jmgoyder

Just as I was getting used to the daily routine of the farm, the meals, Inna’s and Husband-to-be’s idiosyncracies, Inna became ill with pneumonia one weekend, and was hospitalized.

I didn’t know this until the Monday because I didn’t work on the weekends, so I arrived on my bicycle as usual and entered the back door, then the kitchen, to find a strange silence. Ordinarily Inna would have the kettle on the Aga, bread in the toaster, and the radio on. I went into her bedroom to find the bed made but no Inna so I called her and searched the house – still no Inna.

So I ran over to the dairy with a feeling of absolute dread that maybe Inna had died. Husband wasn’t finished milking yet so he just called out gruffly that she was in hospital and could I please get the breakfast done. Later, when he came in with the two dairyhands, he apologized for his gruffness but said his mother was in a bad way and would probably be in hospital for a few days. He asked if I would continue to come and help every day and I said that was fine. By then I was adept at cooking the meals – well, more or less – I could do poached eggs, I could do a roast and I had finally mastered the salmon mornay.

It was a very peculiar week because, with Inna not around, Husband-to-be and I were sort of thrown together into a situation of proximity that was awkward and it was a couple of days before we relaxed into each other’s company and conversed in a way that wasn’t stilted. There was definitely a mutual attraction there but I didn’t recognize it as mutual; all I knew was my own crazy heartbeat every time Husband-to-be entered the kitchen or spoke to me.

Inna got better and came home on the Friday. The first thing she said to me, with a twinkle in her eye, was, “I hope you and my son haven’t been canoodling in my absence!” I blushed bright red as Husband-to-be went out to feed the calves.

One morning, during the breakfast preparations, I saw a huge spider in the corner of the kitchen ceiling and, as Inna wasn’t up, and Husband-to-be and the dairyhands hadn’t come in yet, I took it upon myself to spray it with a can of flyspray I found in the pantry. It took a lot of spray to kill it but eventually it fell, lifeless, into the kitchen sink and I picked it up in a paper towel and threw it in the bin.

Proud of myself, I told Husband-to-be when he came in and he asked me to show him the spider’s body, which I did.

“That’s Mary,” he said solemnly.

“What do you mean?” I asked nervously.

“Mary is our pet Huntsman spider,” he said, “And now you’ve killed her.”

I was devastated and, full of remorse, I said how sorry I was, and my eyes filled with tears.

Husband immediately broke into laughter, unable to believe I’d taken him seriously. “It’s just a spider, Jules!”

For just a split-second it seemed that he might hug me, but he didn’t.

It took quite awhile for me to get used to the culture of Inna’s household. There was a constant stream of visitors to Inna – not just her family members (and with seven children, numerous nephews and nieces, and an assortment of grandchildren, this meant a bit of a rushy stream), but friends – so many friends.

You see, despite Inna’s formidable reputation (maybe even because of it), she was extremely popular; she was a little bit iconic I guess – a local legend maybe. I mean not many women in their 70s begin again with a new farm, but Inna did, with Husband-to-be and another son at her helm. She was the boss though – she was always the boss.

It took quite awhile for me to get used to the politics of Inna’s household, but what struck me most in those days was her incredible ability to rise to whatever occasion presented itself.  In the kitchen, which was the hub of the house, and in the back veranda, Inna entertained family and friends on an almost daily basis.

I was always hugely relieved when Husband-to-be came in from the dairy at 5pmish because not only was his entrance booming but he would always look at me affectionately, especially if I were flustered with all the visitors. He seemed to see that I was a bit out-of-depth and sometimes he would give me an amused, sympathetic glance and, momentarily, I would think he was going to ruffle my hair or something, but he usually just fetched himself a drink and joined the others.

I would stand, stirring whatever Inna had told me to stir, on the Aga, and I would listen to the chatter and I would nearly die of joy every time Husband-to-be glanced at me.

It took quite awhile for me to get used to Husband-to-be’s proximity.