Month: April 2025

We’ve a photo somewhere of me, baby George on ma hip, standing next to a trailer, two recently shorn sheep within. 

Being deeply immersed in first-time motherhood I don’t remember a thing about the acquisition of these wooly beasts, my brain couldn’t cope with anything ‘extra.’ 

Where did they came from? Why didn’t we get small sheep? Why sheep at all? 

‘Extra’ was a regular occurrence at our place, extra chickens, extra dogs, extra poultry, extra planting, extra fencing, extra equipment, extra tools. 

All making Rob very happy. Me, not so much. (Overwhelm comes to mind)

I aim to live simple, Rob aims to live large.                                                           

I’m Little House On The Prairie, he’s more Dallas.

I like to consider, he likes to decide!

I’m not a ‘things’ person, he loves his (numerous🙄)  accoutrements.

Moving in he was go, go, go. Rob on speed, me needing weed, to cope! (Joking. Sounded good tho😂)

I remember sitting on our new deck, looking out over the jungle, pile of Earth Garden magazines by my side, Jackie French book in my lap (remember her?) wishing I could instantly have her life, her gorgeous garden, wombats and all!

But reality had set in, Jackie’s garden was presumably her full-time job, those hippies in Earth Garden magazine too. We both had full-time jobs elsewhere, longish commutes, food to buy, food to cook, laundry to do, floors to sweep, kitchens and bathrooms to clean in this new big tree-house. That was before the addition of bairns!                                   

As for our other fanciful notion of the time (young couples planning a future together, clarify those vague notions!), the “aaaw let’s get a cow and milk it and make cheese. How niiice would that beeee” 🙄🙄         

Think I may have uttered those words. 

Who would actually go out every single morning to catch and milk Daisy or Bessie?? Who would deal with overflowing vats of milk every day, make it into edible cheese?      I came to my senses. 

So yin yang Rob and I have weathered the many storms our differences have caused and after almost 40yrs together, our life-takes may have rubbed off on each other?          A little, kind of, but not really. 🤨🧐😆

Anyway, back to the sheep. 

The iconic Australian Woolshed was right on our doorstep at the time, an Aussie tourist attraction visited by thousands. Flocks of sheep, cattle dogs rounding them up, breeds galore, singlet-clad blokes in akubras shearing  to 🎶Waltzing Matilda🎶 

Must have had an influence for sure.

Mortgaged to the eyeballs (1997)

no money in the bank for a ride-on, we needed grass cutters. Goats were considered but their reputation of eating everything and busting through fences helped the decision. Sheep it was. Two big fat sheep.

Clive of the pretty face, Derek of the confused did their job without fuss, were the opposite of dramatic, boring some might say. No running off just eating, staring and baa-ing quietly.

‘Old’ Bob the sheep-shearer, (probably my age) presumably from a real farm or sheep station somewhere , cheerfully did his rounds of the area, helping all the playing-at-farming types like us and expertly rid D&C of their fleeces.      

Still have one vac-packed away, planning to eventually get it on ma needles!

     They rarely needed vets but the local old-school one called out to look at the mysterious small wounds on their hindquarters, suggested wild dogs, this was before our area was built up.

So I came home from work one day to an ugly Colditz Castle barbed wire-like construction/paddock on our front lawn, a temporary holding bay for the wooly boys while we were away in Scotland. Was right next to our front door, so for a while we looked like Medieval serfs with our nice but smelly sheep living literally on top of us. 

D&C both eventually, quietly succumbed (never made a fuss, even in death) to old age. We were sad but not too sad, they were only sheep after all.                                 

Sheep oot, cows in🐄🐄

Let’s be clear. Feminism is not about man-hating, merely “the advocating of social, political, legal and economic rights for women, equal to that of men.”

But is it needed in 2025? Wasn’t this sorted years ago? Surely women have equality?

I was born in 1965 on the Boomer/Gen X cusp, an old-school second -wave feminist since my early 20’s, I loved reading Germaine Greer, Marilyn French, Erica Jong, Gloria Steinem and as a midwifery student Sheila Kitzinger was a great influence as were the Association Of Radical Midwives, UK.

Seemed the fight for women’s rights wasn’t over especially in the world of pregnancy and birth, and it’s ongoing. And what about women who find it difficult or impossible to claim their rights, feel they don’t have a voice? It’s for them that feminism is so important.

Wouldn’t have labelled myself feminist back then (had a lot to learn) the word had such negative connotations. My community and the culture of 1980’s industrial West of Scotland encouraged women to be amenable and polite, respect authority, keep the peace. Good looks and a thin body helped too. Such lofty goals put upon us.

Feminists were those strident,bolshy, bra-burning types on the telly, ‘women’s libbers’ always making a fuss, what were they going on about?

I took for granted the hard-won rights they and their predecessors fought for, took for granted that I could vote, have my own bank account and credit card, have a mortgage on my own without a male guarantor (1984 here in Australia before that was possible. Beggars’ belief.)

Took for granted I wouldn’t be banished to a mother and baby home if accidentally pregnant, forced to adopt my baby, carry the trauma and shame. Took for granted the walk-in Family Planning clinic down the road dispensing the pill and condoms like lollies. Took for granted I wouldn’t be demonised for leaving a bad relationship.

And my job for more than 30 years has been caring for pregnant women before, during and after birth and in recent years for those dealing with the myriads of problems caused by female sex organs. Many of these women are vulnerable (another reason I’m so invested.) I’ve a particular perspective, you won’t believe some of the things nurse/midwives see in big city hospitals, and not in a good way.

The living-alone-frail-elderly needing in-home care, the intellectually disabled, the domestic violence victims, the floridly mentally unwell, schoolgirls having babies, refugees with security guards in-toe, incarcerated women with backgrounds of abuse and drug addiction.

And let’s not forget women in Afghanistan and Iran, or the women forced into prostitution (don’t get me started on the term ‘sex work’) or commercial surrogacy because of economic necessity, what about trafficked women or the ones forced into child marriage, or suffering the effects of female genital mutilation. All oppressed because of their biological sex.

Nothing is sorted for women unless ALL the women are ok.

Our biological functions and physical size are different from the male half of the population, make us vulnerable in certain situations, it’s not weakness, just the fact of having specific needs for privacy and protection different to the blokes.

I’m surrounded by the very best of men in my own life and see lovely ones in my workplace supporting their women, feeling their pain, worrying for them but unfortunately, not all men are lovely. I see them too. See their impact, see the results of coercive control and physical violence, see the emotional and verbal stuff in action.

We females can never rest on our laurels, we need to keep banging on about our unique needs.

At the end of the day, it’s not men who deal with the inconvenience of bleeding every month, the hormonal ups and downs. Don’t grow babies in their bodies, birth them, feed them. Don’t ever have to consider the physical implications of miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, termination. Don’t deal with crazy-making fluctuating hormones in their 40’s and 50’s and the disruptions to their day-to-day life.

So, the option of single sex, female-only private spaces and female-only care providers (if requested) are a basic right for us, especially for intimate examinations or where we might need to undress for any reason. Toilets, changing rooms, hospital wards, clinics and gyms and shelters. And remember, unisex is not the same as female only.

We women can’t take our eyes off the ball, need to keep an eye on politics, on the law and modern trends.

In the name of inclusivity (which of course is important) modern language is changing, terms for woman pop up such as birthing people, chest-feeder, menstruator, ovulator, person with a cervix. If you’re hearing these for the first time, it’s true! Personally, my visceral, gut reaction is to find them dehumanising, describing women by their body parts. Do we do this to men? No! We already have words and language for our female sex, they don’t need to be tampered with.