The first thing that the four of us did after breakfast was hop into the car and drive over to a vacationing neighbor’s house to feed their horses. To Caroline’s and my surprise, whoever this neighbor is has an enclosed house. Isn’t it funny that, after only three days of WWOOFing, the sight of something as seemingly banal as an enclosed living structure could catch our attention? Granted, it’s a small converted barn with exterior walls lined with ridged metal panels, but it has big windows, and it’s shockingly stylish and clean on the inside; the interior reminded Caroline and I of a chic urban studio apartment. (Note: although I've been itching to try living on a commune or intentional community at some point in the future, my pesky newly-recognized appreciation of domestication makes me slightly wary about doing so...)I’m not sure why Ned and Dee brought us along because they didn’t have us help them out with anything, even when we asked if we could. I anxiously thought to myself that maybe they think we would steal something if left alone at their house, but I quickly dismissed this as being ridiculous. Maybe they just wanted to give us a new experience and new things to see, I reasoned. Caroline distracted herself by taking pictures of everything, including old tires, rusting farm equipment, and discarded cans. When Dee saw this, she seemed vaguely annoyed. “Look at that—taking pictures of TINS!” I wasn’t sure where this comment came from because, right before we had left the house, she’d asked, “Got your cameras, girls?” as if she was expecting us to take a ton of photos.
I laughed nervously and said, “Oh, you know…Caroline has her ‘artistic visions’…” It was at that moment that I realized just how worried I am about Dee's impression of Caroline and me. I feel like I have to walk on eggshells around her a bit, and it’s a very disconcerting feeling.
What Dee doesn’t seem to realize is that things that are ordinary for her—a shelf lined with various tractor fuel containers, a pile of saddles, perfectly stacked bales of hay—are out of the ordinary and interesting for us. Either she is bad at seeing other people’s perspectives, or she’s disapproving of our “city people” naiveté. Regardless, she is starting to get on my nerves.
For instance, back at home a few hours later—when Caroline and I speedily finished digging the trench we’d been slaving over the day before—Dee asked us, “Done already? It certainly took you a lot longer yesterday, didn’t it?” Caroline forced a chuckle and replied, “Well, we did most of the work yesterday.” Dee could have said something like, “Wow…that was fast. Great job!” But she didn’t. Now, it’s not like Caroline and I are 5-year-olds who need to be babied and showered with constant praise, but is it so hard to be positive even 0.3% of the time? Apparently, the answer is yes. (But I guess I should take this experience as a lesson for ME in seeing other people’s perspectives, because she is probably the type who quietly shows approval in little ways that I am not good at noticing because I am vociferously emotive and passionately affectionate by nature.)
Anyway, after we had finished digging our trench of wonders and burying the sprinkler hose once and for all, Dee asked us to rake leaves and then toss them in the back of their beat-up “ute” (a.k.a. pick-up truck). “We’re going to use the leaves for mulch around the base of the avocado trees,” she said.
What Dee doesn’t seem to realize is that things that are ordinary for her—a shelf lined with various tractor fuel containers, a pile of saddles, perfectly stacked bales of hay—are out of the ordinary and interesting for us. Either she is bad at seeing other people’s perspectives, or she’s disapproving of our “city people” naiveté. Regardless, she is starting to get on my nerves.For instance, back at home a few hours later—when Caroline and I speedily finished digging the trench we’d been slaving over the day before—Dee asked us, “Done already? It certainly took you a lot longer yesterday, didn’t it?” Caroline forced a chuckle and replied, “Well, we did most of the work yesterday.” Dee could have said something like, “Wow…that was fast. Great job!” But she didn’t. Now, it’s not like Caroline and I are 5-year-olds who need to be babied and showered with constant praise, but is it so hard to be positive even 0.3% of the time? Apparently, the answer is yes. (But I guess I should take this experience as a lesson for ME in seeing other people’s perspectives, because she is probably the type who quietly shows approval in little ways that I am not good at noticing because I am vociferously emotive and passionately affectionate by nature.)
Anyway, after we had finished digging our trench of wonders and burying the sprinkler hose once and for all, Dee asked us to rake leaves and then toss them in the back of their beat-up “ute” (a.k.a. pick-up truck). “We’re going to use the leaves for mulch around the base of the avocado trees,” she said.
