Uncle Ernie has been in camp for the last couple of days. He’s a lot of fun to talk to around the fire at night. He was Chairman at one of the aboriginal settlements nearby for 12 years and spent many years as a tour guide around the Kimberley. He’s been promising to kills a cow for the past few days and has been driving around finding the juiciest looking specimen to shoot. The cattle on the property aren’t branded, so technically they belong to “the Crown”. To take ownership of the cattle, you just have to round them up and put your own brand on them. Or just shoot one and eat it.
I found him next to the barbeque this afternoon all splattering in blood with huge spare ribs roasting on the fire. He asked me if I wanted to see the beast, but I thought better of it.
That night they were butchering the animal and the various slabs of cow were hanging from the trees around the house. We still don’t have proper power, so I took a wander around the yard with my flash light. There was flesh hanging from every tree limb, near the kids swing set, over the table, near the shed. It looked like a scene from a horror movie. By morning it had all be packed into the freezers.
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