I HAVE lived in the Wimmera for about five months and I’ve found there is a lot to like about the place.
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There are no murderous pirates roaming the rivers or lakes, our streets are free of machine gun-toting gangsters and Geelong is the reigning AFL premier.
That last fact might not be completely Wimmera-relevant, but it’s still a point worth noting on a regular basis.
However there is one particular thing here that has not impressed me from the start.
The sunset. It’s a massive and utter show-off.
Where I grew up on a farm near Warrnambool, the sun would set in quick and tidy fashion.
Every night it sat on the horizon, checked everything was in order and said a brief cheerio before disappearing below the skyline.
It knew after years of experience, there was no need to try anything cliched or tacky to keep the punters happy.
No Jason Akermanis-esque lairising, it would just quietly slot the ball through the big sticks and that would be it. Not up here though. In the Wimmera the sun carries on like it’s the last time we will ever see it, radiating the whole sky, turning it 17 different shades of orange while shimmering light across the stubble.
It’s enough to make me sick.
I noticed this for the first time as I went for a run out by the wheat fields on the edge of Horsham.
I was forced to be frank with the sun and tell it to stop fishing for compliments.
I’m not sure whose jurisdiction it is, possibly Parks Victoria in conjunction with Wimmera Catchment Management Authority, but they need to tell the sun to pull its head in and stop this needless self-indulgent horizontal pretentiousness it insists upon every evening.
Another thing I’ve noticed up here while jogging on the edge of town are the crickets.
I don’t know what riveting exciting adventures they undertake during the day, but there is no denying they certainly have a lot to talk about at night.
Is there something of absolute intrigue and mystery happening in those cracks in the dirt and under the pats of dried manure?
Now I’m no expert on crickets, but I just can’t logically figure out how spending a day chomping on wheat stalks could fuel such hearty and limitless banter.
Yet another thing Wimmera authorities should be investigating.
Report back to me what you find.
