Today is a day of triumph. It’s school holidays, breeding is in full swing, cows are on their way to market, the farm is a patchwork of ploughed paddocks and I have barely left the couch during the last two weeks. Until today, that is, when I made a shaky trip down to the flats with the kids to see the cows.

Pneumonia that didn’t respond to the first two rounds of antibiotics left me a teary mess, too weak to reach the washing line. After every test known to womankind at the emergency department and an extra set of different antibiotics, I reckon I’ve turned the corner.

In the meantime, Wayne has worked extra bloody hard on the farm and at home. A friend has had little Alex over for a play date and invited him for another. Our agronomist, Scott Travers, and cropping contractor, Wayne Bowden, have worked together to get summer crops in the ground despite their dizzy client. I am very lucky and grateful.

With 21mm of soaking rain just a couple of days ago, the paddocks are roaring into Spring and the smell of freshly turned soil is intoxicating.

Even so, the highlight of the morning was time spent amongst the milkers.  Most of the cows have shed their shaggy winter coats and are blooming with health.

The kids and I watched as a group of cows swirled in excitement. Swishing their tails, sniffing, pushing, mounting each other, the “hotties” of the paddock were unmistakable.

Zoe and Alex were dispatched to capture their numbers while I sat, propped up like a rag doll, against an old home-made water trough. I wrote down the numbers they shouted, messaged them off to Wayne, who will find them a mate them in the morning. Everything is literally buzzing, croaking and heaving with life.

The farm waits for no woman. What a glorious place to be.