With the help of his parents, Allan and Heather, and family friend Bruce Ferguson, he finished his HSC, bought the farm and then struck out on his own.

An astonishing career

“I didn’t know if I was going to make it,” he admits now. “My dad and grandfather (Oswald) were dairy farmers and I’d always wanted to be a farmer, but I did wonder if I’d done the right thing.

“The loneliness and isolation were tough. I’d moved away from the coast and knew my friends were out having a great time while I was working away in the middle of nowhere, not knowing anyone and knowing very little about farming in this area.”

Gary Johnston

What helped Gary was that he’s a people person which, in turn made him a great networker. With no internet or mobile phone but desperate to talk to people and improve his skills, he set out to get advice from the best growers and irrigation specialists in the area. “Everyone helped me which is testament to the farming community here,” he says.

However, Gary didn’t limit his communications to locals. When a large dairy farm in Richmond tasked him with providing the highest quality lucerne, their nutritionist giving him the parameters needed for maximum milk production, Gary sent hundreds of samples of his crop to a forage lab in New York.

His results were so good that, not only did he get a regular order of 1000 tons of hay a year from the dairy, he was contacted by an organisation called Kentucky Equine Research.

“They were trawling data sets and told me: ‘Your hay is in the top five per cent in the US’.”

The organisation arranged to introduce Gary to the best studs in the Hunter Valley who continue to order hay from him today.

Such skills have seen Gary rise to oversee and co-invest in $40 – $50 million worth of rural investments, sell rural properties and run two properties of his own.

Driven by innovation

Networking, obviously, isn’t his only top trait, however. He combines it with innovation.

For instance, he didn’t just grow premium quality lucerne, he was one of the earliest adopters of lucerne cubing in Australia, initially exporting to Saudi Arabia and Japan because he couldn’t find a market for the cubes here.

So with only a fax and a phone (albeit the first fax in Forbes), how did he find the markets?  “I did an export development short course, met people through AusTrade, went to Japan on a study tour and came back with a deal,” he says.

Gary went on to be the first in Australia to register lucerne as a fertiliser. That saw him producing a range called Earth Cubes which sold in garden centres in three states.

He also invested in better irrigation, developing his property over many years with the latest technology and more than 15,000 trees. One of his inventions to improve irrigation water delivery and measurement saw him win a national technology award and the awards have continued since.

Often these open more doors, including his 2006 win for being NSW Farmer of the Year for his on-farm value-adding. That saw him approached by a consultant tasked with finding an Australian operator for the Global Agricultural Land and Opportunities Fund set up by Deutsch Bank.

His passion for Australian agriculture and his belief in it as a vehicle for investment has not only seen Gary set up a family-run, independent stock and station agency, Johnston Rural Group, he has added an investment arm.

That, again started through his network. “I’ve known the guys who invest with me since I was 15. They worked on my property to get through uni then went off and became very successful in the financial markets,” he says.

Initially when they asked Gary to find them a rural investment asset – a farmer who enjoyed what he did but wanted to take capital from the property so he could diversify or get a succession plan underway,  he was reluctant at the idea of mixing money and mates. However, in 2016, after looking at numerous properties, he did his first deal with meat baron Roger Fletcher on the Kiargathur station, north west of Condoblin.

“With another group, we have invested and bought a 10,000 tree macadamia farm near Byron Bay.”

The combination of private investors and as few corporate overheads as possible is the best path to success, he believes. “It also gets back to doing the right thing at the right time with the right people.”

It has been an astonishing career and Gary is still only 66.

He has no plans to retire, he says, although he will wind back and transition more of the real estate business to son, Sam. “He’s got more ability and skills than I ever had.”

Gary has been surveying the damage caused by the floods which had caused a significant loss of lucerne, and it’s fair to ask – do incidents like this make it tricky for agriculture to attract investment?

“The world is awash with cash looking for a safe haven asset class, and Australian farmland is as good as anything. You should never underestimate a successful family farming business.”

Gary Johnston

The Johnstons are certainly testament to that.

Following in his father’s footsteps

Sam’s father once told him: “You only get two or three opportunities that will be life-changing so don’t stuff them up and don’t take them for granted.”

“It’s how I live my life,” says Sam today. “If I’m given an opportunity, I want to make the most of it and give back in some way.”

Sam admits he wasn’t the most academic kid at school – and only got into Sydney University because of his rowing prowess – but like his dad has a brain attuned to ideas and innovation.

He was still at school when he invented his Johnston Multi-Hitch, a device to increase safety and efficiency on farms. Designed to go on the back of a tractor to transport implements and attachments safely, the Johnstons still use it and it won a number of awards including third place in Land Inventor of the Year.

In 2011, meanwhile, he set up Beaut Utes, an Instagram page to repost the utes he coveted. It won a following of 30,000, he was able to sell merchandise on the back of it and it opened the door to his best-known project – Thank A Farmer For Your Next Meal.

Sam and his mate Jim Honner set up that campaign so people in metro areas could discover what happens on farms. “I’ve told this story before but in my first semester of uni a girl in my class asked if it was true that cotton grew on sheep,” he explains. “I took the time to explain how cotton grows on a plant and she was really appreciative.

“I had other similar incidents and realised – ‘These guys have no idea. It’s not that they’re uneducated. They just don’t have the information.’”

At the time, practises in the wool industry were in the PETA spotlight, as Sam explains: “We didn’t want 100 per cent of the people getting a bad name when only a few were doing the wrong thing.  Jim and I wanted to tell our story so people had the information to make up their own minds and weren’t simply influenced by stories that weren’t true.”

Thank A Farmer also launched the Phone a Farmer campaign, encouraging people to check in with friends and families on the land who might be doing it tough. That was followed by When I Grow Up I Want To Be A Farmer, a photo competition to recognise the younger generation actively helping out on farms.

Sponsors came on board and Jim and Sam sold merchandise, donating all profits back to mental health initiatives and sporting clubs in regional and rural communities.

Sam reckons there’s a lot of scope for farmers to create their own narrative.

“People are interested in where their food and fibre comes from. If I can’t stand in front of a supermarket milk fridge and work out which will best support Australian farmers, what hope does a city person have of making an informed purchase?”

Sam Johnston

Naturally, Sam has ideas on how to fill that information gap but for now is focussing on the farm he bought in Forbes, next door to his dad’s. He and partner Kohbe Whitehouse have just finished renovating their house and he’s spent the past 12 months refencing and converting his small block on the Lachlan River from cropping to grazing and livestock.

He’s also finishing his Bachelor of Property Valuation Degree (to add to his Agricultural Economics Degree and stock and station agents license) and joining his dad in the family business.

He and Gary are both such do-ers, but how do they work together?

“Dad has a saying: ‘Age and experience always beat youth and enthusiasm!’ In the rural property business, a bit of grey hair does help get the listings but there’s a lot of computer work and putting together marketing material that’s best left to me. I’ve bought my own skillset to the business instead of picking up all Dad’s bad habits. It works well.”

Sam Johnston

Although still only 27, like his Dad, Sam already has a list of achievements under his belt. What’s he proudest of?

“Being able to call myself a farmer,” he replies.

If you enjoyed this story on the Johnstons, you might like to read our feature on the five generations of the Snow family.

The post Opportunity knocks for the Johnstons appeared first on The Farmer Magazine.

“With all the increases, I just didn’t want to proceed,” he says. “There was no margin in it.”

When La Niña rains hit his NSW Riverina property in October last year, it confirmed he’d made the right decision. 

“There was so much rain,” Jason observes. “The farm can only drain so much and when it’s non-stop rain every week, you get a situation where the soil becomes anaerobic. When you’ve got newly growing seed in there it’s no good. If the plant’s established, it can survive, but not as a seed.

“I was so glad I hadn’t planted. I know of other farmers in the area who had planted big areas of potatoes and they lost everything. With seed at nearly $1,000 a tonne, that was a lot of money to lose.” 

