It’s been more years than I can remember since I last stepped foot on a farm. That changed recently when I went and stayed for five days on my sister’s daughter and husband’s farm in Australia. They were going off on a holiday, and sis was asked if she was available to do farm and childminding duties for the duration. Tagging along sounded like a fun idea, but between us we decided that limiting it to five full days there would be enough fun for me.

The farm is located about an hour-ish inland from Newcastle in New South Wales, and besides an array of farm animals, they have a five-year-old son, who’s a bright, cheerful, chatty, chap, and who wasn’t averse to joining me in bed one morning before school.

To get to the farm, we left Christchurch for Sydney at sparrow fart – a three-hour flight.

From Sydney Airport, we caught two trains to Newcastle, and arrived there three hours later. Upon disembarking we were greeted by the Biggs café, which – us having the same surname – begged the purchase of a drink and toasted sammie while waiting for daughter to collect us.

Fast forward an hour and a bit after that, and we reached the road which takes us to the farm. When I say “road”, it can only lay claim to that word for a short distance, before it becomes a right of way complete with potholes, rocky crossings, water, and cows. I must admit, I was not expecting that. The daughter has a land cruiser which handles the terrain like the trooper it is, but nonchalantly bounces its passengers around whilst doing so.

The homestead is striking in a whole different way to route up to it. A lovely sort of colonial-style house – for want of a better description – with well-maintained out buildings and smooth driveway, chook house, dog kennels, and vege garden, all in a big yard. Much of what I saw was done by sis’s daughter and husband after they bought the property. They’re definitely not afraid of hard work.

As a first-time visitor, I got taken for a quick trip up the hill in the farm buggy by the daughter and husband (and a few working dogs) before they left for their holiday, to get a bird’s eye view of the property. From memory, it’s around 500 hectares, and although not big compared to some of the outback stations in Australia, it was big for that locale, and the vista from the hilltop sweepingly impressive.

After sis and I were left home alone, we settled into a routine of sis doing about 80% of the chores that needed to be done, and me lifting the odd finger here and there. The disparity in effort was only tolerated because my stay was short, and hers was for the entire time her daughter and husband would be away, so she needed to establish familiarity with the chores and a routine.

Not long before we arrived there, the weather had been wild and wet in the area with a year’s rainfall dropped in a month, but was much more clement while I was there, with warm days and cooler nights. Apart from the necessary chores, we didn’t plan to do much but enjoy the stillness, read, and listen to the birds. The best laid plans have a way of going astray, of course, and sis soon found herself having to buggy off to retrieve her daughter’s pet dog from a neighbour’s place, who’d run off to play with her dog. Because there were gates to open, and cows in yards to drive through enroute, it was a job best suited to two people, and so the next time the dog had to be retrieved, I rode shotgun to do the gate opening and closing, and cow shooing. After that, sis kept a much closer eye on pet dog.

One of her daily duties was to take her grandson down the rocky road to catch the school bus each morning, and then pick him up in the afternoon. There wasn’t much intention to go ‘off farm’ much more than that, but inevitably we did some excursions, of which a couple were sightseeing. The area is dotted with towns, and whilst some of the roads we drove on were not exactly what you’d call in top notch condition, the scenery between the towns was pleasant enough. On one excursion, we had an average lunch at a pub in Dungog, and I couldn’t help noticing that sis’s grandson was very familiar with the word ‘pub’. Mind you, his vocabulary and articulation is very good in general, so it was merely a passing amusement which I didn’t need to mention, but couldn’t help myself 😊

My big takeaway from travelling through various towns in that area, though, was noticing the grand Christian churches many of them had, presumably built in earlier times. Yes, we have early-built Christian churches in NZ towns, but most of the remaining ones are small and made from wood. The ones I saw where I was in Australia were not quaint little wooden structures, but were big and solidly built from stone or brick, and made a big statement that sometimes seemed disproportionate to the size of the town.

The rest of my stay passed in uneventfulness – for me, anyway. Sis had more eventful days as she got to grips with working dogs and duties. Then came my long-haul home, further stretched out by the flight from Sydney to Christchurch delayed by 90 mins. However, I did get to chat briefly with a couple at Sydney airport who were of a similar age to me, and seemed to be well-travelled. Upon hearing I was heading off to NZ, they declared it was the one place they’d visit again. It made me realise that although we can often see all that’s wrong with where any of us live, there’s probably also much that’s right with it, too.

My stay on a farm in Aussie took me away – both literally and figuratively – from my usual stomping ground. I’m still processing the experience, and what I got from it, but all in all it feels like it was a good one.