The Shit Sandwich and the Sacred Calling

Last week’s budget was described, by at least one prominent politician, as a shit sandwich. In the days since, my feed has filled up with variations on that theme. Angry posts from farmers and farming families, several of them quoting scripture, most of them warning that the government is now taxing Australians in life and in death.

There is no death tax in this budget. There is no inheritance tax. What there is, among other things, is the end of the pre-CGT exemption for assets bought on or before 19 September 1985. From 1 July 2027, those assets get a market value reset, and any gain after that date becomes taxable. For a family sitting on land a grandfather bought in 1972, that is a genuine change. The pre-2027 gain stays exempt, but the planning assumption that the asset would never attract CGT is gone.

That is worth being angry about if you are directly affected. It is not the end of civilisation, and it is not a death tax, but it is a real shift in the rules for long held family assets. The small business and farm CGT concessions remain in place. The 50% CGT discount is being replaced by cost base indexation, which is a return to how the system worked between 1985 and 1999. Trusts get a 30% minimum tax from 1 July 2028, with several categories exempt.

That is the factual picture. The emotional picture is different, and it is the emotional picture that gets shared.

The post that prompted this one quoted Proverbs 13:22, a good person leaves an inheritance to their children’s children, and built an argument that modern tax policy is in tension with biblical stewardship. It is a familiar move in rural commentary.

Farming gets framed as a sacred calling, a multi-generational legacy, the soul of the nation. The argument runs that ordinary commercial rules should not apply to it, because what farmers do is not ordinary commerce.

Here is the problem with that framing. A farm is a small business. It happens to involve land and livestock rather than dry cleaning or panel beating, but the structural features people invoke to mark it as different, capital intensity, weather risk, commodity price exposure, thin margins, succession planning, asset values shifting under policy changes, exist across the small business economy. A suburban café owner whose parents bought the shop in 1980 faces the same pre-CGT change as a grazier whose parents bought the property in 1980. Only one of them gets Proverbs quoted in their defence.

Farmers already have a substantial suite of concessions that other small businesses do not. The small business CGT concessions, the farm-specific rollover, farm management deposits, primary producer income averaging, fuel tax credits, drought assistance and the farm household allowance.  By international standards Australian farmers are lightly supported. The EU and US are far more generous. But by domestic standards, against other small businesses, the deal is good.

Which brings me to the honest version of the argument, the one farm lobbies rarely make out loud because it undercuts the rugged independence branding.

The rebates exist because food has to stay cheap. Australian consumers pay one of the lowest proportions of household income on food in the developed world. That is not an accident. Production costs are subsidised at the input end. Fuel, finance, drought support, levies matched by government. The saving flows through to retail. Governments of both major parties have made the same political judgement for decades. It is cheaper and less visible to subsidise farm inputs than to let food prices float to their true cost. A $12 loaf of bread ends governments faster than a fuel rebate scheme that nobody outside agriculture understands.

There is a second piece, which is food security. Most developed countries support domestic agriculture for the same reason they support domestic steel or semiconductors. You do not want to be wholly import dependent for something essential. That is a legitimate public interest argument and it is the one that should be made.

What is striking is that this argument almost never appears in the angry posts. Instead the framing is persecution. City elites who do not understand us, governments that hate producers, taxes designed to crush the family farm. It is emotionally satisfying and politically effective, but it obscures what is actually going on. The rebates are not charity. They are not a moral reward for choosing a noble profession. They are a consumer subsidy delivered through producers, designed to keep retail food prices down and maintain sovereign production capability.

If the argument were made that way, it would be harder to dismiss. It would also be harder to wrap in scripture, which may be why it is not the version we hear.

The budget is not a shit sandwich. It is a set of policy choices, some of which deserve sharp criticism. Pretending otherwise does the people most affected by the real changes no favours at all.

A moment in The Choral that shows how lived experience changes everything

 

I recently saw The Choral . It is a magnificent movie. It broke my heart in a good way.

Partly because it is so beautiful. Partly because it is so powerful. And partly because of one moment that keeps opening out into other moments long after you leave the cinema.

A choir member who is also a Protestant minister stands and says there is no such thing as purgatory. In his faith, the soul goes straight to heaven or hell. No in between.

