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.

I have a Title

...and it is "Between Here and the Sky"

getting there

Phillip and his groomsmen readied themselves first at the old Elliot cottage, then put the finishing touches on up at his parents house. Sarah fussed around them, making them take off their shirts so that she could give them a proper going-over with the iron, and darning a small rip in the seat of one of the groomsmen’s trousers. When all was completed to her satisfaction she stood back and looked at them in turn, before settling her eyes on Phillip and bursting into tears. The men stood awkwardly scuffing their feet, taken aback by this sudden display of emotion from one considered so hard-as-nails. Up until that day Phillip had only seen his mother cry twice before in his life- at her sister’s funeral, and when she accidently pulled the mutton stew from the stove after a particularly long and scorching day in the shearing shed. At each of those times too he had been lost for words or deeds.

But what surprised everyone even more was that she did so without hiding her face, without fear. She bawled openly and proudly, and enveloped her son in a vice-like hug that threatened to burst his ribcage apart. The groomsmen averted their eyes and shuffled off to the next room as Albert wandered upon the scene. Immediately summing up the situation he smiled to himself and followed the boys from the room.

Once Sarah had finished dressing her husband she loaded him into the drivers seat of the FJ Falcon and plonked herself in the passenger’s seat. As they headed off down the driveway Sarah bellowed final instructions out the window like a drill sergeant on the parade ground. Her words were lost to the wind and the crunch of gravel under the wheels, however the congregation had turned their heads in her direction so she felt that she had made her point and the car drove on.

Phillip Spring and Bethany Muir were married in the little Anglican Church nestled amongst the oak and weeping willows in the bride’s hometown. From what I’ve heard it was a joyous family affair, as all weddings should be. The immediate and extended families were all there, along with notable members of the community and a few select school friends. Phillip apparently had a barely contained and permanent smirk across his face from the moment his bride appeared through the glass-paned doors between the foyer and the aisle, right through until the exhaust pipe of the lipstick-smeared Datsun shot the potato clear through the window of the town hall.

                                                ***** 

The weather is not something that can ever be planned for, at least not when its accuracy is needed moths in advance. An ideal year would consist of a warm-to-hot summer, interspersed with occasional summer storms and cool days, gradually cooling across autumn until consistent showers set in from early May and continue through waves of cool to moderate temperatures until the start of October, before slowly rising in temperature and decreasing in rain until the end of year. Of course within this pattern the weeks when the farmer wants it to remain dry it must remain dry, and the weeks that the farmer wants to remain clear and warm it must do as he bids.

However the weather is a fickle mistress. A winter may break early in April and send all and sundry out into their paddocks to plant their potatoes and onions in the hope of being able to fit that extra crop swing in before the rains end, only to have the rain clear up and stay away in any reasonable quantities for the remainder of the year and prevent any of the crops from flourishing; while in other years it may stay dry and hot right up until mid-May and then rain unceasingly for 5 months, burying everything in mud and rotting the crops into the ground.

            

          A couple of years after Phillip and Beth were married the rain started falling early, and right on cue the farmers took to their fields in their tractors to prepare their paddocks and plant their winter crops. However the rain just didn’t merely not stop, it got heavier and heavier. It rained until the ground simply couldn’t hold any more water rivulets started to scar the flesh of the hills. As the rain intensified the scars deepened and widened in return, sending sections of crops downhill into the creeks and into the dam, and the remaining plants clinging to life amongst the newly-cleaned rocks. Cows and their calves and ewes and their lambs started getting caught in the mud and the shallows of the waterholes and their distressed bellows and bleats rang out of the valleys throughout the day and night.

My roots kept me safe on the side of the hill, spreading deep and wide to cling to the earth, but they also prevented me from being able to help. I watched steadfast and immovable, for all appearances a passive observer of events, but desperate to help in any way.

            

            While our valley lost a lot of crops during this winter, we were largely protected by being but an upstream tributary to the river below, which through the accumulation of waters from many valleys just like ours transformed from an idle river to a swollen torrent. The water rose from its usual banks to within a couple of feet of the dam wall. Its force cleared the undergrowth out from around the riverbanks, picked up rotting logs from the forest floor and uprooted ancient elders. Other trees died from waterlogging over the ensuing months. Farms lining the river were washed out, whole flocks were lost (although in one instance an entire herd was found a week later about 10 miles downstream), houses, sheds, vehicles damaged or destroyed, The one thing to be thankful of was that there was no loss of human life.

            

            But still, the cleanup was a long and hard task. Debris had to be cleared, and mud transferred from the flats back up to the slopes. Those farmers that were unduly affected pitched in with their time and machinery to lend a hand clearing away debris and wrecked infrastructure. The damage was so extensive in some areas towards the coast that some simply walked away from their farms, while others were claimed in the following months through the unspoken of killer of farmers- depression.

