Farmers De Facto and Domestic Goddess

Photos: Taken by the Cowboy

Staying out “On the Farm: during the day while Cowboy did whatever he did, I decided to try my hand at becoming a Domestic Goddess.

How very ‘country’. The Cowboy at work while I dusted, vacuumed, and perhaps cooked a batch of scones.

Hell, I was unemployed - unable to drive myself into town and this would be a bit of fun and a way to keep my mind occupied.

I began with the dishes. A simple task to switch the head into cleaning mode.

With the best of U2 pIaying full pelt on the stereo while I scrubbed away the remnants of Chicken Pad Thai from a plate . It made me nostalgic for that yummy dinner we enjoyed, hmm three weeks ago.

Cleansing the dishes felt strangely therapeutic. Perhaps metaphoric for cleansing of my own.

I started dreaming of turning Cowboy’s Bachelor Pad into an orderly homestead with a feminine touch. Flowers in a vase where the pile of cowboy hats once sat, a coffee table where the newspapers once piled… a lamp on the bedside table next to the freshly made bed, complete with hospital corners and folded down top sheet…. I was reminded of the guy from the Castle with his description “ This is not a house, it’s a home,” I wanted to create this little pad into a “farmstay” with a difference.

What a way to make the day fly. After scrubbing, mopping, doing load upon load of washing and reorganizing the bedroom to allow for better Feng Shui – I glanced at the time and it was nearing 5.30pm.

I quickly whipped up cruskits with avocado, swiss cheese, Spanish onion and ham and filled a glass with lime cordial ready for the return of the Cowboy. He arrived home sweaty and dirty from work to greet me post a hefty metamorphisis during the day from an unemployed snail barely peeping from my shell to a butterfly colourfully polishing the house.

I was very proud of my efforts and was excited to surprise the Cowboy with the transformation of his house and pleading with him to try lying on his bed now safely facing the window to allow a good flow of Chi.

I felt smug, and I could see the transformation pleased him. Perhaps this could be my life from now on, I thought, domestic goddess and writer out on a farm. I would not need any human contact during the day, I would be inspired by my environment and I would live to serve the Cowboy and write stories in between washing loads.

My fantasy was quickly taken from me. As Cowboy glanced around at the kitchen benchtops shimmering from Spray and Wipe he turned to me and said, “I’ve good news for you - I spoke to the Boss and he has lots of work you can do, starting tomorrow.”

I felt a lump form in my throat. It was not because I was upset that my days being filled with cleaning were about to disappear but because I knew “work” meant farm work.

Hey, I was born and bred in a country town but I’m a journalist, an indoor girl – a thinker, a writer… who is intimidated by a gear stick and finds opening gates around the property more of a challenge than if I were asked to attempt studying rocket science.

It was not “work’ that I was afraid of, it was a comfort zone thing. A questioning of my capabilities in the physical realm . My idea of work up until that moment was talking to people and writing in an air-conditioned office where my ideas and words held the key to increasing my bank balance.

Grateful that Cowboy had found work for me I tried not to let my fear show.

“Oh wow,” I said “Thank-you, what sort of work will I be doing?”

“There’s a fair bit, but you will start by driving the truck around the property and picking up bits of wire from old fences.”

“ A TRUCK?”

All sorts of crazy thoughts ran through my head.