Australia’s most connected sheep – the NBN runs through their paddock over the road from us.
The sparkling sheep in their ‘morning room’. Their paddock is divided up into rooms in their minds, it appears, as they spend late morning and early afternoon near the trough and tree, moving slowly forward as evening comes on. They spend the night down by the fence closest to us and are there when the sun rises, only to start their day again by moving to the tree and trough.
They dig a hole – tip water in and then TFG gets a book and sits on a small chair, her feet in the hole as if she is at a day spa. OFG fusses around her, piling in mud or water alternately, enjoying the pouring process of either. I note the feeling of “good” that fills my heart when I hand them orange slices to eat on the veranda, their toes a chocolate brown with soil.
Friends come to visit us during the holidays, some from far and some from farther still. Our little shack seems to expand to allow for more people and I wonder at the magic that is love. It takes up no room and therefore we can have as much as we like in our lives.
Our dear friend is clipping the top of the state as he starts a new part of his life on the other side of this rather large country. The husband goes up to catch him on the way through and I fuss over whether he is okay until we hear he is safely in his new home. This guy is like a brother to both of us and the husband and I reminisce about old times, missing him greatly. TFG calls him Uncle and asks for stories of him spending time with her when she was a baby.
We have an early start to summer, which feels lovely. This thawing out still remains slightly threatening as a long, hot and dry summer stretches before us. The Gurus have packed their Evac-Kits already and head out to bob about in their sun hats like small, colourful mushrooms.
The scent of the first hug after the husband has been away a week – all familiar and comforting.
Mangoes and strawberries, avocados and cucumbers are all coming into season and we go a little spring crazy in the green grocer. The kitchen smells like christmas (the sticky, sweet mango smell) and makes me miss my mum and step-dad – I breathe in the juicy humidity that is a mango skin and recall fruit and storms up in Queensland.
We take the dog into the library to meet the librarian. “Let him roam, he will love the library.” Says the librarian, following him with her eyes. He sniffs through non-fiction and comes back over to check she loves him still.
“What time exactly will you be back this afternoon?” OFG demands, clutching at my shirt.He talked all the way to school but I (after assuring him I’d be there waiting when the bell went) leave him standing in the corner of the yard with large, sad eyes. My heart breaks a little more and I glance over to where TFG had marched off without a goodbye due to the husband not taking her demands for homeschooling seriously. This old dance still goes on and I’m weary of the steps. I am looking forward to picking them up as much as they are to being picked up.
I eye the lightning tracker map jealously – I love storms but seem to repel them. There is a wide circle of clear area around us and then beyond that three whole states are peppered with crosses, indicating a mental amount of lightning.
OFG writes a list. His wobbly letters and phonetic spelling make my eyes sting with tears as I read it. He has decided that him and Dad will build us a house…it has to be done so let’s just do it. In his mind, now we have a list (including bricks, wood, taps and doors), it is just a case of buying it at the hardware shop and spending the weekend putting it together. His faith in the husband’s handyman abilities and in the way things work is heartening.
