The Mountain Woman....

So, there they had it. The Tree Change. Finally. Gordon was tall, greying, plump, affable, genial, newly retired, 64 years old. He still loved Raelene, his bride of nearly forty years. She was shorter, fatter, grey, and had taken a large early retirement package from her managerial position. The couple had decided, many years prior, never to have children. All their married life, they had been 'double income, no kids' or 'DINKS'. Total sybarites.

The Tree Change. Finally. Gordon put his arm around Raelene when they stood on the front veranda of their new bushland home, gazing in awe at the blazing hues of the sunset over the mountains. Tomorrow was theirs. Raelene was going to manage their sprawling house as a Bed and Breakfast. Gordon planned to maintain the property, and keep the log fire burning. Literally, as he wished to collect free firewood from the surrounding forests. Buying an electric radiator was only for city slickers, they were moutain folk now.

Yes, the seasons of the Tree Change rolled by, slowly. Long damp winters preceded dreadfully hot, endless summers. Gordon installed air-conditioning. He bought himself a giant motor cycle for the Tree Change. Peace, tranquillity, and serenity. "Harley Davidson, always there for your male mid-life crisis..... Or is he having male menopause?" Raelene muttered to herself, muffled by the roar of the engine. Then Gordon walked in, leaking oil over the beige carpet. Again.

Raelene was changing yet more bed linen again, and baking yet more home baked bread for their guests at their Bed and Breakfast. One morning, she woke up and told Gordon, "I'm over this. No more Bed and Breakfasts!"

"Now what will you do?' he asked, as he unpacked his latest toy for the good ole boy, an electric guitar. "I'll read," said Raelene, 'free time!"

"Might start a band," Gordon, now 66 years old, was in his own world, as Raelene cancelled her online ads for the defunct Bed and Breakfast tourist business.

The Tree Change. Peace, tranquility, and serenity. The roar of the motor cycle was alternating with Gordon's efforts to learn to play his electric guitar, hour after hour. Raelene invested in ear plugs, and took up residence in a back bedroom. Between the giant Harley, that guitar, and Gordon's snoring, she was not experiencing too much tranquillity.

Still, Raelene made the best of things. She joined the local township group for over-sixties, mainly meeting at the local hotel. She made some new 'older lady' drinking buddies, playing scrabble or cards, participating in bevvies and wood-fired oven baked pizzas. The log fire there radiated warmth, all set amid the spectacular mountain scenery. It was always 'time for tiddles' in their University of the Third Age.

Let us say that Gordon quickly learnt to cook his own baked beans and noodles. "Never mind, more time to practise." So he would pick up that cursed guitar again. The Tree Change. Peace, tranquillity and serenity. The seasons kept rolling by in a parade. All their friends in the small community were aging, as Raelene and Gordon were. But it was only in appearance. They were both determined never to grow that old, as others grew old. That is why they had shifted there, to get away from their mothers and sisters, leaving all obligations behind. Very few bridges were ever built, this loving couple did not travel back to suburbia. It was all too far. The classic tale of the Australian tyranny of distance. Looking after anyone, let alone nurturing anyone, was never on their agenda. Even better, no family members ever wished to visit them, Raelene's hangovers were legendary. What went on in that beautiful bushland setting definitely stayed there, not even worth gossiping about. Gordon had a task after each weekend, his role had to include collating all their empty liquor bottles, and filling the recycling bin.

Four years later, they were still married, surprisingly. but living separate lives in their same home. Gordon, after many long hours of strumming, mastered some scales. It was all he could play, endlessly. Raelene was even more underwhelmed. Then! She drove home late one afternoon, drunk. She shouldn't have been driving, but what the heck! A note, left by Gordon. "Gone for a pizza, back soon." It was adorned by a smiley face. Raelene stared for a short time, and experienced her worst bad hair day ever. "Not another night of listening to that bloody scale again!"

She grabbed his precious guitar, and the rifle, and marched off to the woodpile in their enormous, unkempt backyard. There, Raelene often chopped up kindling and logs to feed the wood fire. It was cosy, yes, but it meant she had to sit for hours, trying to read on rainy days, listening to Gordon attempting to be John Lennon. Chopping wood had totally built up Raelene's prize ham arms, and made her a very strong woman. So she proceeded to chop Gordon's beloved guitar to smithereens, glorying in its total destruction. Pound, chop, chop, chop, smash. "No more guitar music!" Chop, chop. This mess too, she could incinerate on the log fire, or in the back yard, even if it made toxic smoke. She could say was disposing of garden waste, not that anyone would notice. Their home was rather secluded, after al.

Gordon had arrived home, and soon appeared in the back doorway. aghast. "What have you done to my guitar? Have you gone crazy?"

Raelene stood up for herself, she was still half-drunk, and so was he. "Absolutely!' She flung down the axe on the shattered guitar. She yelled defiantly, "You just had to be a Keith Richards wannabe!" She picked up the gun and shot Gordon right in the heart.

Now, finally. The transformation had happened. The Tree Change. After the retort, the recoil, the cordite, there was silence. Peace, tranquillity and serenity. Raelene walked indoors, opened a bottle of her best champagne, and ate the pizza. Never again an electric guitar or a rumbling motor cycle. "I'll plead defensive violence to retired men!" Raelene told herself and her peaceful, tranquil and serene lounge room, "if anyone bothers to notice."

Finally, the Tree Change. Hell, yeah. She was a mountain woman, after all.