Blow the Trumpet: I’m going back to my plough

This boy’s too young to be singing, the blues

So goodbye yellow brick road
Where the dogs of society howl
You can’t plant me in your penthouse
I’m going back to my plough
– Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, Elton John

One of the great things about farm life is that you can simply disappear down the paddock on days like these.

Today was all about the future of the farm. We started building a new fence to protect young trees, mapped out the next stage of our small irrigation project, watched silage being baled, checked our flourishing summer crops and had millet sown in two long paddocks.

I’m not handing over any of my optimism to the Trumpet – no matter how loud and discordant its notes blow – on the other side of the globe. Sorry America but, tonight, I’m going back to my plough.


3 thoughts on “Blow the Trumpet: I’m going back to my plough

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