Jason Menegazzo, potato farmer

Processing potatoes worst hit

Jason, along with the majority of potato farmers in Australia, would normally send his potatoes for processing into hot chips or snack food crisps. 

And while potato farmers are obviously not the only horticulturalists struggling with bad weather, rising costs and a shortage of machinery and skilled labour, the potato crisis has caused particular angst. 

That’s partly because potatoes are our most valuable horticultural crop. Australia grows around 1.5 million tonnes of potatoes a year, according to Shaun Lindhe, National Manager Communications at AUSVEG, nearly three times more than the next most prolific vegetable, tomatoes.  

However, it’s also because while parents may have trouble getting their children to eat most other vegetables, getting them to eat their hot chips is rarely an issue. 

The big dent in the 975,000 tonnes of potatoes that would normally go to processing has left shoppers frantic as some supermarkets restrict customers to one bag of frozen chips each or the option of sweet potato chips instead which are at least twice the price.

This shortage can’t be made up by importing potatoes or frozen chips either. Droughts in Europe mean their yields are down also, says AUSVEG director and fellow potato grower Geoff Moar. Meanwhile sea freight costs have risen and there’s a shortage of containers, he adds.

Curiously, fresh potato supplies have not been hit. “That’s because around 80 per cent are from South Australia which may not have been as impacted by the wet as the Riverina, Ballarat and Tasmania,” explains Shaun.

However, these varieties aren’t ideal for chips and crisps. “They need a particular type of potato – high yield and not a potato you’d buy in the supermarket, it’s very dry,” says Jason. 

Processing potatoes also need to be as large as possible for a better skin-to-potato ratio to avoid wastage in the factory and to have the ideal starch and sugar content for a crispy outside and a soft centre.

Potato growers at a crossroads

So, when will frozen chip supplies return to normal? That depends on who you talk to. Shaun says predictions range from two months to the rest of 2023. 

“It depends on the weather and if yields from growing regions improve. Some people missed their optimum window for planting because it was too wet to get a crop into the ground and they didn’t want to sow later because they wouldn’t get the yields.

“Potatoes are a longer crop to grow – it takes around 120 days from planting to harvest – so we need to wait a bit to see what’s happening in the key regions.”

Jason, meanwhile, believes potato farmers could be at a crossroads. The floods on top of the additional costs have been the final straw for many.

“I’m hearing of more potato farmers pulling out than farmers coming in, so the ones left need to get more scale. It’s an interesting situation,” he says.

“There is an industry out there – people love their chips – but it’s quite a specialised crop and with the cost of machinery and land, the barriers to entry are huge. If a farmer pulls out due to the cost of production and low returns, processors can’t just ring up another farmer and ask: ‘Can you grow spuds now?’

Shaun Lindhe, National Manager Communications at AUSVEG

“Planters are worth $250,000, harvesters up to $600,000, tractors up to $400,000… everything is big numbers.”

“However,” he continues, “processors are big companies with big bureaucracies. They’ve maybe taken a bit of time to react, but I am seeing a bit more realisation that the cost rises have happened and they need to come on board with price increases for farmers.

“I replanted one crop in January for a customer who has come on board and is more willing to discuss costs and I’m in talks with others. It’s a work in progress but I’m not going to plant unless they make it worth my while.”

Food security concerns

Fellow NSW Riverina grower, Geoff Moar, is fortunate that the situation at his farm meant he wasn’t badly impacted by the floods. 

He agrees that processing companies have more recently recognised the increase in growing costs and adjusted their price accordingly.

However he’s finding they will only cover provable increases. “When you’re growing crops there’s always an area that doesn’t yield whether due to poor seed, hail or flood, and you need a bit of fat built in somewhere to average out income.”

Geoff grows under contract to processing companies McCain, Lamb Weston and Smith’s PepsiCo. He gave up growing for the fresh food markets after they started dictating preferred packers and varieties. 

“We have to handle big volumes and know we have a sale for the product. The economies of scale weren’t there when the supermarkets dictated fresh market sales. 

“We also have to handle those with minimal labour so that’s another reason we switched from fresh to processed.

“The thing is we still grow for cents per kilo and by the time our potatoes get into the shop, they’re retailing for dollars per kilo. It takes a whole season to grow a crop. These people have a product for maybe a week. It’s unfair the growers don’t have a bit more of a margin of the retail price. This country needs to think about food security. Growers are losing interest because of the huge costs and outlays.”

Geoff Moar, NSW Riverina grower

So, who has taken the brunt of the hot chip shortage? 

“The poor old fish and chip shop has probably found it hard but it’s the growers who’ve really struggled,” says Geoff. “Many have lost a whole season.”

The only light at the end of the tunnel is his hope that while a lack of other produce hasn’t made people think about food security, perhaps a lack of hot chips and potato crisps will.

If you enjoyed this article on the potato industry, you might also like to read our feature on how Northern Rivers farmers are recovering after the floods.

The post The chips are down for potato farmers appeared first on The Farmer Magazine.

Between them they distil around 1,000 metric tonnes per year from their 5,000 hectares. Small and niche they may be, but they’re also amongst the most proactive farmers in Australia – with good reason.

“If you get into this industry, you have to be prepared to invest,” says Phil Prather, President of the Australian Tea Tree Industry Association (ATTIA).

Since 2009, members have, via a voluntary levy, invested in research, marketing and quality control initiatives with one of their first concerns to deal with imposters. That’s important because, at best, adulterated or fake products will prove ineffective. At worst, they could injure people.

ATTIA’s first response was to introduce a quality control (QC) program and logo, a bit like the Woolmark.

“No other essential oil in the world has its own QC program. It governs every aspect of production including seed selection, land development, harvesting, distillation, packaging and the documentation that ensures growers can answer any quality issues down the track.”

Phil Prather, President of Australian Tea Tree Industry Association

ATTIA even goes as far as buying ‘tea tree oil’ off shelves all over the world and bringing it back to Southern Cross University for testing.  Much of it isn’t even tea tree at all – it’s pine or eucalyptus.

ATTIA needs to stay on top of that because pure and genuine tea tree has unique anti-microbial, anti-fungal, anti-inflammatory properties which make it quasi-medical. Indeed, it if wasn’t for the challenges of how regulatory bodies work, it would be well-qualified as a medical product.

The problem is that these regulatory bodies like one active ingredient, one function and one result. Tea tree is a natural composition of at least 149 compounds.

Mind you, that hasn’t stopped others producing poor research – another expense for ATTIA which then has to debunk it, a recent example being the claim that it caused endocrine disruption.

Members are constantly updated on findings with research databases and newsletters but it must be frustrating to have time and money sucked out of positive research projects such as the indications that tea tree may have a role in treating non-melanoma skin cancers, herpes simplex and scabies.

It was even tricky to promote its anti-viral properties in the fight against Covid-19. Everyone knew the bench wipes and hand washes worked well and there’s a gel-based formulation that slowly disperses tea tree into the air.

“You don’t really smell it, but it cleanses the room and studies from Griffith University found it highly effective against viruses,” says Phil.

“However, as soon as you say you’re killing something, it becomes a biocide or anti-microbial and that’s when the regulatory authorities want to get involved.”

It sounds very difficult, and the recent floods haven’t helped. Tea tree plants love water but not that much. Why do the tea tree producers persist?

“It’s a fantastic industry. We love it,” says Phil. “My background is in medical devices. I’ve got a familiarity with medical information and regulatory bodies and we will get there. We just have to ensure we put all the right pieces in place.”

Meet the people behind the tea trees

Claude Cassegrain owns Cassegrain Kalara tea tree plantation near Port Macquarie, and he acquired his tea tree plantation by default.  

“I was holding onto the block of land intending it to be used for a regional airport!” he says. “It already had tea tree plants on it so when that scheme fell through in 1993, I started work on a new business plan.”

The property is 630 hectares and Claude and his team planted 400 trees.

