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Well off the beaten track, in fact so far off that it has no real address. To be picky, it does have an address, but if you follow the directions to it you end up kilometers away at the end of a dirt road leading to the sewage treatment plant.
Another box ticked - no more earnest door to door desperates selling religion or discount vouchers.
Another box ticked - no more earnest door to door desperates selling religion or discount vouchers.
No neighbours in sight- another plus.
No vertical ascents, just green rolling hills and full dams.
And wonder of wonders, paddocks full of daffodils about to burst into bloom, yes daffodils all planted in rows down a nameless road in the Australian bush.
The next stage is 'closing the deal' that fine line between being as excited as a six year old with a brand new toy and as cool as a city slicker cucumber who is can do a deal with one eye shut. So, no contact with the agent for a week then just barely feigned interest is expressed.
"Yes, we're still looking, what else is available?"
Meanwhile we return to 'no name farm', hop the fence and go exploring. Even to a city slickers eyes, it's apparent that this farm has not seen much activity in years. Trees with trunks as thick as your arm are growing in the tracks while others as big as a light house have fallen over the fences in too many places.
And slowly we realise that we have stumbled onto a wombat retirement village, as the creatures have established condominiums everywhere, complete with vast earth works that the Colditz escapers would have been proud of.
The wombat or 'vombatus ursinus' lives underground in a complex of tunnels. They have an entrance and a back door that doubles as an escape tunnel. They seem to dig a good number of test burrows before they settle on the right real estate, and judging by the number of abandoned tunnels, they tire quickly of their homes and move on to another patch. A small child and/or a medium sized dog could easily fit down a wombat burrow.
We note that there is a fine crop of blackberry in places, while scotch thistles and serrated tussock are also doing well. 'What Weed is That' could become bedtime reading if we decide that 'no name farm ' is the place for us.
So after a couple of weeks of being cool, the offer is made and accepted and we are farmers- albeit farmers with L plates on our bikes with trainer wheels.
The next stage is 'closing the deal' that fine line between being as excited as a six year old with a brand new toy and as cool as a city slicker cucumber who is can do a deal with one eye shut. So, no contact with the agent for a week then just barely feigned interest is expressed.
"Yes, we're still looking, what else is available?"
Meanwhile we return to 'no name farm', hop the fence and go exploring. Even to a city slickers eyes, it's apparent that this farm has not seen much activity in years. Trees with trunks as thick as your arm are growing in the tracks while others as big as a light house have fallen over the fences in too many places.
And slowly we realise that we have stumbled onto a wombat retirement village, as the creatures have established condominiums everywhere, complete with vast earth works that the Colditz escapers would have been proud of.
The wombat or 'vombatus ursinus' lives underground in a complex of tunnels. They have an entrance and a back door that doubles as an escape tunnel. They seem to dig a good number of test burrows before they settle on the right real estate, and judging by the number of abandoned tunnels, they tire quickly of their homes and move on to another patch. A small child and/or a medium sized dog could easily fit down a wombat burrow.
We note that there is a fine crop of blackberry in places, while scotch thistles and serrated tussock are also doing well. 'What Weed is That' could become bedtime reading if we decide that 'no name farm ' is the place for us.
So after a couple of weeks of being cool, the offer is made and accepted and we are farmers- albeit farmers with L plates on our bikes with trainer wheels.
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