When I said I was moving to the country, I felt like I was being a bit facetious. After all, this is hardly the Back of Bourke - I'm only two hours from Sydney, there are Surry Hills-style cafes just 10 minutes away and a wine bar up the road. Little Hartley is not so much a bush outpost, but more when lawyers buy weekend properties so they can get their 'tree-change' fix - you know, a few chooks, gardens to potter in and maybe a pony or two.
Or so I thought. But so far my time here has turned out to be more country hardcore than I ever imagined.
There's Lithgow, for starters - a full-on country town, as redneck as they come. And then there's Centennial Glen, Cass's home ... Even though it's only 10 minutes drive from my place, it might as well be in the Kimberley or the Snowy Mountains - that's how remote and countrified it feels. There are 'roos bounding everywhere, gates you have to open and shut, and cattle mooing, all under a big, wild, rugged Aussie escarpment.
As well as being a trail riding establishment and agistment property, the good folk at Centennial Glen - who have apparently lived in this idyllic valley for generations - also run a mob of cattle. It's calving season, and the cows in the paddock adjoining Cass' are dropping 'em like flies.
The other afternoon I arrived to find a tractor reversing into the cattle yards where I usually feed Cass. "We just have to get something out of the yard," I was told. That 'something' turned out to be a dead calf, which had been pulled from its mother that morning, stillborn. I forced myself to look, thinking it was all part of my country education.
Today I arrived at the paddock to find six of the girls from the stables - aged from about 12 to their mid-20s - preparing to go and fetch the herd of cows, calves and weaners from the paddock, separate the cows and babies, then drive the heifers back into other paddocks. They invited me to join them, but unfortunately I hadn't brought my saddle along (I'd ridden this morning, and just returned this afternoon to put Cass's rug back on and feed him). Which is a shame, because Cass apparently is great at cattle work and it would have been good to see him in action.
Anyhoo ... it was still an education to watch these young girls - led by the fearless jillaroo Michelle (an excellent horsewoman who's worked on cattle stations) round up the cows, and basically get run amuck by the feisty little calves.
I had no idea that, at this age (like, two days old), they have no herd sense, and instead of running with the herd (and their mums), they simply bolt in the opposite direction - including through fences, both barbed and electric.
One little fella managed to escape the pen, go through two fences, join another mob of cows and avoid capture for at least half an hour. Eventually he was driven back, where Michelle's solution was to physically tackle him and lift him into the pen where his mother was...
All in an afternoon in the country ... even in country that's only two hours from the Big Smoke.
Love this place.
Or so I thought. But so far my time here has turned out to be more country hardcore than I ever imagined.
There's Lithgow, for starters - a full-on country town, as redneck as they come. And then there's Centennial Glen, Cass's home ... Even though it's only 10 minutes drive from my place, it might as well be in the Kimberley or the Snowy Mountains - that's how remote and countrified it feels. There are 'roos bounding everywhere, gates you have to open and shut, and cattle mooing, all under a big, wild, rugged Aussie escarpment.
As well as being a trail riding establishment and agistment property, the good folk at Centennial Glen - who have apparently lived in this idyllic valley for generations - also run a mob of cattle. It's calving season, and the cows in the paddock adjoining Cass' are dropping 'em like flies.
The other afternoon I arrived to find a tractor reversing into the cattle yards where I usually feed Cass. "We just have to get something out of the yard," I was told. That 'something' turned out to be a dead calf, which had been pulled from its mother that morning, stillborn. I forced myself to look, thinking it was all part of my country education.
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| This scenery makes me swoon - so beautiful! |
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| The girls bringing the girls in |
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| Get on in, little dawgies! |
I had no idea that, at this age (like, two days old), they have no herd sense, and instead of running with the herd (and their mums), they simply bolt in the opposite direction - including through fences, both barbed and electric.
One little fella managed to escape the pen, go through two fences, join another mob of cows and avoid capture for at least half an hour. Eventually he was driven back, where Michelle's solution was to physically tackle him and lift him into the pen where his mother was...
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| Jillaroo extraordinaire, Michelle, in action |
Love this place.
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