“In 2000, we opened our distillery and it wasn’t until we were about to start our first harvest that we realised there were another 4,000 to 5,000 hectares of tea tree planted all the way up to Queensland,” he says. “I had no idea, or I wouldn’t have even started!”

At the same time, Germany – which had been their biggest market – stopped buying tea tree oil so suddenly the market collapsed and many people lost everything. 

“We mothballed and were saved in 2004, when Canada developed as a market,” says Claude. “It took us until 2008 to become profitable again and gradually the price increased.

“However, we had all learned from the year 2000, and from then, tea tree growers started to become more cooperative and share information.”

Meanwhile, Claude worked on growing their market, using AusTrade to help identify potential customers and build a reputation for reliability. “We now sell all over the world including to South America, India, Japan and Europe,” he says. “The primary use is for cosmetic and pharmaceutical products, and our annual record was distilling 120,000 kilos.”

Claude’s operation is the most southern plantation in Australia. “And we record every batch we distil – where it came from, time of harvest and cook, so we have traceability,” he says. “We provide good service and quality control so tend to average around $50 per kilo.

“We have a few projects underway to improve that quality further, including a high quality seedling trial on our plantation under the supervision of Dr Mervyn Shepherd from Southern Cross University.”

Claude says that the biggest issue for them, is realising the potential of tea tree oil.

“If we can get the TGA to adopt new methodologies to accept natural projects, that’s when tea tree oil will really take off. We need to invest more in research and market development. Tea tree oil is a rare, special precious commodity and so it should be treated as such.”

Claude Cassegrain, tea tree producer

From theatre to tea tree farming

Morgan Dowsett has a Kimulli tea tree oil plantation near Woodburn.

“My parents Stephen and Adele bought this tea tree farm in 1995, and at the time, it looked like a tremendous opportunity,” he says. “Prices were sky high at $80 a kilo, but five years later they crashed to around $8 a kilo.”

Morgan was living overseas at the time, working in theatres all over the world, but he ended up back on the farm when his father died suddenly in 2018.

“Mum had breast cancer at the time and they’d both put so much effort into it, I promised her I’d keep the place going,” he says.  

“I knew little about farming, but I got in touch with his Dad’s contacts, including Peter Entwistle – the main agronomist for tea tree in Australia, and he guided me.”  

Morgan had always enjoyed sciences and he soon realised why his father had given up an international career in commodities, to be a farmer and work with tea tree oil.

“I also realised I was walking in his shoes in a way that was a grieving process for me and really made me appreciate him,” Morgan says. “The more I got into it, the more I loved it too.”

When Morgan’s mother died in 2020, he and his sister Naomi took it over as a family business.

“We now want to take it to another level and create a name and brand behind the plantation,” he says. “To learn as much as I can, I’m now on the board of directors for ATTIA. One of the things I hope to do is organise a tea tree festival in nearby Coraki which used to be the capital of tea tree.”

The idea is to invite local plantations and people who sell tea tree oil products, so the two sides of the supply chain can build rapport and help marketing. “We can share our stories so they can explain how they source their tea trea and build up the notion of a terroir, as they do in wine,” Morgan explains.

“I helped establish the New York International Fringe Festival so setting up a festival in Coraki shouldn’t be too hard. It’s a uniquely Australian story and there’s a lot of interest in agritourism.

“I made a big jump in my life taking on this plantation but we’ve got 62.5 hectares planted now, producing around 10 tons of oil a year. I’ve learned to drive a tractor, spray, slash… I can do pretty much everything now. I should even have some free time to return to theatre work soon as well!”

Tea tree with sustainable goals

Phil Prather has Down Under Enterprises in the Northern Rivers.

“We’ve owned our farm since 2016 but my wife DeeAnn is a sixth-generation farmer and her family has been involved for more than 25 years,” he says. “They were dairy farmers before that. We came back to Australia from America to help them and loved the industry so much we bought our own place, now one of the most modern tea tree farms in the industry.”

The couple have over 5.5 kms of irrigation pipes around 18 inches in diameter on their farm, which means they can move a lot of water around quickly and remotely. Although it did get hit by floods, it’s designed so water will also flow off.

“At present we produce north of 30 tons of oil a year, but also market on behalf of local growers so in excess of 120 tons globally to customers around the world, usually on a repeat business under contract,” Phil explains.

“More recently we’ve branched into other Australian essential oils including lemon and lavender-scented tea tree and lemon and anise myrtle. They’re also anti-bacterial, anti-fungal and anti-inflammatory.”

“As far as I’m aware, what makes us unique is we’re the only farm to have pursued sustainability goals.”

Phil Prather, tea tree grower

They’ve attained platinum status with EcoVardis – an independent sustainability auditor which puts them in the top one per cent of over 100,000 companies on that platform globally.

“That is not a cost minimisation strategy, but because consumers are holding companies to account on their sustainability footprint,” Phil says. “Those who are investigating the supply chain, making sure they’re clean, they’re the types of customers we work with.”

If you enjoyed this story about tea tree growers, you might like to read this feature on our robust olive industry.

The post Three tales from tea tree farmers appeared first on The Farmer Magazine.

The Suttors’ story has been told in TV documentaries and books while local schools still come out to the sixth-generation farmer’s Bathurst property, Brucedale, to hear him recount it again.

We spoke to David just after floods had swept through his property, destroying infrastructure ranging from his newest fences to the regenerated creek he’s been working on for years.

He was also worried about energy and grain prices and whether he’d be able to get his machinery out onto waterlogged fields. Despite this, David has not thought about selling up and turning his back on a history that began in 1800 after George Suttor was invited out to Australia by the famous English botanist Sir Joseph Banks – who wanted him to bring out plants to help establish the colony.

George had actually wanted to be an actor, says David, but his wife Sarah’s parents weren’t going to let their daughter marry a thespian.

“Instead, he came out as a horticulturalist farmer and developed the first commercial orange orchard in Australia at Baulkham Hills.”

In 1822, thinking he was about to lay claim to a 2,000-acre land grab, George and his son William, then 17, travelled over the mountains to Bathurst with 400 sheep, some bullocks, horses, and a dray with their supplies. In fact, the land ended up being only 320 acres.

“George left William in charge of the livestock in Bathurst until it could be sorted out, instructing him: ‘Treat all of the Aboriginal people with respect and kindness. If you do, you won’t have any trouble’.”

Without that advice, the Suttor family line might have ended right there.

The local Wiradjuri people weren’t happy about all the new settlers taking their land and years of martial law and conflict followed.

William, however, was always kind, says David, and when a party of angry Wiradjuri, led by famous warrior Windradyne, turned up at his property intent on revenge for his slaughtered people, William was able to speak to them in their own language, diffusing a potentially fatal situation.

Windradyne, supported by the Suttors, went on to travel to Sydney to plead with the Governor to have martial law suspended and is now buried 1.5 km from David’s home.

The land is fenced off and recognised as a national park and he regularly sits with the warrior’s ancestors to speak
with school children. 

“When you have these historic things on your farm, they need to be acknowledged. The Wiradjuri are welcome here at any time. It’s a positive, dual history we share, and we like to get it out into the public as much as we can. It’s a special, ongoing thing to be involved in and something we’re very proud of.”

David Suttor

The son of George

Kindly William, meanwhile, went on to become one of the biggest farmers out west. “It was the squatocracy period, you could lease 6,000 acres from the Crown for about 10 pounds a year. At one stage he had 600,000 acres under his control, all the way up to QLD.”

Not surprisingly, the government eventually realised it was not the fairest system and broke the runs up.

William continued to do well, however, out of the gold rush. He didn’t find gold himself – although his brother-in-law, Dr Kerr, laid claim to the famous Kerr Nugget, a 109-pound find of gold.

“It was actually found by one of his Aboriginal shepherds who sat down for lunch, turned over a big rock to make sure there was nothing under it and exclaimed: ‘That’s the yella stuff those white blokes are looking for’.

