Evoke Kinesiology - Arnna Pickering

02/09/2025

It’s just a house.

One, two steps from the back step to the front door,
The turning of metal against metal
And the scrape as it opens,
What do they matter - it’s just a house

The outside toilet,
No one shut the door,
Beryl the farm dog would sit at our feet
What do they matter - it’s just a house.

Three stirs to the right,
7am,
Hot coffee and toast
What do they matter - it’s just a house

The coldest water in the place,
From the tap in the bathroom
That was put on backwards by Pa,
What do they matter, it’s just a house

The slim hallway,
Keepy uppy, cricket
The box that my sister fell into when sleep walking
What do they matter, it’s Just a house

The middle room,
The window into the playroom,
Timing races to get to Santa,
What do they matter, its just a house

The window sill,
Laden with mobiles,
The only service at the farm
What do they matter, it’s just a house

The sound of the shower against my bedroom wall,
Everyone home
Everyone safe,
What do they matter, it’s just a house

The lemon tree,
Survived the droughts,
A symbol of my Pas love for his garden
What do they matter, it’s just a house

The quiet.
No noise.
Nothing.
What do they matter, it’s just a house.

The dust behind a car,
As it circles the drive.
Its our cousins,
What do they matter, its just a house.

The playroom come office,
The nattering of the ladies
The clicking of bookwork keyboards,
What do they matter, it’s just a house.

The dog collars hanging on bed posts,
The gravestones marked through out the place
Our pets
What do they matter, it’s just a house.

The little spot of carpet,
Sitting scrunched to see the TV
Can snack sitting here
What do they matter, it’s just a house.

The bathroom off the kitchen,
The wall air con dripping fast
The coonara blaring
What do they matter, it’s just a house.

The worker that became a brother
7am to 10pm seven days a week.
25 years
What do they matter, it’s just a house.

Drought and life, we are going to sell
“Can we keep the house, please”
Our little place to bring our kids
What do they matter, it’s just a house.

Billy this is where I slept,
And here we went mushrooming,
Over here was our cubby
What do they matter, it’s just a house.

Sadie, your mum was a farm girl,
Basketball here the sand pit there,
Come see how I grew up
What do they matter, it’s just a house

The scoria beneath our feet
The safety when everything else felt foreign
The quietness, the us
What do they matter, it’s just a house.

The ancestors that walked the dirt,
The garden parties aplenty,
The brown snakes, flies, wasps and mozzies
What do they matter, it’s just a house.

It’s our house.
Our generational home.
And you’ve stolen that opportunity for the peace and quiet that was at its core.
What do they matter - its just a house

The whirring, the ticking, the flickering planned
1km from our door.
Everything we worked to keep - Gone
What do they matter- because it’s just our HEART.

30/08/2025

He Stands There

He stands there,
Shuffling side to side in worn-out boots.
Grey wisps of hair escape a weathered cap—
Years of sun and dust carved into his face.

He’s dismayed.
These companies just do whatever suits.
No notice, no care.
Just dotted lines,
And land repurposed without a second glance.

His emotion is palpable—
Grief, betrayal deep in his eyes.
Countless sleepless nights,
Staring upwards to the Mallee skies.

Money is the carrot
Dangled to those nearby.
Easy talk, quick deals, shush don’t speak of it,
Quick push it through.

They won’t matter.
Those people around us, they won’t matter.
They’re only bachelors,
They’re only retired.
They left the region years ago,
It’s only a house.
Quick push it through.

She’ll be dead soon, so why will she care,
He’s too nice, he won’t make a fuss,
They don’t have kids that want to be farmers - it will be fine.
They’re focusing on chooks what will they care,
He is an old hack, was never really good at farming,
Quick push it through.

Quick push it through.

Quick push I through.

But they underestimated the collective,
The power in the intention.
The power in the fight.
In what is wrong and what is right.

“And it’s the bloke I grew up with,
The one just over the fence.
How could he sign? We were mates
None of it makes sense.”

As as the betrayed farmer speaks,
His voice doesn’t waver—
There’s conviction in the quiet.
He’s raised three kids on this land,
Now they want to take it away,
He smirks - go on - try it.

This land—
It isn’t just property.
It’s history.
It’s heartbeat.
It’s home.
It’s our everything.

Now it’s under threat—
Not from drought,
Not from fire,
Not from mice, locusts, rabbits or floods
But from boardroom antics
From the very people he once called neighbours.

Still, he won’t step back.
No rest within his plan.
Though retirement whispers to him in the mornings,
He refuses to leave his son with this fight.

So he vows to carry it—
Whatever the cost.
Financially.
Physically.
Emotionally.
Whatever it takes

Because you don’t become a farmer
To fill the soil with metal and steel.
To demolish the land, erase the beauty of the earth,
That has been entrusted to us.

You’re born a farmer—
You live the highs and manage the lows.
You grow food and fibre for strangers
It’s all you know how to do.

It isn’t a life for the weak,
Because the cheques come late,
and the thanks come rarely—
But you don’t do it for the pay.
It’s in your blood,
In your calloused hands,
In the dust you breathe each day.

It’s part of the gig.
And it’s not something
You give away.
Ever. Not this bloke. And not his kid.

30/08/2025

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29/08/2025

Add Benny Hill music and we have Australian Politics in one small clip

28/08/2025

Jeepers. This is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever had said about me. During Covid I met the most beautiful souls that changed my world and my life forever. Michelle Hill is one and whilst Billy says her yo-yos remind him of good memories - she is more than just a cookie maker. A heart of gold and rearranged her diary to drive to Ballarat just to test Sadie’s ears - my world and my inbox would be less without you. Much love x

27/08/2025

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26/08/2025

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18/08/2025

03/08/2025

When the Lights Go Out

Forty degrees, and the dust storm settles.
The wall air con is dripping away.
We’ve just finished dinner—chops and salad.
We sit down to watch Hey Hey It’s Saturday.
There’s that smell—rain in the air.

It starts: the soft pit-a-patter on the roof.
Not much. Just enough to lift the dust
and then—
Pitch black.

No one worries. It happens all the time.
The silence of the air is thick.
We pick up the landline, dial the Powercor number.

“We are aware of a supply interruption affecting your area – 3482.
Our engineers are investigating the fault.
Restoration is expected by approximately 10 a.m.
Thank you for your call.
Please do not report this outage again.”

Okay.
No power for a while.
That’s fine.

Out come the long white candles.
The generator hums from the shed.
Fridge is cold.
Air con’s on.
We all stretch out on the couch and fall asleep.

This week, the power went out.
And the anxiety?
Extreme.
Are the phones charged?
Do we have any candles?
The kids are sick—what about heating?
How long will it be off?

Everything is electricity now.
Thank god for my car—it’s diesel.
I turn it on just to charge my phone.

Facebook lights up:
“Why is the power out?”
Posts pile in
A hum of panic in the air.
No resilience.
No patience.
Just this need to be connected.
To be safe.
To be looked after.

I don’t like where we’re headed.
A world reliant on electricity governed by a few.
Escape plans held at the helm of others.
There is safety in simplicity—
in being able to fend for yourself.
In being comfortable without constant connection.
I long for those days.
So how do we bring them back?
Take the plug out of the wall.
That’s for one.