Neil Varcoe was a tech executive in Sydney until he bought an old hotel in Carcoar, NSW, population 272. Here’s the 10th instalment of his monthly column for Galah.
There has been so little activity in Carcoar since December that villagers thought we'd run out of money. The fence fell three times during the summer, and the grass grew long, which didn't help.
Most of the work we’ve done at Saltash Farm is invisible.
We have been going hell for leather for two years, and there is only a minor visual difference from the street. So much of the building process comprises expert reports, planning documents and approvals. It's like house painting – 70% of the work is preparation.
This month, finally, we begin building and restoring. Our little family has never been closer despite being 264 kilometres apart.
Now that I've quit my day job, it means Edwina can do less, too. It's still a lot, but less. Her cancer is controlled, but she gets tired and I get worried. We've settled easily into our new roles within the farm, hotel and family – an unconventional arrangement that works like a charm.
However, in all new jobs, there arrives a moment when you question whether you understand things as clearly as you thought. My moment came when I shared an invite list to a three-year-old's birthday party on Slack. I expected a round of applause. I was met with shock and a wave of fear. What had I missed?
A message from Edwina lit up my screen at 9.03pm: "Can you please invite people to Tom's party?" The message included a Paw Patrol-themed Canva creation to text around town.
"That's a lot of responsibility," I chimed back. "I don't know that I'm ready – can I just turn the snags like all the other dads?"
The message was met with the silence it deserved. I drifted off to sleep. Six weeks later, I woke with a start at 4am – Tom's third birthday was in days, and I had not invited anyone.
My phone has a feature that allows you to schedule texts. I drafted a message: "G'day [insert name], we're celebrating Tom's birthday in Carcoar this weekend, and we'd love you to come. If Edwina asks, please tell her that I invited you weeks ago."
The messages hit phones at 8am. By 11am, half the town was coming. I was thrilled. Dad-in-Chief had saved the day – or had he?
Tom is three years old and good company. He has the easy charm of a country rogue and an enthusiasm for anything and everything, making snacks on the verandah a riot. He inhales sharply when he’s excited. Tom was VERY excited about his Carcoar birthday party. Hoot!
We decided to invite every kid in town. We also decided to invite old friends from the area, residents, and the people who had become friends and supporters during the first two years of Saltash Farm – a kind of birthday cum thank you party. At least, that's what I heard. Edwina seemed surprised – alarmed – when I shared the invite list. Almost 100 people were coming, including 30 kids.
I reassured her that I had it covered. I ordered 100 snags from Cam and Tanya Cassel at Blayney Hi-Grade Meats. Cam describes it as "the best butcher this side of Adelaide Street". There's another butcher on the other side of the road. I laugh every time he says it.
Tanya made two baking trays of "ranch slaw", a rib-sticking salad. We would order a Paw Patrol cake from Hutchinson's Bakehouse, and people could bring their drinks.
We'd do the whole thing at Kurt Fearnley Park – it has a barbecue, picnic tables and a canopy of trees older than Federation. I had accidentally created Burning Man for three-year-olds. We were also moving house that week – a beautiful big place on the banks of the Belubula. Oops.
People turned up early to help set up. More guests arrived than were expected, which was wonderful. I love that about the country. I hate leaving people out. The kids ate sponge cake, played games and played pass-the-parcel using Lucky's Dad's Rules. This wasn't a strategic decision – with all the walk-ins, we didn't have a present for every kid. There were no tears, only chest-busting joy.
As the sun sunk into the mountains around Carcoar, the kids from Coombing Park got naked. They paddled in the river, and the idea spread. Soon, the water, gleaming with late-afternoon sun, was dotted with naked tots, their bums shiny with flecks of gold from the sandy riverbed.
My phone lit up again with messages from friends who had left the party. One said it was the best party they'd seen at the park. We were tired and home.
Top/left, a scene from the party on the banks of the Belubula. Bottom/right, Varcoe with birthday boy Tom at Saltash Farm, where building has begun.
RAG Status Reporting is used in project management to update executives quickly using a traffic light system. "Red" means trouble, "amber" signals bumps in the road, and "green" means everything is fine.
Please see the February report below. Please circle back so we can streamline operational workflows and get the North Star back in the sky.
The Project is On Track
