11-12/05/26 Working At Trilby

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The Koerstz wool press was revolutionary in its time, allowing the production of quick and consistent bales.  This one sat just outside my window as I worked.

My bicycle waited patiently, keeping the antique Koerstz press company.

Back when I restocked in Wilcannia, suffering from sticker shock at the prices, I prioritised buying food items that were on sale and only as much as I needed and not a skerrick more. I ended up with a pannier full of a week's worth of sardines and oatmeal, and I don't even like sardines but that's the sacrifice I was willing to make for the sake of lowering my grocery bill. Then I ate more snacks/day than allocated and now I'm on rations until I get to Bourke in 5 day's time. Which was all a way of saying that when I found out that Liz provided a home cooked meal option on Monday night I jumped at the chance and decided not to look at the price because I was willing to pay anything for something that wasn't sardines.

I had a whole day to work through before I got to my home-cooked meal though. In between working I chatted with the retiree volunteers who parked up at Trilby for a month or two each winter and provided labour around the homestead in exchange for a place to land for a while. They were horrified to learn of the sardine/oatmeal situation and assured me that Liz was a fantastic cook. They invited me over to the camp kitchen and plied me with wine, which I don't like either but I drank it anyway because it was neither oatmeal nor sardines.

Camp kitchen even had a cosy nook with comfortable chairs.

On the dot of 18:30 Liz turned up at the Bunkhouse kitchen with my meal on a tray.  "I took pity on you and cooked extra," she said.  "So you can make it stretch for two meals."  
She's my hero.

"Why didn't we get a meal?" wailed my Central Coast buddies.  
"Because you didn't order one," said Liz, which put a stop to the wailing and started a conversation about whether they could order a meal and have it delivered and eaten before check-out tomorrow morning.  

Well that wasn't going to happen and the poor things just had to make do with leftovers from yesterday's roast.  I had not a skerrick of sympathy for them, but I did feel bad when one of them gave me a box of muslei bars and Jatz biscuits.  "We're going home," he said, "And we brought all this food and didn't eat it because we've been staying at pubs.  You'll appreciate it more than us."  He was right, and I would have shared the fudge that Liz had  provided if I hadn't already gobbled it all up as my bedtime snack.

I'll leave you with a few scenes around Trilby.

The Tree of Knowledge, bearing the heights of all recorded floods at Trilby.




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