The other afternoon, I was outside feeding the gang and trying to ‘herd’ them into their yards (I always have trouble with either Daffy or Pearl), Ming came home from milking the cows next door and did it in five seconds flat. He is a much more assertive ‘herder’ than I am.
The birds are wise; they obey his every ‘vroooooom’! If I were a bird, I would too.
Phoenix 1, our golden pheasant male, was actually flirting with a baby rabbit! Golden pheasants perform their mating ritual by fanning out the feathers around their heads on one side, then turning around and doing the same thing on the other side. When we had our female pheasants, the two males did this continuously (which obviously drove the females crazy and may be why they disappeared!) So now that we only have the one male, he tends to flirt with every bird that is roughly his size – the new hens for instance. And now a baby rabbit!
It was difficult to get decent pictures of this little incident because it all happened so fast. Phoenix 1 had been terrorizing this baby rabbit with his flirting when suddenly the mother rabbit chased him off. Hilarious!
A moment after I took this second picture, the mother rabbit collided with Phoenix 1 and he got a terrible fright and flew into the closest tree. I stood there amazed and grinning.
Oh how I love remembering the early years of my marriage to Anthony and the joy of our little Ming:
Ming was just a toddler when Anthony and I took him into Bunbury, the nearest town, to see the Australia Day fireworks. It would be his first time. We went in early in order to get a parking space at a place called Boulter’s Heights, where we knew we would be able to view the fireworks from up high and from a slight distance, rather than being in the midst of the throng of revellers down in the main street.
Ming found even the waiting-for-the-fiyaworks exciting (although of course he wasn’t quite sure what fireworks were, except that it needed to be dark). He played with the rapidly increasing group of other little children, while what was a small gathering of adults gradually became huge.
As dusk fell and the crowd of big and little children grew, I kept my eyes trained carefully on Ming in that instinctive “mother bear” way, making sure he wasn’t being bullied or feeling lost. Finally, I retrieved him from a barely visible group of kids and he was safely perched half on my knee and half on Anthony’s when the first fireworks exploded.
The brightness of that very first fireworks “taster” was much more intense – and much closer – than I had expected. Ming flung himself violently backwards against my chest at the visual impact. Silently shocked, he clutched at Anthony’s leg just before the second explosion of enormous light and colour. and the noise!
Ming’s silence made me wonder if perhaps this event was too scary for him. As kaboom followed kaboom, and with the colour, light and people’s shouts of glee surrounding us, I held tight to Ming’s trembling body. Oh no! Maybe he was too little to appreciate fireworks, I thought, as I bent my head into the crook of his neck to see if he was okay.
But I needn’t have worried. Yes, he was briefly mesmerised and frightened. But as the fireworks became more intense, so did the crowd’s pauses become longer and a communal bated breath replaced the noises of impatient anticipation.
It was into one of those pauses that Ming suddenly began to shout, over and over and over again, “DOYALUVITMUMMYDADDY???!!!” And then, “ANDONY, ANDONY, ANDONY!!!DONTCHALUVITMUMMYDADDY???!!!”
Each time Ming yelled this, it was in one of those hushed moments of awe immediately after a fireworks explosion. Within the relatively small hilltop crowd we’d formed, Ming’s exclamations seemed to ring out as clearly as the noise of the fireworks and the people around us started to laugh and clap at his contagious glee.
Eventually, Ming became quieter, disconcerted by the adult attention. Then he got off my lap and toddled awkwardly around me until he was behind me with his chubby little arms around my neck. As the last firework shone out lingeringly, Ming bent his face to my ear.
“DoyaluvitMummy?” he asked again, this time solemnly.
“I love it all right, Ming,” I said, squeezing his hands and grinning at Anthony.
“Mummy,” Ming whispered very softly, as if it were a very important secret. “My tummy is cubbling [cuddling] me!!”
I knew exactly what he meant!
The beautiful thing is that Ants remembers this night too, despite the PDD.
Take a good look at this gorgeous rooster (named Tina Turner for obvious reasons) because you may not see him again.
Why? Well, quite simply, I have fallen out of love with him.
Why? Because he attacked my left leg the other day (the same leg attached to the twisted ankle) with such ferocity that he drew blood in five areas above and below my knee.
Ming had a friend visiting and, as I limped back to the house, I showed this friend my blood-stained jeans and he was very sympathetic (not).
Okay, so for the next few days these puncture wounds got bigger and infected and I could hardly walk and I had to get antibiotics. The worse it got, the more determined I became to outwit my foe.
Keep tuned for the next enthralling episode.
We had an appointment today in Perth (two hours north of here) for Ming to see the surgeon who operated on his scoliosis in February. After the usual X-rays and waiting room waiting, the surgeon said Ming’s spinal curve (Cobb’s angle – see below) had further reduced from 35% to 22%. Now I don’t understand the maths of this because I am not mathematically inclined, however, considering Ming’s curve was 75%/80% before surgery (depending on which radiologist was interpreting the X-ray) then I think 22% is beyond fantastic! I didn’t realize that his spine might straighten even more post-surgery.
http://www.e-radiography.net/radpath/c/cobbs-angle.htm
As we were leaving, I noticed a teenage girl who had tears in her eyes as she left the building with her parents so I told Ming to go and say something comforting to her while I went to the loo. When I came outside I found Ming talking in his loud, open, gesticulating way to the little family, and the girl’s eyes were no longer teary – they were shining. I said I was his mum and that we’d been a bit worried that she was upset. Then we all exchanged handshakes and wished each other well, all of us smiling.
