Wednesday the 7th of June, I went to Pooncarie, the little township where I was raised as a child.  Visited the sheep station which my father worked for all of his adult life, until his death, Eulo.  We are where we grew up, I realise, as I look at the landscape that was my childhood. Part of me will always be here. I found a native pine near the road side that has been there for more than 67 years because I remember it as a child. A signpost that we were nearly home, coming back from Mildura , and later Ballarat for school holidays. How I love this land and the birds

in Black swamp singing and singing. And the quiet. There were wild goats everywhere by the roadside. A scourge in this country already unbalanced by the presence of sheep.