We left suburbia to move to a farm… the best decision we ever made
Over60 community member, Gina Kibblewhite, 64, recounts her move from suburbia to a 25-acre farm, a decision that she and her husband, Geoff, have never regretted.
It was decided that we needed more space. We were ready to leave suburbia. We purchased 25 acres of land. While it was hard to leave our two storey home with a bar room and pool, we didn’t like that it only had a very small backyard.
Once we decided to make the move, we had to rent a small house for six months while our new home was being built. The day we moved into the rental, I literally cried, “What have we done?”
Geoff, my husband, said quickly, “We are now the owners of 25 acres and a new lifestyle awaits us. Think of the future!”
I couldn’t see past the pokey lounge room of the rented place with all our treasures stacked up. Nevertheless, I was able to feel a lot better when we next paid a visit to the farm and the house in progress.
We had the name “Chimbrook” already chosen for our new property. The name derives from a place in England called Chimbrook Meadows. As a child, I spent most of my time playing and exploring the adjacent woods, collecting chestnuts and bluebells that grew there. Geoff and I have since returned there for a holiday and the place still remains the same, although somewhat on a smaller scale than I remember. Geoff agreed on the name – it was his idea to drop the meadows from the name as Australia was not known for having meadows. I told him that I wasn’t in favour of the word paddock to be used either, so we settled on calling our new home Chimbrook.
We spent endless weekends working on our new bit of dirt and had a fine setup in the large shed which was already established by the previous owner. We were ready for any visitors who might happen to pass for a cuppa and wonder why the hell we had left behind such luxury to take up hobby farming.
Our house soon started to take shape. While we were frantically planning what animals we were going to raise, our two daughters Michelle and Joanne had their own plans. “Horses!” they suggested. We cringed at the time hoping they would forget the idea as they had only ridden tired old nags at the local riding school. We were wrong and ended up acquiring a cute little pinto pony by the name of Bobby (for Joanne) who never quite understood the word “SLOW.” He would take off down the paddock at full speed with our daughter gripping on for her life. He would then just stop suddenly in his tracks with only a cloud of dust following.
Michelle, on the other hand, went for a taller version of a horse called Prince. She handled him quite well but Prince had a bad personality. He would bite anyone who he felt took Michelle’s attention. The only time he behaved himself was when he had a nasty accident. For some reason, he decided he wanted to visit the paddock next door and tried to jump the fence. He didn’t clear the fence but became stranded over the top strand of barbed wire. He was gashed severely under his leg that a vet had to be called. The wound could not be stitched and there was nothing that could be placed on it to stop the dirt seeping in. The vet administered some antibiotics to the horse and said that it would have to be injected each day. We added up the cost of having a vet come out each day… so Geoff got a crash course at the vet and learnt how to inject the horse himself. Well, Prince was as good as gold for the 10 days of treatment but, as soon as he had finished his course of injections, he turned on Geoff and became his old self again biting and kicking.
Before the house was actually finished, Geoff and I went to an auction (the first of many in the next 12 years) being held in our local area. Whilst there, I noticed a ute with a strong wire cage in the back in which stood seven young goats. I spotted one that was adorable, it just had a lovely face and colour. Geoff was busy eyeing the tools, wire, machinery and the like. I steered him to the goats and pointed out the cute little goat that took my eye. He told me he would do some bidding on the goat when the time came but meanwhile, he had already purchased some huge spools of chicken wire. As we only had driven our car to the auction, I said I would go home and bring back our ute in which to carry the wire home.
Just as I was about to leave the carpark, Geoff came running out to the car with his hands waving madly beckoning me to stop. He looked very pleased with himself and said that the bidding for the goats had just ended and that we now were the owners of seven goats.
“Couldn’t remember which one you wanted,” he said, “and the auctioneer talked me into taking the whole lot.”
The auctioneer must have known Geoff was a newcomer to auctions and conned him. Geoff said he was bidding on just three of the goats but no one else wanted them. We then had the worry about how to get these goats back home to the farm! The auctioneer, as it happened, owned the ute in which the goats were, and let us take it back to our place. I drove our car home with Geoff and his flock following behind. I could hardly see the road as I had tears of laughter spilling down my cheeks. I just kept saying, “I only wanted one!”
Once home we then had the problem of where to put the goats. We have strong cattle yards so decided the best place for the time being was to off load them in there. But alas, no sooner were they in the enclosure, they all escaped (except for two) through the gaps in the palings of the cattle yard enclosure and into neighbouring farm. Fortunately, we had the chicken wire from the auction so we quickly unrolled and nailed it to the palings. The other five goats soon came back and we were able to get them into the secure enclosure. We selected the goats we wanted to keep (one of them was the original one I picked) and the following weekend we sold the others at another local auction and made a profit.
We named our two goats Blue (my favourite) and Milly. Milly died the following year and Blue was with us for six years. He nearly made his debut on national television in a segment, Pet of the Week, where animals with outstanding talents are featured on the show. Blue could walk across up a plank of the cattle yard and across the top rail, which is only two inches wide. However, we were due to go on our annual holidays at the time he was to be interviewed so he never got a chance. Just imagine, he could have been the next super star like Babe!
Blue gave us many hours of enjoyment, we took pleasure in threading slices of bread or bread rolls on to his horns (which were curled) and when he put his head down to eat grass our chickens would peck the bread much to Blues annoyance. In the summer months we would have Blue shorn as his fleece became bedraggled and he looked tatty. We had to transport him in our wire enclosed trailer to the shearer who lived thirty kilometres away. Each time we had him shorn it would start out a hot day and Blue didn’t mind the trip there and he was well behaved when he was being shorn. But on the return home, a storm always came up and he would get absolutely drenched. We finally gave Blue away to a good home as he was becoming too jealous in his later years, attacking anyone that ventured into his domain. This posed a problem when little children came to visit and wanted to pat the goat. But I’ll always have fond memories of our adventures in goat auctioning and Blue.