Biography

Windy Station - Quirindi NSW

After graduating from Sydney Boys High School, I took a position as a jackaroo on a 33,000-acre broadacre cropping property in northern New South Wales. The property, known as Windy Station, was owned by the Australian Agricultural Company (AACo), which at the time managed more than a dozen properties across Australia. Windy employed a crew of four jackaroos, and we made up the core workforce for seasonal operations.

Windy had once been home to the largest shearing shed in the southern hemisphere, boasting 88 shearing stands, but by the time I arrived in 1982, there were no sheep left. The station had transitioned to broadacre cropping, taking advantage of the arable black soil to grow wheat, sorghum, sunflowers, cotton, and lucerne (alfalfa) under center pivot irrigation.

I was assigned to work 8-hour shifts driving a 330-horsepower Versatile 4WD articulated tractor, preparing the fields for wheat planting. The land was managed using strip farming, a relatively new conservation method at the time. We planted in wide, arcing strips—some up to 3 miles long—designed to reduce soil erosion.

That year, we worked 24 hours a day for 12 weeks to prepare and sow over 12,000 acres of wheat. It was a drought year, driven by the 1981–82 El Niño, and by harvest, the conditions were poor. We joined a fleet of six John Deere 7700 combines, starting in Moree and gradually working our way south through AACo’s other properties, finally returning to Windy to finish in late December. In one of our largest paddocks—570 acres—all six combines ran side by side. The yield was meagre—only 3 bushels per acre—but the sight of all machines in formation was unforgettable. I often tell my American farming friends that we harvested in third gear, which always gets a raised eyebrow.

After nearly a year on the job, I was able to buy my first car—a red Holden HJ utility (a ute, similar to an El Camino)—in Tamworth, a town affectionately known as the "Country Music Capital of Australia". Tamworth hosts the annual Tamworth Country Music Festival, one of the world's largest country music festivals, earning it comparisons to Nashville, Tennessee.

Having my own set of wheels was a rite of passage. The first thing I did was add a bullbar and a pair of massive spotlights—essential gear in the bush, where kangaroos can leap into the road much like white-tailed deer in the U.S.

By March 1983, I was offered a new position with AACo at one of their large cattle stations in the Northern Territory. I returned to Sydney for a few weeks before joining several other jackaroos heading north. We left in convoy, each driving our own utes, covering nearly 2,000 kilometers (about 1,243 miles) over three days. The road was long and mostly empty—just endless open space, the occasional dead kangaroo, and little else.

Each night, we’d pull off before dark, roll out our swags (bedrolls), and sleep under the stars, roadside. It was a simple but unforgettable journey—my first real taste of life in the Top End, and what most Aussies would call the “real outback.”

Brunette Downs - Barkly Tablelands, NT

After my time at Windy Station, I accepted a new posting with AACo at Brunette Downs, a sprawling 3.6 million-acre cattle station on the Barkly Tablelands of the Northern Territory. Remote and vast, Brunette lay about 180 kilometres (112 miles) from the nearest major town—Mount Isa, just across the border in Queensland. It was classic outback country: endless blue skies, red dust, and wide-open plains as far as the eye could see.

It was here that I developed a deeper set of skills as a stockman. I was assigned a string of six horses—not only did I ride them daily, but I also had to care for them completely. I learned to trim hooves, shoe them, and became used to riding up to 50 kilometres (about 30 miles) a day while mustering cattle across the open country. Later in the year, I earned my Class C driver’s licence and was trained to operate a road train, an essential tool for moving stock and supplies across such enormous distances.

We jackaroos lived in a large barracks-style building, and the station operated with two stock camps, each led by a head stockman. Most of our time was spent out in the bush, where we worked in teams mustering cattle on horseback, with helicopters assisting from the air. Brunette was home to over 50,000 head of cattle—mostly Santa Gertrudis and Brahman—breeds well suited to the Mitchell grass plains and bluebush lake beds that define the Barkly. Life was physically demanding but rewarding. We slept in swags under the stars, woke before dawn, and worked until the job was done. I was lean and strong—under 200 pounds—and in the best shape of my life.

