The Farm Work Diaries
Pick the apple, check the apple, pack the apple. Pick the apple, check the apple, pack the apple. Pick the apple, check the apple, pack the apple.
Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to my life. Not exactly the glossy grad scheme I’d envisioned for myself, but hey ho. It’s not even really the way I’d pictured my first year in Australia either or even how I’d pictured my regional work. Before arriving on the farm I was innocent, naïve. I envisioned myself frolicking in the fields, picking fruit, packing it lovingly and waving it goodbye as it was transported to Victoria’s supermarkets.
Make the box, stack the box. Make the box, stack the box. Make the box, stack the box.
Even for the Queen of Routine, the monotony is getting to me. For the foreseeable future, this is my life. I’m yet to discover exactly what about regional work makes this the ‘best time ever’ for so many backpackers – what am I missing?!
Wake up, work, sleep. Wake up, work, sleep. Wake up, work, sleep.
This fruit packing malarkey has even got me missing my call centre job. The summer months I spent holed up in a basement office booking tickets for hours on end is but a fond, distant memory. But for now it’s packing boxes upon boxes of apples, praying for a rotten one or two to add a little excitement to the day.