Growing up on the farm we grew all of our own fruits and vegetables. Beside the house there was a large area, known as the side orchard; although that was a misnomer since a large majority of the farm had been a pear orchard at one stage.
Anyway, in this orchard next to the house there was a number of fruit trees (apple, apricot, plum) as well as vegetables like pumpkin and sweet corn. The rest of the vegetables were grown in another area behind the house.
Our farm was 12kilometres from town and there was another farm next to us; they used to pass through our farm to reach their place further up a valley.
Every day my brother N and I used to walk home from the school bus with two of the neighbor's children. Ally was the same age as me and Topher was a year older. Topher got his nickname because his little sister couldn't say 'Christopher' when she was a baby.
One day, as the neighbors children were pausing at our house on the walk home, Topher spotted a large melon growing in the side orchard. It looked exactly like a watermelon and Topher fell in love with it, he wanted that big beautiful melon!
Sadly, although it looked like a watermelon on the outside, it was actually what we in Australia call a jam-melon or pie-melon. When you cut them open -instead of sweet, juicy pink flesh- you find pale yellow flesh that tastes horrible raw. When cooked in pie or jam its great but raw its terrible.
Topher was in LOOOOVE with that melon. He was deaf to our explanations that it wasn't a watermelon, and every day he would stop to stroke and admire the gleaming green beauty. He begged my mother to let him have that melon, she agreed.
Topher waited impatiently for the melon to ripen and be ready for picking. Finally the day arrived; that melon was HUGE!!!
I still remember the sight of Topher bravely staggering up the road carrying that massive melon. He refused help and managed to carry it the nearly-kilometre home, it took ages but he made it.
Now to find a knife and cut that beautiful prize open ready for the feast.....I wasn't there to witness the event but apparently the poor kid was heartbroken!!!...totally devastated!!!....all that hard work and devotion had been for nothing.
Fortunately he took it in good grace and accepted our "I told you so".
Monday, June 6, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
housemates pt1
When people ask why I prefer to rent alone I tell them the story of H and G.
H was a woman in her late 40′s. Myself and G were in our early 20′s. She rented a big-ish three bedroom place and myself and G paid her board (although if welfare or the real-estate asked we were ‘her cousin’s kids who’d just moved to town and were staying with her while we got settled’ she didn’t tell them she was sub-letting).
H was divorced with three boys (10-15 yrs old); her ex had custody. They used to stay with us regularly and there was always half a dozen other kids hanging out at the house too.
When I moved in I was aware that H was a supposedly recovered alcoholic. She was supposed to be, but I quickly realised she wasn’t. She was on a disability pension that paid fortnightly and you could tell what week it was by what she was drinking. On pension week it was the cheap scotch; on the non-week it was cheap cask wine. She was a really nice lady when she was sober but a real misery-guts when drunk. You couldn’t have alcohol in the house because she’d drink it and she quickly ran out of people who’d fetch her alcohol from the local bottleshop (she’d lost her license for DD). Even the local Taxi driver refused to do pickup-and-drop off's for her, no matter what she offered (pick up her alcohol from the local bottleshop and deliver to her house).
Did I mention that she was a heavy smoker? Ironic since she was also a severe asthmatic. I’ve literally seen her sitting there with a cigarette in one hand and an asthma puffer in the other; wondering why she was always running out of inhalers.
I left after 3 months but it took me that long again to get the smell of cigarettes out of my clothing.
Oh, and the young guy G who lived with us? A month after I left he got arrested for molesting a young boy J that used to stay with us. J was about 10-12 and from a town about an hour away and his mum was friends with H. J’s folks were going through a rough patch so he used to stay with us regularly. Nice kid but he really walked into the lion’s den. We never suspected a thing!
G served 3 years of a 6yr term before getting out on good behaviour. H died 5 years ago from Liver failure and pneumonia.
What a weird experience and that’s why I’m wary of housemates
H was a woman in her late 40′s. Myself and G were in our early 20′s. She rented a big-ish three bedroom place and myself and G paid her board (although if welfare or the real-estate asked we were ‘her cousin’s kids who’d just moved to town and were staying with her while we got settled’ she didn’t tell them she was sub-letting).
H was divorced with three boys (10-15 yrs old); her ex had custody. They used to stay with us regularly and there was always half a dozen other kids hanging out at the house too.
