1 down, 87 to go

As you may or may not be aware, Nicola and I have a Working Holiday Visa to stay in Australia for one year. What this means is that we can work for any one company/business for a maximum of six months and if we wish to extend our visa to two years, then we must complete 88 days of designated work in a regional area i.e. fruit picking, farming and so on. As mentioned earlier, Nicola had found an advert through Gumtree and we were successful in our application to start work on 28 October on a dairy farm near Bundaberg, Queensland.

With the background and context for the next few bog posts out of the way, Nicola and I were picked up by Peggy outside our motel in Bundaberg. Peggy seemed nice and she arrived in the car that we had been told we’d have use of, a Toyota Camry – slightly bigger than the previous cars I’d driven (mind you, a Nissan Micra and Peugeot 106 are probably the smallest cars around so no surprises that this would be bigger). We chatted away on our drive over to their farm, which was approximately 60 – 70km from Bundaberg, and Peggy explained the nature of our roles. I would be largely helping in the dairy, milking the cows, and helping her husband Hank with a variety of odd jobs around the farm and Nicola would also help with the dairy but would help Peggy babysit her grandson Damian and clean the house, cook meals and basically do the housework.

We arrived at the gates to the farm after about 40 minutes driving and bounced up the driveway to the farm, passing some of the cows on the way. The farm was set in 200 acres of land, and seemed very pretty; lots of green grass and old trees lined the drive. We passed the dairy on our way to the house and got a good look at the place where we’d be spending our early mornings and evenings for the next few days/weeks/months, basically for however long we’d decide to stay. We met Hank on our way into the house, and from the tattered and torn state of his clothes coupled with his startled and vacant demeanour he looked like he had been ravaged by a pack of dingoes. He was dressed in a small pair of shorts, a moth eaten hat and a shirt that only had two buttons which meant that his belly was on show, and his shirt sleeves were so torn that his arms were hanging out in more places than were covered by fabric. Peggy had told us that there were spare clothes we could use for the dairy, we wondered what state the spare clothes would be in by comparison to the barely there clothes hanging off Hank. We were preparing ourselves for a very dirty, very tiring, gruelling period of time on the farm and I think we both felt we would leave the farm looking like extras out of Deliverance. Neither Nicola nor I have any farm experience, and I don’t think either of us was particularly looking forward to the potentially long days and early starts; although as we were volunteering we were told we would not be expected to work more than a few hours each day.

We were given a tour of the farmhouse by Peggy, and she explained that the farmhouse was what is known as an old Queenslander style. Basically, it amounts to an elevated living space on the first floor and a utility area on the ground floor. We were shown into our room, which was adjoining the living room by a pair of warped doors that didn’t quite close. We were a little taken aback by the accommodation, I don’t think either of us knew what to expect. The furniture in the room had seen better days but on the whole it would serve us okay, as it had the essential component – a bed.

We sat around the kitchen room table and had a chat with Peggy about the farm, our backgrounds and what our travel plans were/ We explained that we had only been in Australia for 14 days or so and Peggy was a bit surprised because all the previous backpackers had come to their farm broke, 6 - 9 months into their 12 month visa and looking to work the entire 3 months on the farm to extend their visa. We said we fancied getting the farm work out of the way so we could focus on finding employment in Australia and not have to worry later on – we said we’d look to work the 3 months on their farm, should the arrangement suit both parties. Peggy then asked if we fancied “watching” the milking that evening so we would have an idea of what we would be doing come 06:00 the next morning.

After the cows had been rounded up and directed towards the dairy, we made our way into what we were told had been affectionately Peggytened “the sh*t pit”…and for good reason. For those of you who haven’t seen the inside of a milking station, there is a central walkway where the milking apparatus are located (the sucking things that are attached to the udder teats) which is approximately 5 feet wide. On either side of the central walkway are two lanes where 12 cows are supposed to line up (sometimes more or less than 12 would squeeze in). There is a trough running the length of each lane where grain and molasses (a sticky brown syrup which is made from the products of harvesting sugar cane) so the cows tuck into their food whit their backsides (and more importantly udders) facing into the central walkway. The idea is to attach the milking devices onto the udders and wait until all the milk has been drained before releasing that lane of cows and swapping onto the cows on the other side. Nothing quite works out as it hypothetically should however, and Nicola and I went from “watching” to “milking” faster than you could say “got milk”. Now neither of us had milked a cow before, and I wrongly assumed that the cows would be used to it whereas in fact a few kicked out at us, which didn’t really help us settle in and get comfortable with the cows. Cows are big ladies, and big ladies have big poos which we found out to the detriment of our clothes…which were covered in cow sh*t. The whole milking was a blur, it took around 2 hours and the lasting memory I have of that first night milking was ducking and dodging cow poo that seemed to be coming at us from all angles.

After the milking was done I had to spray down the dairy and if I thought I had seen a lot of cow poo in the pit, then boy was I in for a surprise power hosing the yard where the cows were waiting to be milked! Poo everywhere, a few inches thick in parts and very slippery, I did my best not to fall over and make it out in one piece to join Nicola and Hank feeding milk to the baby calves. After the feeding was done, Nicola and I waited our turn for a bath (no special treatment for guests as we were last in the bath) before having the first of many beef meals. We retired to our room for an early night where Nicola and I both confirmed what the other had been thinking…we’re not cut out for dairy work, and we may not be able to last a week, let alone 3 months.