He was stocky, naturally dark skinned, determined and hardworking. Like his own grandfather before him, his hair fell out early and he looked older than he ever was. But underneath his skin was the blood of a red-dreamer. And he bought into the next sure thing with every penny he had. The Humpty Doo Rice Project, part of the great white dream. To turn one of the largest, unfarmed wastelands of the world into a thriving oasis. It was all on the tables: plans, projections, the money to be made. There were Hollywood investors, American TV personalities. Humpty Doo was going to be one of the biggest producers of rice in the whole world. Forget Asia, Australia here we come. His parents were blue-collar workers, earning their weekly pay cheque by turning up on time and going back every day. But talk of the project gave their son something different to picture. Another way life might go. He suddenly wanted to be his own boss, a man of the land. Rising and sleeping with the sun and, in between, making a living with his hands.
