The Darling Downs, Cows and Forbidden Milk

It was lush and beautiful around the Darling Downs. Pig country, some sheep, and a few dairies thrown in the mix out our way a bit more. The back road carried us past the farms and pastures. We ignored the local tannery and the 'pig factory' when we passed it on the road, they both smelled, some days better than others.

That road had the 'big dipper' One of those sweeping valley dips that made your stomach go weird when you went racing downward and then suddenly upward. It was a fantastic rush. We loved it. Mum and dad both used to go extra quick on the downward side just for that extra kick of adrenaline. We were so hooked. Our area, bordering the Downs, was not quite as lush, but still set amongst rolling hills. We had a block that was 2 miles long, a rocky hill, a creek, and a local history.

Exactly one mile from each other were the 2 Mr. B's, Mr Burke senior, was conveniently located on the appropriately named road. Father and son, they were both dairy farmers, thier houses situated exactly a 1/2 mile from my house on either side. The cows went out every morning at 5am and took themselves back at 4pm for milking. Mr Burke, was the neighborhood milkman.

It was a dastardly conspiracy known only to a handful of families.
(you should take that with the tongue in cheek approach)

It was at Mr B's (the elder) dairy where it all occured.  The handful of hamlet residents who snuck up during or just after milking on a 'need basis' to collect thier stash of forbidden milk from Mr B who delighted in the fruits of country dairy exploits, right along with his wifes Pumpkin Scones.

It was the nectar that built the bones of country kids
Fresh, creamy goodness.

I learned how to hand milk a cow, despite the fact that Mr B used the latest in humane dairy milk extracting devices - I have no idea what they are actually called.  They were those things that were attached to the udder of cows, who really didn't seem to mind at all.  As full as many of them were, they were probably relieved, actually. 

I learned how to churn butter with this milk, skimming the dairy fresh cream from the top.
...something I learned from the next door neighbors, who of course were in on the whole conspiracy, and churned butter each week in the country kitchen of the old homestead that was once the home base of much of the surrounding landscape, decades before. Land that was part of the now segmented 1 and 2 acre lots dotting the hills and ditches in our block.

Those of us, in our little hamlet, sneaking off to the local dairy with our 5 gallon plastic containers to obtain fresh milk straight from the vat, a usual biweekly event that was sworn to secrecy.

It was all great, life in the country was full of interesting experiences, the least of which was the local store, when we finally got one.

As progress would have it, people moved in, and built a shop attached to thier house, down on the corner, just down the road from us.  We enjoyed it.  We wouldn't have to drive 40 miles into town to buy icecream.  But there is usually a price, and for us, it was soon to end the wayward ways of country residents, and the way Mr B conducted business. 

The shop of course always wondered why they couldn't sell thier fancy milk in glass and/or plastic bottles for 3 times the price. Then of course they found out... and so did the appropriate government authority...and so ended out milk escapades.  We were fresh out of milk, forced to buy from the shop, in bottles.  Never again to skim cream from the top of the 5 gallon container.  

It changed things in the countryside.  Mr B instead had us mow his lawn after which we sat and enjoyed his wifes pumpkin scones from thier back porch, watching the cows, looking at the dairy.  Remembering the butter that we churned, the cream we skimmed.  We very rarely went into the dairy after that.  But I still remember the big stainless steal vat that took up most of the floor in the front room of the dairy, near the office.   

Texas Stadium

                                                                                                                                     RON JENKINS/STAR TELEGRAM

In less than 1 minute, this morning beginning at just after 7am, Texas Stadium came crashing down.  Piles of cement and steel destined for recycling. 

Being a relative newcomer to Texas, and not particularly a fan of football, I had very little background knowledge of Texas Stadium.  I knew where it was, I had driven past it on my way to various towns in the DFW area, and I knew the Cowboys played there.

Though during news casts, viewers were updated on the progress of deconstruction which officially began in November 2009.  We learned everything from the amount of explosives, the number of holes drilled to hold those explosives to details on the implosion, how it would implode, to how some of the dust would mushroom upward through the hole in the roof - a hole I have since found out, according to local legend was there so 'God could watch his team'  

I had almost forgotten it was all to occur this morning.  But over the last couple of weeks, I did have a vague interest in its 39 year history. Still, I hadn't officially planned on watching the demolition, but as all the local channels were tuned to the emminent demise of the stadium this morning,  it seemed that should I want the TV on, I would have no choice to become involved in the process via live broadcast - I gave up and decided that I might as well, kind of, watch it whilst I read my book.. and secretly (while I am not sure who I was attempting to keep it a secret from, exactly) my interest had a sudden upward surge.  Particularly when they started in with the pretty, sparkly fireworks (no really, it doesn't take much...)

