Our coffee harvest has always been picked by an army of Dad's mates.
They show up in November and December in pairs and gangs and occasionally solo, they pick all morning, stop for icey drinks and bikkies for morning tea, then some kind of delicious lunch put together by Mum. They span out around coffee trees with containers strapped to their waists on belts, and they pick all our coffee. They talk. They tell bad jokes. It's extremely convivial.
Adam and I offered to run the pick this last year, but Dad declined. The coffee is his gig for now. His friends are happily up and down the rows.
And afterwards, they're around the table for a big coffee-pickers dinner. It's a tradition, the pickers get bags of just-roasted beans and a big, social, end-of-season dinner.
We're so grateful for their helping hands.
This week we welcomed our very first Wwoofer (Willing Workers On Organic Farms). While we're not yet listed in the directory, Henry was wwoofing with our friends at Milkwood for the last two months, and seemed comfortable that we had no idea what we were doing, and keen to come and join in.
He's coped remarkably well with us, including being decked out "for a party" on his first night by the small girls who live here, with flowers and hair clips. He and Adam have done some awesome fencing over the last couple of days and we've fed him some yummy farm food. I think chicken processing is on the list for tomorrow.
Our other terrificly helping hand around here is a ballerina, likely to show up in the top paddock (she moves fast) or anywhere where the quad bike it. She can hear it from a great distance through walls and closed doors.
We're grateful for all the help we can get.