South Australia

OCS STUD FARM CONSISTS OF AROUND 30 HORSES, 6 GOATS, 2 DOGS, AND A COUPLE DOZEN CATTLE.  And 4 humans of course to control the chaos.  OCS stands for Orange Court Stables and there are no orange trees around so I don't know why Mark (the owner) named it that.  My good friends Cassidy and Dave and I all work for accommodation, food, and wine.  Our boss' name is Thorin Bailey, a late 20s seasoned Australian, who goes by the nickname "Tubs."  Our daily activities range from feeding the horses (hay or hard feeds - buckets with grains/straw/minerals/corn/seeds/etc), landscaping (building a garden/building a chicken coop/weeding/etc), and moving horses and cattle around the paddocks depending on what is planned for them.  OCS is a stud farm in that it has one stallion (stud) who for 3 months out of the year 'serves' mares that come from all around Australia for his sperm.  Apparently he has a 67% win rate with his blood line which is unheard of in the racing industry.  The stud is named Gallo and he has one eye.

 
Yes, one eyeball only; sooooo you can just picture when he serves a mare and his tongue is out and he has his head cocked to one side just one-eyein it.  FIREWORKS I am sure and let me tell you, after working for 2 months on this farm, I am happy to get out with minor scrapes and cuts.  You see, all the horses on the farm are young (under 5 years) and are not broken in and barely know what a human being is.  So even feeding I have come very close to getting kicked or 'double barrelled' (horse stands on front legs and kicks you with his/her back two).  It is starting to get cold here and rain more so feeding at dusk is very dangerous because these horses are going ape shit over the food (they are cold and hungry at night) and going hay wire over the changing weather.  'Electric' is the best word I can describe their demeanor in the last week or so.  But you simply remember your ninja skills and the time you spent working/riding/galloping horses in the Boy Scouts and you manage to get out without any broken ribs.  I always keep these bitches in front of me and maneuver the 4 wheeler/trailer in a way that I can get their feed bins and zoom off so I don't have 7 untrained wild horses surrounding my trailer and fighting to eat out of the buckets.  Heart raced a few times but still never got kicked or bitten...knock on wood.

GELDING DAY FOR 4 OF THE COLTS WAS A VERY INTERESTING EXPERIENCE TO SAY THE LEAST.  This stud farm can only have one stud on it or else there would be 'rooting' (South Australian for sexual intercourse) go on everywhere and the hormones in the colts would conflict with Gallo and the next thing you know you would have Gallo chasing down young 2 year old teenager-type horses and break through thick wooden fences to get to them.  This almost happened on gelding day when the vet came to collect 8 testicles.  We put the 4 colts in Gallo's paddock because it has the most green grass and when you "drop" the horses you want the ground/grass to be nice and padded/fluffy.  Because when they 'drop', THEY DROP.

 

Until you see castration live you don't realize how lucky us boys are!  The 4th horse named Barbie was a NIGHTMARE.  Barbie is a boy and got his name because during a storm last year ran through a wooden fence, an electric fence, and then a barbed wire fence (barbed wire fence = Barbie).  Okay so anyway, Barbie is not liking the lead rope and Tubs is fighting with him to just get him to walk.  Rearing up, kicking, trying to run, Barbie was not a happy camper and was not going to go into the grassy area where his 3 buddies just had their nuts clipped.  I don't blame him.  Barbie proceeds to almost get a side kick on Tubs and Tubs has to let go of lead rope and it snapped whip lashed like a tow rope on a car breaking off suddenly.  So now, Barbie is running around this yard with a 10 foot snake chasing him and at his feet (the lead rope they think is a snake).  We are all trying to corner him but Barbie decides he has had enough and wants to change his name to Fencey.  Just when things couldn't get more crazy, our good buddy Gallo starts running up and down his fence line trying to get to this little punk teenager to attack him.  I look over and truly thought Gallo was going to break through that wooden fence.  He didn't, instead,  This little man ran (Barbie) and attempted to jump over a metal fence/gate that was keeping him in the yard.  He failed miserably.  Barbie, or Gatey I guess lol, poor guy, hit his chest on the gate and fell over it on his head and then the rest of his very heavy body came crashing to the ground.  I remember the farm went silent for a moment and our jaws were all dropped.  Then a quick bit of MAYHEM as Barbie is now getting up to run for the open gate that leads out to the road.  Not good.  Dave and I leaped over this fence as Tubs is screaming "the gate the gate, come around  on him, beat him to that gate!"  Okay, so, you want me to outrun a horse that is bred to win money in racing cups?  Cool, no problem.  Good thing I have been running on the farm and staying fit (yeah right this helped) or else Barbie might have become Roadey haha.  We did beat him to the fence thanks to the fact he was totally rattled from fouling that gate jump so badly.  Crazy quarter horses...all we wanted him to do was WALK forward...that...and...take away his manhood jewels!  Damn, looking back, I think if I were him I would have jumped off of a 3 story building to get away from the veterinarian that day.  Any guy would.  Oh yeah, we fed the balls to Honey and Lily for dinner (the farm dogs - more on them later).