When I moved in I was aware that H was a supposedly recovered alcoholic. She was supposed to be, but I quickly realised she wasn’t. She was on a disability pension that paid fortnightly and you could tell what week it was by what she was drinking. On pension week it was the cheap scotch; on the non-week it was cheap cask wine. She was a really nice lady when she was sober but a real misery-guts when drunk. You couldn’t have alcohol in the house because she’d drink it and she quickly ran out of people who’d fetch her alcohol from the local bottleshop (she’d lost her license for DD). Even the local Taxi driver refused to do pickup-and-drop off's for her, no matter what she offered (pick up her alcohol from the local bottleshop and deliver to her house).
Did I mention that she was a heavy smoker? Ironic since she was also a severe asthmatic. I’ve literally seen her sitting there with a cigarette in one hand and an asthma puffer in the other; wondering why she was always running out of inhalers.
I left after 3 months but it took me that long again to get the smell of cigarettes out of my clothing.
Oh, and the young guy G who lived with us? A month after I left he got arrested for molesting a young boy J that used to stay with us. J was about 10-12 and from a town about an hour away and his mum was friends with H. J’s folks were going through a rough patch so he used to stay with us regularly. Nice kid but he really walked into the lion’s den. We never suspected a thing!
G served 3 years of a 6yr term before getting out on good behaviour. H died 5 years ago from Liver failure and pneumonia.
What a weird experience and that’s why I’m wary of housemates
Saturday, May 14, 2011
A new photography client
I have a problem to solve.
You see, I've been trying to establish a bit of a business as a photographer. Don't get me wrong, I am well aware that its a really hard trade to get into - especially when you don't have any qualifications. So I am well aware that I will be checkout-chick for quite a while yet.
However that doesn't stop me from the opportunity to spruik for clients among my workmates. And I've had some nibbles. One was looking particularly promising....at first glance...
A workmate has a daughter who apparently wants to become a model, a super-model. Mum wants to hire me to shoot some portfolio photos....cool....no problem...I can deal with that.
Then I find out that the girl is obsessed with those TV shows about supermodels. Those talent-search type shows where they take a group of kids and train them up with a flashy modelling contract as the prize.
The daughter is an avid viewer and its given her some bright aspirations.
Nothing wrong with that, dreams are good. Except now I am worried that I'm about to get a know-it-all as a client. You know, one of those annoying people who have watched ALL the shows and think that qualifies them as an "expert"....just usually makes them a pain in the butt for the real experts.
Then Mum tells me that her daughter already has ideas for the photos she wants done. Again, that's good, I don't have a problem with taking on a client that knows what she wants done. Makes my job easier.
Uumm, what's that Mum? She wants to be photographed 'topless while someone pours melted chocolate over her? Ummmm Ooo-kay, that's gonna be a little trickier.
There is a fine line between "Artistic" and "Pornographic"!!! and I think that pouring melted chocolate over a naked female could be teetering right on that fine line!!!
However I was reassured that Mum was agreeing to the photo shoot and the scenario. I did stipulate that Mum would be the one doing the pouring. I quite understood that Mum picked me cos she wants only females to see her naked....well, semi-naked...daughter.
Now I finally discover that the girl.....is only 14 YEARS OLD!!! Mum wants me to photograph a child in these poses???!!! What the hell am I gonna do?
You see, I've been trying to establish a bit of a business as a photographer. Don't get me wrong, I am well aware that its a really hard trade to get into - especially when you don't have any qualifications. So I am well aware that I will be checkout-chick for quite a while yet.
However that doesn't stop me from the opportunity to spruik for clients among my workmates. And I've had some nibbles. One was looking particularly promising....at first glance...
A workmate has a daughter who apparently wants to become a model, a super-model. Mum wants to hire me to shoot some portfolio photos....cool....no problem...I can deal with that.
Then I find out that the girl is obsessed with those TV shows about supermodels. Those talent-search type shows where they take a group of kids and train them up with a flashy modelling contract as the prize.
The daughter is an avid viewer and its given her some bright aspirations.
Nothing wrong with that, dreams are good. Except now I am worried that I'm about to get a know-it-all as a client. You know, one of those annoying people who have watched ALL the shows and think that qualifies them as an "expert"....just usually makes them a pain in the butt for the real experts.
Then Mum tells me that her daughter already has ideas for the photos she wants done. Again, that's good, I don't have a problem with taking on a client that knows what she wants done. Makes my job easier.
Uumm, what's that Mum? She wants to be photographed 'topless while someone pours melted chocolate over her? Ummmm Ooo-kay, that's gonna be a little trickier.
There is a fine line between "Artistic" and "Pornographic"!!! and I think that pouring melted chocolate over a naked female could be teetering right on that fine line!!!
