Where the Universe began

Grew up in an old farmhouse where the Summers were hot and the Winters cold. In Winter we’d get up in the early morn to light the fire in the kitchen. We’d stand by the fire shivering and get dressed, our feet frozen as we walked across the old lino floor.

There was no hot running water, all the taps ran cold. We’d heat the water to shower or bath. The water came from the farm dam and was muddy brown, sought of a coffee or milo colour. Rain water was for drinking, a scarce, but valuable resource.

Out the back of our house there was a dam, water tower and a windmill. Gravity feed and wind power pumped water to the house. There was also an old corrugated iron laundry.

At night we’d have an open fire in the lounge room, which would heat most of the living area, but hardly the bedrooms. Sparks would explode across the room and burn little holes on the old brown carpet.

The toilet was out the back near an old Oleander bush. The bush cast dark shadows at night when we did the “toilet run”. I was frightened by what evil might hide under that bush at night.

On Sunday nights we could cook our own dinner of tinned spaghetti on toast, or flap jacks. Sometimes Dad would make the best toasted sandwiches in an old waffle iron in the open fire.

Summers were dry and baking hot. An evaporative air conditioning unit would get wheeled about the house constantly being topped up with dam water to create some coolness.

We would swim in the irrigation channels and try to catch tadpoles and leaches, or go yabbying. There were always chores to do, like feeding the chooks and collecting the eggs, chopping wood for the fires in Winter, or penning up the poddy calf at night so Dad could milk the cow in the morning.

The milking cow’s name was Gertie, she was a Guernsey and produced an abundance of creamy, tasty milk. Her horns curved out toward you, although one was broken. I would grab her broken horn and tease her by trying to shake her head around. Gertie would shake her head in anger while I held tight to her broken horn. Dad would scold me. Dad loved Gertie and she loved Dad.

The lane from the front gate to the farmhouse was dusty. When it rained it turned into a quagmire. Our car would slip and slide through deep muddy tracks.

Past the north western end of the farm was a hill. Well, it looked like a hill when every other aspect is flat. On the other side of the hill was my great Uncle and Auntie’s farm. During the Christmas school holidays three little explorers would pack up their school bags with cold cordial and sandwiches and set off on a journey over the hill.

 For them it was a true Burke and Wills exploratory adventure, although infinitely more successful. We had to start our long journey early so that we could make the return journey back over the hill before the day became too hot.

This was the centre of my universe. Where heaven met earth and all the things of the known world happened. It was a world of farmers, shearers and water-bailiffs. Of noisy tractors, harvesters, and trucks. Of dust, and dirt, and mud. Of bags of grain and fertilizer. Snakes, mice, sheep, cattle and working dogs. Visits to town were for groceries and clothes, sheep sales, or the annual show.

School was small and most of the students came from neighbouring farms. The sky was big, and blue, and open. The clouds were sometimes high whisks of ice, or puffy pillows of cotton wool, or heavy, dark, low and stormy, threatening to pull the sky down to the ground. Other times the clouds looked like a ploughed paddock. A paddock that stretched uninterrupted to the horizon.

 The land was brown, flat and wide. It made me feel small, but part of something much bigger. I would look up at the sky and wonder where I fitted in and where I would end up.

 This is where my universe began.

Craig

07/10/2020

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