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Is it Saturday or Sunday?

 It is just before 6am as I sit here on my back porch watching the sun slowly rise for another day. What day is it? #isolyf has got me all confused to the day, date and month. With so many of us wishing and wanting “more time”, I have found myself getting bored of being bored and the motivation bug seems to come in slower and less frequently.


How the world has changed in the unprecedented times, hey? It seems that here in #straya, we have quickly adapted to the powers that be and in the matter of weeks have become accustomed to the lack of interaction and movement. Does that concern you? How quickly we have been able to conform?

I had to delete Facebook off my phone a few weeks ago as I was constantly checking #scomo and Googling “coronavirus” every other minute. The information overload brought on confusion as well as fear and I was working around feeling like doomsday was coming. The best thing that I did was switch off. The establishment news was only regurgitating stupidity on a mass scale, and I chose to opt out.

By the way, how are you? Isolation can be devastating to one’s soul. We are built to interact.

The morning sky is now starting to glow a beautiful orange and pink glow. Soon I will see the yellow peak of the Sun rise. It’s been some time since I sat in the dark of the early morning to watch a sun rise.

I had to just double check that it is in fact Saturday. All the days are rolling into the same. It will be a gorgeous 27 degrees today in the Mallee – which for an Autumn day – sounds glorious. The mornings are starting to become cooler and Mother Nature is hinting that Winter is coming. Oh, how I hate winter. But it is a part of the circle of cycles and fortunately at our Farm, the winter is crisp but short.

Legend has it, our farm used to be a Dairy Farm – many moons ago. It was then a Vineyard and then a Barley and Wheat farm. Where our swimming pool is – there were Walnut Trees and somewhere there is an underground water tank. One of the previous owners was renowned to going on his tractor on the block – nude, and our “Salt Paddock” was a runoff for water from other farms. I love the stories that I have learnt over the years about the place we have now called home – 3 years in the making.

We country folk name everything. Our equipment here all have names starting with “B”. Bert, Betty, Bethanny – why we picked them, I will never know. Landmarks are named for direction such as “Mad Mile” – which is a stretch of road (approx. a mile) that is 100km/ph along the Murray River. Or “pump hill” which is one of the only hills in the region of this flat, arid land.

Words like, “block, town, swampy, slash, Merbs” are now incorporated into daily conversation.

Onto my third coffee for the morning. Thank god for my Jura machine during these weird times that still provides a sort of normality to #isolyf.

We’re grateful for the space that we have here. The boys can still run around or jump on their motorbikes. 21 acres has given us a lesser blow of being confined to four walls.

And thank god for Netflix, and Real Housewives of Everywhere, YouTube conspiracy docos and Gossip Girl.

And wine. Thank the Gods for Wine.


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