We didn’t exchange names or contact details because it was all a bit ‘in the moment’ but that’s probably okay.
One of my blog friends has the interesting nickname of ‘bulldog’. You can find his blog here:
http://visitstothepark.wordpress.com/
Recently, he sent me a special photograph and I am now sharing it here because it reminds me of how an argument can clear the air.
Thanks bulldog!
Last year, before Anthony turned 75, I decided to throw him a huge party and invite every single one of his friends and relatives. I knew at the time that it would be our last opportunity to do this because of how rapidly Anthony’s health was deteriorating. The party was a resounding success with everyone here at the farm – over 100 people! One of the highlights was this poem, written by his friend, Eden, and read out by his nephew, Andrew. Eden had handwritten it and I now have it framed and on the wall in Anthony’s room at the nursing lodge. Every time I read it, it makes me laugh and cry and laugh again.
Goyder’s Show
So long ago by just a chance
to town he came for drink and dance.
That’s how we met so long ago, and
set the future’s wonderful show.
From Balingup hills to Dardanup flats,
drinking, hard working and fast cars to bat.
Like the “G.T.” roaring from “Bythorne’s” gate,
only shortly after to meet its fate.
The “A9X” would do no such thing,
It was far too precious with all its bling.
The shake of his hand is a law to abide,
welcoming many to “come inside.”
The kitchen table like a rock to the land,
a tea or a beer always at hand.
The AGA sits with pride of place,
the warmth of its glow etched in his face.
Cows in the shed, calves on the chain,
Shorts, teeshirt ’n boots he’d tend to them for gain.
The hours long and days of repeat,
milk quota cheques made it ever so sweet.
The “Inkys and Docs” were to provide for a stash,
when times were hard and the beef market crash.
That’s breeding the dachshunds should you not know,
just another chapter in this wonderful show.
Loyal to his siblings, workers and friends,
Arthur and Ken, the incredible men.
Side by side, intuitively so, Anthony Goyder
would give them a go.
So many shared his trust and kind ways,
so many fortunate come what may.
Somewhere in the midst came a wife and a son,
a job in the waiting, which had to be done.
They’re the pride of his fleet and ultimate test
To his boyness manner and youthful zest.
A husband sincere and ‘King of the Dads’
Menzies his son, such a fortunate lad.
‘His Royal Highness’ of Paradise Road,
is always there to share the load
of a mind stressed or persons ill,
he’s always kind and full of will.
Not father, brother or simply friend
but something of each his curious blend.
This man would show the way of right
and steady the wrong of which I might.
These qualities not destined at birth,
but earnestly found as he treads the earth.
This bloke of endless humour and wit
has a soulful nature blended from grit.
Should a scrap of fight I had to go
I’d have Goyder on side and not as foe.
The hard hits he’d take for all his mob,
then wryly smile and say good job.
His humour and wit come to the fore
exclaiming “they missed the Goyder once more!”
A yell to his mates would be “grab us a beer,
let’s get out now with something to cheer!”
In 25 years it’s cheers we will,
the time going by like the ring of a till.
With Queen’s telegram he’ll calling us back,
for a drink and a yarn at the “Bythorne Shack.”
“A Queen’s telegram! I’m one hundred you know.”
I can’t wait for that in his wonderful show ….
Me on the left and Ants on the right as the poem was being read out.
“Danny and me is gonna get marrieded, Andony,” Ming pronounced after watching Three Weddings and a Funeral with us one Saturday afternoon.
“Are you just?” Anthony said, bemused. “When?”
“When we get all growed up – probly next year.”
“Who’s Danny?” I asked. Ming had never mentioned him before.
“He’s my bestest, bestest friend in the whole wide world.”
“I thought Dillan was your best friend,” said Anthony, passing me the popcorn.
“He is, Andony!”
“So why are you marrying Danny?” I asked.
“Because Danny and me hates girls.”
“But I’m a girl,” I said, indignantly.
Ming giggled, hysterically. “No you’re not, Mummy – you’re a woooomin.”
“Girls grow up into women, you know,” I said, passing Ming the popcorn.
“Oh.” It took Ming awhile to absorb this, but even when the penny dropped, he resumed laughing – (rather unkindly, I thought later.)
“Is Danny a new boy?” asked Anthony.
“He ownee comeded yesterday, Andony,” Ming said, his eyes alight with the elation of having made this new friend.
“Pretty quick courtship, then,” Anthony muttered to me, grinning.
“We don’t wanna do it like that vidido .”
“So how are you going to do it – the wedding?” I asked, intrigued.
“Jus out in the forest, just in a fort. We can build it.”
“Sounds quite nice,” I said. “You better invite him over.”
