This year marks 10 years for me in the Northern Territory. I've seen some good times. I've seen some bad. I've been knocked out by horses and cattle. I've broken my back. I think at one point I may have even broken my leg. I've been bogged in mud. I've been in a chopper doing a bit of cattle work. I've been from the edge of the Kimberleys to the edge of the Barkly Tablelands and everywhere in between. I end some days covered in blood. I end some days covered in dirt or mud. I end some days covered in oil and grease. I've swum in croc infested waterways. I've cut up countless cows and bullocks for beef. I've processed over 70,000 breeder cows across 12 different stations. I've raised approximately 80 poddy calves. I've chained srcub with a D9. I've kept a 700km square property ticking over. I've fought dozens of fires. And I learnt early on that there is a million different ways to skin a cat and that no one skins a cat the same way. There's not one part of me that ever regrets coming up here and hardly coming home. I've done it all and had a ball.
I've met some fantastic people along the way. I've met some I'd rather forget. But there are two people that stand out above the rest. I met them in Rio's, now known as Club 23 (at least I haven't been around long enough to have known it as Wings) and they have been there for through thick and thin ever since. When I saw them I thought "These are my type of people". I bet when they saw me they thought "What's this drunken, college tart up to?" But never-the-less, they tolerated my annoying presence.
Two years passed and we had lost touch. Till one (yet another) night on the turps at Daly Waters. I was greeted immediately by warm hugs and big smiles from Shorty and Stace.
Ever since they have been there in my life. Shorty providing me with a roof over my head and food in my belly whenever I have needed it and she's never been afraid of giving me a kick up the arse when I needed it either. And Stace is the best mate by my side here in the NT. Alcohol fuelled nights and lunches wherein I miss my plane and not to mention the countless rodeos.
So I raise my glass of my now non-alcoholic beverage to two special people: To Shorty and Stace. The Cowgirls Mama and the Rodeo Queen. Love yas!
Sunday 3 February 2013
Saturday 2 February 2013
Once a Jolly Swagwoman
My earlier blogs being longer and less refined, some parts of which may not be remembered by readers means I will quickly relate an excerpt from "Tigger the Reluctant Townie - The Last Supper (and the First Siren)".
I was in Darwin about a year ago visiting my best friend since infancy as it was to be her last weekend in the NT for some time. She said she had a bed available for me to sleep in at her apartment but I didn't want her to go to any trouble and told her I'll just roll my swag on the floor somewhere. Upon unclipping the swag straps it was discovered that my bed roll had been harbouring a plague of crickets which were now jumping about my friends 3rd floor apartment. The swag was banished to the balcony for the night and I belatedly accepted the offer of the spare bed... after squishing all the crickets.
The New Year rolls around and here we are in 2013.
Before the Christmas break I moved all my stuff in to my future residence and went on my merry way back to my mothers. Upon returning I found my swag, which I ever so intelligently left outside for the duration of four weeks, to be a little wet. I shrugged my shoulders, willed myself to get over it, the swag has seen worse days and besides, I have a proper bed to sleep in now.
I had spent the entirety of the previous year since leaving Providence Station in May living out of my swag. It was my bed every night with only a few random exceptions. And because almost every night was spent sleeping in it, it only got cleaned on occassion (gross I know). The first time it got cleaned was out of necessity for hygiene, the second was thanks to an infestation of fleas caused by Lacey running around underneath the floorboards of my accommodation. Little troublemaker she is!
But with a big weekend approaching it has dawned on me "I need to clean my swag" so I dragged its flooded weight under the lean-to in the hopes this will help it drain. Then came the scary bit... I unclipped it. And along with the usual crickets that seem to attracted to my bed there was mould. And lots of it. White mould, green mould, black mould. All growing from their little spores, drinking from the damp patches. I can't believe I let myself be so careless!
My workmate just laughed at the sight as I put blanket after blanket in the washing machine, carrying each like it was a petri dish of active gangrene bacteria. I guerneyed the canvas and hung it to dry over the rails of the cattle yards. The mattress got a few squirts of floor cleaner, a dumping of rain and a good hose down and left to dry in the shed on a stack of pallets.
Once all was relatively clean again I rolled it all up and threw it in the back of the ute and headed on up to Darwin. As the evening wore on and I was offered a sleep on the futon for the night I gladly accepted. After all, despite my efforts, my swag still smells of mould!
I was in Darwin about a year ago visiting my best friend since infancy as it was to be her last weekend in the NT for some time. She said she had a bed available for me to sleep in at her apartment but I didn't want her to go to any trouble and told her I'll just roll my swag on the floor somewhere. Upon unclipping the swag straps it was discovered that my bed roll had been harbouring a plague of crickets which were now jumping about my friends 3rd floor apartment. The swag was banished to the balcony for the night and I belatedly accepted the offer of the spare bed... after squishing all the crickets.
The New Year rolls around and here we are in 2013.
Before the Christmas break I moved all my stuff in to my future residence and went on my merry way back to my mothers. Upon returning I found my swag, which I ever so intelligently left outside for the duration of four weeks, to be a little wet. I shrugged my shoulders, willed myself to get over it, the swag has seen worse days and besides, I have a proper bed to sleep in now.
I had spent the entirety of the previous year since leaving Providence Station in May living out of my swag. It was my bed every night with only a few random exceptions. And because almost every night was spent sleeping in it, it only got cleaned on occassion (gross I know). The first time it got cleaned was out of necessity for hygiene, the second was thanks to an infestation of fleas caused by Lacey running around underneath the floorboards of my accommodation. Little troublemaker she is!
But with a big weekend approaching it has dawned on me "I need to clean my swag" so I dragged its flooded weight under the lean-to in the hopes this will help it drain. Then came the scary bit... I unclipped it. And along with the usual crickets that seem to attracted to my bed there was mould. And lots of it. White mould, green mould, black mould. All growing from their little spores, drinking from the damp patches. I can't believe I let myself be so careless!
My workmate just laughed at the sight as I put blanket after blanket in the washing machine, carrying each like it was a petri dish of active gangrene bacteria. I guerneyed the canvas and hung it to dry over the rails of the cattle yards. The mattress got a few squirts of floor cleaner, a dumping of rain and a good hose down and left to dry in the shed on a stack of pallets.
Once all was relatively clean again I rolled it all up and threw it in the back of the ute and headed on up to Darwin. As the evening wore on and I was offered a sleep on the futon for the night I gladly accepted. After all, despite my efforts, my swag still smells of mould!
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