Two and half years ago the stars aligned in my life in a way I’m sure some people are never lucky enough to experience. The job, the house, the guy… everything just fell into place. Those stars were all pointing in one direction, and spelling out: Make the move.
The only issue was that that move was to Burragan – a 70,000 acre grazing property about 1800km from where I was currently calling home, and about 60 million kilometres towards the middle of nowhere.
You know where that big, black cliff on the edge on the world is? Yeah? It’s really not that far from there!
I had visited Burragan once before. It was the summer of 2009/10 and my boyfriend ST and I had travelled from North Queensland to visit his parents on their sheep property in far-western New South Wales. They were in the middle of buying Burragan, which was just down the road from their own place. We had a quick look at the rambling homestead which was about to become officially theirs. It did not enter my mind that I might one day be calling that house (where the ceilings were caving in and the paint job reflected an acid trip from the ‘70s) my home.
Back in the tropics and 12 months on, I’d landed a dream job in a busy TV and radio newsroom. While I wasn’t in love with Townsville as a city, I was keen to spend at least two years in my position before attempting to move on to bigger things. But my husband ST was miserable.
He’d moved to Townsville two years earlier for the sole reason of being with me. And now he was over his job, missing his family, red dirt and wide horizons. So I took a leap of love and told him, “Babe, seeing as you moved to Townsville for me. It’s now my turn to move wherever you want to go. Your choice.”
And while I envisaged selling all our possessions, purchasing some hiking boots and backpacking around Europe, ST started negotiations with his parents to join them back on the land.