HORSE AND GREYHOUND RACING IS EXTREMELY POPULAR AND A MAJOR PART OF THE AUSTRALIAN CULTURE.  If this ability to bet at the pub was available to us in college in the States we would have gone broke and spent more years to graduate.  You know how you spend money on Buck Hunter and Golden Tee and other bullshit games in bars that you play to pass time?  Well, now imagine you are at the races in Del Mar betting on horses and they are in your bar running for you in a private setting.  Every day, from when the pub opens, to the late evening, you are able to bet in Australia on 3 different types of races; gallops (normal horse racing), trots (harness races with those weird little carts the jockeys sit in), and greyhounds.  It is ridiculous.  Like being in a sportsbook in Vegas.  Beers, betting slips, music, and LIVE results of races from AROUND THE WORLD are available pretty much every 5 to 10 minutes for you to wager on.

PICKING RED WINE GRAPES IS A VERY INTERESTING WAY TO MAKE $17 AN HOUR.  The region I was in is called Mclaren Vale and is the area that a majority of all the shiraz wines come from in Southeast Australia (like that Yellow Tail you drank last week from the super market).  It was gorgeous.  Similar to Napa Valley in California with luscious rolling green hills of vines and gum trees.  Kangaroos would hop around the roads we would take in and out of work.  Wake up time was 5:30am, tea, some toast, and bundle and don't forget your booties cuz its cold out there (still dark out and brisk).  Everyone meets at this oval (sports field and public park) to sign in and figure out which group you are with for that day (usually around 3 groups of 20 to 30 people) and what car to follow.  Picture a bunch of headlights of campervans and silhouettes of humans meandering around on gravel all wishing they were back in their warm beds.  Once again, the Americans are the minority.  Everyone was French.  Now there are two things to note about the French when grape picking.  1; they don't listen and nod their head yes even though have no idea what the contractors are telling them.  2;  They all smoke cigarettes like it is going out of style.  A lot of times I would have to yell at one of them who started picking in my section "post to post!" we Americans would yell and they would say sorry and move on.  You see, you and a partner attack the vine from both sides (some of theses things can be super thick and dense) and you move from post to post so that no section goes unpicked (sections usually about 20 feet long).  The French don't understand this.  we even later tried to figure out what the word 'post' was in French so we could communicate and it actually was the same spelling; 'post.'  So...how in the world DID THEY NOT UNDERSTAND WHEN WE WOULD SAY "POST TO POST"???  Funniest communication breakdown yet on these travels.  It made laugh multiple times and still makes me smile picturing some of their faces when we would tell them 'post to post!'  The other thing is at times I would stand up and look down the rolling green vineyard and all it was all white people harvesting.  Where roughly a 3rd of my life was spent in Southern California I am used to seeing illegal immigrants (usually from Mexico) doing this type of labour, it wasn't the case in Australia.  All of us pickers were caucasians and we actually made decent money for not too intensive of work.  You get $17 an hour but if you work hard and pick at "bucket rate" you can make well more than that (one day I made around $75 in an afternoon where we picked for only 2.5 hours.  The picking is the interesting part.  Some days go slow and some would fly by.  Headphones WERE A MUST.  Layers of clothes would come out throughout the day and some afternoons were hot and clear and crisp and a song like Creedence Clearwater's 'Someday Never Comes' or Slightly Stoopids 'Wiseman' would come on and I would stop what I was doing and just stand up, look out on the winery/vineyard/rolling hills and think to myself; "this is awesome, things could be worse."  Some vines would be dense and thick, some were small and chest height.  Every vine seemed to have its own personality and every bunch of grape felt important and expensive as they were going to go on to produce some of the best vintage wine in the world.  I can tell you that after doing weeks of grape picking (shiraz, cabernet, and merlot), I have a much higher appreciation for the red wine process and will always know I have worked literally 'on the ground level' to help yield some of the most popular wines on this planet.  Thank you Mclaren Vale you were beautiful and will be missed.

