THE PEOPLE WHO PUT THEIR HAND UP

Another district calls

The call came on a wet Tuesday, halfway through the morning milking.

She took it between rows, the phone wedged against her shoulder. It was a farmer from up north, a long drive away, who milked in another district.

"I've heard what's happening in your district," he said. "I want to get it going in mine. Where do I start?"

She laughed. "Got an envelope?"

"An envelope?"

"Write down every farmer you know who might be thinking about what's next. Then go and knock on their doors."

There was a pause, and then she heard a drawer open on the other end of the line.

"And come and see the farms," she said. "Bring your family. Talk to the farmer a few roads over, and the people who backed the first farm. Ask them anything."

He came on the Saturday with his kids and a full envelope. They walked the first farm, the river flats with the heifers, and the farm the relief milker and his mates had bought. The farmer a few roads over walked the herd in with him and talked the whole way.

At the gate, as they were leaving, the farmer from up north showed her the envelope. Four names had a tick beside them.

"Knocked on those this week," he said. "One of them walked me round his whole place."

She grinned. "Then you've started."

This is an illustration. The district and its people are made up.

No Better Place is free at cultivatefarms.com/resources.