Heavenly Beverley : Where On Earth Is Mukinbudin?!

We decided to stay in Mukinbudin as a joke. Back in the day when Callum was a totally hip young thing, he travelled to Mukinbudin in his capacity as a ballroom dance teacher. His brief was to teach the youngsters at the District High School to dance for their coming social. For an entire week. He was mortified that his mobile had no signal and he was reduced to using the public telephone booth. Plus, he had no idea that there were places smaller than Beverley until he arrived in Mukinbudin. He did his time and I am delighted to say that he now enjoys camping with his beloved bride-to-be and would probably return voluntarily to Mukinbukin now that he isn't entirely a city slicker.

Anyway, there we were in Mukinbudin and had already decided to stay a second night. In a town of two hundred and seventy odd residents, Cooper's Crossing was a revelation - an upmarket gift shop that had been operational for around twenty years. The current front-of-house, Frank was a local farmer who has taken over the business from his daughter who currently was engaged in family matters. A charming bloke, I bought fifty dollars of presents without Frank having to lift a finger. Cooper's Crossing sold itself.

Amy, a local kitchen products franchisee, was strutting her stuff outside the Mukinbudin IGA doing her bit to help drought-affected farmers in New South Wales with a raffle organised by one of the rural volunteer groups. Great cause so I bought a raffle ticket and chatted at length with Amy, before photographing her.

The Mukinbudin Cafe, now run by off-again on-again resident Clare was a great eating spot. Loathing having her picture taken, I was reduced to snapping her at high speed. Clare told us an amazing story of her life in and out of Muka and dropping into the cafe was definitely worth hearing her journey.

Finally leaving the town after trying for ninety minutes, we drove the short distance to the original wheat silo for yet another photo opportunity. Then we set out in search of the Wattoning settlement. On the way, we were utterly seduced by Cleomine, another tiny dot which boasted a homestead, a pioneering family and an earlier version of Black Caviar, who had also gone by the name of Cleomine. The Muka Men's Shed had produced a sculpture of in 2015, honouring this famous horse from literally the middle of nowhere.

Wattoning was so much more than the literature. There was nothing left of the original homestead and the wells were carefully covered to prevent idiot tourists from falling in. However, the gnamma holes (natural depressions in the granite rock) were impressive. And then we noticed the glint of glass and metal beyond in the nearby scrub.

We fossicked for a good hour. The objects we collected were of a later period than we usually found. I picked up a cracked but intact pink teacup (perhaps 1950s?) and photographed two garden concrete ornaments from the same era. There had been several houses at Wattoning and at least one of them was inhabited by a ladylike persona.

We chose our last stop to be Mangowine Homestead, south-east of Mukinbudin. This had been the abode of the Adams family and its formidable matriarch Jane, who raised eleven children there. The family had added a wayside inn for travellers during their tenure and a cellar (jail?) to restrain undesirable types.

We spent an hour and a half traipsing around the property, thoroughly appreciating every detail. Only when we realised that we'd dallied well beyond the official four o'clock closure did we say a reluctant farewell.

We'd seen fantastic granite outcrops and vast landscapes of the wheat crop, spectacular squalls and the winter sun valiantly peeping through the heavy clouds. We arrived back in town for a splendid pub meal before retiring to our last night in Digger.

Will we return to Mukinbudin? Absolutely!