ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
“Ah yes. That should do it,” he said.
“Hasta la vista, El Nino. Nice knowing you. Hopefully, your sister turns up before Christmas!”
Local grazier John Pooley watched as the b-double of round bales disappeared over the horizon in a plume of auburn dust.
It left behind a hearty round bale of lucerne hay, kindly donated by an inner-city primary school. Those school children don’t know it, but they’re winning the war against climate change with each dollar they raise.
“Heartwarming, isn’t it?” John asked our reporter.
“And look over there. Somebody has shoved a hamper of groceries into my mail drum. Once upon a time, that drum was full of RoundUp. Now that it’s stopped raining, I don’t even need to buy that stuff anymore.”
The 33-year-old fifth-generation grazier has seen drought before.
Some droughts are worse than others but even this hardened primary producer concedes that this one is especially bad.
“Yeah,” he said.
“It’s pretty bad.”
He then, with some effort, pulled the hamper out from his mail drum to see what he’d scored this time.
“Savoury Shapes. Not my favourite, that would be Chicken Crimpy, but it’ll do. And look at this, Pop Tarts. Looks like I won’t be skipping breakfast this week,” he said.
“Get a load of this. Lavosh biscuits but nothing to dip them in. Not even a wheel of brie. These fucking sadists are laughing in my face right now.”
Peter’s thoughts turned to the round bale sitting at his farm gate.
He looked over his shoulder to the ram paddock. Almost a hundred thousand dollars worth of DNA lie dormant in their ball bags.
“They could use a bit of a pep up. I haven’t got much left for them to throw the leg over but you never know. My ewes are on agistment up on the River Road their between Isisford and Blackall. They’re eating better than me, it would seem,”
“So yeah, this will feed my rams. Yes, it will, indeed,”
“Along with this hamper, all of my problems have been solved. The war against climate change is over. Pack it up, we have won. I can’t wait to smoke an unfiltered Port Royal between the flags at Mooloolaba this year. Res ipsa loquitur, my friends – let the good times roll.”
More to come.
