Long days at work

One of the challenges of the job is the long hours travel.

This week, we unexpectedly had to go to Blackstone from Warburton, twice. In two days. After driving 5 and a half hours return on Thursday, I couldn't face another long drive again on Friday. Thankfully, my boss agreed to us chartering the plane (this being one of the rare times when capitalising on the moment was best).

When we went by car, we could only spend 3 hours with clients and even then got back well after dark. Two thirds of the time spent travelling. By plane, it was only 1 and half hours, with 4 hours client time. The cost difference was enormous, $1150 for the 6 hour charter. $140 diesel for the car trip. It's hard to weigh up the relative benefits. Time in the car is a much better space for preparation, and sharing with colleagues (an indispensable part of the job). On the other hand, it exerts considerable wear and tear on you and car. The flight was quick, efficient and got the job done in a classic 'fly in, fly out' approach. Not the best look, and we have no idea what happened in the community after we left. But we were home for tea, and I guess that counts for something.

Courtesy of my new Flip videocam, we now have some footage of the two trips for your viewing pleasure. No pictures of communities or community members, as it wasn't appropriate. There will be some in the future no doubt. Enjoy the scenery.

Living in a windtunnel

It's blustery outside. Huge gusts of wind buffet the house, sweeping Eleanor's toys steadily down to the vege patch, eventually hiding them under the enormous bushels of parsley and tomatoes thriving along the fenceline. Going outside to get the bone dry clothes clinging tenaciously to the line is like battling the elements in a 'do or die' adventure with the elements. Small piles of red sand collect on the house side of the window sills, unmistakeably asserting their right to be everywhere you don't want them to be.

One of the facts of life in Blackstone is that most days are spent in a windtunnel that is commonly known as the 'outdoors'. Without a doubt, Blackstone is the windy-est (sp?) place I've lived in. And I'm not a big fan of wind either. Of course, I didn't know this when we chose to come here. I just thought it was a windy day when we came for the interview. And then when we arrived. And unpacked. And started living here on a day-to-day basis. Over time, the realisation crept up. I'm living in a windtunnel.

40k east of Blackstone, on descent

It might be the nearby ranges that contributes to the overall wind effect. I should really know what the ranges are called, but I confess I do not. They are, however, one of the more beautiful features of the local landscape. Along with what I call 'the expanse', which is an open area covered only with spinifex grass that extends for about 1 k just out of town on the way west to Warburton. I mostly like to call it 'the expanse', because it sounds terribly snobbish and discordant to drive through this intense, harsh natural landscape (wrought with its own natural beauty) and opine 'oh what a beautiful expaaaanse' in my best private school voice. It reminds me of the extreme turns that my life has taken, but at the same time, I do genuinely admire how beautiful that spot is and why I love living here. While I know that this is and never will be 'my country', in the way that we can become incredibly attached to a little patch of land that we might own anywhere else in Australia, at a deeper level this landscape resonates within me in a way that makes little sense.

Why else, indeed, would I choose to live in a windtunnel?