On a property just south-west of Geelong, a young bloke with a country twang utters one of the most common refrains of the tortured farmer.
"Goddamn," he says after a groan of frustration as his cows go left when they should have gone right.
"I should have shut that gate."
Just north of him around the same time, another farmer quietly drives his all-terrain vehicle towards a cow who has just calved.
With his two daughters in tow, he hushes them softly as they approach.
"Can we go and see it?" one of his daughters says.
They creep ever so slowly towards the new member of the family, as the protective cow watches on warily.
"What do you think girls?," the dad asks, as they look at the small bundle of fluff curled up under a tree.
The younger daughter suggests through the clunky words of a child just learning how to speak that the calf is dead – the dad patiently explains that he is, in fact, just sleeping.
And just south-west of that farm, a tall fella with a mop of blond hair watches on proudly as his young son rolls out a small bail of hay for the property's new herd, freshly arrived off the back of a truck.
The little guy has hair just like his dad, and as he gives the bail one final push, his own mop falls around his face.
His dad offers out his hand, and the son enthusiastically claims a low five, before the pair leave the paddock together, the son on the dad's shoulders, creating lifelong memories in the most idyllic of settings.
The farmers, for what it's worth, are Jeremy Cameron, Tom Hawkins, and Rhys Stanley.
And their lives give some insight into how Geelong has used what was once arguably its greatest weakness into one of its greatest strengths – its location.
The sleepiest of hollows
Sleepy Hollow had earned its nickname over the years.
Compared to the hustle and bustle of Melbourne an hour up the road, Geelong was just a big town with big chimney stacks and a big footy club.
While the Melbourne skyline would chop and change with each new shiny skyscraper, Geelong's horizon stayed stoically predictable, kept under the watchful gaze of the steeples of St Mary's Basilica, and the ever-burning flame of the Shell refinery.
It was a town of industry. Of religion. Of footy. And of not much else.
In some cases, the town's muted nature was beneficial, with Gary Ablett famously preferring to keep his family amongst the trickling stream of Geelong rather than the white-water rapids of Melbourne.
But while it was a nice enough place to live, and many footballers and club staff members would go on to call it their home, there was no element of envy.
Players from rival clubs were not bitter that you lived in Geelong and they didn't.
If you were a young player on football money, you wanted the cafes of Lygon Street in Carlton at your doorstep, or the pubs of Brunswick Street in Fitzroy, or St Kilda Beach.
If a football life was worth living, it was worth doing it in Melbourne.
And Geelong really couldn't compete.
From the farm to the coast
As you drive through the Barrabool Hills on the Princes Highway west of Geelong, you'll reach a crest where you can glimpse the modern skyline of modern Geelong.
Set to a backdrop of Corio Bay, St Mary's still holds her part in the play, but she does it now with an ensemble cast of modern buildings, architectural marvels, and of course, the imposing light towers of Kardinia Park.
Hugged by a ring road that opened in 2008 that made the rest of Victoria infinitely closer – seamlessly connecting Melbourne to Geelong, and Geelong to the Surf Coast – Sleepy Hollow has finally woken up.
It still can't give you the hustle and bustle of the Melbourne CBD, but it now offers a lifestyle that's flexible dependent on mood and personality.
"It's such a unique pocket," Emma Hawkins said about the family's Barrabool Hills farm.
"Because you're only 10 minutes out of Geelong, 30 minutes from the beach, and an hour from Melbourne CBD. So, we get the best of both worlds."
Over in Moriac, the Stanley family are just starting to build their dream.
"I love being in Geelong, I love the quiet side of it and being by the beach and the farm," Kirsten Stanley said.
"I need that fresh air to balance with some busy days in Melbourne."
At Patrick Dangerfield's sprawling home in Moggs Creek, just a 50 minute drive from front door to Kardinia Park – or 40 minutes if the team is training at their Deakin University hub – there's a lifestyle that you couldn't get playing for any other club.
"There's nothing more relaxing than looking at water,'' he told the Herald Sun this week.
"A fire at night maybe.''
Geelong and its surrounds have become the place to be for footballers young and old looking for the tree change so many of us searched for after ongoing COVID lockdowns.
Sleepy Geelong is now relaxed Geelong, a place to escape the hectic world of being a footballer and just exist as a human for a while.
Where in years gone by the drive around a fear of missing out on the city lifestyle would see talented players flocking to Melbourne, one brief swipe through Instagram or TikTok is enough to satiate the curious mind.
Far from the nightclubs and the pubs – which are still there if they need them — Geelong's veterans, the players who helped the Cats become the oldest team to ever take the field, let alone win the premiership, are finding their solace on quiet patches of rolling hills, around fire pits with teammates and close friends.
It is a lifestyle worth envying, a lifestyle that will see more and more players decide that they want to play for Geelong.
And it's a lifestyle most aptly described by Jeremy Cameron on Instagram, sharing another evening spent on his Freshwater Creek farm.
"How bloody good is this."
