There is something about old houses on properties that make you think about the past. Weather mellowed timber, rotted stumps and rusty corrugated iron speak volumes about those who have carved a place in the bush before us. Many old sites are the remains of homesteads on land holdings swallowed up by shrewd pastoralists. Others are the remnants of the breakup of the squattocracy when the government of the day decided that those who had braved the frontier country in the early days of settlement had in fact accrued too much land. Land ownership following the heady days of the nineteenth and early twentieth century became restrictive. Extra land purchases required a different holding name on the title deeds. In many cases a large pastoral holding that was for sale (estate wishes etc) was invariably broken up by the government into smaller blocks. Many of these became soldier settler blocks following the First World War. On our property there are a number of old houses and out buildings-the familar term used to collectively refer to everything from garages and laundrys to school rooms and jackeroo quarters. They dot the landscape like headstones reminding us of those who have come before us and the extradinary lives they have lead. On the precipitation front this week our area missed out on the much anticipated weather front. The rain  became navigationally challenged half way between Moree and us. Falls of up to 90 mils were recorded south and east of us while our up-ended rain gauge spat forth a paltry 10 mils. So here we are praying for rain again. The wheat crops could do with a drink and the oats is about a month behind in growth, which means the cattle aren’t being fattened yet. After the incredibly wet start to the year the country is looking pretty ordinary again-oh to be a grazier…