Pickup trucks and cigarettes

My loves,

Wow, today started early.

Just before 5am I heard the deep roll of my grandfathers voice, “Shit I’m late” I think to myself, without comprehension that anything could be late at 5am on a cold winters morning.

Boots on over my little harem cotton trousers. Jacket on. No make up.

Juicy Tube lipgloss and YSL foundation is obsolete at this time.

Into the truck for the staff pick up. There’s soft mist over the river, frost on the ground, the time says 4:57 and the temperature reads -4c. Eh eh eh?



After setting the guys up, Grandpa and I head into the kitchen where my Momma and Uncle have made a big ‘ole pot of porridge. Perfect. After a quick wash, I set up for a morning of work from home while Momma and my Uncle see to Granny.

Lunchtime is hot, around 25c. “You ready Lady Jane?” Grandpa asks while throwing a baseball cap my way. We jump in the cruiser and head off into the bush. The game animals are pretty darn beautiful. On a few occasions, we get stuck on the dirt tracks, but that’s what you have 4xwd for. Easy. Grandpa finds a great use for me while we’re driving between teams of staff while we’re cutting back 60tonnes of sugar cane, while he’s focused on the driving, I’m his perfect cigarette lighter.

The farm is endless, it takes hours  to drive around from field to field. The animals are gorgeous, poachers are discouraged. It's a nice life, a life of calm. I sit on one of the peaks with Grandpa looking down, all that greenery below us is his office. Now that's pretty cool.

As the evening falls and we sit talking into the night, the horror stories raise their nasty head. Threats from locals and squatters on the farm are rife. There's a huge bushknife which never leaves my Grandfather or Uncles side. The squatters occupied an area when it was built, so as a result, they get a compound with access road and all sorts. Seems a bit of a piss take.