Depending on where you live in the world, some would consider where I live a metropolitan city but others would consider it a small town. But to me it is home and as Judy Garland famously quoted as Dorothy in The Wizard Of Oz as she tapped her ruby slippers together: “There’s no place like home.”
This weekend I packed one duffel bag, one backpack, my handbag and my camera, and headed off to Bundorah – a property just 20 minutes south of Tenterfield in New South Wales, Australia. The property is owned by a very hard-working, self-made couple who used to be Australia’s largest stone fruit growers. It is located in the mountainous regions of the New England area near Bald Rock National Park.
To be honest when I was invited to come on what essentially was a hunting trip, I was sceptical whether or not I would enjoy spending my Easter weekend in the middle of nowhere. But as soon as I crossed the NSW border into the small town I knew I would never get sick of being somewhere so beautiful and untouched. And when I saw the house (a mansion would be a better description) and its views I fell in love.
Bundorah is indescribably breath-taking. The owners have really made the house an ultimate home away from home. Everything about the living space just screams comfort and relaxation. Every morning I woke up I looked out of the glass doors of my room and saw the rolling hills of green pastures dotted with cows and the clouds forming shadows on the grass because we were so high up. It was just such a relief and stress-free to be somewhere quiet and so secluded and different to my own little world. For the first time in a long time, I can safely say I was truly at peace.
The small mountain we conquered on the second day…
And its views…
During the day, I would go walking and hiking with the boys while they hunted for pests and such – I even learnt how to shoot a gun at a paper target this weekend. It made me feel as if I had achieved something, like I had gained an extra skill in life. After this weekend, I feel as if I have a better understanding of why hunters do what they do because I’ve seen it from the other side. As one of the hunting party said some people think that hunters are rednecks who get a kick out of shooting anything and everything, but that just isn’t the case. If you go out with people who understand and comprehend the dangers of misusing guns and are there to look after the land – it’s flora and fauna – then you’re in good hands. I’m not saying that Australia should go nuts but there are many different reasons – good and bad – why there are hunters out there, and you shouldn’t form an opinion until you hear and see where they are coming from.
When dinner rolled around we were spoiled with an array of gourmet comfort foods. On the first night, one of our hosts whipped up spinach and ricotta ravioli with a creamy bacon sauce, and a desiccated coconut and apricot baked pudding thing (very technical I know). For next night’s dinner, she cooked steak with mushroom gravy; a baked pumpkin, spinach and hazelnut salad with a sour cream and paprika dressing; and baked potatoes. It was safe to say our stomachs were deeply satisfied.
At night, Bundorah becomes an outdoor planetarium. When you plonk yourself down on the front lawn of the house and look up, your gaze is met with millions of stars and some planets in between. The full moon bathes the entire countryside with enough light for you to see the mountains and the dead patches of grass where the blady grass has been killed off.
I’ve also learnt that farming is a seven-days-a-week kind of job. When I was there the owners were constantly unseen during the day because they were out in different areas of the property dealing with a task, which would directly relate to the smooth running of their business. I have such deep respect for their hard-working attitude and when I heard the story of how one half of the couple, I2, earned money to pay for his wedding and his first house I respected them even more.
I2 would mine tin after he knocked off from his full-time day job so he could pay for his wedding and his first house. He would mine tin until his nails were filed down almost to the cuticle because of the constant digging in the dry river beds to get to the tin. With this money, he was able to pay for his wedding to his wife, S, and had his home built in a week. His story gives a whole new meaning to the term “hard-working”. Hearing his story made me realise how lucky I have it and I should quit my bitchin’ about how hard my life is. I really have the deepest respect for I2 and S. They are some of the most hard-working people I have met and deserve all the good fortune that comes their way.
The Globe Trotter Occasionally 