The door of the twin-stack 4×4 swung open and a rangy leg in fray-bottomed jeans and worn riding boots languidly stepped out. Followed by the rest of a Driza-Bone-draped Australian stockman, who squared up and slowly tipped his Akubra hat and smiled.
Lazily waving a fly away, Steve threw us a G’day and asked if anybody wanted to help clean out the chickens.
You’ve never seen a rag tail couple of children galvanise enthusiasm for a grubby, stinky job at such speed; it was as if he was handing out sweets with the secret ingredient to happiness in them.
We’d just arrived at Mowbray Park Farm for four days playing the life of an Australian farmer; a working Australian farm built in 1822, sprawling in Wollondilly shire in the foothills of the Southern Highlands of Australia. It was a chance to drink billy tea, roll a salty, sweet scone-like mix, called damper, on a stick, and cook outdoors on a huge camp fire.
We weren’t exactly roughing it, it’s the closest Farm Stay to Sydney, but it is a world away from the time-constrained pressure of modern life. It’s a basic homestead stripped of excess luxury, where you can hear barking dogs and bleating sheep and countless quiet sounds of nature. From dawn you wake to the smell of red clay soil beaten by the sun, and feel tired as it goes down to make way for a leather black night. Surrounded by rolling hills, towering trees, picturesque farmland and natural unspoilt bush, we were seduced by the pastoral pace.