In this part of Australia, everything revolved around water. Each paddock—some as large as 200 square miles—relied on several “turkey’s nest” dams, which were fed by artesian bores and powered by windmills. The turkey nest dams were strategically built at the corner where four paddocks met, serving as a central water source for all. It was here that we’d set up camp, staying for up to a week at a time while we worked each of the surrounding paddocks in turn. From this base, we could ride out each morning to muster cattle, returning in the evenings to water the horses and roll out our swags by the dam. It was a practical setup—efficient for both the cattle work and the stockmen—and became a familiar rhythm during the mustering season.

When out riding, you could often spot your destination not as a clear silhouette, but as a blurry circle on the horizon, shimmering in the heat. That was your guidepost—you were getting close. The helicopter would begin the muster, pushing cattle toward the water source. Our job was to meet them on horseback and guide them into the yards set up nearby.

A typical rotation involved a day of mustering, followed by two days in the yards. Cattle were brought in from the paddocks toward the main water source, where yards were positioned. We would draft the fat cattle for market, test the rest for tuberculosis, and sometimes run them through the dip. Then the remaining cattle were returned to their paddocks, and the whole cycle started again.

We’d begin most days by loading our horses into the truck and heading out 15 or 20 miles from camp to the far reaches of a paddock. On occasion, we’d back the truck up to the edge of a turkey’s nest dam, and the horses would jump down onto the earthen bank. Once unloaded, we’d saddle up just as the first light hit the plains, and the helicopter would arrive, sweeping low to start pushing the mob toward us.

Sometimes it took hours to get the cattle together. Lunch came late, if at all, and we’d head into the yards in the afternoon to start drafting. This was the most intense part of the job. The cattle were often semi-feral, having little contact with humans. We’d run them through a series of narrowing pens until they reached the round yard, where each gate was manned by a jackaroo. It was your job to open for the right animal and shut out the rest, with the fat cattle going one way, and the others off for testing or release.

Life at Brunette was isolated. We had no television—satellite and cable were still a decade away—and relied on radio for news and weather updates. Alcohol was strictly forbidden in the stock camps, though when we returned to the main station, we were each allowed four cans of beer a night, which was enough to relax and swap stories with the other men.

One of my most vivid memories is from late 1983. We had just finished rounding up horses at the homestead yards when we heard over the radio that Australia had won the America’s Cup. I stood there in the dust, soaking in the moment with a grin on my face. I never imagined that less than twenty years later, I’d be living in the United States.

The mustering season ran from April through October, and once the wet season approached, it was time to move on. I sold my red ute to a local, and a few of us were driven into Mount Isa, where we caught a flight back to Sydney for a well-earned break. After a couple of months off, I packed my gear again and headed north—this time to a new assignment in Queensland.

Maneroo Station - Longreach, QLD

My third year of jackarooing took me to Maneroo Station, another AACo property situated in central Queensland, about 20 miles west of Longreach—a town now best known as the home of the Australian Stockman’s Hall of Fame. After spending a month in Sydney and a memorable week in Fiji with my dad, I once again said farewell to the big smoke and turned my sights back to the bush. I travelled first to Brisbane, staying with friends for a few days before heading north. From there, I caught the train to Rockhampton, then transferred westward, riding the rails deep into the heart of the outback until I arrived in Longreach. From the station, it was just a short trip out to Maneroo, and my next chapter began.

Maneroo was a 60,000-acre sheep station, running mostly Merino sheep for wool production. As summer ended, our first job was to muster the sheep ahead of shearing season. Unlike the horseback musters I’d done in the Territory, here we rode motorbikes, working the paddocks with the help of a couple of reliable sheepdogs. We’d push the flock across the grasslands, build the mob up into a solid group, and gradually move them toward the shearing shed, which stood near the homestead and jackaroos’ quarters, right in the centre of the property.

The shearing shed at Maneroo had stands for around eight shearers, and once shearing got underway, the place turned into a well-oiled machine. As each fleece hit the floor, the roustabout, wearing his signature blue shirt, would gather it and toss it across the wool table, where skirters removed any soiled or stained wool. The fleece was then rolled and passed to the wool classer, who assessed its quality and sorted it into bins with others of the same grade. Once enough was collected, it was pressed into 700-pound bales, ready for shipment to wool auctions.

