Legacy

The sun was setting on the longest day of the year, the heart of summer. The warm glow from the evening sun melting down in the sky to meet the hills to the west, illuminated the range to the east in a spectacular hue of orange and pink. The wildlife in the valley rejoiced for the reprieve from the summer heat. Birds that had been staying still and cool in the shady trees from the sweltering day were now buzzing with energy as they darted around with excitement of the bug life slowly hovering over fresh cut lawns. They’re songs to each other surrounded the homestead on the farm and heightened the excitement of their human counterparts, young through old.

On this day, for almost a hundred years, the Thornmack family had gathered and celebrated what the generations long before them had built for the children running around the homestead garden today, giggling and squealing with excitement. On the years that nature had not graced the family enterprise, it was but a few people having dinner together, arguing about what livestock and properties to sell in the dry years. Getting a call from a neighbor about a fire that had sparked the dry gum leaves at the foot of the range, and everyone leaving their dinner plates on the table, going cold in the lifeless dining room, to fill up the water trucks and head out to fight the fire that threatened the few dry grasses left for livestock to graze during droughts. Other years they had missed it completely and opted for breakfast when the droughts had broken with endless rains, and they had spent the night moving cattle from the river flat pastures to higher grounds, to avoid the flash floods, in moonlight. Cracking whips upon shivering, yet stoic, mounts at bellowing cows with their eyes wide with panic searching for their calves in the nervous herd. Exhausted and soaked through the family would gather for a hot breakfast and plan on how to get hay and grain to the livestock on their new pastures in the hills as the fresh grasses, from years of drought, wouldn’t start to emerge from the newly hydrated earth for another month at least. The reprieve of rain was a momentary relief, for when the raised waters from the once dry riverbeds had subsided the chore of pulling swollen carcasses of not just their livelihood, but they’re beloved herd, from treetops would commence. The families’ souls would be were heavy with guilt for the livestock they hadn’t been able to get to safety. On those harsh years it was hard for the family to see a reason for the gathering. Although undoubtedly, the seasons would be kind and the gathering would re-emerge as a beloved tradition once again. This was one of those good years.

The gathering included the neighboring farming families, a community gathering as well as a family tradition. An elderly man, Tony, with grey hair combed neatly to one side, sat in an old wooden armchair on the porch, watching everyone interact. He watched the children run after each other through lush gardens, a young mother rock her baby before placing the bundle into the pram an accepting an ice-cold drink from her husband in one hand while her other hand pushed the pram back and forth with ease on the green lawns under large tree framing the homestead, not breaking conversation with the other young women around her. A group of young men laughing loudly, in deep tones, off to the side of the crowd smoking cigarettes. The teenagers gathering suspiciously behind the corner of the large wrap around porch.

Tony smiled, content, as he lent back in his chair. Remembering himself as a young man, at this very gathering fifty years ago. They had been graced with numerous good seasons and the family had been planning this as a big event for months. The roasts had been in the oven since morning and the fresh seafood had been picked up by his uncle that morning, a six-hour drive back from the nearest coastline. Tonys father, not impressed by the chaos looming in his home that morning was leaving to check livestock. A young Tony, hair thick and dark like his mothers, heard the door open and close slowly with a strung-out squeak, he had rushed out of bed to go join his father, sneaking past his mother and sisters in the kitchen as they argued over recipes in the dim morning light. Tony jumped in the passenger seat of the truck beside his father, still buttoning up his shirt as they headed out to the pastures.

Later that day a boy, not more than twelve with crooked teeth, rode a horse out to the truck ambling through the pastures.

‘Sir’ the boy had said politely with a nod and a thick lisp, which made it hard to know if he had an accent or not, pulled his sweaty horse up beside the tuck door ‘Mrs. Thornmack has steam comin from them ears that you aint returned yet.’

‘Alright Johnny, we’ll be there’ Mr. Thornmack said with an English accent, looking down at the dash of the truck.

‘Don’t rush back on that gelding’ Mr. Thornmack had said firmly, looking back out the window at the boy ‘it’s too hot for galloping around. Mrs. Thornmack won’t have a colic-stricken horse in the barn this evening’ he then smiled with a twinkle in his eye ‘then you, young lad will be dealing with her.’

The truck was parked at the homestead and Tony and his father walked inside to organized chaos in the kitchen, and a very heated Mrs. Thornmack

“Ye, where you been’ Tonys mother spoke in her thick Irish accent to them both.

