A letter from our editor-in-chief Annabelle Hickson, written for Galah issue 08.
WHEN you travel through our valley, it is almost always quiet. I imagine people hurtling down the highway on their way somewhere else, with the last town an hour behind them and the next town an hour in front, thinking, “Great spot, but imagine living out here. What would you do?”
Don’t be fooled. Down each long driveway, some marked by an old barrel as a letterbox, others with proper signs and metal gates, are hubs of life. Worlds
of their own. They’re not always happy worlds— domestic violence and too much drinking are just as much a part of these worlds as any other—but look
down other driveways and you’ll see a mother working with her son on weightlifting techniques in their home gym, with help from an expert via Zoom (it’s paid off: Tyson just won two golds at the Queensland weightlifting championships). Or the farmer’s wife—a role which so often encompasses everything from bookkeeper to community leader—giving driving lessons to her cleaner, just because. Mac Ramsay will be home from boarding school soon,
ready to fire up his homemade forge to make more of his beautiful knives. There’s corn, cotton, peanut and pumpkin crops, and the farmers that grow them. Many of them play for the Bonshaw Billy Goats cricket team. They dose up on Nurofen as they carpool their way into town—some for an hour and a half—picking up their teammates from each farm.