There were four jackaroos at Maneroo, and we spent most of our time outdoors, working with the sheep, maintaining fences, and doing whatever else needed doing. Working sheep can try your patience—they’re not known for their bravery or intelligence. I clearly remember one day we tried to move a mob across a narrow creek. We had them right to the edge, but not one would jump. In the end, we had to drag a few across and physically haul them up the opposite bank before the rest reluctantly followed.

Weekends brought a different kind of challenge. This was B&S Ball country—Bachelor and Spinster Balls held in shearing sheds or bush halls, sometimes four hours’ drive away. Everyone from the surrounding stations would pile into their utes and head off into the night. It was black tie—tuxedos, bow ties, and dresses—at least at the start. The evening was full of drinking, dancing, and live music, and by sunrise on Sunday, things looked very different. The tuxedos were gone, and we were all back in jeans, dusty boots, and football jumpers, parked around a paddock watching the next event: circle work. Proud ute owners would take turns doing donuts, churning up dust while the rest of us watched, cheered, and laughed. By mid-afternoon, we’d load up and head back to the station—dusty, hungover, and half-deaf from the music and engines, but ready for another week of work.

Maneroo sat not far from the Thomson River, and when the rains came early that year, the road to town went under. One weekend, determined not to miss out, we walked into Longreach through waist-deep floodwater, splashing across the floodplain on foot. A few days later the water receded, and the landscape changed completely. I had never seen green like that—the normally pale grasslands had transformed into a lush, vibrant carpet, stretching as far as the eye could see. It was central Queensland at its finest.

It was in early spring of 1984 that I decided it was time to move on. I had spent nearly three years with AACo, living and working on some of Australia’s most remote and iconic stations. With the shearing season behind us and the pace on the property beginning to slow, I found myself thinking more seriously about the future. I made the decision to head back to New South Wales, wanting to be closer to my family after years spent living deep in the bush. My time as a jackaroo had given me a solid grounding in the realities of station life, and I knew it was time to build on that foundation. I applied to Agricultural College, ready to combine the lessons I’d learned in the paddock with formal training—and take the next step toward a future in farming.

Kerrawah, Coolah, NSW

After returning to New South Wales, I got a position as a Stationhand near the town of Coolah, working for Rob and Fiona Hoddle. In many ways, it felt like coming home—a return to  the Coolah area where I had spent my summer holidays at "Yarrawonga". 

Fiona was the daughter of a family friend—her mother, Honor, had lived just four doors down from us in Paddington—and she and Rob owned this beautiful 2,000-acre property called Kerrawah, nestled in the hills where the land straddles the Great Dividing Range.

Though I was no longer officially a jackaroo, I still found myself doing familiar work—looking after cattle and sheep, mending fences, and helping with day-to-day operations around the farm. The terrain here was quite different from the wide, flat plains I’d been used to out west; the paddocks were mountainous and green, and the work required a different rhythm.

The Hoddles were passionate equestrians, and they encouraged me to stay active with horses. I ended up joining the local Polocrosse club, and played in a few matches—a fast-paced blend of polo and lacrosse, played on horseback with great energy and a strong social spirit. It was a new and exciting way to stay in the saddle, and I enjoyed every moment of it.

Toward the end of 1984, I left my position at Kerrawah and joined my father on a three-month trip to Europe. We began our trip with a week on a coral atoll in the Maldives. We stayed at the Club Med Kani and enjoyed fresh fish, scuba diving and swimming in crystal clear coral lagoons it was paradise. The island was about 12 miles by boat from the airport. It was a wonderful vacation and broke up our long journey to Europe.

We stayed one night in Sri Lanka before boarding a Qantas flight to London. I remember Sri Lanka was very humid and we stayed at a very nice hotel and that there were snake charmers on the beach in front of the hotel.

He had decided to retire and return to Dorset, England, settling into a small cottage just a mile from where we had lived as a family during the 1960s, before emigrating to Australia. We spent Christmas that year with my aunt in the Cotswolds, and I had the chance to catch up with my English cousins, some of whom I hadn’t seen since childhood. It was a memorable holiday and a meaningful trip—one that gave me time to reflect on everything I had done over the past few years, and to reconnect with my roots before stepping into the next chapter of life.

