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Rosie had called Rachel on the drive back. There were tears, anger, and relief. And most of all, hope. The effects of Richard’s behaviour though would be long felt.
And even though the meeting had gone over time, and I’d allowed extra time driving, we were late because Rosie had been handsy, which led to me having to pull over to kiss her and … more.
Totally worth it.
And now, I stood before my family wearing a wombat joey in a baby sling we’d borrowed from a wildlife carer, with the woman I loved beside me, clutching a printed document.
Behind us, I had the drone footage of the muster on a loop – the snow-capped panorama, the hut glowing in the winter wonderland, vistas of granite and gum trees, and wombats frolicking in the snow.
Stacey winked, sitting on the edge of the lounge. She’d proofread the document last night, wanting nothing of a speaking role.
I’d promised my family I’d give them this proposal after the wool clip. But days before we had ten shearers joining us, with their spouses and a couple of cooks in the shearers’ quarters, I’d called this family meeting. The Turners and their partners had gathered in the parlour each reading through the document as I talked to my notes.
Stacey had already covered her document with Post-It notes and Ryan had made blue inked scribbles on his.
“Now, we’ve gone through weddings and accommodation here at Turners Creek. But now I’d like to introduce Wombats, wine and walking. Even snow gums. I know we have prided our history on sheep. But this proposal argues we should look at other aspects of our long history that we have ignored. That haven’t been an asset until our generation.”
I cleared my throat. “We would be a staging post for an overland walk for two to three days, with overnight accommodation in huts, bunk room style, where walkers bring in what they need and walk out all rubbish. Book beds in advance so we control numbers on the track.
“We have the shepherd’s hut, but I want to add another to make a three day loop in the high country. The ideal location would be near the old fire tower where the Dukes were mustering. In the future, I’d like to build a second bunkhouse near the hut, so that we can use the shepherd’s hut on our property like a ranger’s hut.” I turned the page and continued. “There is an opportunity to partner with the national parks service where guests walk through our property to another hut in the park and then walk out via their carpark. The national park can sell tickets for a bed and a space to walk the track. We can also partner with the Zanettis to offer gourmet food packs for walkers.
“By controlling numbers, we reduce the environmental impact—to put it bluntly, if we stuff that up, we have nothing. We have something unique that no one else for days and days of driving has—snow, wombats and snow gums. And they will pay to see it. They will regard having limited numbers of people on the track as value.” I sniffed and pinched the bridge of my nose. Crap, I was about to get emotional. I took a deep breath, looked at my family and settled on Rosie last, who smiled and gave me a gentle nod. “I’ve called it The Wombat Way. And”—I waved a hand, lost for words—“I just think it will work, based on my figures.”
Rosie gave me a side-hug as I faced my family. Ryan stared at me open-mouthed with Charlotte on his knee, who blinked with wide eyes. Stacey smiled, her eyes alight, which meant her brain was working overtime, probably designing the look of the bunkhouses in her head. Harry had his arm around Stacey and gave me a chin tip. Amanda flicked through the pages, her eyes running over the dollar figures, Stuart beside her, his hand on her knee.
Mum sat with her hands clasped in her lap and her eyes shining. My stomach roiled with doubt. “You okay, Mum?” I asked in a low voice.
She stood slowly and exhaled. “Oh Tom, never in a million years would I have thought of something like this. It’s a marvellous idea.”
Mum walked over and hugged me tight, and I leant into her embrace, savouring her enthusiasm.
I coughed, trying to find my voice again. “I should say, I don’t think even Dad had it in mind when he planted a snow gum that people would pay to walk to see the snow gums at the shepherd’s hut to take photos for a thing called Instagram. I think he just thought it was a pretty gum tree.”
Ryan looked down at the printed document. “But it’s not just a walk to see the wombats. You want to host weddings in the old shearing shed, and let them stay here in the old cottages, as well as run sheep. That’s … that’s just so much and we only have ourselves.”
Everyone looked at Ryan, their smiles diminishing. The burden of this place weighed in on us. Rosie squeezed my hand, and I continued. “You’re right, and you’re also wrong.”
Ryan simply raised an eyebrow, and I ploughed on. “The solution is to make sure we diversify. We don’t do it all at once, but slowly and surely. It’s not meant to be a burden. My wish is to see Turner’s Creek Station become an employer to many people again. To be a busy place where we offer a livelihood for others and be a place that creates memories for our guests.”
I took a deep breath. “The real burden we feel right now is indecision. If we don’t move ahead with a plan, we will be talking to the bank in the next few months about selling up. Even if the wool clip is great, we will always have the banks at our heels.”
Ryan pressed his lips into a thin line. “Some of this requires outlay. Big outlay of money.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know, and it looks scary, but it’s an outlay you don’t have to spend right now. With what Stacey has planned for Amanda in the old shearing shed as a wedding reception venue, we have something others would pay money for. And with our resident decorator-designer, we have someone who can create event concepts, but we’ll need others to help us with events management, catering and so forth. Flo next door will have accommodation at the apple orchard and that’s a start with guests. And, last but not least, Team Zee are an invaluable part of this plan.” I paused, acknowledging Rosie beside me. “With the Zanettis looking to extend their restaurant and build a function centre, partnering together lessens the risk. We have a different sort of wedding ceremony destination and reception options. Zanettis have the wine and catering.”
Ryan’s nostrils flared. If I didn’t win him over, I was sunk. If he said yes, the rest of the family would back this plan. He flicked through the proposal while Charlotte slid off his knee onto the couch.
“Uncle Tom, why would anyone pay to see wombats? They run around the national park for free,” Charlotte pointed at the baby sling. “You even got a baby one for free.”
I barked out a laugh, and knelt down. “That’s a very wise thing to ask. The wombats only come out at night and live far away from where the park visitors can park their cars and go for walks. We are very lucky that we see them on our property.”
“Oh, I see.” She screwed her face. “Don’t other people have wombats where they live?”
“Not in our state. Some people would further down south but there are no wombats in the capital city and lots of city people would love to see them here. Turners Creek and the Zanetti’s place are very special.”
“Oh, well, that’s okay then.” She smiled. “We can make money off wombats!”
“Well, I, er,” I started and then shrugged with a murmur of laughter across the family. “Something like that.”
