Family Farm (4 page)

‘G’day, Ray. How are you going, Louise?’ she said, greeting them with hugs.

Ray looked so soft and gentle, like a podgy teddy bear with a floppy hat. What he lacked in height, he made up for in heart size. You didn’t need glasses to see that the years on the farm had taken their toll on Ray – he looked older than his sixty-five years. Louise was nearly ten years younger and looked fabulous in her pale cotton dress and straw hat.

Together they had four daughters, all married off with their own kids now. Apparently Ray and Louise were moving to their retirement house to be closer to their family. Izzy hoped that never happened to her. She wanted to live and die on the family farm. With a bit of luck she’d have her own children to pass it on to, regardless of what sex they might turn out to be.

‘It’s so good to see you, Izzy. It’s been a while. Are you home visiting?’ Louise asked politely.

‘No, I’m home for good. I’m here to help Dad run the farm.’

‘Ha, good luck with that, love,’ said Ray. He understood the huge wall she had to climb. He turned to head off and leave the girls to it, but Izzy stopped him.

‘Actually, Ray, I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your motorbike,’ she said swiftly.

‘Oh, sure thing.’ Ray halted and waited until Izzy was by his side again.

Ray’s small bow-legged strides led the way through his shed, past large brown cardboard boxes. Some were filled with a collection of new fanbelts protruding out like bows; others held an assortment of old spanners and wrenches – things he wouldn’t need in the city. The last couple of smaller boxes held large silver pots and pans with the odd plate set and collection of tea towels. The clearing sale had obviously been a good chance for Louise to clean out her cupboards too.

Ray’s well-worn leather Blundstones kicked up a cloud of dust as he stepped off the grey cement floor onto the dry soil, heading in the direction of the motorbikes.

‘Which one you interested in, love?’ said Ray softly.

‘The blue 250. Has it had regular check-ups?’ she queried, swatting at the annoying flies that buzzed around her face. It was days like this Izzy wished she had a fly net or a couple of old corks on bits of string hanging off her hat.

‘I’ve only done one as I’ve hardly used it. Getting too old, you see. It’s much more comfortable sitting in the ute. I mainly got it for when the kids came down, but they only used it once.’

Izzy watched him closely for a moment. The deep lines upon his dry tanned skin showed the many years he had worked this land. ‘You gonna miss it, Ray? All this?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘Hard not to, love. Farming has been my whole life, and my parents’, and theirs before them. But Louise is lonely and miserable without the kids and I miss them too. I’m getting too old to be doing this by myself. It becomes dangerous and my back is just not what it used to be. It’s going to be a big change, that’s for sure.’ His face looked tired and his eyes betrayed a deep sadness. ‘It’s hard to leave something that you’ve poured all your blood, sweat and tears into. But none of the kids want it.’

‘Yeah, well, I’d give my left leg to have our farm.’ Izzy felt for Ray. She knew what it meant to him – to give it all up for a small boxed-in yard, squeezed in among thousands of other homes when you were used to the open space with just the bush as your nearest neighbour. Izzy had felt the same at boarding school. There was never any peace and quiet there.

‘When are you leaving?’ she asked, breaking away from her thoughts.

‘Two weeks’ time. The kids are coming down to help us shift to Bunbury. Don’t you worry. We’ll be okay.’ He gave Izzy a weak smile, obviously still trying to convince himself. ‘We’re right next to a nice golf course and we’ll be able to play as much as we want. Imagine that, Izzy. A real green golf course. I wonder if my game will improve,’ he said, laughing to himself.

Golf was one of the main sports around Pingaring. The fairways were green only after it rained, and then it was usually weeds that grew. Not to mention the greens that were actually sand with oil on them. If you were stuck in the bush off the fairway, you really were stuck in the bush. Many balls were lost every year and occasionally found by another bush goer.

Izzy’s dad played golf too. He packed an esky with a few beers to take with him, as did most of the outback golfers. Their buggies resembled rolling pubs, with rattling bottles and cans.

