The secrets of a farming community……


Friends are a funny things. I grew up with sisters, with me being the middle sister, so I crave girl friends, crave women’s company. I like sitting on a couch, coffee cup in hand, bitching about life, laughing over something that happened.

And boys don’t get it. They don’t get the camaraderie among women. The sharing, the shoulder to cry on, the unity. A true friend is one that listens to your bitching and forgets about it immediately. A problem shared is a problem halved and all that.

Now a man will listen to the moaning, offer unwanted advice and think that, that was how we truly felt. But it’s just a venting in the heat of the moment. Here now, gone tomorrow.

Now a TRUE friend and one in a million won’t even mention anything you’ve said to their husband later on that night. They’ll listen and be discrete.

In my opinion boys share and skiner worse than girls. Without meaning to, mind. They do it without realising the shit storm, shell shock, repercussions of their confession.

Now in a farming community nothing is a secret. You think it is. But it’s not. They all know. They just keep quiet out of politeness and respect. Respect to your face that is. It doesn’t mean that it doesn’t get thrashed around at the next bull sale and laughed about. You’ll suspect the laughing…but you can’t prove it.

Men feign innocence very well. Dead pan expressions. And when you next nip off to the ladies room, laugh uproariously behind your back, and give each other knowing looks. And you are none the wiser. Oblivious and smug in the secret that no-one allegedly knows about.

That’s farming. That’s the community here.

I wear my heart on my sleeve, so I’m safe for the moment. It’s when you try to keep a secret that everyone makes it their personal mission to find out what it is.

and they usually do…..find out that is.


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