odd spot story

Kiwifruit might be New Zealand's national fruit, but fewer Kiwis are eating it out of fear it could trigger a fatal allergic attack. Experts say 1 per cent of the country's 4 million people are believed to have developed some kind of allergy to the fuzzy fruit.


Murray comes from a family of farmers. His father was a farmer. His grandfather was a farmer. His grandfather's father's father was a farmer. Throughout his whole existence, Murray had always thought that he would grow up to be a farmer, without any thought of ever pursuing another career.

When he turned the magical age of 18, Murray expected the metaphoric keys to the family farm to be handed his way. He was excited, he was anticipating a big hand-over, a celebration to rival Christmas. So when the day came and went without any sort of fuss or ceremony, he was puzzled. Not puzzled enough to actually ask either of his parents about it, but puzzled enough to let it simmer in his mind for a few days.

After five days of straight simmering, Murray worked up the courage to ask. Straight out ask his father where his metaphoric keys were and when it was that he could actually start making some farm-related decisions.

Murray knew that they answer to this was approach in a not-too-confrontational manner, but with just enough directive to show his father that he was serious enough about the issue to get a real answer. His father was renowned for his 'let it be' attitude to life and to farming and it was always particularly difficult to introduce change. His father had been the same way; as had Murrary's grandfather and his grandfather's father's father. It was their way.

But Murray was determined not to let them dissuade him.
After the morning coffee and biscuits had been distributed, Murray made his move.

"Dad"
"Yes son"
"Dad, I've been wondering about family farm."
"What about the family farm son?"
"Well dad, about the fact that I turned 18 last week."
"What about turning 18 last week?"
"Well, I've been waiting to get the keys to the farm dad"
"What keys to the farm son? You've got the keys to the ute, the tractor, the shed, the grainstore, the house and the poisons. What other keys do you want?"
"No dad, not real keys, the metaphorical keys. You know, the handing it all over keys"
"Oh" his father replied.
The two men sat there and pondered their coffee and metaphorical keys for the rest of their working day.

The next day Murray tried bringing up the conversation again.
"Dad?"
"Yes son"
"Can we talk again about the keys?"
"The keys son?"
"You know what I mean. When can I start making decisions about the farm?"
His old man was quiet and sat quietly again for a minute or two, before finally giving Murray the answer he was looking for.

"Son"
"Yes dad"
"You can have the keys to the farm, metaphoric or not. On one condition."
"Okay, what?"
Again, his father hesitated before making this revelation:
"You have to pull out all of the kiwi vines and start the farm again."
"Huh?"

Murray's felt that he had obviously misunderstood his father's meaning, and just stared at him for a moment or two before repeating the questionning statement.
"I have to pull out all of the kiwi vines and start the farm again?"
"Yes son"
"But why dad? Why?"
"Well son, no one eats kiwis anymore. They're all too allergic".
"What? Too allergic? That's rubbish."
"No son, it's God's honest truth. Our sales have been dropping for years and recently not one of my crates have pre-sold. It's a tough market out there for fuzzy fruit. I think it's time that we moved on. It's time that we grew bananas instead."
Murray pondered his father's comments before replying.

"Bananas? You want me to pull out all of our vines and replace them with the hated enemy of the kiwi, the banana? The Queensland equivalent of the plague? The fruit that it the exact opposite of what we proudly grow now? All because of some ridiculous allergy that some shonky medic in the city came up with?"
"Yes son"

Both men paused, barely able to look in each other's direction.
"Son"
"Yes dad"
"If you want the keys, then that's my condition. You have a think about it and let me know what you decide, but them vines over there are ready for pruning. And I'm not pruning em this year."
"What happens if I don't want to change to bananas?"
"Well son, I'll be selling the family farm to Queensland Incorporated and our family heritage will be lost."