Love on Forrest Downs

by Sheryl McCorry

  It has become clear to me that I will have to keep a watchful eye on my mother, as she has become quite communicative and social with strangers and just wanders off. Once a shy, even timid person who would never have talked to strangers, now she’s in her eighties that’s changed.

  I love my mother dearly. She is a quiet, kind, gentle soul and has always been there to help pick up the pieces in the family when needed. She’s been the best mother in the world to me and my four brothers, and the best wife for Dad. But of late she swings between existing in a world of her own to switching subjects in mid-conversation; sadly, at times, she is also prone to bursts of anger if she doesn’t agree with something, and at other times she is just plain outspoken. I can see these changes and I’m frightened by them, but at the same time I know that we must not become upset by them. We just have to deal with them, the way Mum has dealt with so much for us.

  *

  With both my parents close by on this trip, I felt I could get back on the mower and help Michael on the farm. The only difference was that now I returned to the homestead to prepare lunch for everyone, as mealtimes meant nothing to Mum, who once loved cooking and baking in her own kitchen.

  After several weeks of looking after my parents on the farm, Michael and I noticed an improvement in Dad’s health: the colour returned to his skin, he began to potter around the house, and he even began to sing songs that I’d never heard before. I was amazed that he still had such a good, strong voice and could remember verse after verse of these songs. It was really wonderful that he was in such good spirits. It helped that Michael and Dad have a very good rapport, and it made me extremely happy to walk past the shed and hear my husband and father telling stories and rather colourful jokes to each other, having a good laugh together.

  Mum, on the other hand, now seemed to be the one on edge. She couldn’t stay still, and constantly moved about the homestead, in and out of bedrooms when people were trying to rest. She also had that constant need to travel somewhere or other. I thought, No wonder Dad can’t seem to rest, with Mum’s constant moving about. I would take her for a ride on my motorbike to check on the cattle and she loved that. I’d run her a warm bath, curl her hair and cut her toenails – the little things I had always done when she was home with me – just to show her I still loved her very much.

  With my dear mum in her eighties, I needed to learn whether these changes were simply the result of old age or of the dreaded dementia. After another week with us at Forrest Downs I could tell they both wanted to return home to Northampton. So we all rose from bed at three o’clock one morning, and with Michael behind the wheel again, we delivered my parents to their home. Michael and I were understanding of their need for independence, but not entirely happy about it, as we both worried for their health.

  CHAPTER 26

  Challenges on the land

  While I sit back in a comfy chair on my front veranda and admire the view, I no longer let dramatic events of the past worry me or blur my vision of the future. Here, cascading hanging baskets, some with double pink geraniums and others with flourishing evergreen maidenhair ferns, surround me. Snuggling further into my chair, I lie half-dozing while listening to the chorus in my garden: excited little wrens playfully perform for their partners, while the ‘seven sisters’ and gold-flecked honeyeaters perform a rowdy show, occasionally broken by the raspy distant squawk of the cockatoo who inhabits the hollow old tree in the bull paddock. Huey, our old cockatoo is called; lately he’s looked worse for wear as he limps around the feedlot grain silos scratching for a feed. He’s old and his voice is raspy, but I forgive him for being out of tune, for my own life is now more in tune with love and happiness than ever before.

  During one of our many conversations Michael has said that he regrets not having experienced the wide-open expanse of spinifex plains and the rocky limestone ranges sheltering rich black soil in the fertile valleys of the Kimberley cattle stations. How well suited he would have been to those places – I’m sure he would have handled the outback lifestyle with ease.

  I still find it hard to get my head around smaller properties and that feeling of farming ‘in the lap of the gods’ – that’s why I have nothing but admiration and respect for our wheat-belt farmers of the west. Good management is the key to farming cattle on minimal areas in the Great Southern. I constantly have to monitor the input costs of the farm per acre to check that they don’t outweigh the dollar value of returns. If one eye isn’t always on the budget sheet and the other on the farm, it would be very easy to end ‘up the creek without a paddle’, as the saying goes.

  The gods have been rather generous this last winter and spring, and good rains have fallen while causing only minimal damage to the barley hay crop and pastures. And about damn time! Before that we’d had a couple of reasonably tough years, stretching the hay and pastures for the cattle, and the funds to keep the wood fires burning. Somehow we have weathered the past season better than most.

  Sadly, the unusual weather conditions have created havoc for many grain farmers of the wheat belt, and that’s after suffering years of the drought that took its toll on farms, families and relationships. With farmers looking forward to a bumper season for grain crops, many have been hit by severe disappointment because of last season’s unusual weather pattern. The lucky few have top crops, but many have had their crop downgraded to ‘feed value’, meaning fewer dollars per tonne. The torrential rains have washed other crops away, and some farmers have had to rescue their flocks of sheep from floodwaters.

  Some of my readers may think that farming is a mug’s game and in my down moments I have thought that too. It really is bloody hard work. The older I get, the tougher I seem to find it, and sometimes I wonder why in the hell we work our guts out to help supply good, clean, healthy food to our own country when the government of the day is flat out importing the very same products. Quite often the success or failure of farming is up to the fates, and it can be feast or famine – but all we farmers really want is a run down the middle of the road!