In early 1985, I was accepted into Orange Agricultural College, located in the Central Tablelands of New South Wales. I enrolled in the Associate Diploma in Farm Management program (the equivalent of an associate degree), and for the first time in years, I found myself back in a classroom—though this time with a renewed sense of purpose. After nearly three years working as a jackaroo, I was highly motivated to learn, especially since what we were studying in class related so directly to the work I’d already been doing in the field.

Orange Ag College—now part of the University of Sydney—was one of two major agricultural colleges in New South Wales. The other, Wagga Ag College (now part of Charles Sturt University), was our traditional rival. The two schools had a long-standing history of friendly competition and occasional mischief. Mascot theft, practical jokes, and inter-college pranks were part of the culture, as were long weekends of hard partying and rural camaraderie.

During winter, we played rugby against local town teams. The games were enjoyable, but more often than not, the real event was the party that followed. When spring arrived, it marked the start of B&S Ball season, and we would hit the road most weekends, driving to small towns around the region for Bachelor and Spinster Balls. It was a social circuit filled with dancing, dust, and plenty of late nights—and a familiar continuation of my jackaroo days.

Orange itself was a beautiful place to live, and my time there remains one of my most fondly remembered chapters. It was also where I first discovered an interest in computers. I learned to type, experimented with early programs, and even built my first spreadsheet on an Apple IIe using VisiCalc. For someone who’d spent so much time outdoors on horseback, it was a surprising but rewarding experience—and the beginning of a new skill set I’d later use more than I could have imagined.

College life was a bit different for me than for many of my classmates. I was over 21 when I started, while most of them had come straight from high school and were making the most of their newfound freedom. Eventually, I found my own rhythm. In my second year, I began spending more time with the Horse Management students—the “Horsies,” as they were known. Many of them were a bit older like me, and we shared common ground. Though I had started out as an “Aggie,” I didn’t mind the shift—riding became a pastime rather than a profession, and I enjoyed staying connected to horses in a more relaxed way.

Around that time, I also became involved in politics, joining the Young Nationals (Young Nats)—the youth wing of the National Party of Australia, a conservative rural party. The Orange branch was an active one, holding monthly meetings and sending members to state conferences and council meetings. It was something of a golden age for the Young Nats, and I made many friendships through that group—some of which I still maintain today via Facebook and email.

My hard work at college paid off. In 1986, I graduated top of my class and was awarded the College Medal for academic excellence. It was a proud moment—marking not just the completion of a course, but the successful blending of everything I had learned in the paddock with the knowledge I had gained in the classroom. It felt like the beginning of something new.

After graduating from Orange Agricultural College, I headed south to the Snowy Mountains, taking up seasonal work with the Bright family on their farm, Boco, near Cooma. In exchange for room and board, I worked through the winter months, enjoying the proximity to the snowfields and the quiet pace of rural life after two intense years of study.

In September 1987, I left the mountains and moved back to Sydney, settling on the North Shore in Artarmon. I spent about a year living in the city, working a variety of jobs—furniture removalist, general labourer, and eventually taxi driver, which gave me a crash course in Sydney’s geography and humanity. I happened to be in the city during the Australian Bicentenary celebrations in January 1988. Sydney came alive in a way I hadn’t seen before—flags, fireworks, and a party atmosphere that stretched from the Harbour Bridge to the suburbs. It was a good time to be in Australia, and a unique time to be in the big smoke.

But after a year, I found myself longing for open skies and wide paddocks again. In March 1988, I moved out to Euabalong, a small town in Central New South Wales, where I took a job as a farmhand for Steve and Sue Doyle. They owned several properties in the area, and I was based in a large house on the banks of the Lachlan River—a beautiful, peaceful spot to come home to each night. I bought a Kelpie dog named Ellie, and began training her to work sheep. Over time, I had several Kelpies, and they quickly proved themselves to be invaluable working dogs—smart, responsive, and absolutely essential when handling sheep.

The Doyles ran a mixed enterprise operation: winter crops like wheat and barley, some irrigated lucerne (alfalfa), a small Angus stud, and flocks of sheep. It was a good, steady job that kept me busy across a range of tasks—from mustering to planting to fencing and everything in between.