Caroline and I spent a couple of hours raking up quite a bit of the leaves from around Ned and Dee's tool shed; we were piling leaves into a wheelbarrow, pushing it over to the ute, and working together to lift it upside down so its contents would spill messily into the bed of the truck. We repeated this action a countless number of times, and I thought we were doing a pretty good job. Caroline and I were enjoying our task because it was relatively simple and allowed us to engage in conversation; because Caroline had devoured Coelho’s “The Alchemist” in its entirety the day before and I was in the process of finishing it, we talked about destiny, our dreams, and our “Personal Legends” (a term Coelho uses in the book).
“I am not really sure what I would call my Personal Legend,” I said, pushing a slew of dead eucalyptus leaves into a pile with my rake. “Right now, I would say that it’s to travel and have a life of adventure—an ‘examined life’ in which I am constantly assessing how I’m living and trying to make a difference in the world. But all I know is that, for the past couple of years, I’ve been saying the same thing: I want to lead a life that my grandkids would be impressed by.”
“I am not really sure what I would call my Personal Legend,” I said, pushing a slew of dead eucalyptus leaves into a pile with my rake. “Right now, I would say that it’s to travel and have a life of adventure—an ‘examined life’ in which I am constantly assessing how I’m living and trying to make a difference in the world. But all I know is that, for the past couple of years, I’ve been saying the same thing: I want to lead a life that my grandkids would be impressed by.”
“It’s great to know that we are both in touch with our desires,” Caroline responded happily. (She has been wanting to come to Australia and SCUBA dive since she was 15 years old, and after six painful months of sitting behind a desk wearing cardigans and slaving away as an “office coordinator”—a.k.a. administrative assistant—she’s finally doing it.)
“Yeah, but it would be nice to know what my ultimate career calling is, although I should probably just let life reveal it to me over time and enjoy the journey,” I said, “Or maybe I will have a variety of different ‘career callings’ as my priorities change.” I thought about how I have been carefully and rather obsessively documenting this WWOOFing adventure. “I could be cool to be a writer, but the only problem is that, right now, I’m constantly thinking about how I’m going to describe something as it’s happening instead of living the experience. That’s not what I want for my life. I want to be to fully present in each moment. I feel like that’s the best way to have peace…”
Almost too coincidentally, as soon as I had begun to utter the phrase “peace of mind,” Caroline let out a bloodcurdling scream and jumped back in terror. There, on the ground beneath her feet, was a thin black snake, uncovered from its resting place beneath the leaves by Caroline’s rake. I had no clue if it was poisonous or not, but luckily, it calmly slithered away from her, disappearing under a log. Still, I felt so sorry for her, and I wished it had been me who’d crossed paths with the reptile; coming into contact with a snake in the Australian bush was Caroline’s worst nightmare.
As soon as the snake was out of sight, Caroline and I noticed Dee standing next to us. “There was a snake! Did you see it?” Caroline asked breathlessly, pointing with a shaking hand towards the log. Dee seemed unmoved. “Yeah?” she replied coolly, looking Caroline dead in the eye as if to say, “Yeah? So what?” I could tell Caroline felt belittled. This woman seems to have absolutely no compassion for the way other people feel, I thought angrily. Just because SHE’S not scared of snakes doesn’t mean that it’s silly to be afraid of them. We’ve told her multiple times that Caroline is terrified of getting bitten by a snake here!
Then, Dee asked us, “How many ute-loads have you done?” It was obvious that she was expecting us to say that we had already filled the truck with leaves at least once and had mulched a tree or two. “Just this one,” Caroline answered matter-of-factly, bravely not using the apologetic tone I might have used. But neither of us were prepared for what would happen next. “WHAT? JUST ONE?” Dee said hotly, her hands landing immediately on her hips. “I thought you’d at least be on your second load by now! Well, I better help you,” she sputtered. She picked up a rake and began clawing furiously at the ground, as if needing to make up for lost time due to the incompetent WWOOFers.
Now, OK. Caroline and I had been chatting while we worked, yes. But it’s not like we were sitting around doing nothing. Granted, we probably weren’t raking at the rate that slaves under whip and chain would have moved…but we aren’t slaves. We aren’t even paid workers. We are volunteers helping out two aging farm owners with bad backs. And, frankly, I thought we had been working pretty diligently. “Well, there are a lot of leaves in that truck,” I protested, “Ned helped us smash them down to make room for more, is all!”
