Our rented light blue Toyota Camry
kicked up a tornado of red dust as we sped down the narrow dirt road
into the Outback. The cloudless sky added to the endless horizon
where red met blue. Aside from the occasional goat or donkey
wandering through the bush, we were alone. As my thoughts drifted
looking out the window, I couldn't help but wonder, “What kind of a
farm tour were we going to have with such sad looking land and
roaming goats and donkeys?”
As we drove through the rusted gate, my
husband was very excited to see abandoned vehicles and their parts
littering the yard. We knew then, that Limestone Station was our kind
of farm.
In the shearing barn, we watched as the
sheep baaed their complaints while they waited to be wrestled. The
state of the freshly shorn sheep was pitiful, like a proud lion
getting it's mane shaved off. As they were led outside to the
paddock, they seemed embarrassed to be naked.
Leaving the barn for the fresh air and
blazing February Australian summer sun, we came to a pre 1940s
flathead Ford V8 engine with aluminum heads and an aluminum intake. I
imagined we found it exactly how it looked when it was pulled from
its owner. It reminded me of home, of the exact engine that my
husband and I purchased months earlier, only ours had a truck to go
with it.
As the tour moved to their olive and
carob trees, we discovered their methods for raising produce in such
extreme conditions. Their white pots gave me goosebumps as they
described the huge poisonous spiders that could be seen by birds,
which would otherwise go unnoticed on black pots. The birds gladly
lending a sharp beak.
As I wandered through the rows of
potted plants under the black shade cloth, clicking pictures of the
interesting carob plants, I heard my husband ask about a motorcycle.
I glanced at the open garage door and saw a V8 engine on a long wheelbase with a seat and handlebars, which looked nothing like any motorcycle
I had ever seen. As I walked into the garage, the smell of oil and
junkyard rust reminded me of our garage at home. The owner detailed
his plans for his land speed motorcycle, which was quite impressive.
Even more impressive, when he explained that he would race later that
month on the salt flats of Australia.
Ten years later, we purchased our small
farm with it's black dirt, green pastures, and 83 ¾ feet tall white
pine trees framing the northwest corner of the property. It's apple
and pear trees that attract deer all year long. The pig paddocks that
permit wallowing, running, and rooting. The laying hens that run wild
through the garden in the sunshine and roost in their coop at night.
While we molded our farm this first year, we took great care in
naming it. It was only appropriate that we name our farm LimeStone
Station. We have molded our farm to meet our needs and drive our
passions just as its namesake has.
Limestone Station combined our greatest
loves: agriculture and engineering, our passions for producing food
while building something new with something old. They did all this in
the middle of the Outback with so little resources. This place was an
inspiration for my husband and I, which is why our farm is it's
namesake. Our farm is Limestone Station's baby that grew up to live
far away from it's parents and didn't want to be like them, but
realized that it had it's parents to thank for everything and started to act like them. We were on the other side of the planet
and it still felt like home. Limestone Station was where it all
started for us, and ten years later we are paying homage.
www.limestonestation.com
www.limestonestation.com