THE FARM LIFE LIVING IN GENERAL WAS AWESOME AND WONDERFUL EXPERIENCE.  While I loved being around the horses (been since middle school since I rode every summer in the Scouts), the two farm dogs, Honey and Lily, were my favorite.  One was a blend of dingo and yellow lab and kelpy (Honey Bear) and Lily was a black border collie with touches of white on her fur.  They were the cutest, nicest, sweetest, and well trained dogs I think I have ever had the pleasure of being around.  You could talk to them almost as if they understood what I was saying.  To get them to jump in or out of the trailer on the back of the quad (4 wheeler), you could simply say "in ya get", or "come on" and they would jump in or out.  Sometimes honey would ride in the milk crate basket that was strapped to the front of Honey 4 wheeler.  Honey bear was the queen of the farm and sometimes would bark at the horses to protect me while feeding.  Besides being kicked by a horse and ran over by a car (hurt her shoulder), Honey (and obviously Lily) were always part of my daily chores and, as they would call, "man's best friend" for those two months I spent on the farm.

THE OWNER OF OUR FARM IS ALSO THE 'OUTSIDE GUY' AT A LARGE WINERY IN MCLAREN VALE.  His name was Mark Conroy and was a well traveled and knowledgeable South Australian.  Client base from Asia to America to Europe and named wines after horses and horses after wine kind of guy.  He was always bringing over free ($30 to $50) bottles of red and white wines to keep our fridge stocked.  The slaves (as we called ourselves) on most nights would cook dinner and retire to our "slave quarters" (as I nicknamed) on the north end of the farm house where we could have a fire in the hearth to stay warm, watch movies, and listen to jazz music.  There were only 2 compact discs given to the slaves and they were Jazz After Midnight 1 AND 2.  I absolutely loved those cd's and some nights would fall asleep next to, what I soon called, "The Jazz Machine" on the carpet.  Couldn't tell you one name of one song or one artist...all I can tell you is that Jazz After Midnight was very soothing to the soul...especially after a night of drinking at Jacko's villa.

R. JACKSON (NICKNAMED JACKO) WAS A RETIRED 52 YEAR OLD SOUTH AUSTRALIAN WHO LIVED UP THE STREET FROM US.  A real pleasure to be around this man as he was very intelligent and had so many stories and takes on life that we would just sit there and listen while asking inquisitive questions.  Topics from 9/11, to politics, to finance, to farming, to wines, to beer, to coffee, you name it, Jacko would have a tip on it.  He loved to talk and our eager minds were eager to listen.  Jacko also loved to drink beer and wine.  Loved to put down drinks in a very fun and social way.  Some nights while us slaves had just 'settled in for long winters nap' post dinner and were comfy with our fire and wine, Jacko would show up out of the blue and have us running around to get ready to head to his house to 'try out a new toy.'  Jacko that day had bought a portable (with rollers) kegerator that could hold two different types of kegs of beer and had two taps on top.  ICE COLD.  I think he said it was around $750 but well worth it as it was plug-n-play ready where as if you tried to build one on your own buying all the parts separately it would cost the same amount if not more including the labor you put in.  Sounds good to me.  So now, just when the slaves thought they had it bad with free wine at the farm, we have a local retired ex party animal who wants to feed us free beer.  I forgot to mention the beers were 'you brew it' style where you could mirror the same recipes of major worldwide beers.  For example one night we were on Newcastle while another night we were on Pilsner Urquell.  As my friend on the farm Cassidy would say "SHWEET!"  Some nights Jacko would get us, as a South Australian would say, "pissed as a mute" and we wouldn't remember him taking us back to our house.  Jazz machine, at this point, I LOVE YOU ;)  Jacko also had a pet alpaca, similar to a lama.  Its name was Frodo and he had been hand fed by Jacko and his wife since it was a kid.  This thing would always come and see what I was up to when I would work on Jacko's property (pulling branches to a burn pile, yanking bad olive trees, project work, etc).  A very curious fellow Frodo was.  He would let you know if he like you by putting his camel-like snout up inside your neck.  Frodo and I were buds, I would constantly talk to him while working and when entering his paddock at times would yell out "Frooooooooooooodoooooooooooooooo!" to call him over.  He would always look up at me with the most confused, yet interested look you have ever seen.  Sure enough he would start trotting over to see what I was up to.  Frodo:

