Patrick Eastough

Farmers in the Big City!

PaTriCk easTough

Farmers. Farmers everywhere.

A mass migration every year, populating college row with their flannel attire and slurred, outlandish sayings. Being a farmer isn’t just a job, it’s a lifestyle. It is so much more than just your farm — you have a duty to spread awareness about your rural locality, wherever you may be.

My friends and I work hard to produce a suitable response when someone asks where we are from. I myself am from a little town called Yuna, and when people become aware of that, it then becomes a guessing game of what local city/town they know of that’s closest to my farm. Just give up while you can — it’s a tiring game for you and me. Of course, being from up north, it’s a little difficult to try to explain where you’re from to someone from the latte strip, although that was the job we were born to do.

A lot of farmers that do come to the big smoke just give up the farming name, because naturally it’s easier to cut off circulation to a sheep’s testicle, than it is to explain the process of deep-ripping to some goldentriangle-dwelling-latte-sipper from your Business and Management class.

Not to mention, being in such a cultural mixing pot as the big city (Perth, believe it or not), there are a few dust-ups between the types of farmers. Contrary to popular belief, not every farmer is lucky enough to have green pastures and a harem of girls like Farmer Rob on Farmer Wants a Wife.

I’m not going to go into the details on why station farmers and horticultural farmers have such a long history, but when it comes to between the division of different types of farmers, it all boils down to one simple factor:

RAIN. Yes, rain.

To identify as a farmer and adopt the ‘farmer name’, you have to produce something. No matter what that something is, if it is a natural resource, you can be considered a typical ‘farmer’. (Note: A hobby farmer that goes and visits their grandparents’ ‘property’ but doesn’t have acre or hectares in the triple digits is not a farmer).

To be a farmer in the city, there are three facts that you need to come to terms with:

1. You will deal with horticultural farmers who claim they’re not getting enough rain yet seem to average triple of your yearly rainfall.

2. You see a lot of ugly buildings in the big smoke because they did not account for farmers being wealthy enough to send their kids to university.

3. You have to deal with people asking if you drove to uni, even when you’ve just told them you live six-plus hours up north.

Although there is a natural schism between certain types of farmers, we all despise the big smoke for its ability to have way more rain than any other place we know. It’s as if they haven’t already stolen our rural NBN satellites so they can keep their wireless house from lagging when they ask for the lights to turn on, even though it would take less time just to flick the switch.

Although living in the city is an amazing opportunity for rural folks, it’s also a massive tear in our hearts. Being born and bred on wide open spaces and free rein to follow through on any crazy ideas you might have, is all taken away when you conduct the big move.

The one thing I miss the most when talking about or even thinking about the farm, isn’t the honest work or the wide-open spaces, but it’s seeing the same stars that my family look at every night. The stars might be the same everywhere, but unfortunately the light pollution is a major problem within Perth, and when I look up at night and see three stars instead of millions, it’s disheartening.

Being a farmer in the city is an absolute ordeal. You’re dealing not only with hobby farmers, latte sippers, and horticultural farmers, but also a sense of loneliness in a city full of people.

So, do I call myself a farmer and use the ‘farmer name’? Yes. I might cop some flack for not having reliable wifi when I go home, but there is no better feeling than knowing where my heart belongs and what keeps me pursuing my future here in the big city.