Postcard from the wheat belt

That isn't a stylish belt made of dried wheat strung together (but it sounds attractive, doesn't it?!)

Life slows down out here, even when you're having important meetings with people who ultimately have a say on whether you get money.

The land is flat, floodplain land, and the sun doesn't get blocked by hills as it rises and sets. No clouds this time of year, coming off what is normally a wet season, and either end of the day is accompanied by diffuse sunlight and loooooong shadows. Streets are wide, and houses raised to avoid all but the "1 in 100 year" floods. People's livelihoods are at the mercy of the elements.

Talk gravitates to bore irrigation quotas, rainfall, world agricultural markets, and wheat classifications. Memories are long, thinking gaps are inserted between sentences, and fortunately at this meeting, some heartfelt praise is being sent our way for the job we're doing (whew!).

Most refreshingly, talk is straight when you need it to be.

Tonight, I dine with 9 other people who are all male, and mostly farmers, in a ghastly homestead-themed RSL. If we're even lucky, we'll be able to hear the music from next-doors' line dancing class (...G'day G'day... How ya doin?...) as we chew through our vegetarian unfriendly menu. My voice will probably automatically take on a slightly more occer accent to fit in, as this is their world, not mine.