Mrs. Thornmack, from a lower socioeconomic Irish family coming to Australia in the bows of the ship met his father by accident, when a young Mr. Thornmack and his peers had decided to explore the underbelly night life of the ship from their first-class suites when travelling to Australia. Tony’s wealthy English grandparents would have disapproved of the courtship, but they weren’t there. Mr. Thornmack was traveling to Australia, upon his family’s direction, to acquire land and return to England. Although, when he had met the fiery and spirited Irish woman aboard the ship and spend the weeks of travel enjoying each other’s company, he had written to his family upon arrival to Australia and let them know he would need more time to complete his acquisition of prime farming land.

The Irish woman’s family thought the fine English man as enjoying the liberty of a new country and the spoils, they denied meetings of the two young lovers in the new city of Sydney. They met in secret by the docks, talked and longed for each other through the night. Eventually Mr. Thornmack had to leave Sydney in search of farmland and asked the Irish woman come with him, she agreed.

Three months later the young English man wrote to his parents and informed them he had acquired some land but wanted to stay and learn more about the climate and livestock in Australia to better manage the enterprise when back in England. What he didn’t write is that he had married the beautiful Irish woman and she was with child. Mr. Thornmack had worked on neighboring properties and his new wife spend the days cleaning the large homesteads over winter, providing accommodation with the employment during the winter months. Mrs. Thornmack had not looked supposed when Mr. Thornmack had declared they were to earn their own incomes to build a house on his parent’s land, she had just got to work cleaning the homesteads and befriending the other landowner’s wives and daughters.

The newly married couple moved to the purchased farmland when the frosts had stopped, to a thrown together shelter between two gum trees by the river flats of the farm, as Mr. Thornmack did not want his now heavily pregnant wife cleaning houses. As her stomach swelled, as did Mr. Thornmack appreciation for her. The resilience and hard work she had turned her hands to had made the soon to be father proud of his wife and bountiful feature. Mr. Thornmack spent the spring building a modest home with the help of his much younger brother, who had been sent to check up on him after rumors had circled back to England of the Irish woman. The youngest brother was instantly warmed by the new Mrs. Thornback’s warm smile, sparkling grey eyes and ebony hair that fell in thick curls down her back, as well as the freedom the new lands had to offer. The brother had decided he would hold off on telling their parents of his youngest brother’s new Irish wife until the house was built and the baby arrived. In that late spring a baby boy was born in the yet to be finished home. Three months later, the home was finished, the property was making an income, which the new father received a wage from his parents in England for running, and on the longest day of the year, the heart of summer, a gathering of neighboring families hosted by an Irish wife, English husband and the doting new uncle of a three-month-old chubby baby boy was held.

That was twenty years ago now, and the fiery love stricken Irish woman had now refined her vocabulary to better impress her husband’s business partners. Although now as she stood in the kitchen, wavering a carving fork in her husband’s direction her Irish accent was thick.

‘Th’ll be ere soon and I aint, nor ye daughters, ha been for a wash.’

Her husband approached her, one purposeful step at a time, placing a large, calloused hand at the base of his wife’s neck by her shoulder. An amused smile curling at his lips.

‘Tables. Under the Tree. On the lawn. Out the front’ he spoke in a deep yet comforting tone ‘yes?’

‘Yes’, his wife still looked at him through narrowed eyes with flushed cheeks, yet her tone had softened. She turned away from him and into the kitchen.

Mr. Thornmack picked a kitchen towel up and flicked it at his wife’s backside playfully. Mrs. Thornmack squealed and chased him with her carving fork from the kitchen shouting Irish curses in a thick accent again. The daughters giggled as their father skipped and spun away from their mothers’ swats and out of the kitchen. Their mother returning with a smile she couldn’t hide but for trying and shaking her head softly.

The afternoon had gone as planned, guests had arrived for lunch, and everyone gathered under the tree by the tables and shared plates of food and drinks. Tony and his sisters had delivered plates to the workers quarters in the late afternoon. The eldest of his sisters clearly wanting to stay for longer than necessary when the young, handsome, head stockman had accepted a plate from her hands and had instructed the other stockmen to show their gratitude without looking from the young women eyes. Tony had watched the way the head stockmen had stood closer than necessary to his sister while accepting the plate of food, looking down at her with sincere yet kind eyes. Tony studied his sister’s reaction, and then the head stockman again. There was a young lady from a neighboring family that he had shared a moment like that with a few weeks ago, and he was eager to get back to her at the party now.

Later that evening, just as the last of daylight slipped into darkness, the young boy with the lisp awkwardly made his way through the crowd on the lawn at the homestead looking for Tony and trying to avoid Mr. and Mrs. Thornmack. Tony felt a soft tugging on his sleeve from the boy. ‘Sorry sir, it’s one of ‘em horses. He’s not right’.

