Everyone who travels Australia knows that if they want to prolong
their trip longer than a year, they at some point have to face the dreaded 3
months of 'farm work'. It's Australia's way of asking travelers to give
something back to their society - its not like you haven't done enough already
by spending copious amounts in their bottle shops, at their travel desks and
more likely than not you've been running the local Police Station, wages and
all, from the amount of speeding fines they've kindly rewarded you with
(usually given by an officer covered in leaves camouflaged in a bush
somewhere). I'm not saying farm work isn't a great experience. But it does make
you wonder whether it will be worth it in the end.
Perhaps I was just unlucky, however after deciding to partake in
a grueling 24 hour drive across two states to milk some cows things didn't
turn out as rosy as you'd think...
Firstly there's the acquiring of the job. This part is easy. You
turn up, you get the job. The interview is short/non existent; there isn't much
to say about previous experience in milking cows. You have none. You both know
that the closest you've actually been to a cow would've been in the 'Animal
Farm' section of a zoo (a section you shouldn't have even visited without a 3
year old in tow). But really, how hard can it be? And the farmer seems nice.
However, you learn quickly. For instance, if a farmer asks you to herd cows on
the first night at 11pm - don't go. It's not normal. Further to that, if a
farmer asks if you feel confident to drive a quad bike through a pitch black
field - decline. Not for the danger of careering into a cow, but for the danger
of heavy unwanted petting down the back of your neck and for massages that you haven't
requested. Thankfully every cloud has its lining; you're the one in control of
this bike, you can determine the speed you get back to safety in - oh wait - no
you can't. You quickly learn that cows walk at the pace of a snail and even if
they didn't you don't even know how to change gears on this thing never mind
how to drive it at speed. So instead you have an awkward 10 minutes with your
new boss pressed up against you who's turning out to be really persistent with
that massaging.
Ideally this is when you opt out of the whole experience. However
there is no 'ideal' when it comes to farming. You need those 89 days so you
push any worries aside, decline the lovely offer from the farmer to live with
him for free (you'd rather pay extortionate amounts to live in a wooden hut
than with this creep - oh and his wife) and turn up at 4.30am the next day for
your first milking. Dairy farming is hard work. You've milked 360 cows before
6.30am and you've been shit on 3 times at least. You also have to grasp the new
farm lingo, 'heifers', 'dry cow', 'fresh cow', 'springer', 'Holstein' (who knew
there could be so many cows?), you have to listen to hour long conversations
about soil, you stand there and nod without saying a word for fear of sounding
like the village idiot that knows nothing about dirt. All of this is done
whilst battling with 20,000 flies that are casually attacking your face and you
wonder why no one else seems to be bothered by these persistent little ***@@@S!
Then there are the non-milking jobs, like herding the new born
calves and taking them on a little 'trips'. Later you find out these 'trips' were
actually to the slaughter house as these cows are of no use to anyone, you
realise how cut throat farmers have to be. Literally. Then there's delivering the
struggling new born calves, its clear that
you are not qualified to do this but the farmer insists its fine, 'just put your
arm up and have a feel'. You are obliged for fear of being sacked and you don’t
even ask for a glove for fear of looking like a princess in-front of this rural
gang. Who are you? Then there's the herding. You are presented with a two
wheeler dirt bike. Act breezy. Can't be that hard. Wrong. Within 10 minutes you've
dropped it on your leg 5 times, you can't press down hard enough to get it
started (probably due to the excessive rust), and you've been given approximately
3 minutes 'to get a feel for it' before heading to the field (or alternatively into the farmers new post box,
that'll teach him for massaging me) to 'cut' a herd. Not once is a helmet
mentioned regardless of you visibly losing control several times already and conveniently
the cows now seem to be able to move slightly faster than they did on that
first night…. Then it's back to the milking shed for the second milking of the
day. You are bruised and aching and still have to milk another 360 cows and be
shit on another 3 times. It'll be worth the $700 a week and second year visa right?
Its not. You work for 2 months with the promise of being paid. A
promise never fulfilled so you decide to cut your losses, throw towel in and
walk away with $500 in your pocket for two months work and no sign of a visa.
Now it's onto potato farming. The company is legitimate (they even
asked for your tax number). The job: 'Potato Grader'. A job fuelled by potato
discrimination, who am I to judge if a potato makes the shop floor or not? Just
because it doesn’t look like a standard potato doesn't mean it won't be fluffy
inside. But it’s a tough world and not all potatoes can make the cut. After 8
hours a day 5 days a week flinging 'bad potatoes' off a conveyer belt you begin
to lose your mind. This leads you to reminisce over everything that’s ever
happened in your life trying to find any hidden meanings, and when you are done
with that you just start naming potatoes, Patricia, Petunia, Patrick,
Penelope......
What you learn from farm work - firstly not to give up, secondly don't
be taken for a mug, and thirdly don't trust people and what they say. I'm sure
there are a lot of legitimate farmers out there but still be wary. It can push
you to your limits but on the flip side you will always find someone willing to
help your situation and those are the ones you should remember and be grateful
for.
