Growing up I knew I could go on holidays a few times a year, usually more often than that.
My Grandparents had a holiday house, a little hobby farm in a village which used to be a 6 hour drive away. As infrastructure progressed, it got things down to about a 4 hour drive.
It used to be a lovely little place. It was about 5 acres in size, a small modest shack/cottage. Outside toilet, tank water, an old fuel stove to cook and heat the house, old run down outbuildings. Inside, all the furniture was mis-matched. All the furniture ended up here once someone was finished with it. It was junk- but too good to throw out, so it got sent to the farm. For a small 2 bedroom cottage with a sleep out, it would sleep up to 20 or more people at particular times throughout the year as family members took their sports teams up to the farm for a weekend away “roughing it”.
Everyone loved the farm… although I will always like to think I was connected to it the most. I knew I was safe there. I could ride my bike around the village from dawn until dusk and not have to worry about anyone or anything, well, except for things like rabbit traps, wombat holes and the odd village dog that didn’t like people.
I was known around the village and would often go to someone’s house to help them with odd-jobs or to just have a chat and play with their kids.
I had many memories made at the farm- helping out at shearing time by yarding sheep, or running around the paddocks with the sheep dogs bringing the next lot of sheep into the yards to be shorn. I enjoyed going yabbying, spending hours upon hours at the local creeks and dams looking for little fossils in the rocks and shale, skimming rocks across the water, taking photos of what I saw as beautiful. Cutting firewood was a novelty I frustratingly enjoyed. I wasn’t the best at it, but it was a good way to get rid of any anger.
Unfortunately, time takes over, people age and pass on and big businesses buy into beautiful pockets of country like this to rape it for it’s minerals and other assets.
As big business seems to go, they felt it right to buy the village out and take over completely.
That was a few years ago now. Our little cottage is no longer on what used to be our farm, it has been demolished. Most of the families who used to live in the village are gone too, some moved to nearby towns, others moved a long way away.
The only people who will be there for a while yet are those who have been laid to rest in the cemetery. How much longer their bodies will stay there is anyone’s guess. I hope they will be there forever, but if the big companies continue to expand then who knows what will happen?
All I really have left of the farm now are some photos and memories.
Writing 101: Day 4. The Serial Killer. http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_assignment/writing-101-day-four/