After spending a day and a half in Melbourne mostly on our own, walking around town and buying cheap clothes to work in, we packed up again and headed an hour and a half west to a little town called Kyneton. Don’t worry, none of us can properly pronounce its name either. We were happy to have only spent two nights in the hostel we chose in Melbourne because of its bad location (in apparently the “red-light district” and 10 minutes by tram from downtown), bad customer service (no one was ever at the front desk to buy internet from or get clean sheets from), and because of its dinginess. No one there ever bothered to clean their dishes and the place always reeked of smoke. So, we were excited to be off again and beginning another farm adventure.
Meeting us at the train station was a young fellow holding a cardboard sign reading, “WWOOFERS,” who was a wwoofer himself and had already been here a week. On the way back to the house, about a fifteen minute drive from the station, we began to learn more about the place we’d be staying in. “Adrian must’ve miscounted the number of wwoofers he’d have this week. He’s able to accommodate 6, but with you guys here it’ll bring us up to 9. That means, you’ll be sleeping in the caravan.” NOT the “lovely mud-brick dwelling” we’d be staying in that we were informed of both over the phone and in the WWOOF book.
Right off the bat we knew we were in for something different. Gillian drove us right up to a dilapidated-roof garage with rusted junk piled high on all sides, and pointed to one corner of it saying, “that’s it.” Looking over, we all could not believe our eyes. A camper that probably had not been used in years and we guessed was crawling with spiders, seeing from all of its broken windows. All we could do was laugh. And we did, for minutes. We didn’t have a clue as to what to say, or how to even begin to get in the darn thing if we tried. Was this a joke?
Turns out, the angle at which we had been looking from was not its best, as we later discovered its front-addition of a living room about twice the size of the caravan itself. Plenty of room for the three of us. After Riley claimed a twin size bed in the living room and Annie took a couch, I thought I would begin to call the caravan “home” for a week. Not too far away (~200 yards) was the mud-brick dwelling our host, Adrian, and five other wwoofers stayed in. The sixth guy slept in a tent somewhere out in the property next to a lake. Apparently, we kicked him out of his home when he heard three girls were coming.
Staying here has been a similar experience for us as, we would say, to camping. We’re located right in the heart of the Australian countryside with nothing but trees and wildlife for many miles, with no internet, phone, or soap. Electricity and hot water is generated off of solar power, but because he doesn’t have any appliances other than one t.v. that he doesn’t know how to operate to turn it on, he gets a hefty monthly check from the power company for feeding the grid. He also makes a living off of his land, selling anything from berries (blueberries, raspberries, strawberries), garlic and onion, to graphed trees for two-thirds of the year. Cooking is done on a wood stove, which I think would take ages to ever get used to as far as temperature goes, and the bathroom is nothing but a hole in the ground.
Adrian, like no surprise, is an interesting character, but mostly for the good. He’s a born and bred Aussie who believes in a simple life living off the land and doesn’t ask for much from others. At the age of being a grandpa (and I think he is) he’s learned a lot over the years of which he loves to share and is genuinely interested in learning anything new. We’ve had many late-night group discussions on anything from politics and religion, to where we’ve grown up and our experiences and thoughts in life. All of which I’ve enjoyed.
The other wwoofers here that we’ve met have been fun to talk to and meet. They’re from all areas of the world including Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany, and Australia. And, I’m pretty sure no one knows when they’re leaving.
Everyday we’ve spent mostly picking blueberries, weeding the 10 large gardens he has, and trimming Pinot grape vines. Not too bad for the relaxation we still give ourselves in the evenings- reading out in the gardens, swimming in the giant lake, or watching kangaroos hop around all day in the grassy fields next door.
The one scare that we’ve had while we’ve been here though was on our first night here; a bushfire 5km away. A tree had fallen on a powerline that sparked a fire and no one knew how serious the fire was or could be due to the howling winds. “If the wind blows in our direction we might be at risk, but don’t worry- the winds are blowing in the other direction,” Adrian tried to assure us. Without internet and only a home phone line, the three of us could only think of the worse case scenario of dying in a fire and felt utterly trapped. We knew there was only one road out of here. And, what would happen if the fire came in the middle of the night? After hearing horror stories from families in Healesville who witnessed horrendous events such as people running on the roads, on fire, with the blaze chasing them less than 50 meters away with no way out, we certainly did not want to risk staying. We asked Adrian if we could leave, just a few hours after arriving, if he got word that the fires were in deed headed our way and he agreed. But, once we’d see smoke over the hills it’d be too late. “If you see smoke, get into the fire shelter… there should be enough oxygen for us for 2 hours in there.”
Trying to calm our nerves, we decided to go back out into the garden and weed more until we’d get any new information. Luckily, it wasn’t too long before we got a call from the neighbor saying that he had heard the fire was under control. Big sigh of relief. With the winds blowing as hard as they were all day and night, it could’ve been a nightmare.
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