THOSE WIDE ARID PLAINS

I stood on the veranda surveying the scene before me. I confess my emotions were mixed, but grief has that effect on you sometimes, even when practical solutions to what could be conundrums appear. It seemed very practical to sell the home I had known for most of my life, certainly, a widow did not need an enormous place to live, but my mind had to adjust to the options. I was not ready.

Forty years of living in what Harry and I called an idyllic area, not quite country, but not city living either, would be hard to leave. Dotted around were small farms though over the years roads had widened, new homes with mod cons had been built, but we had not changed our house very much. It was a triple brick two storey home once owned by a wealthy businessman. In its heyday, it had staff; housekeepers, nannies, certainly gardeners. I managed with a cleaner visiting twice a week while the children were small, but then we had Harry’s mother living with us. Dolly was as much a mother to me as she was to her own DNA, we got on like the proverbial house on fire. Much of the work was done together. I wondered what she would say about the predicament I was facing.

Now I was the grandmother, living alone in a house that was far better suited to a couple with a family than a woman of independent means and outlook still with a little bit of living to do, God willing. I walked into the kitchen, gave into temptation, put the kettle on and spooned some coffee into a mug. When all was ready, I took the filled mug outside and sat on my favourite chair, sipping trying to stem the tears.

 The air was so still, I could hear the waves, in the distance as they came to the shore, I always loved the beach, it was not enormous but there were many summers spent there. I imagined the squeals of laughter from toddlers and young children in their delight. Our kids did that. I looked further seeing the gum trees strong and sturdy, imagining the aroma of eucalyptus always heightened by rain. I could see the farms, of cattle and sheep grazing contentedly. Both my husband and son were professional men neither ever tilled the land, but both loved it. It was author, Catherine Gaskin who having written such a masterpiece as Sara Dane, set in the convict era who said: “Australia is a land you either love or hate, you could never be indifferent to it.”  I had to agree.  From the top of the hill where our home was built the vista was a tonic most days. This is the view I would miss most.

Of course, there were dangerous times, gut-wrenching times, they were not just ‘pretend’ in the romantic novels, included to set the emotions going, this was a fact. Australia had a few drawbacks drought, heat and the devastation of bushfire.

The dry arid land where it was difficult to make ends meet, where livestock died for want of food, where water was so scarce, herds of cows, sheep, even the marsupial species died of thirst, often followed by that awful torment bushfire. We were fortunate but so many others in so many places saw their homes and livelihoods hanging by a thread.  Whether it came from the convict spirit or the pioneering determination coupled by the sheer love of the arid plains; or whether it was the hint of Celtic blood or pride or no other option but to push on, Australians knew how to fight back, to put the past behind them to soldier on.

I looked at the garden we had established. Naturally, there were gum trees, roses, hydrangeas. dotted with pansies daffodils, in season, and ferns. The weeping willow had long been replaced by an oak tree, but I saw in my mind’s eye the children hiding in the willow tree, climbing its branches with gay abandon, throwing apple cores down and if the core landed on someone’s head it was a great laugh. No one whined about it, you moved on to fight another day.

What the hell was I going to do with my life? I saw myself walking down a long corridor alone with locked doors into forbidden rooms labelled “Married couples only”, “singles only, “Religious order only”, I did not belong there, I did not belong anywhere, certainly not these categories."Harry, you left me too early."

 I could feel the tears prick my eyes, ready to meet at my chin.

Going inside, mindful of the pamphlets on the dining room table, of the business cards attached, and the smiling faces of auctioneers: the information re rental payments, should some unsuspecting overseas family require a home this size for their exchange positions, or until they officially emigrated and bought their own home. Panic rose within me.

“You know what Mabel.” I told myself “you can’t make this decision in a hurry.” Suddenly the stress left me. I sat down in the sunroom picked up my knitting and once again let my mind drift.

I thought back to that favoured book Sara Dane, based loosely on the story of Mary Reibey, a Sydney businesswoman rising from transportation in the convict era. Of course, I was familiar with Sara, created by Gaskin, because she felt that what one woman could do, others could also. It had to be the case there were no fragile flowers in English parlours in Australia. If they tried they would not survive. Sara was supposedly a shrewd businesswoman who managed properties after widowhood. Her dream was to cross the seas back to England and finally, she knew where her heart belonged, yep you guessed it those wide arid plains, despite the hardships of the past.

Next morning, I awoke to the sound of thunder, and later the rain pelting against the window panes. The sea was silent, but I knew that the eucalyptus would waft into the house and immediately the nasal passages would respond, soothing my concerns with every deep breath.  I could not leave this town that much was settled, but I needed a definite solution.

Soon after breakfast, my mobile phone rang. I did not get to it in time, but there was a message from Scott, our son.

“Mum, can you buzz me and tell me if I can come to lunch? I have a proposal for you.”

I texted instead “Of course, Love, see you soon.”

I made up a salad, and quiche, whipped up a batch of scones and set the kitchen table When Scott arrived, I was surprised to see that he brought his wife. Kath was a lovely girl she cheered anyone’s day. She had a bunch of roses in her hand, gave them to me and then produced a bottle of Riesling from her bag. She saw the gleam in my eye “Sorry Mum he did not tell you we were both coming.”

“I have made plenty, not enough for the entire street but…” she just hugged me.

As the lunch was slowly being demolished and the scones would follow suit,Scott spoke.

“Mum I will come right to the point. We have just had an offer from Greens the auctioneer. The old boy has a client most interested in our house. As you know it’s close to the primary school and I think the lady is a teacher there I’m not sure.  Anyways, what Kath and I wondered was: Would you mind very much if we had a good hard look at the possibility of our moving in with you and try wherever possible to emulate the halcyon days when Grandma Dolly lived here?  Or, would two teenage boys be too much even for you? Say so and we….”

The solution stared at me; after all, it was the second-best proposal I had ever received.