Who would have thought so much could happen in twenty four hours but then life is like that; one minute you are there, the next upside down. Ask anyone that has experienced life! Ask me! On second thoughts, don’t. I’ll stick just to this story for now.
Yesterday we woke to another beautiful day, and all the better for knowing that business was as usual and we could move on with matters that needed to be addressed.
Firstly Chris rang the warranty people and in a manner that one comes to expect from all those involved in insurance, they said the repair of the speedometer was not covered. Strange that it had been the first time it happened, however there you are. Chris read through the fine print of the policy and had to concede that they were right.
Next he telephoned the Harvest Labour 0800 number we had gleaned from a little publication that is put out annually detailing the areas, the what’s and when’s of Australian harvests. They gave him a number in Toowoomba to ring, however we thought that was a fair way away to go and were actually seeking something further from the coast, closer to our current locality, so he rang a few number from the list the camp manager had given us. He was offered a couple of days immediately, picking up sticks and throwing them on the back of a tractor. The fact that it was only two days did not excite him very much, nor probably the picking up of “sticks’. Others took messages and promised to follow up.
He decided that he would try the employment office down in town, so set off to find a garage, doing so successfully with the speedo problem quickly fixed for a very acceptable fee, getting himself a haircut but finding the employment people dealt only with those registered with Centrelink, the Australian Social Welfare Agency.
On his return he thought he would give the Toowoomba guy a call after all. It turned out that this chap, Dick, runs or manages the Toowoomba office of Labour Solutions, and had just come off the phone from a guy in Boomi who was wanting someone for an immediate start. It turned out that Dick and Chris were just a few months apart in age, and Dick had a soft spot for painting contractors, and that the whole event seemed too serendipitous to let pass, so we were emailed through forms to fill and directions.
While I was struggling to complete the forms on line, especially when the whole thing crashed, Chris shot down into the metropolis of Goondiwindi to purchase some steel cap boots and fill the tanks up with diesel. It turns out I should have given him a list for the supermarket as well, but then hindsight is a marvellous thing.
By the time he got back, having outlaid a substantial sum on the boots, and topped up his dwindling cellphone card, I had managed to send the “paperwork” back to Dick and see Al, the camp boss, to tell him we were leaving, despite the fact that I had been over in the morning to pay for a further night. Although having no contractual obligation to do so, he refunded us 80% of the days tariff and wished us well. By this time it was nearing four in the afternoon.
Finally packed up and hitched on, we called to post the tax form to Dick, then set off following the emailed directions. The directions stated things like, “after about ten kms, turn right”, “you will see some buildings”; nothing specific like, turn in to the road that points to St George and travel twelve and a half kilometres, then turn into the gateway where it says Koramba Cotton & Gin. In fact nowhere were we told that Chris would be working for Koramba Cotton & Gin. He didn’t even know what he was going to have to do until I read the email contents to him which I had furiously copied out on a scrap of paper.
The road from Goondiwindi to Boomi is 102 kilometres long, runs in long straight stretches west all the way, and is all sealed in some form or another. Imagine decorating a steep topped loaf with very runny icing. Some spreads over almost the width, but most runs down the sides, and in some cases only a very thin line is at the top. Such is the road to Boomi. It was the worst road we had pulled the caravan on so far. However it was quite wonderful; the sun was ahead and low, finally setting, we saw emus grazing on the remnants of a grain crop, and kangaroos bounding in graceful leaps across the road, while others stood in readiness or anticipation to see if the first would survive the dash. The landscape remained flat, some farmed for beef, and some cultivated for grain, but mainly the never ending fields, hundred of hectares of cotton which makes it appear as if it has just snowed. And as we have seen elsewhere since leaving Coonabarabran, the cotton fluff lies along the roadside as paper litter will if it is mowed by the council tractors, but so much more attractively.
When we reached the crossroads at Boomi where we had to turn right, the hazy outlines of unimpressive buildings appeared to our left, and so we turned away from Boomi with no further understanding of what kind of settlement we had missed. The directions from there were sketchy, and as the sun sunk lower and darkness grew, Chris questioned them. We seemed to be driving on and on to nowhere in a northerly direction. The Gin that was mentioned and was expected (by us) to be somewhere close to Boomi, did not appear and we still drove on. The road turned to dirt and finally we saw the turning up over a ramp toward some buildings. We had arrived at Koramba Cotton & Gin. We drove around behind the accommodation and kitchen buildings, carefully avoiding the gateway in to the machinery area, as instructed, and found a power box and our camp for however many days we should choose to stay.
Diego, the Italian cook, came over to greet us, and would have been happy to chat the evening away, however we needed what light was still barely left to set up, so excused ourselves. No sooner established and the kettle on, a knock came on the door. It was Daryl Haydon, the manager, to check us, or at least Chris, out. He has been manager of this huge extensive property for the last two and a half years, but “in cotton” for the last twenty, has an expansive personality and body to match. We invited him in and we all chatted for some time. This operation here is huge, and is not just the growing platform for the cotton, but the processing centre as well. The latter also does processing for several surrounding properties and is the main employer of the seventy five residents of Boomi (pronounced Boo – my). He promised to provide me with a booklet of facts and figures about the operation; I am looking forward to that, as I am sure you are too.
He told Chris that he would meet him down at the weighbridge office by the Gin at seven thirty in the morning. There would be the initiation process to be worked through and then he would give Chris an over view of the whole industry. Chris would be then sent out with a supervisor to start doing his job; as one of the ground crew responsible for making Cotton Modules ready for delivery to the Gin.
It was late and neither of us felt like setting to and preparing a grandiose meal. Furthermore, it had come to our attention that we were abysmally set up for living out here on the job. While we did have full diesel tanks for now, and we did have water and power supplied, our provisions were sadly lacking. I cooked eggs to accompany a can of baked beans, and checked out what I had to make a packed lunch for Chris the next day. Our bread resources were down to seven frozen slices, our fruit to one apple and one pear. This was indicative of the food stores generally.
Boomi is only twelve and half kilometers away on an absolute crappy road, but I can drive that if I have the vehicle. Today Chris has needed it; hopefully he can catch a lift with someone else tomorrow and I shall venture in to find out what the co-op store has to offer. Maybe cans of corned beef and rice as I have encountered in other remote parts of the world?
This morning we both woke way before the alarm went off, and were up, breakfasted and ready for his departure way before he needed to leave. I had a few outdoor tasks set to do, however Chris was able to get those sorted before he set off.
Our meat stores consist of four packs of sausages, one pack of bacon and two small chicken breasts. I have absolutely no idea when he will return today and so have pulled the crock pot out from under the bed and concocted a sausage stew, something a little reminiscent of the stews my sisters and I used to cook up by the creek over a wood fire when we were children at Kopaki. Hopefully he will be so busy telling me all the interesting things about his day, he won’t pause to critique the dinner.
This morning since his going, I have marveled at the fact that this is the first time in my life that I have sent my husband off to work and remained “at home’ as the little housewife, hand washed a few bits and pieces, prepared the dinner, chatted with Larissa on Skype and with Kyla by email, and taken the opportunity to case the joint.
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| Our camp for however long it takes |
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| The farm gates |
But most importantly for me, I have managed to get internet reception. This is something that Chris was very anxious about. I have business to deal with along with keeping up with emails, Facebook and anything else that takes my fancy, and had I had to be here for weeks or even months with no communication facility, we may have had to call this exercise short. It will also depend on how Chris copes with this very hard and heavy work in the fields. He may be fit and healthy, willing and with a brilliant work ethic, but there is a limit to everyone’s limits, especially when you are approaching 63 years of age!
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