  *

  Early in June 2011, the ABC’s Four Corners program shocked the Australian cattle industry by exposing animal cruelty issues in some Indonesian abattoirs. As cattle producers from way back, Michael and I couldn’t help but shudder at the thought of our cattle being treated in a similar way to what we saw on that show. We were shocked and dismayed to see the barbaric treatment of these cattle, with animals being slaughtered without first being stunned. One beast was shown floundering around on a concrete floor while having its hocks slashed and its face whipped by a length of rope, while some miserable drawn-out attempt was made to cut the animal’s throat in full view of a ‘stunning box’.

  After viewing this footage on television, I wondered how in the bloody hell Meat and Livestock Australia (MLA) could justify their existence. In view of the fact that at that time the MLA were supposed to have held funds of $83 000 000, collected from the struggling Australian cattle producers to – well, what in the bloody hell were they doing with it? As cattle producers we have five dollars stripped from every beast sold throughout Australia to go to the MLA, and we believe that these funds are to be used for the betterment of the cattle industry as a whole. To top off the MLA’s incompetence, we then had Joe Ludwig, Minister for Agriculture – who wouldn’t know the north end of a south-bound beast – pulling out a knee-jerk reaction and suspending live meat export to Indonesia. I thought he was simply big-noting himself in the eyes of the ignorant majority of voters. I’m sure if he ever showed his face above the twenty-sixth parallel in northern Australia, our cattlemen would have serious thoughts of lynching him.

  Of course, ‘Cattle King Joe’ never looked beyond the next election, or thought about the ramifications of his sudden brainwave to stop Australia’s live cattle export to Indonesia. No genuine livestock producer would tolerate cruelty in any form, because we know that if our livestock are not treated well, they won’t produce good meat, and therefore we would have no live
lihood. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to work that out. The decision to close down the live trade to Indonesia had numerous dire effects. Cattle stations had to lay off mustering teams, fencing teams and other staff, while trucking companies were laying off their trucks and drivers, and helicopter and fixed-wing mustering companies all came to a standstill. Many associated businesses went broke.

  Cattle were held up in holding yards throughout the north and needed to be fed on hay – hay that was not available in most cases, and too expensive when it was. This in itself shows how little Joe Ludwig knew of the northern cattle industry. I mean, how many cattle stations in the Kimberley grow their hay on the cattle station’s pastoral lease? I find it funny that the Minister for Agriculture, along with his ignorant and ill-informed colleagues, does not understand that a ‘pastoral lease’ in the Kimberley is just that. When McCorry and I owned Kilto cattle station, north of Broome in the West Kimberley, we planted a small test plot of land to hay. And you wouldn’t believe the bullshit that was told to us by the Agriculture Department when they reminded us that a pastoral lease was for grazing only. Needless to say, we told the powers-that-be to come and stop us or get stuffed. So, Joe, did you think about the hay?

  Worst of all – besides the breakdown of businesses – was the slow disintegration of family relationships. For, as we all know, once the money dries up, the blues start.

  Following the minister’s brilliant decision to put an end to live export, he had an equally brilliant decision to start it off again. However, the cattle that were meant to be shipped to the Indonesian abattoirs were by then too heavy for the Indonesians’ weight specifications. Consequently, many of them were dumped on the southern markets, adding to what was already an oversupply situation, and thus further impacting on the southern cattlemen. And the already fragile relationship with Indonesia wasn’t helped by any of this, as the people of Indonesia felt insulted by the minister’s decision and therefore cut Australia’s quota in half, sourcing their live cattle from elsewhere. This left Australia’s live trade to Indonesia floundering.

  I believe it will take many years to restore the live trade to what it was, and hopefully in the meantime the Minister for Agriculture and his colleagues will be long gone, and so will the bungling bureaucracy that is known as Meat and Livestock Australia.

  A tip for the MLA: try to build a real and honest working relationship with all the Indonesian abattoirs by permanently installing credible people on the ground in Indonesia. It can be done. I’m sure a mediator could help both Australia’s wish for live export and Indonesia’s need for ‘wet’ meat and religious slaughtering. For goodness’ sake, you have already collected the funds to do this – spend the money the way we believed it was intended to be used in the first place.

  *

  Life on the farm is always busy, but we wouldn’t want it any other way. One Thursday morning in January 2012, I arrived at the feedlot on my motorbike and reminded Michael it was time for him to leave for the Mount Barker saleyards. ‘What can I do?’ I asked him.

  ‘Can you move that beast to the tank paddock?’ he said. ‘But watch it – it’s mad.’

  ‘It’ll be right,’ I said, and Michael left the feedlot immediately for Mount Barker.

  I glanced over towards the grey animal that was placidly grazing by the fence line. Noting its rough coat, I thought it was probably another one from the saleyards with aggro tendencies. With the tank paddock gateway 300 metres ahead, I rode slowly past the grey heifer to open the paddock gate. I noticed the animal watching my every move; it even went so far as to stop grazing so it could stand and watch my movements on the motorbike.

