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

We get 2000mm of rain and still hold our breath every time it falls

What makes this time of year properly exhilarating, and exhausting, is that we are heading into a season where everything can flip overnight. We can go from 36 degrees one day to 20 the next, from cows seeking shade and water to cows standing in pouring rain wondering what just happened.

That swing matters.

In summer, rain is not about volume, it is about relief. Relief for pasture that is holding on. Relief for soils that dry fast on the hill. Relief for animals coping with heat stress one day and humidity the next. A cool change with rain can buy time. A hot northerly without follow up can undo weeks of careful management.

This is why summer rain is watched with such intensity. Not because we expect miracles, but because timing is everything. A storm after a 36 degree day can reset a system. A storm followed by another hot blast can vanish almost before it has soaked in.

So yes, we get excited when it rains, even averaging 2,000 mm on paper. Because summer reminds you very quickly that farming here is not about averages, it is about adaptability. One eye on the sky, one eye on the forecast, and a deep appreciation for every break in the heat that gives grass, cows, and people a chance to breathe.

#JamberooValley #DairyFarming #RainfallReality #AustralianAgriculture #SupportLocalFarmers #ClimateVariability #HighRainfallFarming #FarmingLife

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

Lynne Strong’s Call to Action for Us All to Give Young People Voice, Agency, and Hope

At the Ignite event on 5 September at the Berry School of Arts, every speaker gave us something to think about. Over the next few weeks, I will be sharing highlights from each presentation. You can find the presentations as they are published here.

Lynne Strong took to the stage with a message that was as urgent as it was inspiring: young people may only be 20 percent of our population, but they are 100 percent of our future. They deserve an opportunity to help shape that future, not someday, but right now.

She spoke about how today’s generation is deeply aware of the crises around them, housing, climate, and cost of living. Many young people feel adults are not doing enough. Yet Lynne reminded us of the good news: young people also believe they can be part of the solution. That belief is powerful, and it is worth backing.

To thrive in the 21st century, Lynne argued, we need to equip young people not just with the traditional three Rs, but with the four Cs:

  • Critical thinking – asking the right questions to get to the root cause of problems

  • Creative thinking – imagining bold solutions

  • Collaboration – working with others to turn ideas into action

  • Communication – sharing visions with confidence and clarity

Drawing on her own experience as a farmer and educator, Lynne shared how her team designed programs that gave young people real purpose.

Lynne reminded us of Hugh McKay’s research that says

Young people want something to do

They want someone/something to care about

They want something to hope for

Secondary students were invited to tackle the United Nations Sustainable Development Goals, while primary school students were challenged to do the same. Their solutions were painted on life-sized fibreglass cows and giant koalas, bringing creativity, art, and action together.

The results were eye-opening. Primary school students consistently outperformed high schoolers.

By the time they reached secondary school, the difference was clear.

  • Student confidence fades.

  • Their creativity shrinks.

  • Their spark dims.

These observations are backed by research, and the reasons are multifaceted.

  • The pressure of the curriculum.

  • The challenges of adolescence and social conformity.

  • The way we reward right answers instead of bold ideas.

  • The way we sometimes silence young voices without even realising it.

But, Lynne reminded us, it does not have to stay that way. Young people are not waiting to be saved. They are waiting to be trusted. And when they are trusted, they rise. They lead. They inspire.

Her closing challenge was one we can all take to heart. Every time we design a program, guide a conversation, or make a decision about young people, we should ask ourselves:

  • Are we giving them something meaningful to do?

  • Are we helping them feel connected to people, place, and purpose?

  • Are we giving them a reason to hope?

When we answer yes, young people do not just join the story. They become the heroes of it.

“When trusted, young people rise. They lead. They inspire.”

#IgniteBerry #LynneStrong #YoungPeople #VoiceAndAgency #FutureLeaders #EducationInnovation #21stCenturySkills

When $12 Million Becomes $2 Million, Trust Becomes Zero

This post is the part of a Follow the Money  series shining a light on Kiama Council’s ongoing failure to even interpret its own spreadsheets.

I am not an accountant. I am a community member, like the majority of our residents, reading the same public reports and trying to understand where our money goes. We should not need a crystal ball to interpret basic financial information. We deserve numbers that make sense.

But this isn’t just about numbers. It goes to the heart of governance. Councillors cannot make sound decisions without timely, accurate and complete information.

And it raises a bigger question: are governance bodies such as the Audit, Risk and Improvement Committee (ARIC), the Auditor-General, and the Office of Local Government (OLG) fully informed of these matters – particularly in the context of the Performance Improvement Order (PIO)?

🙋‍♀️If they are, why haven’t they intervened?

🤔If they aren’t, then Council’s failures go deeper than poor spreadsheets.

The Legal Fees Debacle

On 19 August 2025, Council tabled its agenda papers showing the following “quarterly update of current legal matters”:

  • June 2024 – $4.50m

  • September 2024 – $5.01m

  • December 2024 – $1.32m

  • March 2025 – $1.20m

Those four quarters alone add up to $12.04 million. That is the figure residents saw in Council’s own agenda papers.

Even when Council later admitted the reporting was wrong , claiming the total legal spend for 2024–25 was just $2.275 million and that earlier figures were “cumulative since 2020”,  the explanation did not stack up.

If the figures were cumulative, they would only ever go up. Instead, they go up and then down again, which looks exactly like quarterly spending, not a rolling total.

But that is not what the agenda papers said, and not what any reasonable community member would have understood.

🙋‍♂️Why wasn’t this identified earlier?

🙋‍♀️Why wasn’t it raised at the council meeting itself?

🤔Why wasn’t it fixed then and there?

We all look forward to these matters being clarified in the next agenda. But in the meantime, councillors, oversight bodies and the community are left making decisions based on faulty information. This is the very opposite of transparency and accountability.

Without corrected figures, councillors, oversight bodies and the community are left making decisions based on faulty information – the very opposite of transparency and accountability.

The Overcharging Fiasco

Lets not forget December 2024.

Council admitted that, between July 2022 and June 2023, around 20 development applications by developers were overcharged a total of $1.5 million under Section 7.11 because of a spreadsheet error.

  • Refunds totalling $625,000 were proposed.

  • Landowners were to be contacted, consents modified, or payments refunded.

  • The overcharges were only identified as part of a later review of Council’s processes.

This is not a minor slip. It is hundreds of thousands of dollars wrongly charged, only corrected after the fact.

The Pattern We Cannot Ignore

Whether it is legal fees or development contributions, the story is the same:

  • Shifting numbers.

  • Confusing explanations, offered only after the community starts asking questions.

  • Major financial consequences for residents and ratepayers.

Transparency is not about cleaning up after the fact. It is about consistent, honest communication in the first place.

Until Council learns how to read and report its own spreadsheets, the community will keep paying the price. And until oversight bodies such as ARIC, the Auditor-General and OLG demand accuracy and accountability, residents will be left wondering: who is really watching over Council, and when will they step in?

#KiamaCouncil #Accountability #Transparency #LegalCosts #PublicMoney #GoodGovernance #Audit #CommunityTrust #Oversight