PetTeet Park - Workaway Near Perth

Arriving at the airport in Perth, the workaway host gave me instructions for how to meet him outside, telling me to simply look for the bright red Ute (pronounced yoot). Easy enough if you know what a Ute is. When I asked a nearby traveler, they made the obvious statement - you aren't from here, are you!

When I finally climbed the red UTility vehicle, aka Ute, I met Kevin, my host. We had spoken during a video call two months earlier and I had felt confident it would be a good stay. As the actual arrival date neared, I had become a bit less sure and found myself wondering what I was getting into. "Close to Perth" turned out to be nearly an hour and a half southwest, in the middle of sparse farmlands with the closest town 30 minutes away by car. When Kevin stopped at a grocery store the edge of Perth and asked if I needed any food items, I really had no idea how to answer. My two previous workaway stays, one in remote Costa Rica and one in Xela, Guatemala, had not prepared me for the question. By the end of the three months in Australia, I would know exactly what food I would want to have on hand. In that moment, my desire to not impose was stronger than any concern over not getting fed. 

Pam, Kevin's wife, met us at the house. She was moving between the many tasks that kept her busy every day. I was shown to the building that housed workaways and met two people who were scurrying to move belongings out of the room I was to occupy. They weren't that keen to have me join them. Two other guests who were camping in the yard greeted me when I get back to the house. 

There was a quick dinner, we watched some sports on TV and made a plan for the following morning. As I wandered outside to go back to the annex, I looked up to see the milky way shining across a dark night sky. It was phenomenal. There was very little moonlight and the sky was clear. For the next three nights, I would go outside, just to stare up into the sky. 

Day one on the farm started with a freshly made cappuccino from Kevin along with a proper farm breakfast of eggs, fried tomatoes, toast, bacon and lots of conversation. The two maremma sheep dogs that were allowed in the house took a liking to me, to the surprise of the hosts. The dogs, while extremely loyal to the family, were known to bark relentlessly at strangers.

After breakfast, we started the daily chores. Pam showed me how to drive the RTV out to the paddock to feed the 100 or so free range chickens and collect eggs. This chore was done morning and afternoon to keep up with the eggs. Then we drove over to bottle feed the baby lambs and feed the piglets, also twice daily tasks, then a short drive to let other chickens out to forage and give carrots to the donkeys. 

With the basic chores completed, we were on to the long list of tasks that were waiting for attention. That first day, the list included burying a dead hen along with a dead lamb, removing a skeletal rat from the Kubota tractor cab, scraping several inches of shit out of the pullet pens and collecting firewood. Taken out of context, that doesn't sound nearly as fun as it actually was. Experiencing even theses aspects of farm life was exhilerating.

It was cold. It was chaotic. I was having a blast! Dinner that night was a random collection of leftovers, followed by friendly conversation and more lessons in the rules of cricket or Aussie rules football, while we watch sports on TV, a pattern that was repeated each weeknight evening. 

In the morning, I learned how to prep the lamb bottles and set off to complete the daily chores on my own. I learned about gate latches, how to keep the paddock Maremma, Ruth, from escaping when I was struggling with the gate, and how to keep my hat on when I drove the RTV across the farm. The sound of the galahs in the trees, the sight of the rainbow lorikeets in the sky and the wide-open expanse of field and sky opened my heart and lifted my spirits. 

Back at the farmhouse, I asked Pam for my next set of tasks. There is always so much work waiting to be done on a farm that the days passed quickly. Learning how things were done was easy because both Pam and Kevin gave clear instructions and seemed to have a lot of tolerance for good effort over perfect execution. There was no shortage of tasks for anyone willing to do the work. 

I had commented early in our communications that I wanted to drive the tractor. My hosts made that a priority when they could have easily ignored the request to spend time on more urgent issues. A rat had died in the cab of the tractor so first order of business was to remove everything possible and clean the cab to get rid of the droppings and the smell. It was a big job because the rat had made a home in the cab and had been eating plastic and peeing in hard-to-reach places. 

