Dead sheep and rainbows

Max, our small, white, fluffy mutt of a dog, just deposited a sheep's leg - complete with remnant wool and hoof - on the kitchen floor. He's no sheep killer, he found a carcass in the paddock beyond the vineyard and dutifully brought it home for all of us to share. He is clearly very impressed with himself.

I have been off-line for days (it's given me a nervous twitch), and in that time we have made the complete move to the vineyard. One of things I love most about being part of a country community like Canowindra is the incredible network of friends and neighbours and the way they pitch in and help when needed. On Saturday morning, no less than five utes and trailers turned up outside the house at 8am. During the course of the morning, at least ten people helped with the move. By noon, I was up at the shed trying to make sense of where to put furniture and boxes (we have down-sized by about 60% so space is a premium) when a friend turned up with four trays of sandwiches to feed the hungry masses. Another came to take the kids to the pool. Another dropped off a bowl of fresh local peaches. Another went down to the old house and began cleaning rooms. As we had no water or stove in the kitchen (the water was finally plumbed in this afternoon and the stove should be operational by tomorrow) friends have dropped in dinners every night. I cannot express how grateful we are to all our wonderful friends. Growing up in the city, I don't think I ever experienced anything like this - it was like an Amish barn raising!

At dusk we cooked up a feast of sausages and rissoles and tomato sauce on bread washed down with plenty of beer and wine. At the sight of the kids starting up a game of bush cricket, Jamie and I shared a glance and a mutual understanding that this was what it was all about - and that everything was going to be OK.

We were also treated to a full rainbow against a stormy summer sky that seemed to begin at one end of the vineyard and end at the other - a good omen I think.

Someone wants to buy our vineyard.

Someone wants to buy our vineyard! They want to buy it for its precious irrigation licence and rip out all the vines. My stomach churns when I think of our beautiful vines being tossed into a bon fire - gone forever in an evening's entertainment.

Well, technically, they're not our vines. They are owned by my husband Jamie's parents, but the vineyard has been Jamie's baby since he established it over fifteen years ago. Jamie meticulously measured out every row and every vine, co-ordinated the planting of every one of the 70,000 vines, and ultimately created a first class vineyard producing premium fruit and award winning wines. I helped too, of course. Mainly in the marketing and drinking departments.

But now someone wants to buy it while the vineyard market is at an all time low and Jamie and I are desperately trying to find a way to keep it. It is strange to have your vision of the future - of growing old with the vines, of the children growing up with the industry - suddenly yanked out from under you. What else would we do?

The last eight years have been extremely difficult for anyone on the land in Australia. We are now suffering through our ninth year of drought, and the grape industry collapsed thanks to a major glut a few years ago. With no one to sell fruit to, it is hard to keep the business going. Jamie's parents have retired and, understandably, want financial security. Due to drought, grape glut, frost hits and the general state of the global economy, the vineyard has not been a source of financial security for a number of years, in fact, it has been a drain.

But things will improve - there's nothing surer. Everything is cyclical - it's just a matter of whether or not we can hang on until the upswing - and the fat lady ain't singing yet!