“He rolled the rock back and told Dr Kerr. They smashed it up and put it into saddlebags, stored it at Brucedale then took it into town to get it valued. In the 1850s it was worth more than $4 million in today’s money.

“I don’t know if Kerr shared the money. He gave the shepherd some sheep and tobacco but within a couple of days he’d been swindled and left with only his tobacco. That’s what happened in those days. The Aboriginal people had no idea of the value of gold. If a white man had found it, he probably would never have told Kerr.”

Bizarrely, it was the only bit of gold found in the area. “Others came to look but never found any more. It truly was amazing, especially as it was just lying on top of the ground with this quartz around it.” 

William, instead, found his own riches, selling beef to the gold diggers in Ballarat and Bendigo. “They’d put a mob of 800 cattle together and walk them there. 

“There was a shortage of beef and with the gold rush it was worth a lot of money – so many people and no refrigeration. Whatever was butchered had to be eaten.”

David recalls one particular incident when William was unable to get the cattle across the swollen Murray River so had to sell them on the NSW side for six pounds a head. 

Realising patrons of the local pub knew how much he had stashed in his saddlebags, he then had to put a wad of his cash behind the bar and get the publican to promise not to let any of them know he was on his way before they’d drunk the lot.

Fortunately, he had himself well hidden on a rocky hill by the time the inebriated patrons galloped past.

The next generations

David’s great-great-grandfather, Herbert (William’s son) was more interested in sheep than cattle. “He won trophies for breeding Merinos, although we wouldn’t want those wrinkly Merinos today. No one’s got the labour to chase the flies out of those things.”

Like David today, Herbert also did a lot of off-farm work.

“There’s a bit about him being a sheep classer and we recently found a story about him classing sheep out west and breaking two records in one day – one for classing 10,000 ewes (obviously he wasn’t looking at them very closely) and the other for drinking everyone under the table!” 

David Suttor

David’s grandfather Roy was next to take over, also dealing with the devastation of two World Wars and the Great Depression. His dad John then took the reins, swapping from sheep back to cattle again.

“Unfortunately, he ran into trouble in the 1982/83 drought. He couldn’t even send them away because Brucellosis was around then. When I came back in 1988, I put sheep back on the place producing wool and meat.

“I have recently bought some young heifers though and we’ve joined QLD cattle to a European breed, so we’ve got some cracking calves to sell next autumn and get back into cattle trading.”

Over the years, Brucedale has shrunk in size and David is now down to 1,100 hectares where he currently has nearly 3,000 sheep, 190 cattle and does a bit of cropping. He still lives in the original homestead, built for William and his wife Charlotte in 1837: “We’ve modified it with indoor bathrooms but it’s still the original Georgian house.” 

At present, the family is wrestling with the perennial farmers’ dilemma of succession. The farm can’t be reduced in size any more or it won’t be viable and there’s no way the Suttors would sell up and walk away.

His improbable dream scenario would be for the government to buy it and the family to rent it back.

It has, after all, become a special place for generations of Wiradjuri who still come to Brucedale to tend Windradyne’s grave and share the story of how whites and blacks found peace together.

“History could stay here and we could become the curators,” he says.

The succession dilemma 

Will is David’s eldest son, and he has two siblings, Jock and Phoebe. “Growing up, I always knew I wanted to be a farmer,” he says. For now though, achieving his dream is a work in progress.

Currently, Will – who will be 32 in March – has his own roofing business in town with Jock working alongside him. “We’re both very interested and want to be involved in the farm and all three of us would love to see the farm continue,” he confirms. “We’re all on the same page there. It’s just getting it to a point where it works for all parties.”

Succession plans have always been a headache for farmers. Recently though, it’s become harder than ever. Land and stock values are high which makes paying family members out or acquiring more land impossible and many have to continue off-farm work to make ends meet.

Will has grown up with stories of his incredible family and, while times were undoubtedly tough back then, he says enviously, “There were a lot of opportunities for an adventurous go-getter back then. They took those opportunities and went with it.”

Whatever happens to the farm, however, one thing is certain. Will and his siblings will continue working with the Wiradjuri people. “That section with Windradyne’s grave is fenced off and will always be preserved as history.”

If you enjoyed this story on the Suttor family, you may like to read our feature on the father and son team at Macka’s.

The post The Suttor family: custodians of the land appeared first on The Farmer Magazine.

With the worldwide shortage in mohair, new markets are emerging. And with lamb, sheep and cattle prices high, farmers are looking for alternatives.

“We just need to compete with that top-of-mind awareness, so farmers know what the market is, what they need to do and what the return on investment is,” says Nick. “For instance, you can easily buy an angora goat for $150 to $180 and you should be able to make that back in a year.”

While Covid-19 smashed many industries, it’s been good for mohair. 

“The knitting market has exploded. Across the world, more people were at home and doing craft. Also, fashion trends have seen more big brands offering mohair jumpers and cardigans, liking the look and the fact improved genetics have bred out the itchiness.”

Nick Gorrie, President of Mohair Australia

At present, Australia produces just one to two per cent of the world’s mohair. “I think we’re an industry that could grow 20 per cent a year without causing any impact on demand or changing the pricing,” Nick says. 

“There’s not enough mohair being produced plus people like natural fibres and the qualities of mohair, such as its ability to take dyes well and to bounce back and not crease.”

In addition, high-end buyers are keen to buy from and pay a 5-10 per cent premium to growers who’ve met Responsible Mohair Standards.

This covers both animal welfare and looking after the land with a large number of Australian growers now having RMS certification.

Nick believes there’s further room for opportunity in sales of angoras. “It’s an area in which we haven’t performed very well. If you’re selling all your surplus animals to the abattoir that’s a waste but some growers have been doing that.

“We don’t tend to send goats to saleyards and that’s an area we need to improve on. Those saleyard agents are well networked and we miss out not being involved in that network.”

He was pleased recently to see an entire stud sold to a sheep farmer in the Wagga Wagga district which saw a new grower established, but he wants to see more of that. 

“The more growers you have, the better, because every two or three years you need to change your bucks and we haven’t got that commercial base,” he says.

Mohair farmers reaping the rewards

So, what kind of farmer might like to look at angora goats?

“If you’ve already got the infrastructure like shearing sheds, yards and shelter, it’s ideal,” Nick says. “Angoras don’t graze pastures very heavily so, in rotation with other livestock, they can be good because they’re looking for different things in pastures.

“Older goats can utilise marginal, hilly land and although it’s best to start slowly and build up your skill set, you can increase herds very quickly when the market is strong. Goats often have twins so, with one or two kiddings, you can capitalise on good fibre prices.”

Nick went to a school in the Hills of Hall region that had angora goats, so he got interested in them there. When he left school, he was going to buy a horse but decided to buy four angoras instead. He now has around 1,000 of them.

“At the start, we ran it as a bit of a hobby but we’re now a commercial operation and I own a farm of 170 hectares, plus rent some land from a neighbour,” Nick says.

“We sold $72,000 worth of mohair last year off basically 500 goats, plus I then kidded another 300 and kept my wethers from the year before as well as sending older wethers to the abattoirs where prices for goat meat are good. It’s pretty phenomenal.”

Nick Gorrie, President of Mohair Australia

Nick says that they are very rewarding animals, especially the kidding. “The babies are so gorgeous when they’re little.” 

Getting ahead with mohair mentoring

Grant Forsdick from Burragate is originally from South Africa, the capital of angora goat farming. “We were actually part time fruit farmers but after the farm was acquired by the government, we decided to start again in Australia,” he says. 

“I didn’t even think about angora farming but when we bought Currajong Common, the vendor said we couldn’t have it unless I took the 160 goats as well.”

Grant decided to give it a go and found a very good mentor whose breeding advice has allowed him to seriously improve the quality of mohair he produces.

“I’m involved in the Weaving Project so what we do is slightly different to traditional mohair producers,” he says. “Our mentor identified that the top of the market wanted a longer fibre. You get a premium price for that, especially if it’s very fine. It means I shear at seven months instead of six.” 