“NO!” Ming exclaimed, looking worried, and passing Anthony the popcorn.
Anthony and I glanced at each other, mystified. “Why not?” we said, in unison.
“He’s too special.”
I told my friend, Sue, the next day, over coffee, thinking that she, too, would see this as cute. I’d forgotten about her conservative streak.
“You need to put him straight, Julie,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s not natural, is it?” She frowned.
“It seems okay to me. He’s only four. Actually I think it’s quite beautiful,” I said.
“But what about, you know, the implications? Don’t you think you should explain that marriage is between a man and a woman and not … you know?”
“For goodness sake, Sue, he has a little-boy crush on another little boy. You’re making it sound like it’s somehow wrong.” I was getting annoyed.
“There are issues here, Julie,” Sue retorted.
“What – like he and Danny might grow up and find they still want to get married?” I laughed. “It’s not likely is it? And who cares if it is!”
“Well it’s much likelier if you don’t put a stop to it,” she said adamantly.
We finished our coffees and parted, agreeing to disagree.
When I told Anthony about Sue’s disapproval he roared with laughter. “Probably a bit homophobic, poor thing,” he said.
I hadn’t even thought it through to that extent – it seemed ridiculous to do so, but the really great thing Anthony and I discovered inside ourselves was an acceptance of whatever path Ming chose to take, sexually.
But I’ll never forget Ming’s words to me, back when he told us about getting married.
“I reeeelly love Danny, Mummy – way up to the sky.”
[Note: Sue doesn’t like popcorn]
During Anthony’s rather difficult Father’s day visit yesterday, there were a few moments of enjoyment (but only in hindsight). As I was hobbling around the kitchen using one of his walking sticks, and his nephew was trying to get Anthony to turn his walking frame around in order to sit down, Ming gave me a look of utter confoundment and withdrew to his room. I can’t say I blame him.
Once I put my boots on, my sore ankle steadied itself so I abandoned the walking stick for a slight limp as I poured teas, coffees and whiskeys for Ants, his nephew, another friend and me. Nobody seemed to care about my sore ankle as all the attention was focussed on Anthony who was a bit silent and slumpy, so instead we chased a few conversations around the room, had a few laughs and, when it came time for our visitors to go, I got up, winced with pain and said, petulantly, “How come nobody cares about my ankle?”
Suddenly, Anthony emerged from his silence and said to his nephew, “There is always something wrong with her!”
Hilarity filled the kitchen and I gave him a huge hug.
We’d rented a cottage at Flinders Bay, a tiny, magical little place, consisting of only forty-two tiny blocks – a two hour drive south for us.
“How big is the world?” Ming asked from his car seat in the back. He was three years old. We were only an hour into our journey and I wondered if his question was another version of “Are we there yet?” I hoped not.
“Huge,” I said.
“Are we aweady in the other one?”
“The other what?”
“The other world?”
“Not yet.”
“Yes we are so!” he said with certainty.
“What do you mean?”
“We doan have hunnerts of twees in our world.”
We were driving through a forest of beautiful karri trees and I suddenly realised how weird this would seem to Ming who was used to living on a cleared farm.
A few minutes later we stopped at a parking bay to eat our picnic lunch. The forest towered above us, filtering out the sunlight all except for a few bright shafts that Ming took great delight in jumping through over and over.
“I like this world way better than our one,” he said, decisively.
An hour or so later we approached Flinders Bay and I reached behind to nudge Ming’s leg until he woke up. “We’re here, Ming.” I said, excited myself. “This is Flinders Bay.”
He took his dummy out [yes, I know a 3-year-old with a dummy is bit unusual] and watched silently through the car window as Anthony eased the car down a steep slope into the tiny bay area. The view of the water was spectacular.
“It’s annuva world!” Ming exclaimed. “One, two, fwee – this is numba fwee world! How many worlds is there, Andony?” He always addressed these more difficult questions to Anthony, which was usually a great relief.
“Just one,” Anthony said, still negotiating the steep slope of the road.
“No it’s not!” Ming replied indignantly. “This is numba fwee – I just toldja that.”
I nudged Anthony as we pulled into the driveway of the beachside cottage. “Ming thinks we’re in another world,” I whispered. “Humour him.”
“Whadidja say to Andony, Mummy?” Ming shrilled, never one to miss a whisper.
I gave up on Anthony, who looked perplexed. “Daddy reckons this is another world but he doesn’t know how many there are, all together, Ming,” I said, getting out of the car.
Ming unclipped his seatbelt and threw himself out and onto the grass. “Are we gonna live here in this world now?” he asked, pointing to the cottage. He was so excited he could hardly contain himself.
“No, just for one week, Mingy,” I said, picking him up.
“How big is one week, Mummy?”
Argh! “Ask Anthony,” I said, knowing then that Ming would definitely provide us with a whirl-wind, one-week trip around the worlds!
This was confirmed when Ming looked over my shoulder at the incredible beachfront and asked, “Is this where all the worlds get borned, Mummy?”
I looked at the view through his eyes and said, without hesitation, “Yes.”
jmgoyder 