HT - Tied to the Land

by Brooke Wild - Maleny State High School

The vast country hardened, blistered and burnt as each day ticked by. Heat rose from between the cracked ground in waves until an unnatural lethargy coated every tree, every blade of grass and every animal. The livestock shimmered and steamed in the heat - individual hairs encrusted with salt making it impossible for mothers to lick their calves clean. Bones now poked out of dehydrated, brittle and gaunt hides. A once-flourishing dam was now a small puddle of brown sludge. Even termites hid in their castles of hardened red dirt, avoiding the blistering heat. A breath of hope would occasionally brush over the country as the sound of a faint breeze whistled through the ghost gums leaves, but died off as quickly as it had come.

The door squeaked open and was shut cautiously. A tall figure emerged from the shadows, hung his hat and coiled his rope on the wall. With every step, floorboards creaked and groaned from years of wear. On his way down the hall, he peeped around a corner. Two little blonde-haired girls were curled up next to each other, fast asleep. He continued down to the kitchen, hair brittle and dull from many hours beneath the unforgiving sun. Red dust coated his skin and wove through the creases of his face.

Opening the fridge door, he reached for the jug of water. Small droplets of condensation slowly trickled down his arm as he held it high enough to drink. The intensity of the starry evening shone through the window and onto the splintered, wooden floors. He walked over to the window and gazed high into the sky to stare at the bright moon. “We all need a drink,” he whispered.

It was early when he woke. Careful not to wake his sleeping wife he lay quietly. I can’t handle this anymore! The suffering and misery, he thought to himself, I think it’s time for her and the girls to go to her parents, to the city.

Later in the day little hands waved goodbye from the car window one last time before the clouds of bull dust slowly settled. He shuddered and looked to the empty sky, breathing heavily. I’m not a quitter. The distant echoes of cows searching for their dead calves had become a monotonous drone. Sweating and tired, he contemplated whether it was even worth the effort of checking the paddocks.

“It’s another scorcher of a day in North Queensland, reaching tops of 38-40 degrees!” the radio presenter announced with amazement.

The farmer stared at the massive raintree in the middle of their yard, watching its leaves slowly fall off one by one. How long will it take for all the leaves to fall off? How much longer? He waited; that’s all he could do.

People gathered, wearing their best Akubras and long, shadowy dresses. Doves pecked the sweet, green lawn of the homestead. Brolgas could be seen dancing and flirting around pools of water in the distance. There was so much life in this place of death.

Gradually, bunches of blossoms were placed on the glossy, newly polished granite surface. One of the little blonde girls noticed their old rope swing tied high among the branches of the raintree and remembered the laughter and joy she and her twin sister had shared with their father. The land no longer grieved, now reborn with hope and vitality.

Delicate drops sprinkled from the heavens as a golden beam of sunlight glistened over the lush green paddocks. A tiny voice whispered, “Goodbye Dad. You’re no quitter.”