‘Yes, I’m going to miss this place. It will always be home,’ Ray said, deep in thought.

They merged with a small crowd of men who were already milling around the bikes. Izzy nodded goodbye and left Ray talking to another farmer, while she edged her way into the group.

Digging her hand into her back pocket, she pulled out a small piece of rectangular paper and held it at her waist. She felt like a cowboy ready to draw his guns from his holsters.

The auctioneer started the bidding on the Yamaha, his arms going in all directions, pointing out bids. The action started to slow. ‘I have five thousand one hundred, going once,’ yelled the auctioneer.

Izzy raised her hand, making her number sixty-eight visible for the first time.

The auctioneer pointed at her. ‘Five thousand two hundred. Can I see a three?’ He scanned the crowd. There were only two serious bidders left and the man in the black hat was shaking his head as he looked down at his disappointed son.

‘Five thousand two hundred, going once … going twice …’ Izzy felt a nervous excitement. ‘Sold – to the young lass, number sixty-eight. Congratulations, love,’ said the auctioneer before moving on to an oldish red four-wheeler.

Izzy smiled. Her first auction buy. She was stoked she’d managed to get it for just over her estimated price.

Later that afternoon she rode it up a small plank of wood onto the back of her dad’s ute. She was deliriously happy, even if her dad had reacted just how she’d expected he would.

‘Why waste your money on that? What are you going to do with it? You’d better get a helmet before you go breaking your neck.’ Bill ranted on and on.

Izzy wondered what a supportive and encouraging father would be like. Did they even exist? Hell, not in her house.

THE day after the clearing sale, Izzy and Bill pulled up near the shed after their morning crop inspection. Tom jumped off the back of the ute and went for a sniff around to familiarise himself with his old stomping ground. Izzy sat in the ute for a while, mulling things over. She had to agree with her dad – the crops were looking good. They were so thick you wanted to lie on top of them, and the heads were huge, packed hopefully with high-protein grains. Izzy was impressed. This was one of their best crops for sure. The weather conditions this year had been perfect for farming. It was about time things started looking up for Gumlea. Dad had been working hard enough by himself all these years. She was glad he was finally being dealt a hand full of aces. He needed it, because, other than Izzy, there was no one else to help.

Bill had a sister, Sarah, who lived in Perth with her family. Being the only son, Bill had inherited the farm from his parents. Nana and Grandad Simpson had retired to a little house in Albany quite a few years back. Grandad used to drive down and help with the harvest and seeding, but he wasn’t fit to drive the three-hour trip any more. Instead Bill, Jean and Izzy visited them when they could.

Izzy and her dad had driven around most of the farm checking how far off being ripe the crop was. They both decided to get the header going in the top paddock, as it had been planted first and looked ready to harvest. If they could get a good sample off, then they’d take it into the bin for testing. Dad suggested they let the local contractor know they wouldn’t be that far off starting.

Dave Henman had been carting their grain for as long as Izzy could remember. When she was young, she used to catch a ride with Dave into the bin to dump the grain. She loved watching the grain sampling.

Izzy had worked on the bins for some extra money after she’d finished school at the end of year twelve. She smiled, thinking back to that time. It was a great job and she’d loved catching up with all the local farmers as they brought their loads in for sampling. It was Izzy’s job to take a sample from the trucks and test for protein and moisture, making sure it passed the standards set by the Australian Wheat Board. She absolutely loved her time there. They’d had some fantastic parties and the friendship among the crew was great. Izzy was looking forward to seeing Dave again and finding out who was working at the bin this year.

The Co-operative Bulk Handling bins situated in Pingaring were opposite a couple of houses, a hall and the local shop. Only the railway line divided them. It was a ten-minute drive from the farmhouse, so they’d be able to drop the sample off that afternoon. If the sample passed, they should be able to start harvesting the next morning.

