After leaving the ball, we walked across the street to the local pub to shoot a little pool. We played one guy who had apparently been drinking since 7 a.m., so I don't know how he was still insanely good. The pub was pretty much a family place - little kids were running around under the bar stools and there were some 10- or 12-year-old kids shooting pool, and they were pretty impressive so they must practice a lot. One of them told me that he has a table at home and he plays every day. I guess it's the same with most tiny country towns, but everybody in the pub knew everybody else, so I was definitely the odd man out. Doc introduced me to some people, but some of the old guys just stared at me like "who the heck are you?" Actually, a couple of them asked me almost that exact question and when they found I was an American, they were like "and what are you doing in Boort?" I had to explain several times that I was Andre Henry's friend from uni and we were up from Melbourne for the weekend.
We got challenged to pool by a couple of rough-looking farm workers who were brothers. One had a shiny bald head, a black mustache, and ring earrings in each ear. The other one had gray hair, was a little burly, and had some sweet tats all over his arms. I was a little sus about the whole thing because they seemed a little aggro, but the bald dude said "we may look scary, but we're not that bad," so we played. And they won. Twice. I was hoping Doc and I would have the sober advantage, but they weren't drunk enough apparently.
After we finished playing, I had a very interesting discussion with the gray-haired one about American foreign policy and the history of conflict in the middle east. I told him I thought the whole thing was just messed up from the beginning anyways, because colonial rule had created countries that incorporated incompatible religious and ethnic groups so in general a strong centralized government, often in the form of totalitarianism, was required to hold the countries together along their current borders. Then we talked about how cold war dynamics and the creation of the state of Israel had pulled the US into too much involvement in the region, and how the US has spent far too much money on aiding nations like Iraq and Iran in pursuit of its oil interests rather than seeking alternative energy sources. Finally, we ended on Bush's movement from a war on terrorism to bringing down the Ba'athist regime in Iraq and we considered how the diverse religious and ethnic groups within Iraq have reacted to the absence of an oppressive government, and whether the Kurds, Shi'as and Sunnis would be able to coexist under a centralized government or whether peace would require the division of Iraq. Both of us concluded that it was too much of a mess over there and Bush had gotten in too deep by not understanding the dynamics of the region when making speeches about bringing democracy to Iraq.
Overall, a fascinating conversation with a drunk guy in a country pub. The dude said "Hey, you're all right for a bloody seppo," and I said thanks. I appreciate being referred to as a septic tank just because I'm American. He said he didn't like most Americans he met and I told him he should meet a few more southern kids. It's mainly big-city blokes that aren't as nice, I reckon. I'm glad I made a good impression.
We spent the night at Doc's grandma's house and in the morning she showed me all kinds of old photos and told me stories about life in the country back toward the middle of the century. Northern Victoria has been in horrible drought for years, but she showed me pictures of times when the roads were flooded and they had to travel by a 4x4 with a snorkel in order to get to the farms.
After breakfast, we drove to where Doc's dad, Tony (Nugget) works, in the largest olive grove in the southern hemisphere. The three of us drove around in the ute (pickup) and Nugget gave me a tour of the place. We saw the massive colossus harvesters working their way down the rows of olive trees. The machine is hollow through the middle, maybe pushing 20 feet high. Trees go through the middle of the harvester as someone sitting in the cab drives it down the row. Inside the harvester, mechanical arms work in and out, controlled by a second crewman, and beat the olives off the tree. The olives fall onto conveyor belts in the bottom of the colossus and are taken up a chute and spit out the front of the harvester into a trailer hauled by a tractor. There are some powerlines that cross the fields, and Nugget said that recently a whole team almost died of electrocution when the colossus knocked over a pole. The lines fell and electrocuted the machine as the crew jumped out, and when the lines finished bouncing on the machine and sparking, they stopped a mere 3 inches above the metal roof of the machine. 3 inches further down, Nugget said, would have meant that the machine's tires blew and the ground around the colossus would have been electrocuted, killing the surrounding trees and people.