The various arms of my family toyed with the idea of buying up a farm a few miles down the river, but were rocked a little by the flood that they baulked at the idea, consoling each other by saying that at that particular point in time it was better to consolidate what they had at that point. In any case they would have the opportunity to expand in just a couple more years, when the Mayfield’s sold up to finance their buying of a larger farm closer to the western coast, where they would be amongst the first wave of farmers to transform their rolling pastures into vineyards, creating a dynasty of their own and a considerable fortune in the process.

29-5-2011

At this nod, Mr Muir looked from the young Mr Spring to the young lady standing next to him, and acted as though he had only just noticed the presence of his daughter at his side. He introduced the pair, and instinctively Phillip offered out his hand. Miss Muir stifled a laugh ad extended her hand to meet his. She shook his hand with the force of a farmer; the corners of her mouth curled into an involuntary smirk.

She persuaded him that he was pursuing her- that she was the mere innocent in the situation- without ever letting on that it was her directing their relationship. She guided him through their first conversations, their first touch and their first kiss behind the town hall on the night of the lunar eclipse. Phillip was of the age that it was now expected of him to attend the farmers and town hall meetings and contribute to the running of the district, and sit on various committees around town, so he was able to manoeuvre himself into positions of familiarity with Mr Monroe.

However Beth Monroe always had to find some excuse to go with her father to town, usually on the pretext of wanting to meet up with old high-school friends in town. Beth had recently finished her year twelve exams, and was intending to move to the city and start her teachers training. Her parents had conceded to this on the proviso that she take a year off between school and college to work on the family farm. While at first she had begrudgingly accepted this compromise, in her now-found situation it seemed almost serendipitous.

Her father would drop her off at a friend’s house, where she would stay for a time before leaving to walk to the town hall in time for the end of the meeting and the chance of again seeing Phillip. Once the meeting had adjourned there she would be waiting, and Phillip would try to disguise his eagerness to run straight to her by joining her father in conversation of whatever first (after Beth) came to mind as they descended the granite stairs together. Mr Monroe pretended not to notice the plot.

As things developed between them Phillip would call upon the Monroe house and they would appear together around town and at parties, and it transformed from an open secret to an open knowledge that Phillip Spring and Bethany Muir were an item. They were married a year after their meeting. The wedding was greeted with excitement throughout the Shire; the merging of two farming dynasties. A better match of breeding and spirit couldn’t be imagined.

A month before the wedding Phillip had moved back down the hill to the old Elliot cottage to prepare it as their new marital home. He furnished the house with new couches, a new double bed, new sideboards and new tables, and got a good deal on a refurbished slow-combustion stove. All this activity was conducted with precedence given to function rather than any matching colour or pattern scheme or finer touch, and upon moving into what would be her new home Beth set about rearranging those items she could salvage and ordering new furnishings with tasteful and soft floral upholstery. Phillip accepted this in much the same spirit as he would throughout their lifetime together- with self-deprecation and gentle mockery of the roles of husband and wife within the unit.

27-5-2011

Now that he felt that he had learnt as much as he could talking to the Monroe’s and old Mr Mayfield Phillip sensed it as his duty to now approach those farmers whom the Spring’s as a whole respected. He had met Mr Muir a few times before at similar events and the Manjimup Royal Show, and talked to such an extent as to know the basics such as where he was based and what he grew, and knew that he was well respected amongst the community. So while his father was off acting as lieutenant to the Mr Blakers and his grandfather was larking about with old Mr Monroe and Mr Moriarty, he summonsed all his courage to go up and join in Mr Muir’s conversation with his son Rodney, Danny Monroe and old Henry Kelly. It was time to be an independent man.

Phillip waited for a break in the conversation to introduce himself, even though everyone else knew exactly who he was (everybody knew who everyone was at these events), and as duty dictates, started up a new thread in the conversation, asking about the health of the poddy calves considering the early start to winter. As with all conversations of this nature it was interspersed with much grunting, contemplation of the sky and risk of this being the year of ruin for their respective districts. It was never in the farmers lot to be optimistic; no matter how good the weather or prices there would always be something to grizzle about.

The conversation drifted from stock to weather to crops, and through it remained fluid, with other farmers joining or leaving the huddle, however Phillip remained the ever-present at Mr Muir’s side. As the cold wind again began to blow, Mr Muir’s eldest daughter Beth came up to him to ask him something or other on behalf of her mother. As she waited for the conversation to break in order to ask her question she became intrigued by the tanned and broad-shouldered young man at her father’s side. His movements were minimal but succinct, as though all his energy was invested in ensuring that his body language suited the tone of the conversation perfectly; that no charge of indifference of misunderstanding could be levelled at him. She admired his all-too-apparent earnestness and his overwhelming desire to be welcomed into the company he was keeping, the way he presented himself as a gentleman.

Phillip noticed her presence, but tried to focus instead on the topic at hand so as not to come across as other men his age were wont to. But try as he might his eye kept wandering to her deep black eyes, her strong cheekbones, her distinctly feminine figure accentuated by a red belt cinched around her waist, and her casual, almost flippant, stance. She smiled an introduction towards him and he smiled and nodded slightly in reply. A distant rumble sounded deep in his stomach.

She persuaded him without ever letting on that it was her directing their relationship and not him.