Some of the sheep at Uncle Peter’s farm.
At White Box.
I’m not sure if it was the rooster or the magpie who first woke me up. But both of the birds were persistently boisterous: the rooster crowing the arrival of morning and the magpie singing his beautiful song. Either way, it didn’t matter: I had had a wonderfully peaceful night of sleep and it was time to get up anyway.
We were at Robert’s Uncle and Aunt’s property called White Box and for miles in any direction, all you can see are golden fields of already-been harvested wheat, parrots and cockatoos and sheep. Lots and lots of sheep. At 1,300 acres, it’s a not-so-little slice of paradise and we love spending time there.
In spite of the rain in the afternoon, we drove out across the paddocks, following after huge kangaroos and countless parrots and cockatoos. And then that evening, there was a big family BBQ. It felt like quintessential Australia.
Shane cooking up the sausages.
Uncle Peter demonstrates how to crack a stock whip and break the speed of sound.
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