(no really, I'm kidding.  kinda)

I decided it was necessary to muster the girls together to watch the destruction, and the pretty fireworks.  Just as a side note here, even very young teens, eg: 13 year old girls, have an overWHELMING desire to sleep until noon.  She did not appreciate my 7am early bird Texas Stadium call to action this morning.  I got a grunt and that was about it.  My about to be 11 year old had the opposite reaction, and came down immediately to watch.

So we watched.  And yep, it imploded, exactly as it was predicted.  The domino effect, the smoke plume through Gods window...

Texas Stadium is gone, the end of an era. 

I can't help but understand a little of the sentimental value of the place.  Most people though do agree that it was past its prime, it was falling apart and at the very least needed a good coat of paint.  The people who had began to gather there since 11pm last night, and had been until the button was pushed, whooping it up in excitement were now quiet.

My Brilliant Career...

Australian literature can be quite unique, just take Picnic At Hanging Rock for example.  The Australian bush - Eucalypt forests which can be difficult to describe because of the distinctly different flora and fauna.  It can be hauntingly beautiful, yet so familar to any of us who have spent any length of time anywhere near a Gum Tree.  The bird calls, the occasional crack of dry twigs, rustling of leaves, a mild scent of Eucalyptus... That particular story was set deep inside the bush, housed in myth, that until the 1980's kept a secrecy of fact or fiction.  It turned out to be a fictional story, but the allure of the setting and the movie still holds.  

"My Brilliant Career" written in the early 1900's I think, another of those books made into a movie, set in a distinctly Australian setting, was a story of a young Australian woman who turned down love to become a writer.  It was followed up with the book "My Career Goes Bung" bung, in other words, her career dropped dead.  The Australian bush really has nothing more to do with a career than the setting I always find myself thinking of when pondering these particular books, bung careers, and if I'd have better luck back in the bush.  My daily wishful thinking is to maybe get back home one day, hear those sounds and smell the eucalyptus...  start a business as a dingo whisperer or something...

or something...
I'm just saying...

I've never read either My Brilliant Career, or its followup. Course, I always meant to read them, but it just never seemed to happen.  I began thinking about this 2 book series again, while contemplating a future, the economy, and my current circumstances.  While this book really is more about feminist ideals, a woman's desire to work in a world of constraints, of men... However, I feel I can relate, on so many levels.  Not as a writer, or a feminist - to start, I'd never make the cause of a feminist, I believe way too much in chivalry (open that dang door for me, thankyouverymuchsir) but as a graduate 2.5 years ago, who is still looking for that first foot in the door, and out of work for 13 months...the restraints of living with a lifetime of collected skills and new knowledge offcially backed up with a degree, that I am not able to put to any good use.  Living on basically nothing, with undeferable student loans to pay, is not an ideal situation.  The last of my savings were spent on the upkeep of Sallie Mae back in January. The inevitable had occured, and my greatest fears realized all at one time.  No money, and still no job.  To put it bluntly, it kinda bites. 

My career still up in the air, still wondering what the difference would have been if I had taken the job at the Nicholson Museum at Sydney University when it was offered, years ago.  I had always wanted to become involved in Archeology, that was my chance, but I hadn't finished high school yet.  The second time it was offered to me, I was about to be married, and moving to the U.S.

Instead, I enthusiastically became tied to investigations, forensics, law and other related areas covered by my degree.  However, one does begin to consider if one's career has gone quite "bung" after awhile of waiting around.  Entry level jobs are very difficult to find, I've discovered, and even to graduate at the top of the class seems to give no real guarantee that it will be any easier. 

Still it could be worse.  I know that personally.  Attending to those in need at the soup kitchen run by our church, in Dallas has shown us first hand how lucky we are to have a roof over our heads.  I've spoken to people who have been out of work only to find themselves living out of a car, or worse.  And knowing that anyone, from any economic background, could face the same fate, is alarming, really.