The Farm Stay

It was the last place we booked, when scheduling our itinerary, and both Mr Johnson and I were a bit wary of how it might go. "Where farm meets forest" was the tag-line on the website. Other exciting highlights included: feeding the on-sight animals, and relaxing in small remote station houses with ample space and modest amenities, including a furnished kitchen and the requisite BBQ grill on the front porch. *Stiffling a yawn* it didn't sound super exciting.

It was unlike any farm in the Mid-Western United States. No tell-tale red barn, tall silo, or iconic farm house. It was a hobby farm, surrounded by dairy farms and horse stables, vineyards and rolling meadows that butted up against a forested area.

The terrain of Western Australia is incredibly unique. It's sandy and dry during their summer. Water is both scarce and precious. Dams are created and the stagnant brown water they hold are piped into irrigation spigots, and, even homes for washing and bathroom use. We drank rain water, collected in large, above ground cisterns. The whole area was sandy and dry as a tinderbox. And yet, there were flashes of green in the cypress like pines, in the scrubby Aussie bush, and of course in the grape vines that clung to posts in neat rows at each boutique-like winery.

Adding a bit more topsy-turviness was the fact it was summer in February. The southern hemi-sphere is the polar opposite (almost literally) from it counterpart. I kept catching myself from saying things like, "But, what's it like here in the 'real summer'?" when I really meant, "What is the climate and terrain like in the cooler season?"

"Green," was the answer we invariably received. And we learned, that the sandy corral the Shetland ponies tried in vain to graze in in the summer, is grazable in the winter.

Because of their dry, sandy surroundings Western Australians are colloquially

called "sand gropers." But, despite the dryness, the burning bans, and the water of limited an/or dubious quality, their landscape is in its own way beautiful. I can understand why they like it.

The Farm Stay turned out to be a hit. (I didn't mention the potential presence of venomous tiger snakes until after we'd scooted out of the region.) We didn't see any. Nor did we spot any of the wild marsupials known to put in an appearance about these parts, especially in the driest stage of the season when kangaroos and Aussie opposums come looking for water. (And yes, it turns out the rental car company was on to something... these nocturnal marsupials are most often spotted at dawn and dusk.)

Each morning at 8:30 the girls met the farm manager for chores. They feed the Shetland ponies, the goats and sheep, and the resident alpaca, Big Al. The second morning they brought left overs from our dinner: the crusty ends of a baguette and cold pasta to feed to the chickens and the cocky rooster, a Chinese silkie. Their hands-down favorite (though the ponies were a runner-up) were the guinea pigs. They loved holding them, feeding them carrots, and listening to these cute South American piggies "chatter". Then, just before they meandered up the sandy lane, back to our tidy little cottage in the woods, they would wait for the farm manager to scoop still-warm eggs out from under the free range hens. They argued over who got to carry the morning's loot of brown eggs back to be scrambled or layered into omelets with marinated feta from a local dairy.