In March 1989, I was offered a new opportunity as farm manager of Gillenbah Downs, a 12,000-acre property near Narrandera in the Riverina region. I took the role and moved into another large homestead—this one on the banks of the Murrumbidgee River. That winter we had a major flood, and I was cut off from town for several days, with all the roads underwater. During my time there, I also completed a wool classing course through the local TAFE, earning my Wool Classer’s Certificate in the spring of 1989.

Later that year, I relocated to Cootamundra, where I worked across a number of farms—sometimes as a general hand, sometimes as a wool classer—before eventually returning to Orange in early 1990. I spent the next two years working for Bruce and Sally Gordon on their properties near Millthorpe. The Gordons ran a diverse operation with stud Hereford cattle, crossbred sheep, and a few cropping paddocks as well. I lived in Orange during this time—first in a house opposite McDonald’s, owned by my girlfriend’s parents, and later in a shared house on Mathews Avenue with Neal and Patrick, two good mates.

In 1991, I made a significant shift in direction, accepting a job with Nestlé at their newly constructed Friskies pet food plant near Blayney. I started in the wet plant, working on the canned pet food line—mixing ingredients and managing the autoclave systems. Later, I transferred to the dry plant, where I operated the computer-controlled grain milling operation—a far cry from driving a tractor or tailing sheep, but no less demanding.

In 1992, while still working at Friskies, I enrolled in an undergraduate degree by distance education through Charles Sturt University, based in Wagga Wagga. I completed my first year of study remotely, balancing coursework with full-time factory work. That same year, Nestlé sent me to Brisbane for several months of training as a quality assurance technician, after which I returned to Orange to take up a role as QA Technician at the Friskies plant. I continued in that position until February 1993, combining technical work with academic study and beginning to chart a new path that blended my rural background with my growing interest in science and systems.

By 1993, it had been eight years since I’d seen my dad, who had retired to England. Like many young Australians, I decided it was time to take a break and travel—what we called a working holiday. I planned to visit family, see more of the world, and take advantage of my British passport, which gave me the opportunity to live and work in the UK.

I based myself in Dorset, staying with my dad in the Winterbourne Valley, not far from where we had lived before emigrating to Australia. Shortly after arriving, I took a job on a nearby sheep farm as a lambing assistant and nightwatchman. My role was to keep watch during the night, move ewes into pens as they went into labour, and make sure lambing progressed without issues. It was quiet, purposeful work that gave me time with my father and reconnected me to the land I had left behind years earlier.

With a bit of spending money saved, I made regular trips to London, staying with my aunt in the West End. One day while thumbing through TNT—a newspaper popular with Australian and Kiwi travellers—I saw an ad that stopped me in my tracks:
“Work in Summer Camps in the USA! Free airfare, board, and spending money.”
It sounded like the kind of adventure I needed, so I applied.

While waiting for a reply, I took a side trip to Venice to visit my mother, who was living there at the time. I spent a couple of weeks helping some of her friends with odd jobs, swimming in the lagoon, and exploring the canals and narrow stone alleyways of the city. One night, I received a phone call from my dad back in England:
I’d been accepted for a summer job at a camp in the United States.

I returned to Dorset, completed the paperwork, and in June 1993, I boarded a flight to New York City. I met up with a large group of other international counsellors, and we were transported to Columbia University, where we spent the night in the dorms. The next morning, we boarded a bus for an eight-hour ride north to Hidden Valley Camp in Freedom, Maine.

Set in the woods beside a lake, Hidden Valley Camp had rustic cabins scattered across the hillside. I worked as a horseback riding instructor, lifeguard, and ropes course instructor during the day, and served as a counsellor for a group of fourth-grade boys at night. It was full-on but deeply rewarding work.

The staff—both American and international—quickly formed a close community. On our time off, we explored the area, relaxed at the lake, and spent evenings in the counsellors’ lounge. Rebecca, a fellow riding instructor from Miami University of Ohio, was part of that group. We were surrounded by a great mix of personalities, and the sense of camaraderie made the summer fly by.

One of the camp’s most memorable traditions were the banquets, held at the start of camp and at the end of each month, just as a new group of campers arrived. We’d feast on fresh Maine lobster followed by Ben & Jerry’s ice cream—a treat that marked the turning of each new session and brought everyone together.

