The good years and the bad years. A good crop was hard earned, but so too was a bad year. You still did the same work ploughing the paddocks, and planting the seeds, but if the weather was unkind, there was absolutely nothing you could do. Crops failed. So talk of the weather was always a topic of conversation and often consternation.

I remember when Dad would sow the wheat. The little green shoots would come up and change the earth coloured paddocks into a velvety green. The kangaroos liked the look and the taste of those little tender shoots and came in large numbers to nibble away early in the morning and at dusk. I sometimes went with Dad and he would shoot at them. As much to scare them away.

Harvesting was a busy time. Dad would drive the truck with the wheat bins to the Bogan Gate silos. They would weigh and test the wheat, then it would disappear into the massive silo.

After a percentage of the grain was bagged ready for sowing the following year, the fallow remaining in the paddocks was burned off. This was a thrilling evening for a latent pyromaniac (like me!). Mum used to channel my fire-lighting tendencies by getting me to light the combustion stove each morning.

From a safe distance, looking at fields in the shadowy light of dusk flickering with tiny flames, licking up the dry wheat stalks, and leaving the paddocks smelling burnt, and looking strangely ‘otherworldly’.

The paddocks were then ready for the cycle to begin again next year, and we were ready for our annual holiday in Sydney.