Tony glanced back at the fine young lady he was speaking with, the one he had been wanting to get caught in conversation with: Eleanor.

‘What is the problem?’ She asked in a silky tone, leaning forward gracefully and looking between Tony and the boy.

‘A horse, perhaps colic, he was ridden hard in the heat this morning’ Tony replied, looking down, unimpressed by the timing of the concern ‘I don’t want to interrupt my mother and father’s evening.'

His father leant back in a wooden armchair on the lawn laughing in a relaxed manner, as he lifted his drink to his lips, at the story his mother was telling while perched on the arm of his father’s chair. Their guests leaning forward eagerly and listening intently with humor on their faces.

‘I’m terribly good with horses’ Eleanor had said, her blonde waves tucked away from her face under a headband made of fresh flowers ‘I would have liked to have studied veterinary science, let’s go have a look at him.’

The three of them disappeared into the darkness of the night towards the stables.

Tony had sent the boy to fetch warm water with oil and some rubber tubing upon Eleanor’s request after she inspected the horse, laying on his side striking the ground with his hooves. To Tonys surprise Eleanor let herself into the yard and with a rope and halted the laying down horse, avoid the flailing hooves with ease and grace in her long pale dress. Negotiating with the horse to get up in her silky voice had failed, Eleanor had then taken the end of the rope and gave one hard smack with it across the horse’s rump. The horse had stumbled to his feet, and she began walking it in large circles around the yard. Tony hadn’t even time to protest with the danger she was putting herself in, before she had the horse walking behind her with groans of pain. Eleanor explained to a still shocked Tony that the horse couldn’t roll in this condition otherwise it would twist its intestines, resulting in death.

The boy returned with the bucket of warm oily water and Eleanor handed the rope to Tony, instructing him to keep the horse walking upon her direction and the boy to stay behind the horse with a whip should the horse try to go down to the ground again. Tony watched, still shocked yet mostly impressed as Eleanor, with steady and confident maneuver’s, threaded the rubber tubing up the horse’s nose, not bothered by the gelding’s head throws in protest, and down the throat.

Eleanor explained to Tony how she knew it was in the horse’s stomach instead of the lungs as she tested the end of the rubber tubing remaining in her hand by breathing down the tube and listening to the echoing sounds.

After they had poured the contests of the bucket down the tube, the young boy had offered to take over walking the horse in circles around the yard like Eleanor had.

Tony and Eleanor had stood watching the horse while she explained how the warm oily water would help any compacted manure, from dehydration, pass easier through the horses’ intestines and release the discomfort.

‘You should be a vet’ he said looking away from her back at the horse, impressed.

Eleanor smiled and looked down at her cream-colored floral dress that was now covered in horse saliva, oil and dust ‘I don’t think I’m allowed to.’

‘That’s…’ Tony shook his head and crossed his arms on his chest.

Eleanor shrugged her slender shoulders and smoothed her stained dress down with delicate, pale hands.

‘Well, in twenty years when the kids are grown’ Tony started shyly ‘and society gets a bit smarter’ he spoke more confidently now, with a deeper tone ‘I’ll send you to university’ he didn’t look her way, just continued to intently study the walking horse.

Eleanor was looking up at him, had moved closer at some point so her shoulder was brushing against his folded arm, she smiled at his handsome profile and stern expression.

‘Well, Tony Thornmack’ she spoke, in the silkiest tone Tony had ever heard her speak, ‘that’s sounds like quite a life.’ She rocked her body closer to his so her shoulder leant against his elbow, he uncrossed his arms and slipped his hand into hers as the now relaxed horse was led away from a large piece of steaming manure that it had just managed to pass.

As the elderly man watched over his family, he recounted that had been fifty years ago. Tony sat and he watched, over his great grandchildren running around the garden under the fairy lights in the trees and his grown granddaughter pick the unsettling baby up from the pram to pass it to her mother, his daughter in law, as to allow the young mother a night catching up with family and friends. The world seemed to be in perfect balance and harmony Tony had thought.

He reminisced on the years he and Eleanor had spent running the farm and raising their children, the years Eleanor had then spent at university, the year Eleanor had returned home to him and driven her truck around neighboring properties to tend to their livestock with her grandchildren, as little kids, accompanying her. Eleanor had passed now, but the legacy they had built and that of Tonys parents before him: running off, building this place, and forging their own way in a new country, was still more than alive today. The soft comforting bellows of cows nurturing their claves from the surrounding fields, the hum of birds feasting on summer bugs alongside the family and neighbor’s in the garden rejoicing on yet another good season on the farm, for now.

Sensitive content includes description of dead animals.