The Fruity (and Nut) Farmer, Dunoon and District Gazette

Let me start by saying this: macadamia nuts are not just nuts. They are the Beyoncé of nuts. Beautiful, bouncy, nicely rounded, high-maintenance, and fully aware that they’re better than you.

I’ve farmed everything from vegetables, bananas, papaw and custard apples, and let me tell you— nothing has ever judged me harder than a macadamia tree. It doesn’t just grow. No, it deliberates. It wants perfect soil, perfect drainage, perfect rainfall, and ideally a symphony playing Mozart in the background. And even then, it might give you the cold shoulder.

“You don’t farm macadamias— you negotiate with them.”

And when it does grow? Settle in. Macadamias don’t rush. These trees won’t produce a single nut for 4 to 7 years. That’s not farming—it’s horticultural character development. You don’t plant macadamias for a quick buck. You plant them for your grandchildren. Maybe.

Once upon a time, little Dunoon in northern NSW was the proud ‘Macadamia Capital of Australia.’ Quietly getting on with it. No fuss. Just nuts. Then Bundaberg, Qld — big, bold, full of sunshine and self-confidence—planted a gazillion trees overnight and claimed the crown like it was a bag of mixed lollies.

And what did Queensland send us with in return? Pests. Diseases. And drama.

We got the macadamia seed weevil, the macadamia husk spot, flower blight, green mould, grey mould, and something called ‘dry flower disease,’ which sounds like a medical condition but is somehow even more stressful when it’s happening to your orchard.

We got weeds that laugh at herbicide, cane toads with attitude, and—just to spice things up— advancing fire ants, because nothing says “good morning” like a stinging surprise in your pants..

Back in the good old days,(pre 1980s) you could practically spray your trees with kisses and they’d thrive. These days? It takes a shedload of chemicals, five types of PPE, and a postgraduate degree in entomology just to break even. Or if you want to go broke more quickly: go organic.

“Bundaberg stole our crown and sent us the pests!”

You don’t farm macadamias anymore—you negotiate with them. And just when you think you’ve finished negotiating with the trees, you’re reminded that you also have to negotiate with neighbours who’ve brought their city sensibilities to the country—people who think mulch smells offensive and orchard machinery is too loud before brunch.

And yet, we do it. Because deep down, we love the nut. When that first creamy, buttery kernel cracks open, it’s all worth it. The heartbreak. The backaches. The chemical bills. The soil tests. The toads. The ants. All of it.

“In the old days, a kiss was enough. Now it’s chemicals, PPE, and a science degree.”

So to all my fellow farmers—NSW, Qld, or otherwise—cheers to you. We might bicker over titles, but we’re united by the madness of macadamias. It takes grit, resilience, and just the right amount of delusion to keep going.

And let’s be honest: we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Disclaimer: These view expressed are not representative of the Australian Macadamia Society, Processors or other interested parties. The Fruity Farmer is not an approved spokesperson for anyone or anything to do with the macadamia industry. The views and sentiments are personal and open to dispute. Feel free to take offense or have a laugh.

This article appeared in Dunoon and District Gazette, August-September 2025.