Why Write?

Sometimes the psychology behind our compulsions is clear: We want to eat because we are hungry, or perhaps we link the idea of food to comfort, or freedom or simply the chemical satisfaction of a sugar rush, however short-lived.

We want a cold shower because we are over-heated or feel uncomfortably dirty, or because for us it marks the end of another day; it has become a mental cue that we can relax and enjoy the remainder of our evening.

We want to fuck because millions of years of procreating tells our crocodile brains this is how we continue for another million. And because society tells us, relentlessly, that we should all constantly want sex (then slaps our wrist and calls us a slut for having it. Dick move, society).

But there are other things we feel compelled to do, and it can take us a long damn time to sort out the root (heh. Root. It’s funny if you’re in Australia) of the drive, if ever we do.

I feel compelled to share stories from my travels in a public forum, and it’s taken me a long time to figure out why. It finally came to me upon returning to Mellish Park, the North Queensland cattle station on which I worked four months of last year.

Photo credit to Bridget Webber. I feel this photo rather successfully portrays exactly how entriely in the middle of absolutely nowhere I am right now. (Let’s ignore, for the moment, the sequence of events that led me back here and focus on the epiphany regarding my desire to blog.)

Photo credit to Bridget Webber. I feel this photo rather successfully portrays exactly how fully in the middle of absolutely nowhere I am right now. (Let’s ignore, for the moment, the sequence of events that led me back here and focus on the epiphany regarding my desire to blog.)

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The Last of the Outback Boxing Tents

As unlikely as it sounds, there was logic behind my decision to partake in an outback Australian tent fight. There’s usually logic behind the decisions I make, albeit often convincingly disguised as recklessness or folly.

It started back in Melbourne.

The cozy interior of the Rollerdoor cafe.

It was the day before I left for Queensland. I was saying bye to the folks at Rollerdoor Cafe, our back courtyard neighbors. While there a gent, hearing I was leaving and knowing I was a fighter, mentioned the tent. At this point it was just a comment, a legend. “I hear they have this traveling boxing tent up in Queensland where fighters will take on anyone who wants to challenge them for cash.” How delightfully old school. How fucking outback. But shit like that didn’t still actually exist.

. . . Did it? Continue reading

Photos added

Additional photos (19 of ’em, to be exact) have been added to the photo essay ‘Mellish in May‘. The pictures are largely of baby piglets, and cattle nomming the shit out of some lick.

I was, for no particular reason, in a poor mood today. Looking at photos of adorable/hilarious aminals proved to be a good task choice. Hopefully their tiny snouts and satisfied faces bring a bit of joy to your day as well.

 

SQUEE.

The 19 photos added are from Mellish Park Cattle Station in North Queensland, Australia. Taken throughout May, 2013.

Click here to view them via the Flickr.

Or here to view via the Facebooks.

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New Photo Essay: Mellish in May

Winding down from round one of the muster, off to the races in Gregory and roadtripping to Cloncurry.

75 photos from Mellish Park Cattle Station and surrounding areas in Queensland, Australia. Taken throughout April and May, 2013.

Click here to view them via the Flickr.

Or here to view via the Facebooks.

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So Here’s What Happened: Mellish to Sweers


It happened because:
1 – I am a chatty bitch and
2 – It was the second Thursday of the month.

The greater part of the muster was done and Al and Bev had some friends they wanted to visit in the South. But ‘The Oldies’, as Eth and Eileen are affectionately called, wouldn’t be joining them. In their late 80’s and 90’s respectively, the gals understandably need a bit of help and looking after. Bev usually takes care of this, and asked if I could fill in for her.

I was reluctant in the sense that it makes me nervous to be responsible for the well being and safety of someone else (likely because I frequently fail to maintain my own). Continue reading

5 Less Awesome Things About Station Life

Bonus non-awesome thing: barbed wire. That shit is like pointy velcro, just waiting to rip clothes and remove hair. Whenever I’m tightening a length on a fence I keep waiting for it to snap and gut me. I will never do another barbed wire tattoo IN MY LIFE.

Because balance is desirous in (almost) all things, as a compliment to Thursday’s post might I present the following five ‘less awesome things’ about living out in, as the locals say, ‘woop woop’: Continue reading

New Photoset: Yard All The Things

Because once you get em home you need to do something with them.

43 photos from round one muster at my current home/place of employment: Mellish Park Cattle Station in North Queensland, Australia. Taken throughout April, 2013.

Oh, guys. I know it’s called the ‘crush’ and all but this is. . .incorrect.

Click here to view them via the Flickr.

Or here to view via the Facebooks.

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New Photoset: Muster All The Things

54 photos from round one muster at my current home/place of employment: Mellish Park Cattle Station in North Queensland, Australia. Taken throughout April, 2013.

Click here to view them via the Flickr.

Or here to view via the Facebooks.

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Faster

I always wanted to go fast.

On a horse, I mean. Ever since I was a kid. Back during my childhood, whenever summer would finally reach Newfoundland, my mother would take me out for our yearly trip to Prince Edward Park, where I’d get to ride a big black mare with a white diamond on its forehead named ‘Bucky’.

I loved those days. Led by one of the riders, we’d walk worn trails shadowed by dense forest for an hour or so before returning to the stable. A stop would usually be made at the playground afterward, and ice cream would follow for the drive back home.

Glorious though it was for a young girl to simply be astride a horse, where she could imagine herself to be a royal princess (though I was more often Zorro or Robin Hood), the thing I most remember from those days was the short, recurrent argument I would always have with the lead rider.

“Can we go faster?” Continue reading

July

It’s a testament to the awesomeness of the Snows that they can make time in Sydney, Nova Scotia fly by so quickly.

Much like my birthplace of Corner Brook, Newfoundland, Sydney (or, more accurately, the area around Sydney) is beautiful, and the options for hiking, driving and general outdoorsy sightseeing abound. But, as a town to live in. . .well, without mincing words too much, it’s a bit shit. Continue reading