But Dee didn’t say anything. Instead, she finished raking a pile and quickly and efficiently scooped half of it up with her bare hands. She marched over to the wheelbarrow, emptied the leaves into it, pushed it over to the ute, and effortlessly lifted the relatively heavy wheelbarrow onto the bed of the truck to dump its contents. As she went back to grab the second half of her pile, I decided to follow suit and began to scoop up huge mounds of leaves in my arms. It was certainly faster that the chopstick-style method I had been using before, which involved squishing two rakes together to capture a modest bundle of leaves—but that was how Dee had originally instructed me to collect the future mulch. Regardless, I wanted to prove to her that I wasn’t just a pathetic little American city slicker, so I picked up the pace in a big, big way. When I brought my first solo wheelbarrow load over to the ute, I struggled to get the wheelbarrow on top of the truck bed. But I did it, and I hurriedly pushed out all the leaves in one fell swoop.
When the back of the truck was filled to the brim, Caroline opened the right-hand door and hopped into the driver’s seat; I slid into the passenger’s seat next to her. “Do you even know how to start the ute?” Dee asked doubtfully. “Yes, Ned showed me earlier,” Caroline answered.
Now, Caroline learned how to drive stick—and got used to driving on the left side of the road—when she lived in South Africa for six months; however, starting this particular vehicle is tricky because you have to do some special ritual with the “glow plug” before the motor will come to life. Anyway, Caroline couldn’t manage to start the thing on her first couple of tries, and I cringed. I was really hoping that we could have proved Dee wrong.
Because we were taking so long, Dee came over to the window on the driver’s side and demonstrated again how the glow plug worked. When we finally heard the engine putter into action, Dee walked away, assuming we would follow her towards the trees we were to mulch. As soon as she was out of earshot, I cried out, “What is her problem?!” “I know,” replied Caroline miserably. We drove in sullen silence over to Dee, who was motioning for us to stop in front of the line of six avocado trees.
The three of us began to unload piles of leaves and drop them under the first tree—which also happens to be the largest in the row—and Dee instructed us to cover the ground all the way out to the “drip line.” “The roots go just as far out as the branches do,” she said. To my amazement, the entire ute-load ended up only being enough to mulch one tree. When the back of the truck was completely empty, Dee told us, “Come in for lunch. I’ve already made it.”
“Yeah, but it would be nice to know what my ultimate career calling is, although I should probably just let life reveal it to me over time and enjoy the journey,” I said, “Or maybe I will have a variety of different ‘career callings’ as my priorities change.” I thought about how I have been carefully and rather obsessively documenting this WWOOFing adventure. “I could be cool to be a writer, but the only problem is that, right now, I’m constantly thinking about how I’m going to describe something as it’s happening instead of living the experience. That’s not what I want for my life. I want to be to fully present in each moment. I feel like that’s the best way to have peace…”
Almost too coincidentally, as soon as I had begun to utter the phrase “peace of mind,” Caroline let out a bloodcurdling scream and jumped back in terror. There, on the ground beneath her feet, was a thin black snake, uncovered from its resting place beneath the leaves by Caroline’s rake. I had no clue if it was poisonous or not, but luckily, it calmly slithered away from her, disappearing under a log. Still, I felt so sorry for her, and I wished it had been me who’d crossed paths with the reptile; coming into contact with a snake in the Australian bush was Caroline’s worst nightmare.
As soon as the snake was out of sight, Caroline and I noticed Dee standing next to us. “There was a snake! Did you see it?” Caroline asked breathlessly, pointing with a shaking hand towards the log. Dee seemed unmoved. “Yeah?” she replied coolly, looking Caroline dead in the eye as if to say, “Yeah? So what?” I could tell Caroline felt belittled. This woman seems to have absolutely no compassion for the way other people feel, I thought angrily. Just because SHE’S not scared of snakes doesn’t mean that it’s silly to be afraid of them. We’ve told her multiple times that Caroline is terrified of getting bitten by a snake here!