Mum wanted her to go into town anyway to pick up supplies for the barbecue that night, just some meat packs, nibblies and grog – the standard barbie essentials.

Dad had Swan Draught and a few Emu Bitter cans in the grog fridge, but Izzy felt like something different, something stronger, maybe a bourbon. With this in mind, she headed off towards the house to collect the shopping list from her mum, while her dad jumped in the header to take it up to the top paddock and get a sample off the crop. She wanted to go with him to collect the sample; that first bite into the crop was such a great feeling, but he resisted her efforts. Sometimes she thought it’d be much easier belting her head against the trunk of the gumtree out by the back gate.

The late afternoon was still quite warm as Izzy stood in front of the full-length mirror. She tightened the thin straps around her neck and watched the soft blue material swish above her knees. Her hands moved to her flat stomach and began straightening the dress. She smoothed her hair back into an elegant ponytail, and then took one last look in the mirror. Licking her finger, she tried to train her eyebrows into a neater line. Yes, she’d definitely got the Simpson wayward eyebrows, but they looked okay when trained into place. As for her nose, it was purely her mother’s – straight, small and almost dainty, which seemed so at odds with Izzy’s character. Thankfully her skin looked clear. Izzy took out her standard sleeper earrings and changed them for the small blue drop earrings Aunt Betty had given her for her sixteenth birthday. Satisfied, she headed out of the bathroom, ready to help her mum with the salads and sauces.

Voices floated from the verandah through the afternoon air. Quite a few people had turned up already.

She could see their neighbours who lived south of them, Jim and Betty Cable, who’d retired on the farm while their two sons ran a half each. They’d been like another set of grandparents to Izzy and she loved them dearly. Many times Claire and Izzy had ridden their bikes to Aunt Betty’s. Her house was so warm and cosy. Knitted rugs lined the floors and chairs, and thousands of knick-knacks cluttered the shelves. It always smelt of freshly baked cakes. She usually had on hand a big plate of pink-iced biscuits or cake, and some homemade lemon cordial, unless it was the afternoon, when the place would smell of roasting meat that sizzled in the oven. What Izzy loved most were Aunt Betty’s hugs hello, when she’d get lost in her flowery apron and ample bosom. Betty was such a special lady, and it was amazing how loved Izzy felt snuggled up in her generous arms.

Izzy made a mental note to grab the little gift off her bed to give to Aunt B before she went and said hello. She hoped she’d like the little crystal frog she’d bought to add to her collection. She noticed friends of her parents from around the district, as well as their other neighbours, Brian and Sandy Timmins.

An outbreak of hellos and g’days occurred in the far corner of the verandah, and as Izzy wandered outside, she caught her dad shaking hands with a young bloke who looked horribly like Will.

‘Oh, shit,’ Izzy mumbled under her breath. ‘What’s he doing here?’ She’d hoped she’d seen the last of him for a while, but instead she was running into him again. That was the problem with small districts.

Izzy turned back towards the food on the table and surreptitiously glanced across to where they stood. Will’s fringe hung across his forehead and she watched him brush it back with a swipe of his hand. Then he smiled at her dad as Bill clapped him on the shoulder. His old cracked and dry hands looked out of place on Will’s crisp white shirt. Disgruntled, Izzy turned away.

‘Glad you could make it, mate,’ said Bill.

‘Well, I nearly didn’t come,’ replied Will.

Bill raised an eyebrow curiously. ‘Why?’

‘I didn’t think Izzy would be too impressed about me turning up.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about Izzy. She’ll have forgotten all about her anger at you for hurting Claire by now, you’ll see. It’s better she believes you dumped Claire than knows the real truth,’ said Bill, dismissing the problem with a wave of his hand.

Will shook his head, looking around to see where she was. ‘No, she hasn’t forgotten. I bumped into her at the clearing sale, and let’s just say that she wasn’t too pleased to see me. I’m assuming you still haven’t told her?’ Will asked quietly.