After the olive groves, we drove back through Boort and across some more fields, to where Doc's farm is about 30 minutes outside of town. Doc's brother Jas greeted us, eager to start the eating competition he had been anticipating ever since he heard my reputation. He was smiling mischievously, and I laughed when I saw what he was smiling about. In an attempt to throw me off of my appetite, he had dyed the pancake batter a bright slime green. I said I didn't mind what colour they were as long as they tasted all right.
Doc told me that Jas might give me a run for my money, and he was right as far as the short-term goes. After eating several massive pancakes that resembled slightly toasted lilly pads, we ran out of batter and moved on to toast while Doc watched. Jas asked if I was up for vegemite, and Doc started groaning, which I took for not such a good sign. When I said all right, Doc was like "You should see how much vegemite he puts on his toast, mate. It's like having a little toast with your vegemite." Most people spread it on really thin, and as I have pointed out before, only Aussies seem to like it at all, but Jas spread it on nice and thick like peanut butter. I forced a smile to intimidate him as I took a massive bite and felt the saltiness seep into my gums. He got scared for a minute but when I hit a big chunk of vegemite and couldn't help but grimace, he got his confidence back.
So after vegemite we piled more peanut butter than I have ever eaten at once on a piece of toast and downed that, then some orange juice, then ate an apple each, then another big piece of vegemite toast, then another apple. Eventually we got bored, even though I could have eaten more. I didn't want to ruin my day by making myself lazy, so we agreed to scull a massive glass of milk and see who finished first. He beat me by less than a second and started celebrating. But he wasn't celebrating later that day when I was eating seconds at dinner and he was full after one plate, or the next day when I had to help him finish his lunch. Take that! I'm a marathon eater!
Doc showed me the Barramundi and Murray Cod they were raising in tanks in their fish farm, and then we had a kick of the footy with Jas. We also got the orange cannon working (kind of) and were firing tennis balls out of the contraption to Jas, who stood with a tennis racquet about 70 metres away. It was firing pretty inconsistently so we let Jas have a go. Doc and I were kicking the footy when Jas finally got a shot off. I turned in time to see a massive flame shoot out of the barrel of the cannon, and another flame shoot out the sides where Jas's hands were. He jumped back as fast as he could and started laughing really hard as a flaming tennis ball landed halfway across the field in front of the house. I guess that proved our suspicions that the cannon had a leak and that's why it wasn't working properly.
When Nugget got home that night, he drove us around while Doc and I stood in the back of the ute with a spotlight and shot rabbits. Doc was telling me that the population of rabbits introduced by the English nearly wiped out many of the native species of rodents. He said that if the number of rabbits got too high, they sometimes had rabbit plagues, swarms of the long-eared creatures devouring fields of crops. They were everywhere, but it was hard to get one to stand still long enough to get a good shot off. It didn't help that the scope on the .22 I was shooting was broken, so I had to figure out that it was shooting about a foot off the crosshairs, high and to the right, before I finally got a couple. Then I tried out a .22 with a laser sight, which was pretty fun. Doc and I took turns spotlighting and shooting.
Mothers day meant lunch with Doc's mum and grandma, which was really good. Like I said, I had to finish Jas's meat and potatoes off because he was still pretty full from the previous day. Doc's grandma told me more stories about life in the country. I learned quite a bit about the history of Australian rural medicine. After lunch, Doc, Jas, and I went out to the field behind the house and attempted to shoot clays with the .410. Wow. I'll tell you something, sure I can break clays with a 12- or 20-guage, but a 410 is a different story. I think we each broke two or three, but we were definitely struggling. Jas said he's going to try to get a 12-guage for next time.
We headed back to Clayton that night, a rather uneventful drive. Everybody was glad to see us back in time for tea, which seems to be getting later and later these days. We decided to shoot some pool so next time we play drunk guys we can beat them. We've been playing the past few nights and we're definitely getting better.
What am I up to this week, you ask? Well as the semester winds down I have put off doing a paper for my politics in the Middle East class to the last date of the rolling deadline. So I have a paper worth 50% of my grade due Tuesday. Hoo-ray. I might manage to have at least one adventure this weekend though... If I hurry up and get my paper done before then.
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