At the last assessment, 100 per cent of Grant’s kids’ fibre were approved for the Weaving Project, meeting the criteria for purity and length. They all produced sub-20 micron fibres. 

“We improve price further with RMS certification and at the last sale, the best RMS fine kid mohair sold for a premium,” Grant says. “My wife Jenny and I currently have 400 adults and 110 kids across 42 hectares, and we really enjoy them. 

“We apply regenerative farming practices and they’re so smart, they’re easy to move. All we do is call and shake a bucket of feed and they go.” 

Grant Forsdick, Chairperson of the Australian Mohair Marketing Organisation

Because the couple shear twice a year, they find themselves better off when it comes to cash flow than when dealing with sheep, although goats are more difficult to shear because they have thin skin and less body fat. 

“They’re lighter and more docile and shearing takes a bit longer so we have to pay a bit more for shearing,” Grant says. 

“I’m Chairperson of the Australian Mohair Marketing Organisation (AMMO) so one of our current challenges is how to increase qualified goat shearers.”

Learning as they go

Nolani McColl and her husband Peter are from Braidwood and they decided to buy angora goats after meeting Grant Forsdick at a holistic management course. 

“We visited his farm and ended up buying our first pregnant does in June 2021,” Nolani says. “I like the fact that goats are a small animal so I can handle them, and I also like the structure of the industry. We can focus on growing and then, once they are shorn, we can send the fibre to AMMO and they dealt with the selling.”

Nolani is interested in spinning and textiles so in the future she’d like to sell into the home spinners market.

“Angoras’ fleece is so beautiful – it has a lustre and takes natural dyes really well. Unlike sheep wool, it’s a solid fibre.”

Nolani McColl, angora goat farmer from Braidwood

“Although I work for the Mulloon Institute (an environmental and sustainable research resource for farmers), we don’t have farming backgrounds but we’ve had lots of help from Grant and Nick plus our local shearer David Lillis who is on the AMMO board and focusses on angoras.”

The couple say that getting the goats has been very satisfying, and now they have a herd of 95. 

“We haven’t got a return on them yet as things such as infrastructure, buying equipment and intestinal worm drenches have been expensive,” Nolani says. “I’m hoping that down the track, we’ll get ahead but that’s not why we’re doing it. We had 37 hectares and it seemed unconscionable to have land and not use it.”

If you enjoyed this feature on mohair, you might like our story on diversification for wool growers.

The post A great yarn about mohair appeared first on The Farmer Magazine.

To that end, the innovative wool grower supported the establishment of a university college in Armidale, offered his property to study groups and created good links with the CSIRO. Poss was also the first in Australia to use a plane to drop superphosphate on his land and his experiments with fertilisers, drenches and parasite control, combined with his interest in improving sheep and pastures saw him respected as an innovator.

Clearly that trait was passed down to the next generations. 

Poss’s nephew Jock was part of a small group who brought the first Scanogram machine to properly measure carcass traits to Australia. 

Long experience with Carcass Competitions – where an animal was observed on the hoof and then the hook – had taught him you couldn’t just rely on the human eye to judge the merits of a beast, as his son Grant observes today.

“If you could line up the champion live animal with the champion carcass, you
were a very astute judge. Or just lucky!” Grant says. 

Not surprisingly, Grant (aged 73) has also focussed on research to improve his business. “Performance recording was my big thing when I took over,” he says. 

Grant would watch farmers buying rams at shows, convinced that a champion rosette with no figures or measurements was a poor measure of the animal.

“You were just going on phenotype,” he says. “Some years you might pick one that improved your flock but other years they might take it backwards.”

In the late 1970s, Grant started testing and recording wool microns, fleece weight, body weight, resistance to parasites and one progeny against another – a painstaking system which heralded the Estimated Breeding Values (EBVs) of today. 

“If you’re measuring through genetic improvement, you can measure what is happening to your flock or herd.  We soon found which animals were superior, whereas before we’d been in the dark.”

Grant Nivison.

“Also, we benchmarked with other farms and it gave you confidence in what you were doing and helped you work out where you could improve your business.”

His research led to Grant becoming involved with the Department of Agriculture, University of New England and later with the CSIRO in the evolving progress of
Merino genetics. 

Although Grant is modest about his achievements, it must’ve been a huge workload, especially in the 1970s when there was no technology or software to assist him and endless opportunities for data or animals to get confused.

These were the days before radio tags – another innovation Grant adopted early in the late 1980s because he was weary of human error messing up data.

A farmhand with dyslexia or someone reading a tag or making a recording incorrectly could all prove to be frustrating. However, it all helped to lead to the best advance he’s seen in his lifetime. “Every animal is more productive now,” he says. 

Yalgoo sheep cut more wool and that wool is exceptionally fine, snapped up by the picky Italian markets. Steers, meanwhile, yield more meat or get to market weight faster – or both. 

Yet Grant says his greatest pride is his four children with wife, Joanna. Katrina works as a lawyer for UNE, Rebecca works in sheep genetics there, Lisa is a vet, and his son Jock runs the farm. 

He’s also proud that his family still farms the area which has had Nivison owners since 1840 and seen the family survive bank crashes, two World Wars, the Spanish Flu, the Great Depression and numerous droughts.

“You look around and there aren’t many places that are still under the one ownership after all this time,” Grant observes “Hopefully we will continue to be the exception.”

The next generation

At first, Jock Nivison wasn not sure he really wanted to return to the family farm. 

“It was an organic pull in the end,” he says. “We’re not the same as a First Nations family but seven generations have created a close connection with this community and this land.”

All the same, when he did decide his future lay in farming, Jock and dad Grant decided he should start by spending the first 10 years developing a sheep stud partnership in Tasmania.

It prevented them butting heads, explains Jock. “We had a good client down there who was buying rams and a good semen clientele as well. There wasn’t a lot of objective measurement in Tassie when we started so we held field days, brought over geneticists, and tried to establish a good understanding of EBVs.”

It was a great learning experience and confidence builder, he says – not least because it also taught him the art of communication. 

“We employed agricultural consultant Dr Phil Holmes and he’s that rare bird – very evidence-based but also good at delivering a message. Our product is built around empirical evidence, proof and data, but if there wasn’t a good understanding of what we did, we couldn’t persuade people to invest in what we were doing.

“The industry has become very competitive and whether you’re producing beef, lamb or wool, there are key profit drivers you have to nail. We keep the message clear, simple and concise: these are the things that make you money.” 

Jock Nivison.

Back in Walcha, Jock’s parents eased him and wife Olivia into the financial and managerial side of Yalgoo before Jock felt he was ready to follow not only his dad’s, but also his entrepreneurial grandfather’s impressive footsteps. 

Jock senior died 10 years ago. “In many ways, I think he had a higher threshold for risk than Dad and I,” says Jock. “He served in the war (Borneo and New Guinea from 1942-1945) and I reckon that makes you inclined to have a crack at anything because nothing’s as bad as getting shot at!

“My grandfather exported cattle to South Korea, was feedlotting cattle before that became a thing and had butcher’s shops and flew beef up and down the coast.”

Fortunately, Jock has never been cannon fodder, so what drives him? “No doubt the best thing is seeing our clients’ businesses grow and having someone you really respect say: ‘You helped us get where we are’. 

“Providing people with good breeding stock and better systems affects their income and it’s the pinnacle for me, seeing clients do well.”

That genuine concern for customers extends to keeping their costs as low as possible. 

“I’m proud we put our clients’ margins before ours,” Jock says. “We have a unique bull depreciation model that is incorporated into our contract bull sales. We have a good data set on how long bulls are lasting and then an algorithm to work out how much it costs per calf per kilo of beef produced. That’s enabled us to work out how to price our bulls more fairly to produce a healthy margin for our clients.”

This investment in client relations even sees Jock being generous with his intellectual property. “We’re happy to do our own research to validate data – that’s the stuff that excites me and we’re free with any information we get. We try to get it to industry as soon as possible.”