However I was reassured that Mum was agreeing to the photo shoot and the scenario. I did stipulate that Mum would be the one doing the pouring. I quite understood that Mum picked me cos she wants only females to see her naked....well, semi-naked...daughter.
Now I finally discover that the girl.....is only 14 YEARS OLD!!! Mum wants me to photograph a child in these poses???!!! What the hell am I gonna do?
Monday, May 2, 2011
why I quit journalism
Below I have copied a post that I made on a blog called Cube Farmer, its on the news.com.au website and is written/moderated by Kate Southam http://blogs.news.com.au/cubefarmer/index.php/news/comments/how_to_say/
The Blog post was about the level of work that bosses and companies are placing on their employees and the negative affect that its having on staff moral and health. It was based on the premise that bosses either; a) don't realise how much work they are piling on their staff, b) can't read the signs of an employee under stress, or c) the boss already does long hours at work and can't understand that not everyone is capable or wants to do that.
I was replying to a guy posting under the tag of "Andrew". He said that he had/is working in the media industry and talked of the pressure put on him and what affect it had on him. I can sympathise with him. The media industry is nowhere near as glamorous as people imagine it to be.
I was severely under-prepared for what I was about to face and severely under-prepared for the lack of assistance if you are struggling. Mostly I wasn't helped because I was the bottom of the pile and those above me also had massive pressure on them from those above them.
Below is the post I left on the CubeFarmer blog:
The Blog post was about the level of work that bosses and companies are placing on their employees and the negative affect that its having on staff moral and health. It was based on the premise that bosses either; a) don't realise how much work they are piling on their staff, b) can't read the signs of an employee under stress, or c) the boss already does long hours at work and can't understand that not everyone is capable or wants to do that.
I was replying to a guy posting under the tag of "Andrew". He said that he had/is working in the media industry and talked of the pressure put on him and what affect it had on him. I can sympathise with him. The media industry is nowhere near as glamorous as people imagine it to be.
I was severely under-prepared for what I was about to face and severely under-prepared for the lack of assistance if you are struggling. Mostly I wasn't helped because I was the bottom of the pile and those above me also had massive pressure on them from those above them.
Below is the post I left on the CubeFarmer blog:
"Oh Andrew, I can sympathise with you.
I was also in the Media industry. I also quit because of the massive work pressure. I was the only full time journalist at a small rural newspaper covering four shire territories. My office was a tiny shopfront that I shared with an advertising sales rep. My editor was in a town nearly an hours drive away and also edited three other papers beside my own. At the time I left I was classed as level 1 journalist (just completed cadetship). I was working 6.5 days a week, driving nearly 300km a week (my car but they paid travel) and frequently took work home. I wrote and photographed about 70% of the stories; from front page lead to socials to sports photos. There were 3-4 correspondents but they had far more freedom to pick and choose their stories.
I never went to university or did formal training in writing/journalism. I only have high school level English and Photography training. I was taken on as a cadet after being one of those correspondents simply because of my ability. The previous journalist had left and I was bumped straight in as second year cadet. I was promised all the training and support that I would need....that never happened. I was drowning and they were too far away to see it. Its hard to explain problems by phone/email and neither the editor or I had time to drive back and forward between our offices. I swam for as long as I could, nearly three years, and never found the shallow end. I turned to alcohol to shut off my brain at the end of the day, gained massive weight and suffered severe insomnia.
As a journalist you're expected to be alert, cheerful and on-the-ball but that's hard to do when your functioning on 4 hours sleep per night, eat at your desk and have to slap on thicker and thicker layers of make-up to cover the bags under your eyes. Even harder to cover the blood-shot and bleary eyes.
In the end I drowned under the pressure, had a massive car crash and ended up with PTSD, depression and Anxiety as well as legal and financial problems.
As a journalist you're expected to be alert, cheerful and on-the-ball but that's hard to do when your functioning on 4 hours sleep per night, eat at your desk and have to slap on thicker and thicker layers of make-up to cover the bags under your eyes. Even harder to cover the blood-shot and bleary eyes.
In the end I drowned under the pressure, had a massive car crash and ended up with PTSD, depression and Anxiety as well as legal and financial problems.
I got out. I now work in retail. It doesn't fulfill my creative drive but I get better hours and can switch off at the end of the day."
I have been left disillusioned with the industry as a whole. I loved the creative element and loved the people that I met. But I was also left jaded by what I heard, saw and had to write about.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Duck Shit
One of the funniest photo shoot that I ever attended as a journalist would have to have been when I was still a part-time correspondent. A local environment group won an award from the Prime Minister's office and set up a photoshoot for local journalists down at the river.
