Brad Richardson from Gresford wrote his thoughts on life on the land in a poem. It was meant for the eyes of family and friends on his Facebook page, but he was soon inundated with comments of praise. After some persuasion, Brad agreed to share his heartfelt poem with Chronicle readers.
As farmers we often struggle to find the words to explain why it is we do what we do. Why it's so hard to walk away and why it's so devastating when we have to sell our land and animals. This is my story. I hope you enjoy:
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A long time ago, a man bought some land;
To start up a Dairy, was the gist of his plan.
George Richardson his name, 1919 the year it was;
He drove 30 cows there on the back of his horse.
But disaster struck George when his plough hit a rock;
So his sons took it on, because milk flow doesn't stop.
Boundaries were changed, and siblings did part;
Ken took it over, but only on half.
Ken joined the local coop, director was he;
To ensure a fair price and farm gate policy.
He valued genetics, and he was quite proud;
He spent $800 on one single cow.
Ken had 7 kids, and they each played their part;
To build a small empire out of 3 different farms.
Again titles did change, and siblings did part;
Max found himself with the family farm.
Max loves his cows, but not in a shed;
So off on his horse contract mustering he went.
He didn't love dairy, but those cows he kept;
He held it together out of respect.
But Max got his break when the neighbours did sell;
He bought them out, producing beef Now as well.
Wife by his side, they had four kids;
When they grew older he got into pigs.
But when cheap imports moved in, the pork dream was lost,
The everyday consumer didn't know the real cost.
So the boys worked off farm, to pay off some debt;
They came home on weekends, to work in that shed.
Contract fencing, hay making and also some trucks;
They pulled it together and climbed out of that rut.
The milk was still flowing for Max to pass on,
This task was now Rodney's; Max’s youngest son.
80 cows strong, deregulation hit hard.
Get big or get out – you might have to sell the farm.
Rod and his wife, go big they did;
They invested and spent, also rearing 3 kids.
250 head there's no stopping us now,
We’ll pay back that debt; we just need some more cows.
Some cows up for sale, from a cousin next door;
So Rodney bought the same herd that split off years before.
New dairy, feed pad and machinery as well;
Life became very busy and hectic as hell.
Some years they did pass, and patience wore thin;
Its round about time for the next generation to begin.
I accepted the challenge, an honour given to me;
To operate this here dairy, passed down through the family.
Full of inspiration, more cows we do need;
We took on some lease country to grow all the feed.
My goal was 400, now that's where we are at;
But we need some more help to put milk in that vat.
My name is Brad, my son named Byron,
The question existing – Will it ever be mine to pass on?
The last ten have been hard, as hard as they get;
Two droughts, two floods, and a cyclone we met.
Milk wars, GFC and a mystery event;
It happened one Easter, left 42 dead.
Money has dried up; the milk price is grim.
How will we save it, I don't know where to begin.
If we fail we’ll go down swinging, of this you can bet;
All the heartache and hard work, it hasn't stopped us yet!
This industry has become lonely, as one by one others shut down;
Cost of production is too high, it resembles a ghost town.
This farm has 1000 stories, as different people come and go;
They have all done their bit, all helped run the show.
Next year marks 100, we stand here full of pride;
The heart of the Hunter Valley is where we reside.
This tired old farm, has an expiry day it appers-
But rest easy, sleep well, we are doing our damn best,
To hold it together for the next 100 years.