It was during these weeks that Rebecca reintroduced me to the Catholic Church. Each Sunday, a group of Catholic counsellors and campers would attend Mass in town, and I began joining them. Those morning drives became a quiet and meaningful part of the week—offering reflection and grounding in the midst of an otherwise energetic summer.

As the weeks went on, Rebecca and I grew closer. During the mid-summer break, when many campers went home, the remaining group took a whitewater rafting trip—and it was during that time that I realized I felt something more than friendship. We started spending more time together, and by the end of the season, a relationship had begun.

When camp ended in August, we parted ways—Rebecca returned to Ohio to continue university, and I returned to Europe for the final leg of my working holiday. We stayed in touch by writing letters, keeping the connection alive across continents.

That autumn, I worked on a hops farm in Kent, where the vines were cut and brought into the processing area on large trailers. I helped feed them into machines that separated the hops from the vines—a job that was sticky, aromatic, and surprisingly satisfying.

Next, I travelled to Scotland, where I ran a farm holiday business for a friend while they took a vacation. Located near Ben Nevis, the highest mountain in the UK, the scenery was absolutely breathtaking. I looked after ponies, a loyal sheepdog named Roy, tended the cattle, and greeted new guests each day. It was simple, good work in one of the most stunning landscapes I had ever seen.

In November, I returned to the United States to visit Rebecca at Miami University in southern Ohio. It was my first taste of tornado weather, but also a deeper glimpse into Midwestern life. While she went home for Thanksgiving, I stayed behind and spent time with her college friends, learning more about American culture, university life, and the people in her world.

Afterwards, I flew back to London for a couple more weeks of work, then returned to Dorset to spend Christmas with my dad. It was a quiet and meaningful end to what had been an incredible year—one that had taken me across continents, reconnected me with family, and introduced me to someone who would later change the course of my life.
Not long after, it was time to return to Australia—my bags packed, my perspective widened, and my heart already wondering what would come next.

College Years II (1994-1997)

In January of 1994, I packed up my belongings from storage in Sydney and moved to Wagga Wagga, a regional city in the Riverina district of New South Wales. I had been accepted into full-time studies at Charles Sturt University, beginning in February, with plans to pursue a Bachelor’s Degree in Agriculture. Charles Sturt offered a three-year degree with the option to add a fourth year for teacher training, and I had decided to go that route—my goal was to become an Agriculture teacher in the NSW secondary school system.

My first semester in Wagga was a bit unsettled—I lived in several different places, eventually landing in a university dorm. At nearly 30 years old, dorm life was far from ideal, but it was affordable, and it got me through.

That October, after nine months of handwritten letters and long-distance connection, Rebecca came to Australia. We had grown very close through our correspondence, and her visit felt like the beginning of a new chapter. Not long after she arrived, I proposed, and she said yes. She returned to the U.S. shortly after to complete her degree, and in February 1995, I flew to Ohio to meet her family and experience my first Midwestern winter—a bitter cold introduction to life in the American heartland.

Rebecca returned to Wagga Wagga in March 1995. She moved into a shared house with some university students, while I was living with a couple of college mates in a big house by the lagoon. Life was simple and happy—we juggled studies, shared meals, and made plans for the future.

During our Australian winter break—which coincided with mid-summer in the U.S.—we returned to America and were married in Defiance, Ohio in July 1995. It was a beautiful, joyful wedding surrounded by Rebecca’s family and friends. From there, we flew to Belgium for our honeymoon, where we met up with my dad and my sister Rosanna, who was living near Liège at the time.

We spent several days touring Belgium and the Netherlands, and part of our trip included a stay with my dad’s cousins in a Belgian château. I hadn’t told Rebecca much in advance, and she was genuinely surprised when we arrived and saw the grand old stone house—an actual château, complete with turrets and formal gardens. It was a surreal, almost fairytale-like experience that we both remember fondly.

After Belgium, we headed south to Venice to visit my mother, and I had the chance to show Rebecca the city I’d come to love. Rather than taking touristy gondola rides, we travelled like the locals, using the vaporettos—Venice’s public ferry system—to get around. We visited the islands of Murano, Burano, and Torcello, explored quiet stone alleyways, and wandered through the vibrant piazzas. It was a beautiful time, full of shared discovery, and a perfect way to close out our travels before returning to Australia.

