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Burning cane has a unique smell: sweet, musty and smoky, all at once. When farmers still burned the tall crop before harvest, we danced outside in the dying light of the day, as black ash rained down on us. Whooping and yelling, decorating our faces with dark streaks; the smell of smoke crept up our nostrils, settled on our hair and seeped into our skin and clothing. We were overwhelmed with excitement and wonder as hectare-sized blocks lit up the night sky, their flames so high our necks hurt from watching them.
The fortunes of my hometown Mackay were so entwined with the sugarcane industry, it was dubbed the Sugar City. Before the mining boom, the local mill was the place for apprenticeships, the whole town revolved around the harvest, and the general excitement around the industry was infectious. I have sugar in my blood, and yet, this year will be the last it grows in our paddocks.
Words & Photography: @henrietta_attard
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