Then Clive speaks.

He has come back from the war with one arm. He says purgatory is real. It is the space between two sides fighting, the moment when you step forward and you don’t know whether you will live or die.

The room goes completely still.

I am confident that minister would never stand up and say there is no purgatory again. I don’t think anyone else in the room would either and everyone who sees the film.

What moved me was not only the moment itself, but what it unlocked. How often lived experience cuts straight through belief. How two people can stand in the same place and see entirely different things, shaped by what they have lived, what they have lost, what they carry in their bodies.

It felt like a reminder to slow down in conversations. To listen more carefully. To leave room for the fact that someone else may be standing in a place you have never been.

Two trees, eight generations and a view that keeps calling you closer

There are two trees I think about a lot and they sit about five hundred metres apart.

The Witness Tree is a 200 year old plus Moreton Bay Fig

Down in the valley, on another working dairy farm, stands what I call the Witness tree. The tree has watched generations of stock, families and seasons pass beneath it and it keeps doing the same job it always has. On warm days the cows head straight for it, lining up in the shade as if there’s a roster. Farmers know where the herd will be before they even look.

The Witness tree has watched generations of cows come to the same conclusion. That spot. That shade. Case closed.

Up on the side of the mountain is our place. This farm has been worked since 1840 by two families across eight generations. Same land, different times, plenty of early mornings. The volcanic soil is rich but the rock shows itself quickly, which did not stop me fifty years ago from planting a lemon scented gum in the front garden. It took to the challenge. Today it marks the house, scents the air on warm afternoons and gives you a fair idea of what the weather is about to do.

Lemon Scented Gum on the side of Saddleback Mountain

I take photos of the cows in the front paddock the way other people take photos of their kids. Different light, different moods, different characters every time. They never ask why, they never pose, they never complain

The distance between those two trees tells you almost everything you need to know about Jamberoo. In a short walk the land drops from rocky hillside to deep valley soil. The shape changes. The work does not. Cows are milked, grass is managed, and people read the land closely because that is how farming here has always worked.

As I drive down to the road, I can see the Witness tree holding the valley together, paddocks stepping down one by one. Up on the side of the mountain, the sea sits at the end of my view, never the same twice. Some days it looks calm, other days restless, but it always feels like an invitation, come closer, see what I’m doing today. It is all close, layered, and slightly cheeky in how much variety Jamberoo fits into such a small space.\

This is the paddock I see from my front verandah. Well managed farms don’t just produce food, they shape the landscape we all enjoy driving past, walking through, and quietly admiring. The view is not an accident.

Eight generations on one farm teaches you this. The land has its own ideas. Trees know their jobs. Cows organise themselves beautifully. And Jamberoo keeps reminding you that practicality, persistence and a bit of humour travel very well together.

#JamberooValley #DairyFarming #WorkingFarms #LandscapeAndPlace #RuralAustralia #GenerationsOnTheLand #SouthCoastNSW #FarmingLife #SenseOfPlace #SaddlebackMountain

Agriculture’s favourite guest at the table is grievance.

Twenty years ago I set up an organisation to support young people in agriculture to drive real change. The purpose was to help shift how the sector spoke about itself, outward looking rather than inward, solutions focused rather than grievance driven. The idea was that if agriculture wanted influence, it needed start earning it.

Which is why reading much of the agricultural press today feels like déjà vu, the same arguments, the same framing, the same sense that nothing has shifted.. You look at it and can’t help asking, what’s changed?

The issues themselves are familiar enough. Land prices. Succession. Policy settings. Conservation. Capital. Pressure from all sides. None of this is invented. But the way these issues are framed has barely moved. Every challenge still seems to arrive as something being done to farmers, and every response carries the same undertone, why is this happening to us?

Take the current outrage in western NSW about government buying land for conservation. There are legitimate questions here, about scale, about community impact, about how policy is designed. But the story quickly slides into something narrower and less persuasive. Agriculture, once again, positions itself as uniquely wronged.

What’s missing is context. Farmers in my own area were priced out of land decades ago, long before conservation buybacks entered the conversation, when people from Sydney decided it was a perfect place to live. One farmer today can be offered $28 million for 100 acres. That didn’t happen because of national parks. It happened because land has become an asset class, a lifestyle choice, a store of wealth.

