If a book about life on a sheep farm sounds prosaic, Maggie Mackellar’s new memoir is anything but.
A lyrical exploration of nature, motherhood, family and the rhythms of agricultural life, Graft reminds us of the deeper meanings to be discovered when we slow down, breathe in and listen.
Set in eastern Tasmania where Mackellar lives with her second husband, children and a menagerie of animals, the book follows the seasonal cycles of wool farming in a year sabotaged by a severe drought that threatens livelihoods, claims lives and casts a shadow of hopelessness over every endeavour.
Motherhood in all its guises, both human and animal, is depicted with the clear-eyed perspective of one who understands the paradoxical nature of bonds that simultaneously entangle and estrange. From the fierce protectiveness of sheep defending their lambs against predators to the author’s ambivalence at watching her own children grow into independence, Mackellar’s words will resonate with every reader.
This, I think, is what makes Graft such compelling reading. You don’t have to be interested in sheep farming to be captivated. It’s not so much the seasons of crutching, breeding, lambing and shearing that we engage with, vividly depicted as they are, but those of life itself, its joys and sorrows, its losses, and unexpected gains and the resilience we share with the land to endlessly renew when the drought breaks.
Mackellar’s unique voice captures the sensory in every experience, from the dogs panting with delight, their ‘pink tongues bright in the still morning’, to the fruiting walnut tree with nuts that ‘seem to swell and pulse with a fluorescent glow’ to ‘the smell of sheep sweet and sour’. She doesn’t just describe, she takes us on a journey that will be remembered long after the book is closed.
Reviewed by Anne Green
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