We returned to Australia in August, and I resumed my final year of university. I graduated in November 1996 with a Bachelor’s Degree in Agriculture, and immediately continued with a postgraduate diploma in secondary education. In 1997, I received my NSW teaching license, officially qualifying as a secondary school teacher.

My first teaching position came soon after at Wagga Wagga Technology High School, where I took charge of the Macintosh computer lab and taught Years 7 to 12 in Computer Studies. It was a surprising but welcome shift from agriculture, as my interest in technology had steadily grown throughout my college years.

Meanwhile, Rebecca was looking for work, but employment opportunities in Wagga were limited, especially for someone with a U.S. degree. Still, we had some exciting news to focus on—in September 1995, we found out we were expecting our first child.

Our daughter, Rose, was born in May 1996 at Wagga Wagga Base Hospital—a healthy baby girl and a brand new Australian. Her arrival marked the beginning of a new season in our lives, full of change, opportunity, and a growing sense that our future might lead us far beyond the Riverina.

In July 1997, Rebecca’s parents came to visit us in Australia. It was their first time seeing the country, and we took the opportunity to show them around the New South Wales countryside—from the rolling farmland around Wagga to the small towns and open skies that defined our part of the world. It was a special visit and a memorable chance to connect our two families before they returned home to the U.S.

Immigration to the U.S.

The decision to move to the United States was not made lightly. After a lot of prayer and discussion, Rebecca and I agreed that it would be easier for me to find work in the U.S. as a teacher than it would be for her to find a role as a therapist in Australia. She also found it difficult being so far from her family. Even the small, everyday things—like driving on the other side of the road—were challenges that made adjusting to life in Australia harder for her than we had anticipated.

I applied for a U.S. visa and permanent resident status, and after completing all the required paperwork and clearances, we left Australia for good in March 1997.

Leaving wasn’t easy—we left behind many dear friends and a place full of memories, especially with the recent birth of our daughter, Rose. But we were hopeful for a fresh start. On arrival, we stayed with Rebecca’s parents for a couple of months while we looked for a place to live. In time, we found a home nearby, in rural Defiance County, Ohio, just a stone’s throw from where Rebecca had grown up. It was a quiet farmhouse surrounded by fields—a perfect place to raise a young family. We lived there for many years, and in 2024, we sold the property to our son Joshua, passing it on to the next generation. It was a meaningful transition and marked the closing of one chapter and the beginning of another.

Back to Agriculture

I was fortunate to find work almost immediately after arriving. That first summer, I joined Monsanto’s precision farming pilot program as a crop scout, working across six farms in northwest Ohio. My job was to scout corn fields and gather field data using what, at the time, was cutting-edge technology—an Apple Newton handheld device.

When our team supervisor left to pursue his Master’s degree, I was promoted to Data Collection Manager in November 1997. The harvest was delayed that year due to wet weather, and we didn’t finish bringing in the corn until early January. I was offered a more permanent position with Monsanto, but it would have required relocating to St. Louis, and Rebecca and I decided we wanted to stay in Ohio to raise our family.

Shortly after, I accepted a new role as an Agronomist with the local farm co-op, Defiance Landmark, based in Standley, Ohio. It was a great fit. My responsibilities included scouting fields, making fertilizer recommendations, selling seed corn, and helping local farmers bring in their crops. I got to know the community, and I especially enjoyed the chance to get back into hands-on agricultural work. During this time, I also earned my Commercial Driver’s License (CDL) to help support operations at harvest.

While working as an agronomist, I had an unexpected opportunity that would change the course of my career. I paid a visit to the local school in Ayersville, where I noticed they were using Macintosh computers. I struck up a friendship with the school’s tech coordinator, and what began as a casual interest soon grew into something more. That connection became the first step in what would eventually become my new career—education.

Northern Buckeye Education Council (1999-present)

My opportunity to move into educational technology came in January 1999, when I heard about a job opening with the Northern Buckeye Education Council (NBEC)—a regional agency providing internet service, filtering, and technology support to schools across Northwest Ohio. Within NBEC is the Northwest Ohio Computer Association (NWOCA), an Information Technology Center (ITC) that also manages data reporting to the Ohio Department of Education.

