Things to be Thankful For

"City girls make the best wives out here"..... These were the words of my new neighbour on meeting him for the first time, chatting over a barbed wire fence. They were spoken with a big smile of welcome, on this, my first day as a true blue, ridgy didge country sheila. His cattle property adjoined ours – another 4000 acres of beautiful rolling hills that had been scorched and cracked by the worst drought for 40 years - according to my neighbour who had been around for 60 of them.

The three of us chatted gloomily about the havoc of the drought, but happily as we made new friendships - neighbour chewing on a stick of paspalum at the same time.

On that day, through the eyes of blissed out perfect love, I didn't really appreciate or understand his words. Nothing else mattered or was of any consequence apart from my new husband. My ideal man, lover, soul mate. Me, the happiest I could remember.

I suppose though, if one went through life with that degree of blissed-out-ed-ness, nothing much would get done.

He (husband that is) and I were on the bike, dog at rear wheel, riding the boundaries to check that all was as it should be, so we farewelled neighbour and continued our inspection. All was not as it should be...

Bye bye bliss, hello reality. Travelling a little further up the track, we found a young heifer, down on the ground giving birth to her first calf. Husband could immediately see she was in trouble. She had been labouring for quite some time and was exhausted, almost ready to give up. Husband suggested I stay with her while he returned to the shed to get the ute and whatever else he needed to help her. All this was new to me; but "city girls make the best wives", I reminded myself.
All was so calm so quiet around, coming on to dusk the pinkish light of the receding sun filling the air with peace. Certainly better than sitting at a typewriter as I did in my previous life that's for sure. As I tried to comfort the heifer, she seemed to settle a little and became less stressed. Normally in the paddock an animal would not allow such familiarity, it was simply that she was near to surrender.

Husband returned, backing in the ute and walked over to us with a piece of rope. He inserted his arm into the heifer's womb and with considerable effort pulled out two little hooves. But, the head was stuck and the situation becoming more desperate. He did however have another option – a last resort option.
Without knowing what was on his mind, he sat me in the driver's seat of the ute and gave me clear instructions. A manual gear shift, and I had to "ride the clutch" which meant to release it very slowly, as slowly as I possibly could. As husband left me to return to the heifer, it dawned on me just what it was I was doing. I was actually pulling the little calf out of her mother. The reader may imagine my fear and trepidation. It seemed like hours that we "laboured" for her, but eventually her calf was born.

Alive and well and on his feet in a matter of moments. My first experience of birth was dramatic to say the least but I saw a side of my new husband, his kindness and concern as he again left to return with water, bucket, and some fresh lucerne hay. The heifer was able to drink, and did so thirstily which was a good sign and her calf we named JoJo after a Beatles song we loved.

Day one was over and never did a beer taste so good as when we sat on the veranda that evening. That moment provided the first inkling of a feeling that was to stay with me forever. In the gentle evening breeze, gazing up at the ultra-luminosity in the myriad of stars above with the soft sounds of seemingly contented cattle, all could be forgiven. There were indeed indeed things to be thankful for. The dryness, the difficulties and the sheer devastation around us, all forgiven.

The new day broke, clean, blue, without a cloud in the sky. Breakfast. Into the ute, and off! The little heifer didn't make it through the night. The city girl's first experience of cremation followed. As we piled logs and sticks on her carcass and watched the flames engulfing her, sadness engulfed me.

But then, the little JoJo was bellowing. What now? Motherhood that's what. I had acquired the first of 6 poddy calves. JoJo was a red santa gerturdis with unbelievably big brown eyes and gorgeous huge ears which were much too big for his little head. Husband put him into the back of the ute and I sat with him on a bumpy ride back to the house.

Our cottage was a tiny two bedder, measuring roughly 10 mtrs square. A tall dingo fence surrounded the house yard and this was little JoJo's new home. An emergency dash to the nearest town which was 2 hours there and back, provided what I needed to raise my new baby – milk powder and teats for a start and last nights beer bottle provided the perfect container. Although, it wouldn't be long before JoJo's appetite required a large bucket to satisfy his hunger!

As the dry days kept coming, and the battle to save the lives of calving heifers continued, our team of two did extremely well with most of them. But, a handful was too hungry and too weak. Upside.... I managed to hand-rear a further 4 poddies. Pinky, Lamebrain and Calfie, my favourites.

Years later, they would still, as mature cows with calves of their own, approach me in the paddock for another "suck" of my fingers. Even JoJo, being the only male in the group, approached, his massive bulk towering over me, was nothing but a little pussycat. We never forget our mothers!!

Now, managing a mob of calves is no easy feat as I quickly discovered. Like human babies, they demand to be fed NOW! Innovation was what was required. An old wringer washing machine was salvaged from the back shed and eyeing off the empty shell of the old thunderbox (or outside loo), I immediately saw its potential. With five holes drilled through its walls and five large nails hammered in above each hole on the inside of the "new mum", I was ready to hand over my surrogacy to the thunderbox. The process seemed to me to be simple. The washing machine mixed the milk; it was then drained into the buckets; each bucket was hung on a nail; a teat connected to tubing into the milk stuck through the hole; and bingo!! Done.

Five pairs of beautiful brown eyes were watching all of this from the other side of the fence. "What on earth is she doing????" Crunch time had arrived. The gate was opened – and pandemonium.... They mobbed around bossily demanding I do something. What? I managed to extricate myself and shut myself inside the thunderbox to think. As I sat, they scurried around and around outside. Eventually though, it worked and all five sucked well.

If you've ever had the good fortune to live under a tin roof, you'll understand the wonderful sensation of the sound of the first few raindrops that fall. Months later, we heard what sounded like a stone dropping on the roof above, and then another, and within moments an avalanche of stones. The raw organic smell of the earth, the metallic smell of the air and freshness of purifying water was all around us. Such a moment, so precious, so full of joy and happiness and relief. After four days of solid rain, the drought was over; the creek burst its banks and cut us off. We couldn't go anywhere; we didn't want to go anywhere. We and all our beautiful cattle were saved. Now, what was I saying about bliss?

Indeed, there are things to be thankful for everyday of our life
... raindrops, tears, food, love... our human experience is a rich tapestry.
And many of the the most wonderful threads do not cost a cent...
but we must have our eyes open to see them.

What have you noted in your life that are some of the most wonderful things to be thankful for?

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