And it isn’t only agriculture living with that reality. Young people across Australia are still living with their parents because they can’t afford housing. Teachers, nurses, tradespeople, hospitality workers. The next generation problem is not sector specific, it’s structural. When agriculture presents it as exceptional, it doesn’t sound principled, it sounds disconnected.

There’s also a curious selectivity in where the anger lands. Conservation purchases attract outrage, while amenity buyers, speculative capital, consolidation within agriculture itself, and intergenerational wealth don’t attract the same level of scrutiny. That kind of focus doesn’t read as advocacy for young farmers. It reads as discomfort with who the buyer is.

The irony is that agriculture has a stronger argument than it realises. Conservation and production are not opposites. Smarter conservation, co management, stewardship payments, leaseback arrangements, and policies that value people staying on country are all possible. But those conversations require agriculture to show up as a partner in public good, not a sector demanding exemption.

Support isn’t lost because the problem isn’t real. It’s lost because the tone suggests the world should pause, rearrange itself, and feel sorry.

Twenty years ago the challenge was to move agriculture out of that posture. The stakes are higher now. The room is more crowded. And pity parties, no matter how justified they feel, are a poor way to build a coalition.

#agriculture #ruralaustralia #youngfarmers #landaffordability #conservationpolicy #regionalcommunities #farmingfuture #publicinterest #intergenerationalchange

The hero of today’s story is the photograph

Moos in the Mist 

The past couple of weeks have been full on, and my head has been running its own agenda. “The book” has taken over completely. It does not seem to matter if it is two in the morning or two in the afternoon. The scenes arrive when they feel like it, and once they land, I have no choice but to deal with them.

And of course, in a book written by me you can expect strong female leads. That was always the plan. No Tess of the d’urbervilles anywhere to be seen. What I did not plan for was the problem I have now created for myself. I think I have fallen a little in love with the male lead. I am turning him into the perfect man and now I cannot stop thinking about him. If that is not a sign that I need to get out of my own head occasionally, I do not know what is.

And speaking of the male lead, my book might be fictional but it is based on true facts. On Friday I discovered that his first name was far too close to the real man’s name. Too close. A name I had used four hundred times. Thank goodness for Control F. I hit that button, held my breath, and watched the entire manuscript light up like a Christmas tree. Then came the not so romantic part. Control F Replace. Fictional man reborn.

It is much safer when these scenes arrive at two in the morning. Nobody sees me wandering around the house writing and rewriting them, half sentences in the dark. When they arrive in daylight, it becomes a public event.

A few weeks ago I went to Minnamurra for coffee with friends. I got out of the car thinking about a scene and stopped right there in the middle of the road to record it on my phone. Thank God it was Minnamurra and not Terralong Street. I can only imagine the commentary if I tried that in peak hour.

And then there are the drives home. A scene arrives, I need to catch it, and I start looking for somewhere to pull over. If you know the roads around here, you know how unrealistic that is. You cannot pull over. Not safely anyway. Ask the bicycle riders. They could give an entire TED Talk on the subject.

So yesterday morning, when I stood on my veranda, I felt grateful for my little piece of paradise. It gave me a short reset before diving back into all the things demanding attention, including one fictional man who is taking up far too much space in my head.

And that brings me to the hero of today’s story  –  the photograph. I have taken many photos from my front veranda, yet this one sparked something. A couple of people have already asked if they can paint it. I am not entirely sure why this particular image resonated more than the others, but it did.

What do you think, readers?

I am a bit partial to this one

#writinglife #novelinprogress #writersbrain #creativeprocess #rurallife #aussiestorytelling #amwritingfiction #strongfemaleleads #scenesfromtheveranda #lifeonafarm #writinghumour #behindthebook

Garry Disher’s Mischance Creek Review and Why Crime Writers Keep Getting Farmers Wrong

This review will be a work in progress. I’m a big fan of Garry Disher’s books, but I felt compelled to put my initial feelings down in writing. As someone from an eight-generation farming family, I find it hard to stomach when novels focus on only one element of agriculture. Mischance Creek opens with yet another bleak picture: lonely farmhouses, endless cups of tea, stale biscuits, talk of drought that never ends. The people Hirsch visits are tired, sad, and stuck.

