in cooking the night’s meal. Caroline spent many years living in Israel and would often contribute homemade tabouli or hummus. At each meal, there were always plenty of reject fruit and veg for us to eat. We became accustomed to each of us having an entire rock melon, fresh off the vine, to ourselves for break and lunch. Although this was fantastic (I don’t think we’ve eaten such fresh, healthy food so consistently ever), it made us acutely aware of how much waste is involved in farming, even organic farming. The slightest scratch, bruise, or deformity causes produce to be unworthy of sale. Huge bins were filled daily with these rejects, with most of it left to rot and become compost or to be fed to cows. Tomaso and the ladies We stayed at Wilderness Farms for two weeks and although there were occasional frustrations with the work and the management, we met some truly fabulous people that we hope to see again. Days spent together in the fields on the proverbial chain gang and nights round the campfire with a brew all added up to some great friendships and a very satisfying experience. |
Marielle & BenWe're two people in the midst of severe quarter-life crises who decided to leave good jobs in a bad economy to travel to the other side of the world because, well, why not? Archives
April 2011
Categories
All
|