ONE NIGHT WE WERE GIVEN A PRIVATE/CUSTOM/EXCLUSIVE TASTING OF THE PIRRAMIMMA WINERY BY MARK (OWNER OF THE FARM).  This was one of the coolest things I have ever had the opportunity to do.  While we have all wine tasted from cellar door to cellar door and it is fun and all, a private showing is WAY DIFFERENT.  Yes, to start, in the cellar door, we had the initial tastings of all the different wines (10 to 15 types) like a normal customer would get..but then...to the factory and to the barrels.  Next thing I know we are climbing ladders and weaving through what felt like a labyrinth of oak barrels.  He made us smell things and feel things and taste things and explained the process all at the same time.  He also had this 'dipstick' type thing that he could stick down into the barrel so that he could get wine out for us.  We were sitting on barrels of wine that have been there for decades, taking pictures, learning a ton of information.

 
The problem is REMEMBERING this information haha.  At one point we were in the laboratory seeing how they add components, make changes, experiment, etc.  It looked like a workplace room for Mr. Wizard.  We were so behind the scenes I felt like we could get in trouble.  We didn't; we were with Mark Conroy, the man of the hour.  He was incredibly funny and witty and at one point told the American women I was with (mom and friends of Cassidy who came to visit her and David) that the reason that wine tastes like an olive is because they put an entire olive tree in the vat with the grapes.  The whole tree lol.  One of them said "really, that is amazing."  My cheeks hurt from laughing so hard that night.  So, just when you think the experience couldn't get any better.  We are leaving the winery and run into a Lionel Ritchie concert that had just got out.  At this point I am singing to these people walking down the road from our motorhome Richie's undisputed best hit single "Dancing On The Ceiling."  It was great.

LAST DAY OF THE FARM WAS THE ONE OF THE MOST INTERESTING WAKEUPS I HAVE EVER HAD.  Besides the above picture which was not a wakeup, but more a 'go to bed' (opened the sliding glass door to go to the bathroom and this LITTLE GUY decided he wanted to cut me off and entered the house inches from my fingers), the experiences get a tad bit more rattling.  After my last night with my friends Sam and Dez at their house for bbq, red wine, and guitar hero, I was loving a nice sleep in on the last day I had on the farm.  Around 10am or so, while loving the fact that Tubs had let the dogs in to come in and sleep with me on my last morning on the farm, I get a loud knock on my door and a "McLeod, we need you brother we have a cow that is birth and we can't get the calf out and we think they are going to die, please come help if you can, quick!"  JUMPED OUT of bed and threw my boots on and ran down to the lower cattle paddock and sure enough there was Big Red's (we nicknamed her) daughter, Little Red, laying on the ground with her baby's snout and two hooves sticking out of her about 18 inches.  Ropes are tied to the calf's hooves and us three men are PULLING AS HARD AS WE CAN like a tug of war from hell.  My job at one point was to wrap a rope around my hand 7 or 8 times and tie it to the leg of the mother and hold the leg up so it would spread the hips to get this little guy out.  This is where I realized that even though a cow may be big and clumsy and slow, THEY ARE STRONG AS ALL HELL.  The mom kicked a couple of times, knocking me over, and later Tubs told me you are lucky you still have some of your fingers.  Um...yeah.  So, this story doesn't have a happy ending.  Us three couldn't even get this calf to even budge.  The emergency vet showed up and started to use this metal tool reverse tourniquet type thing to winch the calf out and press away from the mother but it only got the baby out half way.  The hips are what ended up costing this poor little thing's life.  Couldn't get the calf's hips out so had to go to plan B and sacrifice the calf to hopefully save the mother.  The calf had to be cut in half at the torso, and then its legs cut down the middle to be removed.  When I got back from town that day the trailer on the 4 wheeler had 2 legs and upper torso of a calf already going into rigor mortis.  Slightly disturbing to say the least.  But I guess you have to go back to an ol' saying they say in farming, "when you have livestock, you have deadstock."  I can only hope the mother eventually got up from her calving paralysis or she will have to be put down as well.  Apparently she was way too young to be having children (only 1 year old) and it might have taken her life...that, or she won't ever go near the bull that knocked her up again haha.  Slightly bittersweet ending to what has been an incredible experience and adventure on the farm lands of South Australia.  RCM