Then, Dee asked us, “How many ute-loads have you done?” It was obvious that she was expecting us to say that we had already filled the truck with leaves at least once and had mulched a tree or two. “Just this one,” Caroline answered matter-of-factly, bravely not using the apologetic tone I might have used. But neither of us were prepared for what would happen next. “WHAT? JUST ONE?” Dee said hotly, her hands landing immediately on her hips. “I thought you’d at least be on your second load by now! Well, I better help you,” she sputtered. She picked up a rake and began clawing furiously at the ground, as if needing to make up for lost time due to the incompetent WWOOFers.
Now, OK. Caroline and I had been chatting while we worked, yes. But it’s not like we were sitting around doing nothing. Granted, we probably weren’t raking at the rate that slaves under whip and chain would have moved…but we aren’t slaves. We aren’t even paid workers. We are volunteers helping out two aging farm owners with bad backs. And, frankly, I thought we had been working pretty diligently. “Well, there are a lot of leaves in that truck,” I protested, “Ned helped us smash them down to make room for more, is all!”
When the back of the truck was filled to the brim, Caroline opened the right-hand door and hopped into the driver’s seat; I slid into the passenger’s seat next to her. “Do you even know how to start the ute?” Dee asked doubtfully. “Yes, Ned showed me earlier,” Caroline answered.Now, Caroline learned how to drive stick—and got used to driving on the left side of the road—when she lived in South Africa for six months; however, starting this particular vehicle is tricky because you have to do some special ritual with the “glow plug” before the motor will come to life. Anyway, Caroline couldn’t manage to start the thing on her first couple of tries, and I cringed. I was really hoping that we could have proved Dee wrong.
Because we were taking so long, Dee came over to the window on the driver’s side and demonstrated again how the glow plug worked. When we finally heard the engine putter into action, Dee walked away, assuming we would follow her towards the trees we were to mulch. As soon as she was out of earshot, I cried out, “What is her problem?!” “I know,” replied Caroline miserably. We drove in sullen silence over to Dee, who was motioning for us to stop in front of the line of six avocado trees.
The three of us began to unload piles of leaves and drop them under the first tree—which also happens to be the largest in the row—and Dee instructed us to cover the ground all the way out to the “drip line.” “The roots go just as far out as the branches do,” she said. To my amazement, the entire ute-load ended up only being enough to mulch one tree. When the back of the truck was completely empty, Dee told us, “Come in for lunch. I’ve already made it.”
Ah, so maybe that’s why she’s upset, I thought. Lunch was waiting, and it's our fault that it’s getting cold. But, not saying anything, we followed her into the house. Caroline and I sat down at the table while Dee went to fetch Ned, and Caroline whispered, “I think I’m going to ask her why she acted like that.” I nodded my head, impressed at Caroline’s courage.
Sure enough, when Dee came back and began spooning food onto four dishes, Caroline gently asked, “Dee, did Janel and I do something wrong?” Dee stopped preparing the plates and stared at Caroline. I quickly piped up, “It’s just that you seemed really frustrated or angry with us out there.” “Were you disappointed with us?” Caroline continued.
Sure enough, when Dee came back and began spooning food onto four dishes, Caroline gently asked, “Dee, did Janel and I do something wrong?” Dee stopped preparing the plates and stared at Caroline. I quickly piped up, “It’s just that you seemed really frustrated or angry with us out there.” “Were you disappointed with us?” Caroline continued.
“Yeah, I was,” Dee said matter-of-factly, not seeming uncomfortable or taken aback. “I thought you would have been further along than you were. But I guess some people are not as fast at raking as me.” Caroline kind of laughed, trying to lighten the mood, and then replied, “Oh…OK. You do have more raking experience than us…” But I felt I had to throw in, “Dee, sorry if we’re not going as fast as you would like, but we just want you to know that we’re really trying.”
Dee just shrugged. “I thought you would have gotten more done than you did is all.” As she turned her attention back to getting lunch on the table, Caroline and I exchanged frustrated glances. FINE, I thought to myself, But you know what, Dee? I am sick of being nice and sweet and appreciative when you always seem to respond to us with negativity and eye rolls. Therefore, I am simply not going to say anything at all.
For the rest of lunch, I sat virtually in silence. I watched the sunlight playing in the trees or stared at the ground, unable to participate in conversation. But Caroline, ever the trooper, tried to continue to make pleasant conversation as if nothing had happened. I wished I could have had the patience or energy to do the same, but unfortunately, I didn't.
