Dawdling across the Downs

I have had a lovely drive today, the best of this long journey up (and across, and down) the east coast. This is the "across" drive through the South Burnett and Darling Downs and I think I also saw a sign to the West Downs, somewhere along the way as well.

This is wine and peanut country through the hinterland of the Bunya Ranges and the highway is dotted with lovely and extremely well cared for small towns, with names like Kilkivan, Goomeri, Murgon, Wandi, Woorilin, Merambi, Kingaroy, and Kooyar. My destination for the day, is Dalby.

The pasture country looks dry and sparsely grassed but the herds grazing the land are well fed and like other Queensland cattle I have seen, have glossy coats. I muse to myself as the little car speeds over the miles that the cattle are a little like Queensland itself, particularly in comparison to the other states (SA, NSW, and Vic) I have visited since Covid. Glossy and well fed. The maintained environment and affluence (as well as the extraordinary development) of Queensland is palpable as soon as you cross the border into the state.

This countryside has a significant number of what seem like old Queensland style homes, transported to bush blocks and settled on high metal stumps, alongside basic dwellings, often with caravans attached, nestled in the bush. There are solar panels and tanks, and domestic windmills and I have a sense of the people here being and seeking to be, off grid. The Grid does occupy my mind as I pass the largest solar panel farm I have seen to date. There is significant acreage, covered by marching lines of grey solar panels, all tilted uniformly in the direction of the sun, and it is sobering. It is the first time I have seen the reality of a Solar Farm and the first time; heaven forbid, that I have understood what National Party leader has meant when he has criticised land use for this purpose. I pass his electorate office along the way and the signage advising of his representation, is extravagant. I don't of course, agree with him, and I feel my rage at his party and the Liberal party's abject denial pf climate change over the last decade. However, I can see that solar farms do not lie naturally in the landscape. In a Dystopian future, huge tracks of the earth may be covered with grey glass and steel units, tilting at the sun.

The little townships along the way are pretty ad there is ample evidence of civic pride. I take breaks often to explore shops advertising collectables and the op shops. I am in search of a red heart shaped Marie Clare baking dish which has stolen, and broken, my heart by being old stock and hence unavailable. I also visit any art galleries I can find and am delighted to meet the lovely woman who are welcoming visitors on this day and whose pride in the work on the walls and in the arts community in their area, it is delightful. I love that creative energy is one binding thread in these relatively isolated rural communities. The colours, vivid and loud of the paintings exhibited, are strangely at odds however with the almost monochrome landscapes in which they must be painted. This is subtle country, and these works are not subtle.

It's hot when I arrive in Dalby in the early afternoon. I see what I think is my motel on the road in and my heart sinks. It looks fabulously dilapidated with five bleak looking motel units behind a pub, but I have time before I book in and spend it with another fabulous woman in the local gallery who tells me that it is hard to describe the differences between living on a large agricultural holding as people do here and being urban. The differences are she says, significant and have to do with the isolation and the weather and its impact on these plains. Today as I crossed them, the heat was just below shimmering, and I could imagine the desolation of drought.

When I go to book into my motel, a woman unlocking the barred door takes one look at my white linen outfit and anxiously checks her bookings. Showing me her phone, she advises that I have the wrong motel. I was prepared for whatever might have been, but I am relieved. I think I can see aluminum foil on one unit window.

My new premises lie in the heart of the main street and have enormous wooden floored corridors and small rooms. The tramp of the boots of the Tradies and Road crews who seem to be filling the accommodations along the way is deafening. The sound of the State keeping the rural economy ticking over. More power to them and to the energy that a creative community engenders.