When the time eventually comes for me to leave this little farm which has been my home for a quarter of a century I will feel great sadness.
I have an affinity with, and attachment to this small part of Australia which has provided my livelihood, and been a safe haven for family life.
There is also a sense of history knowing that we are the first human family ever to have used it as a permanent place of abode.
Previously only the Noongyanbudda Ngadjon Aborigines sporadically wandered over this land during hunting and collecting expeditions.
I could quite easily be tempted to romanticise and suggest that for me this Earth was, as it is for many native peoples, my Mother, but I would be fooling myself because I am descended from generations of conquerors, travellers, invaders and transients who knew not how to send down deep roots.
It is therefore beyond my ability to completely understand the attachment to sky, land, flora and fauna which anchors the true indigenous societies on earth.
Some Australian Aboriginal tribes have a connection to place going back perhaps one thousand generations. Traditions and events archived through art, and kept alive by oral history.
I can only begin to imagine the pain of disconnection from Mother Earth that they feel in light of the last 220 years of our history.
Firstly removed from their land at the point of a gun, then more recently suffering from Government policy which forcibly removed aboriginal children from their parents.
The Hmong people from the mountain areas of Laos, with their own ancient culture, were loyal supporters of our allies during the Vietnam conflict. In appreciation, and for their own safety, many were assisted to migrate to the USA after the end of the war.
Many eventually settled in Minnesota, and they must have been severely traumatised by such an extreme cultural, climatic and topographical relocation.
The story is now told that many of the Hmong men died in their sleep soon after the relocation. Others were awoken when they were on the doorstep of death, and revealed that they were in the middle of a dream where they were flying back over the oceans to the land of their birth.
Each man was having an apparently similar dream.
The men who had died had done so from broken hearts and spirits, and from the pain of severance from "place".
Some traditional patrilineal communities in New Guinea have a parable which the elders tell for the benefit of girls who are leaving it, by tradition, to marry into distant villages.
Boys are symbolically represented by the fruit stalk of the breadfruit tree. When ripe, it falls directly back to the earth below.
Girls, are the leaves, which, upon maturity, fall from the branch to be gently dispersed on the breeze.
Humanity forfeits some of its accumulated wisdom, knowledge and appreciation of "place" every time any ancient culture or language is lost in our relentless pursuit of "progress".