The award winners set up river conservation programs and also ran classes for school kids on subjects like the kind of critters that live in their waterways (macro-invertebrates to you technical types). They had been sponsored in this by a major local business -I think it was the company running a nearby minesite. Anyways the mining company had been sponsoring the local River-Watch program and had won an award from the Prime Minister's office and we journalists were invited along.
So I rock up to the river bank one afternoon to find them already set up. They had a table on the riverbank with items like microscopes and various specimen containers (ice cube trays and ice cream cartons to us non-scientific types). the two ladies from the riverwatch group had rounded up a couple of handy teenagers (brother and sister) to be in the photo and they had the town's iconic bridge in the background.
The table and its microscope were to be the foreground with one lady from the riverwatch group and a teenager pretending to look at bugs under the microscope. The other lady was at the riverbank alongside the other teenager both armed with scoop nets and the bridge as backdrop.
First photographer up was the guy representing both the other local paper (my rival) and the state-wide paper(both run by the same company). He was armed with, what has to be,one of the biggest cameras I have ever seen. it was so big he held it in two hands and had to hold the flash-umbrella between his chin and shoulder. He was there for ages and must have taken literally HUNDREDS of shots. The kids were getting restless, the two women were tired of holding the same pose for so long and the media lady from the PMs office had steam coming from her ears!
Did I mention that the Prime Minister's office had sent a media person and a photographer to us for the shoot? She was a big lady and rather fierce; he was a suave Italian with gel-slicked hair, expensive leather shoes and immaculate black slacks and a crisp white shirt. And here he is tip-toeing through the mud and duck-shit beside the Blackwood River!!
Meanwhile I had turned up in my jeans and sneakers fresh from my day-job, grabbed my little Digital Camera and ducked around the annoying guy from the other paper as I fired off a quick series of snaps. I then stood back to enjoy the show. The PMs camera-man was whining about how the other guy was stealing all the light (it was late afternoon) and the PMs media lady was breathing steam and threatening to march in there and tear the other photographer out by the collar.
I could only stand back and giggle.
The award winners set up river conservation programs and also ran classes for school kids on subjects like the kind of critters that live in their waterways (macro-invertebrates to you technical types). They had been sponsored in this by a major local business -I think it was the company running a nearby minesite. Anyways the mining company had been sponsoring the local River-Watch program and had won an award from the Prime Minister's office and we journalists were invited along.
So I rock up to the river bank one afternoon to find them already set up. They had a table on the riverbank with items like microscopes and various specimen containers (ice cube trays and ice cream cartons to us non-scientific types). the two ladies from the riverwatch group had rounded up a couple of handy teenagers (brother and sister) to be in the photo and they had the town's iconic bridge in the background.
The table and its microscope were to be the foreground with one lady from the riverwatch group and a teenager pretending to look at bugs under the microscope. The other lady was at the riverbank alongside the other teenager both armed with scoop nets and the bridge as backdrop.
First photographer up was the guy representing both the other local paper (my rival) and the state-wide paper(both run by the same company). He was armed with, what has to be,one of the biggest cameras I have ever seen. it was so big he held it in two hands and had to hold the flash-umbrella between his chin and shoulder. He was there for ages and must have taken literally HUNDREDS of shots. The kids were getting restless, the two women were tired of holding the same pose for so long and the media lady from the PMs office had steam coming from her ears!
Did I mention that the Prime Minister's office had sent a media person and a photographer to us for the shoot? She was a big lady and rather fierce; he was a suave Italian with gel-slicked hair, expensive leather shoes and immaculate black slacks and a crisp white shirt. And here he is tip-toeing through the mud and duck-shit beside the Blackwood River!!
Meanwhile I had turned up in my jeans and sneakers fresh from my day-job, grabbed my little Digital Camera and ducked around the annoying guy from the other paper as I fired off a quick series of snaps. I then stood back to enjoy the show. The PMs camera-man was whining about how the other guy was stealing all the light (it was late afternoon) and the PMs media lady was breathing steam and threatening to march in there and tear the other photographer out by the collar.
I could only stand back and giggle.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Fox tail
As a kid growing up on the farm you tend to take things for granted, things that other (non-farm) kids might never experience. Stuff like life, sex, birth and death. I'm not alone in this, plenty of other people who grew up on farms would be nodding their heads in agreement.