  I returned in the direction of the grey, swung my bike around and rode steadily up towards it, expecting it to begin to move forward and towards the gateway ahead of me. At first the beast didn’t move a millimetre. Then, out of the blue, the angry grey charged straight at me, hitting the motorbike – and me – head on.

  The impact sent me flying off to the right of the motor–bike, and the bike stalled. I realised at this point that Michael couldn’t have known just how mad the animal was or he would never have asked me to do this.

  Shaken and frightened, I tentatively got to my feet and climbed back on my bike, terrified that the beast would nail me again before I could get the motorbike started and reverse away from it. I moved ever so slowly, creeping my leg across my bike so as not to upset the animal, never once taking my eyes from the beast’s. It started pounding the front and side of my motorbike. I was close to freaking out, although I knew I mustn’t let fear take over. So I willed myself to remain calm, determined not to let this animal beat me.

  Putting on a brave front, I stood high on my motorbike and threw my Akubra at the angry grey. In the few seconds that it was distracted, charging at the hat, I was able to start my motorbike and back out of harm’s way.

  For the next two hours I tried my best to move it along, but with no success. I even went as far as to provoke the beast into charging me again, hoping it would overshoot and go through the tank-paddock gateway, but that didn’t work either.

  After two hours playing cat and mouse in forty-degree heat, we were in the same place as we’d started. Finally it all got too much for me; fed up, I returned to the workshop and swapped my motorbike for Michael’s Toyota trayback.

  I returned to the grey heifer feeling far more confident and a hell of a lot safer as the beast now took out its demented aggression on the bullbar of the Toyota. Once the heifer had charged the bullbar several more times it began to realise it was a lost cause. Eventually it gave up and walked slowly ahead of the vehicle towards the gateway.

  It had taken me three hours to move this angry beast 300 metres. Yes, I could have been tougher with the heifer and got the job done quicker, but I didn’t know the circumstances of that particular animal’s past – she might have been badly treated or had a fright from a human or other beasts. I saw the situation as similar to ‘trying to flog a dead horse’, as we would say in the Kimberley. When buying cattle through the saleyards, we expect to pick up one or two animals a season with temperaments like the grey’s, as the saleyards are also a way for farmers to cull out the aggression in their herds. And that is understandable. But that grey heifer had to be the most agitated of all the cattle that had been brought onto the property.

  After four weeks spelling in the tank paddock, the angry grey heifer’s attitude had changed completely. Once she worked out we weren’t going to do her any harm, she became calmer and much more civil towards us, and we were able to return her to the feedlot circle.

  CHAPTER 27

  All together for Christmas

  In December 2011 Michael was having problems getting in touch with Carrie. Julia and Carrie were still living in the middle of outback Queensland, as far away as possible from Carrie’s father and friends. As Michael had so little contact with his daughter, he worried about her safety and education.

  After many unsuccessful attempts to contact Carrie towards the end of 2011, he contacted the police station near her home, telling them that he couldn’t contact her. That seemed to do the trick – Michael was then able to speak to Carrie, but it was on speakerphone for Julia and anyone else to hear. Carrie came on to the telephone sobbing her little heart out the whole time; it was a very upsetting and emotional phone call for everyone, and Michael was very distressed about the situation.

  He has tried to do more than just contact the police to help with this situation. Towards the end of 2011 he contacted Child Protection in Queensland, but they didn’t offer help or a solution. So Michael again spoke to his solicitor and found that in Western Australia he must go through a mediation process before he can take the matter to the Family Court. So he started that process, but has since heard that Julia will ignore it.

  As Carrie grows up Michael has tried his best to keep the doors of communication open between himself and the daughter he loves so much, and at times he says it feels as if he is con
stantly hitting a brick wall. It has been extremely tough going for him. But now he says Carrie is old enough to make up her own mind, and if she needs help she only has to make a telephone call or go to the local police station. Certainly, our front door will always remain open to her.

  *

  My Christmas in 2011 turned out to be the best ever. The greatest Christmas gift of all was to be surrounded by those who love me. It was the first Christmas in years that both Leisha and Robby and their young families were with me together, and to have my new husband by my side was a bonus.

  During the first week of December I pulled out the big new Christmas tree and the many boxes of decorations I had hoarded, including some ornate gold-and-silver glass balls, and the little rocking horses that I had collected especially for my grandchildren to place on the Christmas tree themselves. Once the miniature fairy lights were turned on, their intermittent flashing sparkle spread glorious Christmas cheer throughout the whole Forrest Downs homestead. I also began stocking the pantry and many freezers with goodies, to make sure there would be enough to keep the family full and content for days on end, if need be.

  I’ve always loved buying gifts, so by the time Christmas came around I was well and truly done, with none of that last-minute rushing around. In the evenings prior to Christmas Michael and I often sat quietly in our favourite green leather lounge chairs with a mug of hot tea each, just enjoying each other’s company and absorbing the beauty of the season. It had taken us both many years to really find peace in ourselves and our surroundings, and now that we had it we wanted to revel in it whenever we could.