Pam hooked up the forage cutter to the tractor after a short struggle with the PTO. Behind that, the collection wagon was attached. The idea was that the forager would throw the cut grasses into the collector, making it possible to gather the forage and move it, all in one pass. Unfortunately, the forager was missing one of its three belts and didn't have enough power to shoot the wet grass far enough into the collector. Pam couldn't go 50 feet without the grasses piling up and falling out onto the ground. 

Me at the helm of the tractor

I offered to climb into the wagon and push the grass back to keep it from overflowing. We worked out the kinks and succeeded in delivery several loads to the hungry cows. In their eagerness to get to the fresh grass, the animals were not at all shy about crowding the wagon I was trying to manage. Not knowing their temperament, I found it intimidating to be surrounded by a growing crowd of pushing bovines who outnumbered and outweighed me. Pam's reassurance was reinforced each time we delivered a new load of grass but the sense of alarm never quite went away. 

Pam offered to let me drive the Kubota. It was intimidating to sit in the driver’s seat, trying to remember which controls did what. Pam had explained it all three times, patiently waiting for me to touch each control as I memorized the instructions. 

When I eventually got everything set and started to move forward, Pam stood to the side, recording the event in video on my phone. Moving so slowly, I was thrilled to be driving the tractor, mowing the field and collecting the forage. Such a silly small thing, yet it felt great!

I had arrived on a Monday. Tuesday, I learned that my stay coincided with the annual canola event. Pam and Kevin had bought the 100-acre hobby farm after years of managing a motel and bar somewhere in the middle of Western Australia. The term "hobby farm" and 100 acres did not quite line up; 100 acres, 150 chickens, 50 cows, 4 alpacas, 2 donkeys and dozens of sheep meant unending work every day of every week all year long. On any given week, their retirement was anything but relaxed. Six weekends out of the year, the pace was catapulted into frenetic. On these weekends, 500 - 900 visitors paid a fee to go into the canola fields, pet some farm animals and picnic in the country. The income from these six weekends was the only regular income the farm generated. My stay would include two of those six weekends, adding even more diversity to the already interesting stay. 

Friday afternoons were spent preparing for the guests that would flood through on the Saturday and Sunday. We cleaned the port-a-potties, put fresh bedding in the animal pens and herded the alpacas, donkeys and a few sheep from the outer paddocks into the petting zoo pens. 

On Saturday morning, I was assigned to the area where eggs, local olive oil, handmade soap along with a few other craft items were sold. I would be working with the 12-year-old grandson and his friend, both from Perth. Knowing about my background in sales and marketing, Kevin thought I might be able to teach the boys how to sell. 

The gate opened promptly at 10 am, allowing a long, steady line of cars to roll onto the farm road and into the few acres used for parking during the event. Still struggling to believe people would pay $15 each to walk through the field of flowers, I watched in amazement as the parking area began to fill. 

The weekend passed quickly. There was always something to do, selling, answering questions about the farm, helping little ones pet the lambs and watching hundreds of people dressed in all sorts of attire amble though the canola fields. 

Walk to look for kangaroos on the way to Fremantle

Wednesday morning, Kevin loaned me a car to go see the area.  With a bit of trepidation, I left the farm, navigating to a trail that promised a good chance of sighting the elusive kangaroo. As much as people talk about kangaroos in Australia, I had yet to see a single wild kangaroo. I was beginning to doubt their existence.

The app Alltrails once again lead me to the trailhead. Alltrails has been accurate in every country I've used it in and continues to amaze me. The short hikes were okay, the weather grey and cool. I didn’t see any kangaroos; I didn’t see any other people on the trails. I did see wildflowers and red-tailed black cockatoos. It is on this kind of remote trail when I sometimes wonder about traveling alone. The trick is to find the balance between cautious awareness and adventuring. 

By mid afternoon, I found myself in Fremantle. The buildings reflected its long history, dating back to 1831.  and the Indian Ocean was beautiful after the clouds moved away. I stopped for fish and chips at the wharf, fighting off seagulls to save my chips, then spent a few hours reading stories and seeing parts of history come alive at the shipwreck museum.

It was my 67th birthday. I walked to the beach at sunset and was amazed to be standing with my feet in the waters of the Indian Ocean, especially looking at Google maps to see that I was laterally lined up with Malaysia. My place in the world shifted a bit when I realize I was very far from home in so many ways.