As soon as everyone was done eating, I stood up and smashed my hat onto my head. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Dee was watching me as I began to put on my gardening gloves, and I thought, hopefully, Maybe she is searching my face to see how I’m feeling because she feels bad for overreacting... Instead, she said, “Hold on there! What are you doing?” I looked up. “Well, I just thought Caroline and I should get a little more raking done.” “But we’re going to take you girls swimming!” She responded incredulously, as if she couldn’t believe I thought we should do more work.
I was totally confused. I couldn’t understand why she thought we didn’t rake fast enough, but then didn’t want us to keep raking. This is the dichotomy that is Dee, I’m beginning to realize. Sometimes she is subtly gracious, and then other times she is passive-aggressive and rather judgmental.
An hour later, the four of us were sitting next to a river just outside of their property. It was not as impressive as the one we went to the other day; this was just your ordinary creek, although it was still beautiful. We first jumped into the water to get some of the day’s dirt off of us, and then we all lounged by the riverbank to read and soak up a little afternoon sun. I was trying hard to relax, but after reading and rereading the same page of “The Alchemist” a few times, I realized that I was having trouble focusing because I still felt ill at ease. A neighboring couple and their young son showed up to spend time at the creek, and as Ned and Dee talked to them, Caroline and I took advantage of their distractedness by quietly and officially agreeing to stay only one week (instead of the two we had originally planned).
When we first got into the car to head home, we were all quiet. I was watching the eucalyptus trees fly by the window when Caroline broke the silence. “Well, your neighbors’ son is quite cute!” Dee shook her head. “Yeah, but he’s a spoiled one, he is!” She proceeded to tell us that, in her opinion, the couple pays too much attention to him, especially when he is interrupting their conversations with other adults. Ned seemed to agree with this, as he added, “My uncle taught me that children should be seen and not heard.” Caroline and I, who are all about fostering expression and valuing marginalized voices, exchanged horrified glances. I mean, I could see their point…but their perspective reminded me a little too much of the evil headmistress from “Mathilda” at that moment. I suddenly felt laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation bubbling inside of me, so I squeezed Caroline’s hand to try and suppress it. We both sat looking straight ahead, avoiding one another's gaze for fear of cracking up.
Back at Ned and Dee's, I started emailing a couple of farms near Port Douglas—an area that Caroline and I have been wanting to explore—to see if they might need WWOOFers any time soon. One couple, Judith and Davvyd, told me a while back that they could probably take us around the middle of October (Caroline and I had really been hoping to work with them because Davvyd likes to give his WWOOFers painting lessons and enjoys “engaging in deep conversations,” according to his entry in the WWOOF book). Unfortunately, however, Davvyd emailed me almost immediately saying that they could not longer take WWOOFers at this time. I was disappointed, but I thought, It doesn’t matter—Caroline and I can look for other farms to stay at, and even if we can’t find anything, we can go on our own national park adventures until our SCUBA class on the 22nd of October.
When I walked out of their “office,” Ned and Dee were nowhere to be found. Caroline had just pulled a couple of our beers out of the fridge for us, so we sat drinking them and talking for about an hour before Dee finally came storming into the house. She was holding her back and wincing, and Caroline, trying to be nice, said, “Is your back hurting very much?” “Yeah, it does!” Dee barked. “We were just down at the river shoveling sand for the water pump while YOU were on the computers!” We were both taken aback, and said nothing. Again, I had no idea why she was acting like that. She hadn’t asked us to help, nor did she even mention that they were going to go shovel; if she had, we of course would have volunteered to assist them. But before I could think of something to say in reply, she sat down on the couch and started to watch TV (yes, they receive TV channels, albeit not too clearly, out in the bush). Ned came in not too long later, and he also looked like he was in pain. Caroline saw that I was staring at the back of Dee’s head while shaking my own head in frustration, and she murmured, “Pain can make anyone grouchy, Janel. I, too, get grouchy when I hurt. Don’t take it personally!”
Dee just shrugged. “I thought you would have gotten more done than you did is all.” As she turned her attention back to getting lunch on the table, Caroline and I exchanged frustrated glances. FINE, I thought to myself, But you know what, Dee? I am sick of being nice and sweet and appreciative when you always seem to respond to us with negativity and eye rolls. Therefore, I am simply not going to say anything at all.
