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 actuallyexist.
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.
The 19 photos added are from Mellish Park Cattle Station in North Queensland, Australia. Taken throughout May, 2013.
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 →
Beware: Existential ponderings ahead. Also: Cows will eat your car.
It would be easy to write about how amazing this whole experience has been (and continues to be), and I plan to (though I caution that any plans of mine tend to be delicate, mercurial things). But to focus only on the beauty of this land and the positive highlights of farm life would be dishonest, in the sense that it would not be telling a complete story. And I attempt to write honestly.
Ralph Waldo Emerson said ‘A man is what he thinks about all day long’, and I believe that. It may be our actions that create an image of us in other people’s minds, but it is our intentions, our thoughts, that color our own days; not what we do, but how we feel about it that shapes our perception of our own, current existence.
So what have I been thinking about during all this? Shit, a lot of things. Continue reading →
I was living in Melbourne, Australia. At first I was working in a cafe but eventually got sacked for no other reason than everyone got sacked when the owner decided to hire all of his friends to replace us. Which, as is becoming a recurring theme with most shit things that happen to me, turned out to actually be good: it meant that I ended up getting hired on at Absolute MMA and Conditioning, where I’d been training to fight in Mixed Martial Arts. Because becoming a cage fighter is totally a legitimate career change for a 30 year old woman. Continue reading →
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 →
My head was screaming at me in a language of shrill white noise, a tangle of displaced emotion and swirling, half-finished thoughts. When I wasn’t fighting off the urge to go and sob uncontrollably in the corner or just stop and ragdoll in the middle of the floor, as though someone had flipped my emergency ‘off’ switch, I was drowning under the dual crushing weights of self-doubt and self-reproach (In the very moment I originally typed this, I was actually fighting off an insistent urge to just curse, and hurl the computer across the room. This is fucking useless. I suck at writing. I LOSE AT LIFE).
What catastrophe, might you ask, was looming on the horizon? What could compel such a strong, crushing emotional response from this shining example of human strength and stability?