Where the Sheeps have no Name

This week I planted 21 300 trees. Which is quite a lot really. More than the average [wo]man plants in their life I assume. I may be wrong.

I applied for only one job last week (it was a good idea at the time) before being distracted by the beach and the park and the spectacular views from the roofs of Perth’s premier hotels. I got that job.  So on Saturday I hopped and a bus and set ‘sail’ for Tincurrin. Population 7 and a half (Which has now been more than doubled by just the members of my house).

As I sat on the bus pretending to listen to the life story of Theresa from Albany, I realised that I had no idea what I was actually doing and that I may actually be in the process of being human trafficked...  A sweat shop would have been far more exciting....  Instead I now spend 38 hours a week hanging out with trees and dirt and sheep and the rest of my time trying to get clean. Which is not so bad really because there is nothing else to do out here.

Most long-term travelers pack up their lives, sell what they have and venture off to find their inner hippie. They go all flower-power and save the whale and tree-hugging ... I’ve just found my inner farmer...  but at least I’ve done my part for future tree- huggers everywhere.