A typical example is the breeding index for Merinos which the Nivisons developed in 2012. “Back then there were 80 measurements or traits you could put in an index and none were contributing to income,” Jock explains. “We brought it back to four or five traits that were highly heritable and had a big sell on profitability.  

“Our fleece value index, for instance, is primarily the two things that control price on wool – micron and amount of wool cut. We’ve had it validated against hard economic data then freely distributed it to industry to help others push their flocks along as well.”

As well as the genetics side of the business, Jock runs between 17,000 and 20,000 sheep, predominately Merinos with some fat lambs as well. 

“We bought another farm at the end of the drought which has become a lamb block,” he says. “We were a bit nervous about the Chinese relationship and heavy dependence wool sales, so we wanted to diversify.”

Also running on Yalgoo’s 4,050 acres is a stud of around 300 Hereford and 100 Angus cattle with plans to breed up to around 300 of each. 

Jock has been cross breeding the Hereford and Angus to produce Black Baldys – another decision backed by science with Black Baldys providing good growth, immune response, longevity, fertility and milking ability. 

“We’re currently working on a custom Black Baldy index with commercial clients, our consultant and geneticists,” he adds. 

As the seedstock side of the business has grown Jock has handed over a lot of the day-to-day management to his manager Brett Morris who’s been with the business for
35 years. 

Meanwhile, he’ll continue exploring new agricultural frontiers as his predecessors did before him. His current focus is a heavy investment in genomics which will add even greater accuracy to Yalgoo’s decision-making. 

Hopefully, it will add to even more industry recognition which so far includes 2016 Finalist for NSW Farmer of the Year, 2017 Australian Sheep Farmer of the Year, 2018 nominee for Agricultural Innovation Award and 2019 Hargraves Institute Innovation Award.

Jock has three daughters – Frankie, 10, Eliza, 7 and Edie, 3. With a mum who is a naturopath who shares her husband’s curiosity in health, fertility and growth, will they too inherit the family’s inquiring mindset?

“I ask them every other day if they’re going to take over,” Jock laughs. “They want to keep living here but they’re not sure if they want to be farmers.” 

More information can be found in An Australian Clan, The Nivisons of New England by Jullian Oppenheimer and Bruce Mitchell.

If you enjoyed this feature on the Nivisons, you might like our new gen story on the husband and wife duo behind the Packsaddle Roadhouse.

The post Meet the Nivisons from Walcha appeared first on The Farmer Magazine.

In the late eighties, former Navy chef, Brian thought about opening an oyster bar here but a huge algae bloom hit, almost destroying the oyster industry and his business. In December 2020, however, his daughter Natasha Clutterbuck decided to give the project a go herself.

Timing wasn’t great as the region was still recovering from bushfires and navigating the Covid pandemic, but she and husband Laurie decided to start modestly, not taking on any loans and only investing what they could afford to walk away from.

“When we opened, I had one umbrella, two tables and six chairs. Within days, I told Mum: ‘I think we need to hire some stuff’.”

Natasha Clutterbuck.

Her client base has been growing ever since with up to 500 visitors a day streaming through the gate in summer to dine and drink at her Oyster Farmer’s Daughter bar. 

She’s never advertised and it’s not a place for a bargain feed, but customers know it’s the place to come for the freshest oysters possible – whether served natural with a squeeze of lemon or a selection of dressings. 

“You can watch the boys come in from the river, unload the trays of oysters and clean and open them. You know those oysters have been bred, cared for and brought in from that river only that day,” Natasha says.

Many farmers aspire to cut out the middleman when selling their produce. It not only ensures maximum profit and control but allows them to better sell a provenance and a brand. 

There was a time when third-generation oyster farmer, Brian, employed 15 staff and trucked semi-trailer loads of oysters off to Melbourne and Sydney restaurants.

Now, 90 per cent of his oysters go to Natasha, a timely arrangement that has worked well as Brian has scaled back in retirement and Covid lockdowns closed many restaurants. 

Although Natasha’s brother, Steven, is also an oyster farmer, Natasha and her sister Melissa were never encouraged to get involved. “Dad was pretty protective of his girls,” she says.  

Instead, they focussed on horse-racing, and Natasha based herself in Sydney to become a professional showjumper with a talent for transforming ex racehorses and naughty Warmbloods.  

However, after a stint working in a dental surgery she decided she needed a long-term plan. Since opening, the oyster bar has been receiving rave reviews for her food which, besides oysters, includes flathead, prawns, Moreton Bay Bugs, scallops, salads and cheese platters. 

Both she and husband Laurie were raised in Narooma and decided to return when they started their family – Beau, now seven, and Ivy, three. Even so, opening an oyster bar wasn’t the obvious career choice as Natasha has no culinary background and laughs that her husband reckons she’s the worst cook ever. 

Visitors come for a cocktail and a few oysters and once the local band strikes up, they just keep ordering more.

Behind the scenes at the Oyster Farmers Daughter Oyster Bar.

The secret to her success, says Natasha, is her dad. He doesn’t interfere but, being “super fussy” about what he eats, tells her if something’s not right.

“He taught me how to source great quality seafood and how to prepare it.”

“I take the attitude that, with seafood, the less you do to it the better. It’s all about enhancing the flavour. It doesn’t need to be covered in sauce.”

Natasha Clutterbuck.

A third-generation oyster farmer, with a farm in the Eurobadalla for nearly 40 years, Brian has always been passionate about sustainable fishing in every form. 

“Dad is all about the ocean’s longevity, the cleanliness of rivers, and how we treat everything we eat,” says Natasha. “We can’t just think about our lifetime. We have to think long-term so everything we use is as local as it can possibly be.

“Everything I serve is fresh and of the highest quality. Some people do balk at our prices but our mark-up is not huge when you look at how much I pay for produce. 

“We want to serve nice, unique things whether it’s seafood, alcohol, coffee, fresh juices or seasoning. Just because we’re working out of a three-metre trailer doesn’t mean the food can’t be the highest standard possible.”

One example of the unique local produce Natasha uses is a Mystery Bay Kelp seasoning, made by a local from seaweed, dried garlic and different seasonings from around the area. 

“That’s an expensive product. I put it on our fish and chips and I could choose not to serve it, but I like supporting and promoting local producers and it’s beautiful and provides a point of difference.”

Other locals who win a place on Natasha’s menu include Guerilla coffee roasters from Moruya, Rusty Fig wines from Bermagui and Tilba cheeses and jams. The beer, gin, fruit and salads all come from nearby distilleries or suppliers. 

In a foodie culture where customers like to know the provenance of what’s on their plate, Natasha loves showcasing these small operators and their stories. They in turn show their appreciation at being showcased through gestures such as free freight.

Natasha is delighted by the success of her business although everything she makes is ploughed back into improvements with the next arrival a bigger trailer with larger fridges.

“We’ve got a lot more growing to do but we don’t want to change too much,” says Natasha. “People like the fact it’s a humble, realistic, working farm and I want to keep that while making the experience as nice as possible.”

Does she feel her dad missed an opportunity not opening the oyster bar himself?  “It was a shame. Dad was before his time with his vision,” she says. “But I guess we didn’t have the foodie culture then that we have now.

If you enjoyed this feature on the Oyster Farmer’s Daughter, you might like our business story on mobile butcher businesses.

The post The Oyster Farmers Daughter appeared first on The Farmer Magazine.

In July this year, Broken Hill farmer Brendan Cullen joined their ranks,  an amazing feat – not least because he lives 60kms from his nearest swimming pool and 600 kms from his nearest beach.

It took Brendan a gruelling 17.5 hours to complete the distance. After starting at 10am, he did much of the swim in the dark.

Conditions were unexpectedly rough the whole way and just as the sun went down and he spied the lights of France in the distance the notorious 4.5 knot tides of the ‘English Channel Graveyard’ swept him off course so that instead of 33 kilometres he ended up swimming 40kms.

“That was the toughest bit,” he admits. What was going through his mind?

