birth

The Mayfield block had long been a thing of envy for my family, located as it was at the narrowing end of the lake it not only contained the greatest area of arable land in the valley, but also land of such quality that it considered one of the best blocks in the region. The hill rose steeply from the water’s edge to a crest, and then receded slowly towards the north- a fertile slope that caught the best of the sun. The rockier southern incline had long been established as an orchard containing a couple of different varieties of apples, pears and nectarines that provided a nice little extra money-spinner and a great source of fruit for the kitchen table.

Only a couple of weeks after they had bought the Mayfield’s farm, Phillip and Beth announced to the family that they were expecting a child. They had known this information for several weeks and had successfully managed to keep it hidden, but now that the truth was out the cause of Phillip’s recent vagueness and Beth’s coy smile were only too apparent, and their mothers in particular berated themselves in private for not having put the pieces together before now, while simultaneously implying that they had known all along.

Of course everyone was overjoyed at the news. They had been married a couple of years and whispers had begun in the bedrooms and studies of their families as to why they hadn’t conceived by now, so the news caused a palpable ripple of relief across their faces. The grandmother’s set to work crocheting little boots, gloves, pants and jumpers, erring on the side of yellow since the sex of the little one was not yet known.

When she did arrive, little Olive was possibly the most doted upon baby in the world. Both grandmother’s would visit almost everyday and developed something of a rivalry, which Beth tried to mediate by dressing Olive in clothes made by the two elders on alternate days. Meanwhile Dad, Albert and the older Moriarty’s never tired of slapping Phillip on the back with a sly wink and bringing up stories of Phillip as a wee one. None of them could disguise their glints of pride.

From an early age Olive displayed tendencies not at all like those of a normal little girl. As soon as she could toddle she would follow her father around the yard and as he left the house in the mornings to go to the sheds or out to the paddocks she would stand there, hands pressed against the wooden slats of the front door, and wail. And as a child she would prefer to sit for hours digging amongst the chook manure rather than play inside with the dolls that her grand- and great-grandparents insisted on buying her, and which sat barely noticed in a box of similar such toys in the lounge room.