WWOOFing - EUNGELLA (or 'Land of the Clouds')

Last summer (or winter, we were in OZ after all) me and Ida spent travelling from different farms/families to scoop up enough days for our 2nd year aussie-visa. As we had heard so many stories of people getting ripped off working at farms, we decided to go WWOOFing. Basically - we worked a few hours a day in exchange of food and accomondation. We met so many interesting people, got to see how different families can be and take in plenty of beautiful Queensland-scenery. 

View from the breakfast table. 

We get off the Greyhound bus into a sizzling hot Queensland-afternoon. 
We are at a petrol station in MacKay and the three of us look around, a bit skeptical as to someone will actually show up (and whether that someone will be a complete nutcase) or not. 

A while past said time, a man in wellingtons approach us to ask "now does any of you happen to be from Sweden?" Gee, was it our 15-kilo backpacks or confused looks that gave us away? After a round of introductions we get in the car to start the hour-or-so long journey up to Eungella.  

Eungella is actually an aboriginal name and it translates to Land of the Clouds. And that is literally where we end up, as we drive further and further up the mountains. 

      Our days are spent planting and pruning baby hoop pines, which is rather physical work really, hence why we end up eating our host out of the house. We eat so much we're even feeling ashamed of how much we eat and so we start eating in secret... Which of course is still obvious when you stand there looking surprised that all the bananas have mysteriously disappeared from the bowl. If you know what I mean. 

We didn't have many distractions of Tv or the likes, so most of the time was spent reading to rewind (or manically and hysterically cleaning...) I finally started on (and finished) Norweigan Wood. 
In the late afternoons we'd go on long walks around the hoods, knicking mandarins off trees of gardens in need of love. They were such sweet fruits. That's other than the sour apples you can get ahold of in northern Sweden, I tell you.