
Growing up on a farm means that life is less individualistic than it is family-orientated. On the weekends we didn’t really spend much time alone, we would be helping Dad get a vehicle started, clean a tractor, move the sheep, fix a fence. At the time, they were long hot days and all we wanted to do was be at home watching television… but looking back today, they are some of my fondest memories.

When there was a storm Dad would get us all out on the verandah to take in the majesty of the rolling thunder and striking lightening. Our house was on a hill so sunsets were a nightly display of wonder.

I had my very own ute at the age of 12, it was Pink and we named it Pinkie. During lambing season we’d all jump in the car and drive around the farm to look at the new lambs. When it was time for harvest we’d go out to see how tall the grain had grown.

Winter was wonderful as well. Stormy outside we’d have the fire roaring, Dad would play with the CB and see whether he could speak to anyone in a different country. My sister and I would sit on the floor playing board games and eating custard and ice cream.
Today, my parents have moved to a coastal town and now we have new traditions. Mum and Dad go around the wineries on the weekend. When I go home for a weekend we always have a barbeque and sit around having a few drinks and talking for hours with country music or rock and roll playing in the background.
I suppose every family is special and unique. Every family has its trials and tribulations, its tears, fears and losses. But sometimes looking back like this and remembering the small things that really bind people together by more than just blood… that’s family to me.
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