The Farmer’s holidays in hell

STORIES FROM THE SOIL: The most people in his industry, I’m sure, The Farmer isn’t particularly good at taking holidays or days off work.

NewsMail editor and columnist Christina Ongley. . Picture: Max Fleet

LIKE most people in his industry, I'm sure, The Farmer isn't particularly good at taking holidays or days off work.

It's just about impossible to plan weekends away from any distance because of the possibility the weather may interfere and mean we can't go away after all.

The alternative is we go ahead with the trip and he either spends the whole time away worrying about what's happening on the farm in his absence, making it impossible for either of us to enjoy the time away, or he convinces himself it's okay to go - only to return and rue that he ever allowed himself the time off.

All of which amounts to one big pile of guilt for yours truly.

For this reason, we made our peace a long time ago with the idea of me holidaying without him when necessary, but it's always bothered me that he doesn't give himself much of a break.

Nonetheless, there have been a couple of occasions on which he's managed to drag himself away for things he either really wants to do or considers vitally important. Problem is, thanks to all our wild weather recently, he's started to convince himself that he's cursed.

This started back on Australia Day, when all of our flood troubles started - we just didn't know it yet.

Stuck with an all-terrain vehicle that no auto electrician could figure out and get going, The Farmer decided he had to drive out to Gatton that day and buy a second-hand replacement before his entire property was taken over by giant-sized weeds.

"Don't go," I pleaded with him. "The weather's bloody awful and I'm not comfortable about you being out in it."

"Nah," he assured me. "There's no rain out west. I'll be fine. I'll just head out to pick it up, drive into Brisbane and stay the night with an old uni mate, then I'll be back in the morning. Promise."

Well, we all know what happened there. Tomorrow morning turned into four days later. And all that happened as he drove himself crazy wondering about how the farm had fared in the torrential rain and gale-force wind while he was stuck hours away.

Then, last weekend, he went down to Sydney for his favourite annual music festival because tickets to the Brisbane event sold out ridiculously quickly. Packing on Friday before driving down to Brisbane to meet a friend and fly down together, he was still uncertain about whether he should be going, given the predicted rain.

"Just go and have a good time," I told him. "Forget about the farm for a couple of days and come back refreshed on Monday."

Of course, he's still in Brisbane as you read this, thanks to highway closures.

I dared mention our upcoming plans to spend some downtime in Burrum Heads in the next few months so we can get a break together before becoming first-time parents - which was his suggestion.

He baulked at the idea all of a sudden.

"The way I'm going, we won't get back," he said.

Originally published as The Farmer’s holidays in hell