I was absolutely shocked when I looked back through my blog annuals to find that there was only one other entry under Bob Watch. Blasphemy! Of all the unique features on the farm and all of the crazy characters in the Valley, no one even holds a candle to my good 'ol Aussie Bob. I think part of the "bob silence" stems from the fact that there is just too much fodder. After all, how do you try to stymy the flow or harness the power of Niagara Falls?
(By the way, this picture to the left is "smart Bob"-- that collar, not commonly a fixture you see on 'ol Bob.)
So, in due homage to this amazing man, I will look backwards and begin by giving you a live map of Bob's life-long walk-about. But do remember, as you read about all the miles he has covered, that Bob's constant distance from his home in Australia has only served to strengthen, not weaken that Aussie accent.
Take a deep breath, because here goes.... About 45 years ago, Bob stepped off his beloved Aussie Island and headed to the South Pacific. From there, he traveled through many of the islands in the East—spending as long as 6 years in the high hills over Papau New Guinea before hopping over to Fiji, India and back again. At the end of this Eastern frolicking, Bob set out across the pond for his first trip to the Americas. He crossed through the whole of the United States by car, being paid by wealthy Florida vacationers who wanted their own vehicle at the resort, and continued up into Canada because he forgot to stop at the border. Having conquered this Western Frontier, Bob headed back to the more civilized Continent and settled in for a life in Britain. From the safety of his new island, Bob explored all corners of Europe, going from steamers in Britain to construction in Mallorca. Happily settled in his European life, I could never quite see Bob in Britain. His two shirt wardrobe with strict hole-y standards never quite seemed like a fit for his majesty's land.
So escaping fastidious dress codes, a Southern Wind lifted Bob again and landed him in Guyana, where he stayed for a few months working in a gold dredge, (this part deserves a few blog entries on its own,) before returning back to the Queen’s country. Having rested for a few years on the isle, and once again satiated with the cultivation he received in Europe, Bob set out for where he felt most at home—the Bush. Bob has crossed the African continent 3 times by truck, train, and god knows what else. A man of epic traveling proportions, I find myself truly lucky that it is here, at the Southern Tip of his travels, that Bob has finally decided to string up those walking shoes. His constancy is my gain and my narrative salvation!
Having traveled so much of the world, you sort of expect Bob to be a crusty, hardened traveler, but after 40 years on the road, his blue eyes are as sparkly and jovial as ever. To prove this point, let me tell you about the first visit I received from Bob after my return to the farm. As usual, Bob just sort of appeared in the door of
the office with a bellowing "How is it Moll," (at times his entrances remind me of Kramer--he just slides in from nowhere,) and hands me a book. Though I do not have the cords to load up a photo of the actual book he gave me, this internet photo of another version of the book cover gives you a pretty good idea, as does the photo of the author. Both belie the fact that this is, without a doubt, a woman's book, and, more than that, a woman's
feel-good, heart-throbby, late-night-trashy novel decidedly from the 80's, (which makes it even more emotional and cheesy, like Baywatch has in some way been infused into it.)
So in saunters Bob, and with a slightly pained, abashed look on his face, he hands me the book. In his best, gruff Aussie voice, he tells me about how he first picked up this book because there was ABSOLUTELY nothing else around. After a few pages he thought, "man I can't do this," but as the days stretched on and no other books materialized, he decided to give Stepping another try. In the end, he had decided that it was a really great story, a fantastic human interest angle that, though written for women, could be appreciated by both sexes alike. It was with high commendations that he, thus, passed along this literary treasure to me.
A heart of gold. And who said a tinkering, traveling, do-anything-and-everything-yourself, penal-colony native can't be in touch with his feminine side?
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