Thank God I'm a Country Boy

Well, life on the farm is kinda laid back

Ain't much an old country boy like me can't hack

It's early to rise, early in the sack

Thank God, I'm A Country Boy.

Well a simple kinda life never did me no harm

A raisin' me a family and workin' on a farm

My days are all filled with an easy country charm

Thank God I'm a country boy.

I grew up in the country.

Which is why I think the TV show ‘Farmer Wants a Wife’ is bloody hilarious. For those who don’t watch it (shame on you!) and those of you O.S., let me explain. ‘Farmer Needs a Shag’ as it’s called in our house, sets single Aussie farmers up with a handful of desperate bogan chicks, sends them all back to the farm and… well… they edit out the shagging… some find lurrrve and others hit the road Jack.

The show is meant to deal with the topic of romance under isolated circumstances. And these farmers are REALLY romantic. One guy had his potential love harem crutching sheep, another took his posse for a swim in the muddy dam then had a barbecue (he put on his best checked flannie). One ‘ripper sheila’ broke a nail whilst helpin’ to paint the outback fence and was subsequently sent home. Another had to go to hospital after being bitten by a Redback spider. I know, bloody sook. Yep, these girlies are gonna have to learn to deal with hardships like tearing off an acrylic nail 700km from the nearest Asian manicurist. Sometimes these girls might not even be able to use their hair straightener. Welcome to the farm ladies!

I sympathise with the farmers. It is hard to find a wife in the Australian Outback. Mainly because most women don't want to live there.

After I went to Uni in the big smoke to become a teacher, ‘they’ (head office in Sydney, via a phone call the day before school started back for the year) sent me back to the bush to edumacate local bogan children. My first posting was to a place called Baan Baa (yes, seriously), which has a school, pub, church and a handful of locals. Mostly, it has surrounding farms. There were two classes at the school. My class had eleven children. Bless, after four years in the city I even wore heels and a skirt on my first day and took my guitar. We were going to be like a scene from The Sound of Music.

Twenty-one year old fresh teacher meat.

The kids were the least of my problem. Being bush kids, they could entertain themselves for an entire day if necessary. And no one particularly cared if I taught them anything. No, it was the farmers I had to watch. I remember waving the kiddies goodbye as they were gradually picked up in various styles of ute, horse or tractor (except the kid who used to walk to the pub to meet his mum each afternoon). This would be my ‘thing’ I had decided in my youthful naivety. I would wave the children goodbye each afternoon, smell the gum trees and so forth. Little did I know what the community had planned for moi.

On day two it started.

Johnno was picked up in the farm ute. Nothing unusual. Except that the ute didn’t leave for a bit. The occupants, three young men who looked a bit farmer-y got out and leant against the ute for a good couple of minutes and smiled. Didn’t say anything. Then they just got into the ute, with twelve year old Johnno, and left.

The next day I asked Johnno what that was about.

 He said, “Miss, me brothers want ya to choose.”

“Choose what Johnno?”

“One of them Miss. Mum says you can have ya pick.”

Uhuh. Lucky me. I scarcely wanted to ask by when I was supposed to have ‘picked one’ or whether I was allowed to try them all out, then announce a decision at the weekly farm family roast beef dinner. The second oldest WAS fairly cute in a ‘farmer-y’ kind of way. Might’ve just been that he wore an actual shirt rather than just the blue singlet. Hard to recall.

This farmer buffet continued well into Term Two of the school year with various brothers, single fathers, derro’s and seasonal cotton workers. Funnily enough I ditched the Julie Andrews outfits for jeans and RM’s pretty quickly and re-thought my Catwoman Book Week costume. As Devon from Farmer needs a Shag tells it, “There ain’t many chicks left round here”. Best I didn’t give them too much to think about at night.

Oh, I had all sorts of glamorous offers. Promises of burgers at the pub, swims in the river and even a trip to the Chinese restaurant in Narrabri. I must’ve really had those FINE looking child-bearing hips. As the Cluster Director put it, the Department does try to send male teachers to ‘these parts’, but male primary school teachers are pretty scarce. “And, ya know luv… lotsa teachers marry farmers. Youse could do worse.”

So what type of woman actually WANTS to apply to meet farmers on isolated farms and live their life crutching sheep? By the looks of the TV show, any number of Equine Dentists, Vet Students and Nurses. All highly popular country occupations. Good thing none of those chicks turned up the week I started in Baan Baa or my teacher-y child-bearing hips would’ve been thrown to the frogs quick smart. All teachers are good for in these wife-searching communities is a stable income.

So as we all know now, I obviously managed to avoid the Farmer's Wife life.

The community gave up in the end although I did wear a short skirt to the Christmas concert just as a parting gesture. I must say that the constant offer of glistening, sweaty farmer biceps set against a fence post outside the school yard nearing sunset on a Spring’s day that September did almost have me tempted. Until I got too close and smelled Farmer James (or whatever his name was… can’t remember, too blinded by glistening biceps). Might’ve just been that one cattle farmer, but I couldn’t take the risk.

That and the thought of living in the middle of nowhere “fer luv”. This was before online shopping… yes I really AM that old… and seriously, I had to drive two and half hours to get to K-Mart. Another five for a Myer or David Jones. It’s not all romantic dips in the river and sheep dip you know. It’s tough going without shops and having to eat beef you raised yourself six nights a week.

But apparently, some of the great sheilas on Farmer Wants a Wife are willing to stick it out. Good on 'em. Save the paperwork of importing wives from South East Asia for the lonely fellas. Take one for the nation ladies!

Well, I got me a fine wife, I got me old fiddle

When the sun's comin' up I got cakes on the griddle

Life ain't nothin' but a funny, funny riddle

Thank God I'm A country boy

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Thank God I’m a Country Boy, John Denver, 1974.