“Mentally you think you’re prepared, and I was, but so much stuff goes through your mind. I sang, counted, got support from the crew, remembered advice from other swimmers, thought about my family and just concentrated on putting one arm in front of the other.”

Coach Mike Gregory (aka the Tractor “because he can plough through anything”) jumped into the water to swim the final two kms with his protege.

When Brendan finally hit the sands of France, hands swollen and fighting pain in his shoulder and groin, the pair just hugged and cried for two minutes.

As the horn sounded to signal the swim was complete, Brendan’s next priority was scrabbling about to find pebbles to take back for his three children.

“But I must’ve hit the sandiest beach in France. There wasn’t a pebble in sight,” he laughs. “I can’t even remember the trip back to Dover. I just passed out on the beanbags. I was proper sore. As sore as I’ve ever been.”

Back at the harbour, wife Jacinta and daughter Emma were waiting and the pair stood on the jetty, crying and hugging for ages. “I’ve been through a fair few boxes of tissues,” he admits.

Brendan’s extraordinary journey began three years ago. He took up swimming as part of his battle against depression and became so addicted when he saw posters offering English Channel try-outs during a visit to Melbourne, he put his hand up. It was there he met Mike who has swum the Channel four times.

“Mike’s really encouraging but he must’ve been thinking: ‘Who’s this guy from the bush who thinks he’s going to swim the English Channel?’” remembers Jacinta.

Not living near the beach meant Brendan’s training was often unorthodox.

He had to empty the dingo baits out of his big freezer, fill it with water, cooled to a chilly four degrees then sit  in it for up to ten minutes at a time to prepare himself for the cold.

With 4,500 sheep to manage, some days Brendan, 49, was so short of time he had to tie an elastic band around his waist, attach the other end to the pool fence in the backyard and basically swim on the spot for an hour.

His ideal swim was up to 15 kms around Menindee Lake, often rising at 3.45am to prepare himself for swimming in the dark but even that was fraught.

“He had to pull up on one session after a fish swam in his mouth, probably a baby carp,” says Jacinta.

Training, however, wasn’t Brendan’s only headache. With no wetsuits allowed he had to get up to 100 kilos to build up a layer of insulation against the cold so was consuming lots of pasta, potatoes, ice cream and beer.

Jacinta and eldest daughter, Emma both work for Broken Hill Lifeline and Brendan is a dedicated volunteer so he used his swim to raise funds for them.

At the start of the swim, around $9,000 had been pledged but as supporters watched his effort, donations tripled with Broken Hill cheering him on, making Brendan Cullen Swimming The Channel cupcakes and even turning out in force to welcome him home at the airport.

So how does Brendan feel now?

“It’s mind-blowing I’m now a Channel swimmer. I can’t believe it,” he says.

Brendan raised more than $20,000 along the way for Lifeline Australia.

Read more of Brendan Cullen’s story here.

The post Broken Hill farmer swims the English Channel appeared first on The Farmer Magazine.

Felicity Weal lost the use of her legs after falling through a roof, but she also continues to help run her sheep, cattle and cropping enterprise in Cowra. A ramp and platform help her get onto her horse, and a specially adapted dressage saddle helps prevent her from falling. She’s doing so well that, as well as running the farm business and raising her toddler, she’s hoping for a place on the Paralympic team. 

Glen Clarke ignored advice to leave his Kempsey farm after a truck accident left him a paraplegic, instead having his all-terrain vehicle adapted so he could continue doing anything on his property, from spraying weeds to mustering cattle. Oh yes, and he also goes mountain biking and skiing.

A new community is born

They’re just three of the stories featured on the pages of online community group Ability Agriculture, which features dozens of inspirational and eye-opening stories of disabled farmers determined to stay on the land.

Ability Agriculture was set up in February 2021 by Glen’s daughter Josie who is a grain researcher. She was just five when her dad was injured, and for the past 20 years she has watched admiringly as he’s found solutions to every problem and mentored others who are disabled to help them do the same. 

Josie was determined to follow in his footsteps and share the message that it’s possible to remain in agriculture and live in regional and remote areas whether intellectually or physically impacted. 

Clearly that message has resonated as she already has more than 2,000 community members and has seen up to 300,000 people reading her stories. Her inbox is full of messages from people wanting to share their own experiences and in May she won a NSW Rural Women’s Award for the Instagram and Facebook platforms. 

Her dad picked up the award as Josie was studying for her PhD in Mexico – and he had a tear in his eye as she was awarded a grant of $15,000.

The cash will be invaluable as she continues providing information not only to the disabled but to employers, trainers and developers.

“I want to do a lot more with Ability Agriculture. I want it to be a representative group and a voice for disability in agriculture.”

Josie Clarke, founder of Ability Agriculture.

Her plans include registering as a not-for-profit and attending industry events. “I would like an Ability Agriculture fund so more people can be advocates for disability,” she says. “You can’t be it if you can’t see it.” 

More better opportunities

Josie is also keen to open more and better opportunities for people with a disability to get started in agriculture. 

“We talk about inclusion and diversity, but we’re not an industry showing that beyond gender equality. When advertising roles we don’t say they’re inclusive so someone with a disability can apply and know they’ll be supported. These things need to happen.”

Josie Clarke

“We keep talking about workforce shortages in agriculture. We need to look at those gaps and work out how we can fill those roles,” Josie adds. “We need to support growers and have them look at their business and ask themselves: ‘How can I make an inclusive or adaptive position here and support someone with a disability?’”

She says that the industry also needs to do more to support owners with a disability. 

Farmers are so used to being inventive and problem solving, this shouldn’t be such a huge stretch, Josie continues. Many of her members worked out the adaptations they needed to operate their equipment then found an engineer who could build them. 

The changing face of ag is an oppportunity

In addition, agriculture has changed so dramatically, with fewer physical requirements for jobs and more technological and agribusiness opportunities, it should be more inclusive and adaptive. 

Encouragingly, there are examples of this already happening, Josie says. 

SunPork, for instance, has been building capacity for opportunities for people with autism, pointing out they often have exceptional ability to focus and pay attention to detail which makes them ideal for specialist animal care roles. Many also find comfort in repetitive activities and perform well on solitary tasks, often enjoying the isolation of rural life. 

Meanwhile, Cassie and Mark Gardner from Dubbo are the founders of Ability West, a not-for-profit organisation inspired by their daughter Emily who has Down syndrome. 

Cassie and Mark have used their combined experience of agriculture, business and working with people with a disability to help families create microenterprise opportunities, utilising and navigating the NDIS system.

Emily herself is at the centre of Go Get ’Em, Errands with Heart, which sees her running errands for four local businesses and delivering eggs. 

While the NDIS and support groups exist to provide medical assistance and advice to farmers in the regions, Ability Agriculture is different. 

“It’s a place to share stories and create community, not only for rural Australians who have a physical or intellectual disability but also for carers, family members, health professionals, agribusinesses or anyone with an innovation making agriculture more accessible for those with a disability.”

Josie Clarke.

And for anyone still doubting the wisdom of getting onboard Josie’s campaign, her old Ag teacher Graham Bramley has some advice. He sustained nerve damage and lost several fingers after nearly severing his arm in a car accident, and telling him he can’t do something is the best way to make sure he finds a way to do it. That has included getting his semi licence which has since seen him driving B Doubles and road trains.

“Never let your doubts be known to the person with a disability,” he says. “They have an amazing determination and capacity for adaptation. Treat them just the same as you would anyone else.”

If you enjoyed this feature on ability agriculture, you might want to read our story on mobile butchers.

The post Ability agriculture is sowing seeds of change appeared first on The Farmer Magazine.

“My father Ron used to run his pigs outdoors. However in 1967 he realised that bringing them indoors would remove negative impacts upon them, such as the weather, and it meant he could more easily monitor their environment, feed, wastage and temperature,” says Ean Pollard.