Mum still tells the story of the time I was in Kindy and was asked to bring an item in for show-and-tell. It was lambing season and my father had recently killed a fox in one of the paddocks. So he went and cut the dead fox's tail off and presented it to me to take for show-and-tell. I thought this was a great idea and loaded it into a plastic shopping bag.
The next day and my big moment arrived. I stood in from of the ring of my classmates who were sitting on the floor in front of me, and pulled out the fox tail.
I failed to notice the look of absolute horror on the teacher's face. She was fresh out of college and city-bred so my casual presentation of this piece of dead animal came as a real shock for the poor girl! Okay, it had been dead a couple of days and was a little smelly, but I thought it was really cool - as did the other farm kids and we all soon had a rousing discussion on foxes and how to kill them.
I'm guessing the poor teacher needed trauma counselling and couldn't wait to get back to civilised society in the city.
Mum still tells the story of the time I was in Kindy and was asked to bring an item in for show-and-tell. It was lambing season and my father had recently killed a fox in one of the paddocks. So he went and cut the dead fox's tail off and presented it to me to take for show-and-tell. I thought this was a great idea and loaded it into a plastic shopping bag.
The next day and my big moment arrived. I stood in from of the ring of my classmates who were sitting on the floor in front of me, and pulled out the fox tail.
I failed to notice the look of absolute horror on the teacher's face. She was fresh out of college and city-bred so my casual presentation of this piece of dead animal came as a real shock for the poor girl! Okay, it had been dead a couple of days and was a little smelly, but I thought it was really cool - as did the other farm kids and we all soon had a rousing discussion on foxes and how to kill them.
I'm guessing the poor teacher needed trauma counselling and couldn't wait to get back to civilised society in the city.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Hot Chilli
The other day I was talking to a customer about chili peppers and it reminded me of the story of my brother N and his first encounter with chili.
Growing up on the farm we had a huge vegetable garden and heaps of fruit trees. My brother and I were always munching on some form of fresh, home-grown produce. I tell you, there is nothing like picking something off the bush and chomping straight into it. Anyway, mum always grew capsicum (what the Americans call Bell Pepper) and they were a favourite of N's. Mum was always complaining that there were never any capsicums available for dinner since they'd already been pilfered.
When N was about 12 we were in Perth and visited the massive markets at Fremantle. At one end of the building is all the fruit and produce stalls. A big heap of long, bright red chili peppers caught N's eye and he asked mum what they were. She told him they were chillies and were related to capsicums. Since N loved capsicum he announced that he wanted to try a chili. Mum allowed him to buy one but warned him that they are really hot. N was still determined and selected a good looking fruit.
Mum cautioned N to just nibble off a tiny, tiny piece to test the heat....did N listen to her??
Nope, nuh-uh, no way...he bit off at least half the chili in a single bite!! He crunched away while we all watched with great interest to see the response. It seemed to take ages!
However, soon we saw the message travelling from N's tongue to his brain. OMG, YEOW!! Poor N was left gasping in pain and bewilderment. We didn't really use much in the way of spices at home so N hadn't really encountered hot and spicy before. It was a nasty surprise!! It took something like three bottles of water to put that fire out but N lost all interest in food for several hours afterwards.
Growing up on the farm we had a huge vegetable garden and heaps of fruit trees. My brother and I were always munching on some form of fresh, home-grown produce. I tell you, there is nothing like picking something off the bush and chomping straight into it. Anyway, mum always grew capsicum (what the Americans call Bell Pepper) and they were a favourite of N's. Mum was always complaining that there were never any capsicums available for dinner since they'd already been pilfered.
When N was about 12 we were in Perth and visited the massive markets at Fremantle. At one end of the building is all the fruit and produce stalls. A big heap of long, bright red chili peppers caught N's eye and he asked mum what they were. She told him they were chillies and were related to capsicums. Since N loved capsicum he announced that he wanted to try a chili. Mum allowed him to buy one but warned him that they are really hot. N was still determined and selected a good looking fruit.
Mum cautioned N to just nibble off a tiny, tiny piece to test the heat....did N listen to her??
Nope, nuh-uh, no way...he bit off at least half the chili in a single bite!! He crunched away while we all watched with great interest to see the response. It seemed to take ages!
However, soon we saw the message travelling from N's tongue to his brain. OMG, YEOW!! Poor N was left gasping in pain and bewilderment. We didn't really use much in the way of spices at home so N hadn't really encountered hot and spicy before. It was a nasty surprise!! It took something like three bottles of water to put that fire out but N lost all interest in food for several hours afterwards.
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