Searching

-

 

She spat. These flies. Absolutely relentless. They were attracted to everything: her horses' sweat, her sweat, the cattle she was desperately in search of. She knew at that moment from behind she must’ve had about 20 travellers on board, buzzing with their infernal buzz and rubbing their little palms together with glee. They can sit on her back, fine. Arms, sure. She only objected when the bastards tried to go up her nose, in her mouth, or, most maddeningly, in her ears. This, my friends, was why god invented the fly net. But these were not so practical for being on horseback. And the faster she rode, the easier it was to leave the pests literally in her dust.

This dry season had her feeling as if she were cracking rather than melting. She had one relief - when she was focused, she forgot the heat. It had seemed inconceivable, to wear long sleeves and pants in 40+ degrees, in the middle of the Pilbara.  But like many things, it was a choice of lesser evils, and the extra layers were infinitely preferable to the sunburn she’d cop otherwise. It wasn’t exactly practical to layer on litres of sunscreen per day when the truck only came with this and other luxury items every 4-6 weeks. Cattle station life.

Still, it had its perks. No cell service meant her mind was clearer than it had ever been. It had felt tempting, in her previous Sydney life, to be online constantly. When is the next bus coming? Phone. Where can I get a good iced latte around here? Phone. I wonder where my package is? Phone. What was the name of that singer, you know the one, she sings that song about peaches? You get the idea. It feels good, the holding of all the worlds knowledge and possibilities in your palm. But, she mused, not for the first time, are we even evolved enough to handle all this? The more she was ‘on’, the worse her anxiety got. She realised, with a start, her anxiety had vanished almost completely over the past 4 and a half months.

She shook her head to clear away the thoughts. The steers. They’d gotten away from the rest of the herd, and as she’d already saddled her mount for the day it made sense for her to to be one to see how far they’d gotten. Molly had come with her, naturally there was no holding back a Kelpie, and this one loved nothing more than sniffing out cattle and then showing them who’s boss. If we found them. Their initial canter had slowed to a lazy trot, then a walk. It was starting to feel a little hopeless.

Only 3 more days until the gang were due to make it back to the homestead, where the steers would be loaded onto the truck, and they’d be paid for their efforts. Doug had hammered it into her, each steer meant money. Prices were good at the moment, they’d been able to hang on, just, to try and get in the right stage of the cycle. A good payday now would be welcomed by everyone. She thought back to the sneer of her father when she told him her plans. She didn’t want to finish Uni, what good was a bloody arts degree going to do anyone anyway? Her perfect St Ives life felt fake, cushioned by her parents money and doing everything they wanted. She’d been captivated by pictures of the outback, books by Bryce Courtenay and the distinct sense that something real, tangible, purposeful, was out there to be found.

Molly interrupted with a bark, and raced off. Yes! She’s got them. Thank Christ for that, she thought, and her sentiments were clearly echoed by her horse as they leapt into gear after the dog.

Popular posts from this blog

Into The Dust

-
  Kylie breathed a gentle sigh of relief. In the late afternoon sunshine, she lowered herself heavily into her khaki green camp chair, crossing one ankle over the other, comforted by the deep shade her caravan’s stretched awning provided. When she purchased the awning, those years ago, it had been a brilliant white. Now stained with flecks of amber, it wore the red dirt that had been kicked up from the road, cloaking her every possession, including within her nostrils and down the back of her throat. A shower would really be a treat this afternoon! Then, catching the thought before reality tumbled in, yes, but that would require 20 litres of water, and I’d need to be on the move again tomorrow to fill up. It would be a ‘bird bath’ again later, just her and her trusty red face washer trying to make as few sudden movements as possible in that cramped shower. It was quite a feat, keeping somewhat clean with both elbows glued to her sides, bending over to a slight hunchback posi...
Read more

Barbara and the Dog

-
“All’s quiet on the Western front,” Barbara whispers softly, as we take in the gentle coastal breeze drifting through the car, from her side to mine. The yachts in front of us bob gently, the only noises a gentle tapping of some metal piece on a mast somewhere, a seabird calling for its mates, and the occasional hum of a motorised dingy charging through the aquamarine landscape. “Look at him,” I say, pointing to the dingy. “He’s on a rocket to somewhere.” “Yes, he sure is.” Barbara smiles wistfully. She pauses, before adding “I used to sail”. I know this. I respond, “Did you?” I enjoy this story, each iteration as it comes. “Yes, it was such fun!” Barbara says. I turn to her, and notice her eyes are closed as she sinks into the memory. Her hair, possibly a blonde in years gone by, coils in grey waves about her face, her expression knitted into the joy of the thought, soft knots of skin focussed. “My husband grew up around boats.” I say conversationally, as I have for the ...
Read more

The Stranger

-
“Marge, put the kettle on will you?”, a kindly voice grunted from underneath the house. Attentively, Marge stood and strode over to the kitchen, enjoying the pleasant sensation of her plush new rug underneath her feet. This was a good purchase. He was a good man for all the little luxuries he’d given her over the past forty years. As Marge waited for the kettle to boil, the front doorbell rang. The tones of Greensleeves echoed throughout the spacious hallway, reverberating off the many picture frames, 1990’s style photos of little children peeking out from oval casings, next to more modern photos of grandchildren, captured on iPhones and printed cheaply online. The faces watched her as she strolled to the front door where through the glass pane, she could see a tiny, stout old man wearing a top hat, a very unusual choice for a hot summers’ day in Sydney. She paused at the door as the stranger gestured frantically for her to open it. As a flicker of suspicion ran across her shoulder bla...
Read more