This year marks five years of Evolve Engineering

Now, in the business world, that’s not exactly headline material. We didn’t get a ribbon-cutting ceremony or an invitation to Morning Sunrise. But it does mean one thing—we’re not just a pop-up stall at the Eumundi Markets, run by Jan and Bruce flogging off ceramic bongs, herbal infusers and repurposed hubcaps.

The Idea has not just landed, it’s fueled up and taken off, as whilst the destination is unknown. We’re enjoying the flight with you all.

Gus Hickman rang the other day (the owner of the first BLADERUNNER) and said he was listing BLADERUNNER serial number 0001 on Facebook Marketplace in the hope to upgrade to the new hydraulic model. That one sentence has made me reminisce like a proud dad and consider the last 5 years.

Here are a few photos from that first model.

Five years ago, Tim (now our manager) still had hair on his head and barely any on his chin. These days, it's the other way around. Back then, we were working out of a borrowed shed, trying to weld twisted blades onto barrels without accidentally killing ourselves. We didn’t really know what we were doing, but we knew why we were doing it.

Now, somehow, here we are: Tim’s now shed manager at Evolve HQ. I’m trying to run a farm whilst my old man is trying to retire, with kid number 3 knocking at the door, and I find myself writing this article 8:30 pm on a Tuesday night lying on my daughter’s bedroom floor like a shit hostage negotiator who’s resorted to sobbing, “please go to sleep”.

In between bedtime meltdowns and busted welds, I’ve been thinking about this lifestyle we’ve chosen. Farming. It’s a wild, stubborn, beautiful guinea pig wheel of chaos.

Another flood just rolled through—Walgett’s copped 16 flood events since 2020, eight of them major. It’s wet as a shag up north, and down south it’s drier than a mouthful of SAO biscuits during a job interview. 

Commodity prices are staggering around like they’ve been on a week-long bender with all the drugs. Chemical prices are still high enough to make you wonder if your own bath water might pass as wetter. 

And when it comes to leadership, we’re choosing between a giant douche and a turd sandwich (turd sandwich all the way, by the way). 

Oh, and the Pope’s dead, so good luck repenting for the dead Chinaman in Australia’s metaphorical back paddock. And don’t even get me started on the weather forecast.

Listening to the weatherman lately has confirmed one thing:
You don’t need a long neck to be a goose.

So why am I reflecting like a bloke who's just discovered Gin?

Because when you strip it all back - market swings, political circus, the Bureau guessing rainfall like it's keno- the only real control we’ve got is in our decisions. How do we prepare? How we react. What do we do when the window opens?

I’ve been driving through the country in the south recently, which reminds me eerily of 2018—bare, brittle, waiting. We can’t make it rain, but we can make damn sure we’re ready when it does. Because when the season turns, production has to come fast. You’ve got to hit the ground running, not digging through the shed looking for a 10mm spanner.

That’s why we built the BLADERUNNER. And why Gus is now onto his second.

We needed a way to scale up fast when conditions allowed. A way to get the country covered, crimped, and growing without breaking the bank. A system to catch moisture, drive biology, and bounce back from dry spells without starting from scratch.

That’s what we’ve built—imperfect, sure, but proven.

And we’re still learning. Still cocking things up. Still tinkering and welding and wondering how we’ve gotten this far without blowing something up. But five years in, the lesson’s the same:

Have a system ready before you need it.

Sow it quickly. Let it grow.
When the nitrates come, let them do their job.
Crimp it.
Focus on ground cover. Rotate smart.
Keep things simple, scalable, and sharp.

It’s not glamorous. It’s not a TED Talk.
But it works.
And sometimes, that’s enough.

So whether you’re in the dust or the mud…
On a drought lot, or standing in pasture that’s tickling your nostril hairs…
Still trying to get the 5HP Johnson started so you can check the sheep in the tinny…

Just remember—we’re all fighting the same fight, just in different paddocks. Call a mate down south, see how they are going. 

Look after each other.
Lean in when it matters.
And here’s hoping 2025 sobers up long enough to give us a bit of stability, a few more good seasons, and maybe even a straight answer from the Bureau.

Where else would you rather be matey?