A Wife’s Tale

Last year we finally bought ourselves some grass. Its eighteen acres so not a farm but it’s more grass than we’ve ever had living at the beach for 20 years.

Shaun had always wanted to live “in the hills.” Our fencing and construction business does residential and civil works but when he does farm fencing it always captures his heart. We had previously leased land to raise some beefies and sheep for our own freezer, and being around farmers on the daily meant Shaun was prepared to start working on our own bit of grass.

It was different for me. I was a true-blue townie. Yet I was ready for a change. I was open to moving rural (but not too rural) and living life more simply, more connected to nature – with grass. When we signed the dotted line, I envisioned The Good Life.

Shaun, however, envisioned The Digger Life and The Tractor Life. Machinery became the solution to all and every bit of work that needed doing around home. Need something moved? The tractor can do it. Need to clear a path? The digger can do it. Even topsoil in my new raised veggie gardens required machinery instead of the ole spade and elbow work.

One of our first big projects was to clear some land that had previously been used as a pig sty and a bit of a dumping ground. We’d heard sunflowers absorb contaminants in the soil so we decided to plant out the 900sqm. It would be fun! I could sell them at the market or on the side of the road. There would be woven baskets, plaid shirts and plaits – The Good Life fantasy. Shaun, unbeknown to me, was only fantasising of all the machinery work he would be doing.

“I want us to prepare and plough the soil by hand, without machinery, so we can really, you know, get down on our hands and knees and put our love and energy into the soil

However, when the day came to start, I dropped a bombshell.

“Darling, I want to do this the traditional and wholesome way.”

At first, he was confused and thought I was referring to something else, which also made him a little bit excited (out here? In the open field? What if the neighbours saw?)

“I want us to prepare and plough the soil by hand, without machinery, so we can really, you know, get down on our hands and knees and put our love and energy into the soil,” I’d been reading up on how satisfying this can be for the soul and enriching it can be for the plants. This was The Good Life way, wasn’t it?

His face contorted into both disappointment and disbelief. (Without. Machinery?)

Things quickly escalated into an argument, with tears (mine) and dirt kicking (him). Eventually, and I’m not sure why, (could possibly have been the revealing singlet I was wearing) he caved. “Ok, lets f*cking get this done then.”

He grabbed the spade and started digging. We had marked out 42 rows, 25m long, with seeds planted every 50cm equalled roughly 2100 seeds to plant. By hand.

The first three hours fulfilled my Good Life dream. I could hear the birds singing, and the wind rustling the trees. The sun was shining on his sweaty and grimy bare chested body (Greek God like) as he dug away with the spade, turning over the dirt. I came along on hands and knees and dropped a seed in, blessing it and wishing it to grow, and covered it over with dirt.

The next hour was more... strained. My knees started to ache and the dripping sweat was making the sunblock sting my eyes.

Angelena Davies is a wife and mum who happens to have a Masters degree in Social Sciences. Alongside running Davies Fencing she is also a coach, facilitator and author helping children and adults to access “flow” so their lives are easier and more fun. By the fifth hour I was not “loving” the dirt at all and simply poking the seeds in. My back was stiff and I was horrendously sunburnt.

I stood up to see our progress.

Six rows.

Six bloody rows and 36 more to do.

I looked over at My Love as he was relentlessly digging.

“Shall we call it a day?” I gingerly asked.

He looked up and down at not-somany-rows we had down and shot me a resigned look.

I’ll always remember that look, because as much as he knew he was right about needing machinery he still chose to appease me, and I received that as love.

As we sat in the spa that night, with aching bodies and a beer in hand, I said to him “Okay, you were right, let’s do the rest with machinery” and we both laughed and laughed at the ridiculousness of The Good Life Without Machinery.

We are good at doing that; laughing together at our mistakes. Sometimes in relationships it’s not about being right or being wrong but allowing each other to have a say, give it a go, being supportive and also being there for each other when things fail.

Life is about making memories, so you can sit in your rocking chair when you’re 80 and say “Remember the time we….” and we will be telling our sunflower patch story with hilarious endearment for years to come.