Bianca Blackhall was born on the tray of an
unregistered ute just north of any rural post office in the country. As she lay – lungs kick-starting, body barely the size of a longneck – she already
knew that there would never be anything new under the sun, it’s all been
before, the cattle grazier's wallet, the old dirt and new deeds surrounding her
were meaningless unless written about and sung.