For the rest of lunch, I sat virtually in silence. I watched the sunlight playing in the trees or stared at the ground, unable to participate in conversation. But Caroline, ever the trooper, tried to continue to make pleasant conversation as if nothing had happened. I wished I could have had the patience or energy to do the same, but unfortunately, I didn't.
As soon as everyone was done eating, I stood up and smashed my hat onto my head. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Dee was watching me as I began to put on my gardening gloves, and I thought, hopefully, Maybe she is searching my face to see how I’m feeling because she feels bad for overreacting... Instead, she said, “Hold on there! What are you doing?” I looked up. “Well, I just thought Caroline and I should get a little more raking done.” “But we’re going to take you girls swimming!” She responded incredulously, as if she couldn’t believe I thought we should do more work.
I was totally confused. I couldn’t understand why she thought we didn’t rake fast enough, but then didn’t want us to keep raking. This is the dichotomy that is Dee, I’m beginning to realize. Sometimes she is subtly gracious, and then other times she is passive-aggressive and rather judgmental.
An hour later, the four of us were sitting next to a river just outside of their property. It was not as impressive as the one we went to the other day; this was just your ordinary creek, although it was still beautiful. We first jumped into the water to get some of the day’s dirt off of us, and then we all lounged by the riverbank to read and soak up a little afternoon sun. I was trying hard to relax, but after reading and rereading the same page of “The Alchemist” a few times, I realized that I was having trouble focusing because I still felt ill at ease. A neighboring couple and their young son showed up to spend time at the creek, and as Ned and Dee talked to them, Caroline and I took advantage of their distractedness by quietly and officially agreeing to stay only one week (instead of the two we had originally planned).
 |
Back at Ned and Dee's, I started emailing a couple of farms near Port Douglas—an area that Caroline and I have been wanting to explore—to see if they might need WWOOFers any time soon. One couple, Judith and Davvyd, told me a while back that they could probably take us around the middle of October (Caroline and I had really been hoping to work with them because Davvyd likes to give his WWOOFers painting lessons and enjoys “engaging in deep conversations,” according to his entry in the WWOOF book). Unfortunately, however, Davvyd emailed me almost immediately saying that they could not longer take WWOOFers at this time. I was disappointed, but I thought, It doesn’t matter—Caroline and I can look for other farms to stay at, and even if we can’t find anything, we can go on our own national park adventures until our SCUBA class on the 22nd of October.
When I walked out of their “office,” Ned and Dee were nowhere to be found. Caroline had just pulled a couple of our beers out of the fridge for us, so we sat drinking them and talking for about an hour before Dee finally came storming into the house. She was holding her back and wincing, and Caroline, trying to be nice, said, “Is your back hurting very much?” “Yeah, it does!” Dee barked. “We were just down at the river shoveling sand for the water pump while YOU were on the computers!” We were both taken aback, and said nothing. Again, I had no idea why she was acting like that. She hadn’t asked us to help, nor did she even mention that they were going to go shovel; if she had, we of course would have volunteered to assist them. But before I could think of something to say in reply, she sat down on the couch and started to watch TV (yes, they receive TV channels, albeit not too clearly, out in the bush). Ned came in not too long later, and he also looked like he was in pain. Caroline saw that I was staring at the back of Dee’s head while shaking my own head in frustration, and she murmured, “Pain can make anyone grouchy, Janel. I, too, get grouchy when I hurt. Don’t take it personally!”
Bless her heart.
I didn’t say anything in response to Caroline’s words of wisdom, although I appreciated them; instead, I thought about how I am never going to have to see Dee again in my life after Monday. What she thinks of us is not my problem as long as Caroline and I are being as decent and helpful as we possibly can, which I believed we had been. No matter what she thinks, I contemplated, And no matter what happens with this whole experience, I am in the process of living out my Personal Legend—and I’m damn happy about it.
I didn’t say anything in response to Caroline’s words of wisdom, although I appreciated them; instead, I thought about how I am never going to have to see Dee again in my life after Monday. What she thinks of us is not my problem as long as Caroline and I are being as decent and helpful as we possibly can, which I believed we had been. No matter what she thinks, I contemplated, And no matter what happens with this whole experience, I am in the process of living out my Personal Legend—and I’m damn happy about it.