I joined NBEC as an Educational Technologist in the Instructional Services Department, which at the time was led by Dr. Dan Holden. The department was responsible for supporting teachers and schools in their effective use of instructional technology, and I was stepping into a role that allowed me to combine my background in education, agriculture, and technology. The organization was also in the process of opening a new office in Toledo, about 60 miles northeast of where we lived. Initially, I worked out of NWOCA’s offices in Archbold, located at Four County Career Center, until the Perrysburg office was ready.

Starting that summer, I began commuting daily to our new Perrysburg office—about 60 miles each way—driving along what was then a dangerous stretch of U.S. Highway 24 that followed the Maumee River from Defiance to Toledo. (Thankfully, a new U.S. 24 opened in 2012, offering a much safer and faster route.)

Our office was set up to serve schools in the Toledo area, starting with a small team—six of us in the main office on the second floor of the Penta Skill Center, along with two hardware technicians stationed in “the cave” near the library. Over time, that location evolved. The East Office later moved to the Wynn Building in Oregon, Ohio, but following the COVID-19 pandemic, the East Office was disbanded, and many staff now work from home, reflecting the broader shift to remote and hybrid work environments.

One of the conditions of my employment was that I needed to obtain an Ohio teaching license. This meant enrolling in an additional course at the University of Toledo, which I completed in 2000. I then passed the Praxis exams and was granted a 5-Year Ohio Teaching License, with an endorsement in General Science (7–12)—a license I still hold to this day.

In 2001, a position became available in our Archbold office, and I transferred there, joining the West Office, which at the time was still located inside Four County Career Center. A few years later, in 2007, NBEC opened its new headquarters on Nolan Parkway in Archbold, which we now share with the Northwest Ohio Educational Service Center (NWOESC).

My role continued to evolve. In 2016, I accepted the position of Supervisor of Instructional Services, leading a team of four staff members. In 2019, our department was officially renamed the Professional Learning Group (PLG) to better reflect our focus on instructional coaching, ed tech integration, and professional development across the region.

Our service area has grown considerably over the years—we now support districts across 33 counties in Northwest and Central Ohio. In 2019, I celebrated 20 years with Northern Buckeye, and in 2024, I marked my 25th anniversary with the organization. It’s been a career filled with growth, change, and a deep sense of purpose—helping teachers and schools leverage technology for better teaching and learning.

Family and Farm Life

In April 2024, our family moved to a new farmhouse just outside Hicksville, Ohio. Last fall, we made major updates to the house, including the addition of a patio area that's perfect for entertaining. Our previous home—the 100-year-old farmhouse we extensively remodeled in 2003—is now home to our son Josh (1998), who has continued improving the property with additional renovations to the farmhouse and a woodworking shop in the old barn.

Our daughter Rose (1996) lives with her husband Curtis on a small farm near Continental. They have two children: Arthur (2023) and Anastasia (2024).

Our son Dominic (2001) and his wife Jess live nearby in Hicksville with their son Robbie (2024). Michael (2004) is currently attending the University of Toledo. At home, we still have our three youngest daughters: Kateri (2008), Gemma (2013), and Lucy (2014).

In 2007, I became a U.S. citizen and have proudly voted in every election since. In 2025 I got to serve as a Juror for the first time.

Our current menagerie includes a small flock of chickens, our old Westie boy Phin, and two mischievous Siamese cats who keep things lively. We enjoy camping, kayaking, and making the most of warm Ohio evenings in the courtyard or around our campfire with family and friends.

In recent years, Rebecca, who has always been a talented singer, has had the chance to return to something she loves—making music. After stepping away from singing for many years to focus on being a full-time mother, she now performs a few times a year with The Dans, a Steely Dan tribute band, and we’re both part of Siberian Solstice, a Trans-Siberian Orchestra tribute band that tours in the weeks leading up to Christmas. Rebecca is one of the vocalists, and I support the group by running multimedia and visuals, and occasionally helping with videography for The Dans as well.

This year, we celebrated 30 years of marriage with a two-week trip to Iceland and Ireland in June. It was a wonderful chance to travel together again and simply enjoy each other’s company. While we were away, our kids did an amazing job holding down the fort at home—we are truly blessed.