I don’t dispute that life on the land can be tough. In Australia, a drought isn’t a once-in-a-lifetime event. It’s the average year. Every farmer I know assumes it’s coming. That means every year, wet, dry, or in between, we plan for it. Stocking rates, feed reserves, pasture management, water storage: you name it, it’s built into the system.

So when I read yet another story where farmers are painted as helpless, waiting until things are so dire someone has to come and shoot their stock, I wince. That’s not how we farm. It’s not how we’ve survived for generations. Yes, there are bad seasons. Yes, there’s heartbreak. But resilience isn’t just a buzzword, it’s a way of life. Farmers adapt, innovate, and prepare, because that’s the only way you last in this business.

What frustrates me is how rarely fiction captures this side of the story. The quiet pride in planning ahead. The foresight that keeps family farms alive. The fact that endurance in agriculture isn’t about waiting for disaster, it’s about being ready for it, year in and year out.

I have now finished the book and its clear while I’m super sensitive to the way agriculture is portrayed, I also realise that Garry Disher’s books often cast outback Australia, in a fairly depressing light. Yes, he gives you real insight into Hirsch, into what he feels, and even into his mother’s struggles in this book. But for me, it was hard to find someone in Mischance Creek who feels truly likeable and the book was more of the same.

#BookReview #MischanceCreek #AustralianCrimeFiction #LifeOnTheLand #ResilientFarmers #RealAgriculture

What If We Spent Our Coffee Money on the Country We Want?

Most of us don’t think twice about spending $7 on a coffee, or $14 if it’s two a week. It’s a small indulgence in a busy life. But what if we all chipped in that same amount and chose to spend it differently?

What if that coffee money could fund the kind of country we actually want to live in?

Turns out, it could go a long way.

💡 Just $7 a year could change lives

A recent study found that if the federal government boosted mental health spending by just $7.30 per adult per year, around $153 million in total,we could prevent:
– 313 suicides
– 1,954 hospitalisations for self-harm
– Over 28,000 emergency department visits for mental health reasons

That’s the impact of one coffee.

But what if we gave up one coffee a week, or two, and asked the same question across different areas of need?

☕ A coffee or a future? Here’s what that money could do

If every adult in Australia redirected $7 -$14 a week to shared priorities, it could add up to $1.5–$3 billion annually. Here’s where that could take us:

🏘️ Affordable Housing

  • Fund tens of thousands of new social or affordable homes
  • Support rent relief for low-income families
  • Keep people safe, secure, and off the streets

📚 Public Education

  • Hire more school counsellors and learning support staff
  • Lower class sizes for better learning
  • Fund early childhood education in underserved communities

🚑 Rural Health Care

  •  Boost GP, nurse and allied health access in rural areas
  • Fund mobile clinics and regional telehealth services
  • Improve outcomes where help is often hardest to reach

🌿 Climate & Environment

  • Support renewable energy projects in the regions
  • Plant millions of trees and regenerate degraded land
  • Fund water security and sustainable agriculture

👵 Aged Care

  • Increase staffing and pay in aged care homes
  • Improve home care options so older people can age in place
  • Make dignity a baseline, not a luxury

💬 What if we had a say?

Now imagine if we didn’t just guess where to spend it, we got to choose.

Picture a national system of participatory budgeting, where each adult gets a voice in how their share of “coffee money” is spent. The government sets out the priorities, and we vote.

It’s already happening in some communities around the world. Why not here?

We’re used to thinking of change as something big and distant. But sometimes, it starts with a small sacrifice,shared widely.

What could we build if we all gave up just a little?

I’m not a researcher, and these figures are estimates based on publicly available data. But the idea is simple: small individual choices, pooled together, can make a big collective impact.

Shout out to The Conversation for the original research and article that sparked this reflection. Their work continues to inform smart, hopeful conversations across the country.

#CoffeeMoney #SmallChangeBigImpact #MentalHealthMatters #ParticipatoryBudgeting #BetterSpending #InvestInCommunity #AffordableHousing #PublicEducation #ClimateAction #AgedCareReform #HealthEquity #AustraliaBudget #EveryDollarCounts #HopefulFuture #RedirectTheSpend