“Being the mid-60s, he also figured that free-range pigs were difficult to keep in a designated area. They’d find a hole near a fence and the next thing you knew, they’d be out and about. Even when electric fencing came in, the pigs would run towards the fence, squealing before they even reached it. At that time there weren’t many indoor piggeries and my grandfather Roly (and the local bank manager) thought it was a bit risky housing pigs indoors, so they wouldn’t lend my father any money to build the sheds he needed.

It meant his project started with only 40 sows, but as pigs are prolific breeders and grow very quickly, he soon expanded. In fact, the piggery was nicknamed ‘The Rash’. Dad was a handy builder and a prolific worker, and when he set to work on something new, some of the cheeky workers would joke, “Oh, The Rash is on the spread again.”

One thing Ean’s father learnt very early on is that he needed to cater for all areas of the business when building a piggery – mating, dry sows, farrowing, weaning, growing. “So it’s not just about one shed to increase production,” he says.

The Next Generation: Ean Pollard

“I was only five years old when Dad tried this new indoor approach, so I hardly ever saw pigs outside, and never even stopped to consider that things should be done differently.
I had more diesel running through my veins than pig husbandry skills however, so after leaving school I took on the farming operation, and this gave Dad more time to get involved in agri-politics. He was a committee member, then chairman of NSW Farmers’ Pork Committee, and heavily involved in the establishment of Australian Pork Ltd, including serving as chairman for three years.”

Ron and Ean ran merino wethers and cropped about 1600 hectares of wheat, barley and canola which complemented the piggery side of the business.

But in 2003, mycoplasma pneumoniae – a respiratory disease that affects a pig’s growth and performance – spread amongst the pigs, and at that time it was very difficult to treat.

“So we completely depopulated our piggery. All our staff had to become builders rather than stockmen, and we completed a huge amount of renovations before restocking with mycoplasma-free stock, which became a closed herd,” says Ean. “It was a massive project and since then we have housed our boars four kilometres away in a separate building, collecting the semen and bringing it back to the breeders on the main farm. This lowers the potential of introducing disease to the main herd.”

Ron was ill for some time and passed away at 72, so Ean has been running the piggery since 2005. He and his wife Janine have three children – a son named Dean and two daughters, Kiera and Laura. Dean is a project manager for a builder in town and the daughters have both completed agricultural degrees at university. “We are proud to say they now live and work on the farm with their partners.” Ean says.

Animal Activists & YouTube

Back in 2013, before completing our move to group housing, the Pollards were raided by animal activists. “We didn’t even realise they had trespassed on our farm until we saw the footage they had taken in the piggery on YouTube,” says Ean.

They broke in at 3am, woke the sows and stirred them up with torches while taking videos.

“The sows, of course, thought it was feeding time and started calling out for their food. After some time, with the sows not being fed, they became very agitated and upset, and this certainly made for some sensational footage as far as the activists were concerned,” says Ean. “The backlash was very hurtful ­– to myself, my family and my staff, as it was not a true reflection of how we care for our animals. It particularly affected Kiera, making her question her career choice in agriculture.”

In the end Ean produced a response video. “We showed the activists’ footage then showed the same building in daylight and in colour,” says Ean. “A lot of people said things like:
“Good on ya for standing up for yourselves”, and that did help. Due to this upsetting event, I’ve also now given evidence to two Senate enquiries supporting changes to trespassing laws. The thing is, we’re always mindful of our pig welfare. The happier a pig is, the easier your job is.”

Daughters on the Farm: Laura Pollard

Laura Pollard, 25, recently found her yearbook from Year Six. Under the heading “What do you want to be when you grow up?” she’d written “Farmer”.

“I always loved doing that stuff city kids miss out on,” says Laura. “I would sit in front of Dad on the quad bike and pretend I was the one driving to move the sheep, and he was happy to go along with that because it meant he had a gate-opener. I also loved working in the farrowing sheds, especially moving the weaners. I thought it was the coolest thing ever, seeing around 400 weaner pigs running around with their ears and tails going as they moved down the passageway.”

Laura completed a Bachelor of Agriculture and then came back to the family farm. She’d met her now-husband Tom, who also lived in Young, so she had desire to move away.

“My sister Kiera was also back on the family farm with her husband, and Dad asked us if we all wanted to buy some shares in sheep,” she explains. “We bought some wethers at first but then last year Kiera found a mob of 400 ewes that were scanned in lamb. We asked Dad if we could go halves with him and he agreed, on the condition that we looked after everything.”

Laura was surprised when their father agreed. “Because we hadn’t run ewes on the farm before, it’s been a great learning experience for us all. For instance, last winter we had a cold snap and it was near freezing when the first ewes started lambing, so unfortunately we lost a few lambs. But the rest are going really well and even though this was our first experience, it has not shied us from sticking with the ewes.”

When the animal activists broke into the family piggery, Laura was overseas taking a year off study and work to travel. “I was very homesick, so Mum and Dad didn’t tell me until they came over to visit,” she said. “I would have wanted to come home if I’d known. I was really upset but knew I couldn’t do anything to help. Since I have come back, I have realised that it still affects me, especially when cars go past at night. I’ll check to see if they keep going and that they don’t come down our driveway. Before the animal activists broke in, I didn’t worry about anything like that.”

Laura loves working with her family. “Dad is very smart and a great role model,” she says. “He’s taught us to back ourselves and if it doesn’t work, to learn from our mistakes and try again a different way. When he retires or slows up a bit, Kiera and I will tackle everything together. That’s our future as I see it.”

Following in their footsteps: Kiera Pollard

Kiera Pollard is 29, and her favourite memory growing up is working in the farrowing sheds with her sister.

“Growing up, Laura and I worked in the farrowing sheds with another lady, who treasured this notebook for all the records. It sat in her pocket and we were never allowed to touch it.When she moved on, her replacement gave us the notebook and it felt like such a promotion. I reckon it was one of the best days of our lives!” says Kiera.

After school, Kiera went to university to gain a Bachelor of Agricultural Business Management. “People were really interested when I said I came from a pig farm. It was something no-one else knew much about, and it was great to be able to educate them,” she says. “The thing that really surprises everyone when you explain more about piggeries, is how productive pigs are, especially in comparison to cattle and sheep.”

Kiera knew that she wanted to return to the family farm, but she also wanted to work somewhere else first to gain experience, and that pull saw her heading north to Toowoomba, and working for Chris Richards & Associates – a pig vet company.

“In that role I was able to see so many different piggeries across the country. It was so interesting to see how other farms operated, giving me the opportunity to compare with what I knew, and bring that new knowledge home,” she says.

Initially when Kiera returned home there wasn’t an obvious role for her, so she started doing some work with the sheep, and a bit of cropping. “I also spent a lot of time implementing our electronic sow feeding system,” she says. “But now my main responsibility is the sheep. We used to only run merino wethers but recently Laura and I twisted Dad’s arm to let us buy 400 ewes in lamb. We bought them with our partners and in return for our share all the sheep operations – including organising shearing, drenching and lamb marking – is our responsibility.”

The girls have already made a few changes. “We used to shear in February, for instance, but it was fly season and our shearing shed was ridiculously hot. Combine that with our big strong wethers, and the shearers hated it,” she explains. “We’ve now changed the breed so they are plainer in the body, and shear every six months in October and April. This has helped lower input costs and reduce chemical usage, which in turn streamlined our operation. We are also joining the ewes to a Dorset ram for the first time and aiming to sell into the sucker market.”

When Kiera first found out about the animal activists’ video, she was unnerved and didn’t want to go near the piggery. “I was also worried that they had planted video cameras. It was a terrible feeling to think you were possibly being watched and your operation being portrayed as something horrible and untrue.”

Kiera isn’t sure which animals she will choose to work with in the future, but something that she does know is that she loves working with her family. “I see them every day and that’s fantastic,” she says. “I even get to take my daughter Quinn (who is one-year-old) with me most days as well. I look forward to seeing how the business grows and also to making our own mark in this country as future farmers.”

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