Lately we've been heading out for adventures at the weekend in the age old effort of tiring the children out. On this occasion we went for a wander through a nearby orange orchard and were lucky enough to meet the owner of a neighbouring farm.
As we approached he was raking up freshly mowed grass to feed his cows. With the rain clouds approaching paused for moment to tell us his story.
At the age of 16, Peter left school to help his sickly father on the farm. Since then he has worked this very same patch of land, providing for his family and the many animals they have raised and slaughtered over the years. With his ageing arms raised, he signalled to a distant meadow that once housed chooks followed by a mandarin orchard that had recently been removed, remnants of dead branches still on the ground.
As he quickly told tales of long ago, Dave and I listened wide eyed and full of wonder. There he was, living our dream just moments down the road.
On our way home we dreamt of a parcel of land to call our own while orange juice dried on our hands and made them all sticky.
Same time last year