Love on Forrest Downs

by Sheryl McCorry

  Robby says that heifer was in a bad mood that morning, and she took out her frustrations on him. Before Robby managed to yard her securely she chased him around the shelter belt, down to the paperbark swamp and back up the laneway. Meanwhile Tara had prepared the flash, shiny-looking ‘calf pullers’ (which I’m sure were designed to pull a pup out of a heifer and not a calf out of a cow) and also placed the dependable old fence strainers by the cattle crush in the yard, just in case they were needed for the job.

  Stephen and Annette were in the yard on standby. Rob did a quick check on the heifer. It didn’t look good, so he began to hook up the fence strainers to a solid yard post. Tara, heavily pregnant herself, had her right arm up the heifer’s uterus. She shook her head. ‘It’s a big calf and it feels breech.’ Both Robby and Tara thought that the unborn calf might be dead.

  Rob hooked the calf pullers onto the animal’s hooves, then connected the fence strainers to the pullers and began to slowly jack the huge calf out of its mother’s womb. While Annette, a keen photographer, took some snaps for her family album, Stephen turned rather green and spent his time hanging through the stockyard rails heaving up his breakfast.

  When the calf was out on the ground, its tongue swollen from lack of oxygen, it looked dead, but Robby and Tara decided they would try to resuscitate it anyway. After quickly checking it over, they cleared the calf’s airway by pulling its tongue clear, then they threw the limp animal over the top yard rail to help drain the mucus from its lungs. Tara had a firm grip on the calf’s tongue while Robby pummelled its body, trying to bring it back to life. They were both working quickly. Rob lifted the heavy calf off the top rail, placed it on the ground again and began pumping its heart.

  After several fruitless minutes, they stood together staring at the lifeless animal, saddened by what seemed to be their first loss of a calf.

  ‘I think it’s gone,’ Robby said to Tara. ‘What a loss – it’s a bloody big calf.’

  Suddenly, miraculously, they saw movement in the animal and the lovely big calf gasped for air. It was unbelievable!

  With that morning’s calving down a success, they all returned to the homestead to clean themselves up. Annette continued happily capturing photos for the family album while Stephen – still slightly green – fortified himself with a glass of fine wine on the back veranda.

  *

  There was a lot going on during that April of 2010. Life on the farm was busy, as usual, with the constant buying, fattening, weighing, drafting and selling of cattle as they travelled through our feedlot circle. And while I was lending a hand with the cattle work, I was also waiting anxiously for that phone call from Robby to tell me that Tara was in labour. For that last week I felt as if I was the one in labour, I was feeling that nervy and excited while waiting for Tara to give birth to their first child.

  However, it wasn’t yet the right time for Tara. Just as she was giving a helping hand to the obstinate heifer to help her calve down, Tara was looking as if she might need a helping hand herself.

  The morning after the calf had been pulled out of the heifer, Robby accompanied Tara and Annette to hospital so Tara could be induced. Poor Tara’s experience was not the most pleasant one – she was given an epidural but as it was being inserted into her spine it missed its mark and came terribly close to paralysing her. Thank God for Annette’s medical knowledge and for Robby never leaving Tara’s side throughout the whole birthing process. Not only was Tara giving birth to her first child, but because of the medical stuff-up she battled the most shocking, blinding headaches, accompanied by neck and shoulder pain, the whole time she was in labour.

  I know that childbirth is a very natural thing, and pain is part of it – but medical errors are not. While they were at the hospital Annette called me at Forrest Downs constantly, keeping Michael and me up to date on Tara’s progress; in turn I called Leisha at Boyanup with the latest news. Robby was holding up well, although Annette said that there were times when he turned a ghostly white and she had to send him outside to recuperate. Poor Annette really would have had her hands full if Rob had fainted in the labour room – all six foot three of him stretched out on the floor! Luckily it didn’t happen, and he was able to be there for Tara when needed.

  A calm surrounded the farmhouse that night; even the bulls in the house paddock had called a truce and gone silent. Only the odd cricket in the woodheap and a frog from the nearby dam produced an intermittent chorus while I paced the dining-room floor, waiting for that precious telephone call. And then, finally, the quiet was broken by a shrill ringing. I pounced, lifting the phone to my ear so I could hear the first cry from my first granddaughter as she entered our world. And what a fine pair of lungs she had! I was over the moon to hear that cry, and I thanked both Robby and Annette for that.

  Lilah Marie was born at 8.30 p.m. on the same day that Tara was induced. Both mother and daughter were well, and within minutes Michael and I had received a photo of our beautiful baby girl on my mobile phone. This was truly amazing, as our mobiles hardly ever got reception on the farm.

  Much to our regret, Michael and I were again showing signs of the dreaded flu and we thought it best to stay away from mum and bub until we were well and truly over it. That was one of the hardest things I’d ever had to do in my life.

  CHAPTER 20

  Many reasons to celebrate

  It was 23 April 2010, the day before Michael and I were to be married. We were still feeling unwell, and to top it off we were tired from lack of sleep and the long working days on the farm.

  We woke at the crack of dawn to the piercing ring of the telephone, and Michael answered it. When he got off the phone he told me the call was from Harry, his rather eccentric friend who owned Tumbling Downs farm not too far from Forrest Downs. Harry told Michael that he needed to drive his cream Ford truck – which was two-thirds loaded with bagged fertiliser – and leave it at his other farm block sixty kilometres past Forrest Downs, so he would need a ride home to Tumbling Downs that night. And because he’d had a blue with his wife and was far too stubborn to ask her to follow behind him in their farm ute and give him a ride back to their farm that afternoon, he was in a bit of a predicament. He asked Michael if he could borrow a motorbike to get home and save himself the embarrassment of having to ask his wife for a ride home to Tumbling Downs. Of course Michael had agreed.

  Not an hour later Harry arrived at Forrest Downs to load the farm motorbike. On hearing the truck pull in at the shed, I followed Michael up to meet the fellow I had heard so much about. It was hard to believe he was going to so much trouble to get a ride home! Michael introduced me, pleasantries were exchanged, and then Michael said, ‘Load at the ramp, Harry.’ But no, Harry had had a brainwave and said he would ride the motorbike up a plank of wood onto the back of his Ford truck.

  Michael said, ‘You stupid old bastard – you’ll end up killing yourself.’

  Not knowing Harry, and thinking it looked quite easy to do, I said, ‘He’s probably loaded a bike this way before.’ But then, I’d never loaded a motorbike that way myself.

  We stood well back from the Ford truck to watch Harry load the motorbike onto the back. By this point I was thinking that he was a game old bugger, and I silently wished him luck. Old Harry rode the motorbike around in a circle to get the hang of it before sizing up the plank of timber he’d placed against the tray of his truck, which was to be his ramp to load the bike on.

  Suddenly full of confidence, Harry gave the bike full throttle and revved it up. It backfired with an almighty explosion and shot him up the plank way too fast – just like Evel Knievel, Michael said afterwards – and wedged the front wheel of the motorbike between two bags of fertiliser. With the engine still revving loudly, the bike went up into a spectacular handstand. Harry was thrown from the motorbike and landed heavily on the cab of his truck, denting it badly.

  Although he gave a few moans and groans, Harry was not badly hurt. He was pleased he’d loaded the motorbike – and so w
ere we. I’d have hated to stand by and watch that manoeuvre a second time round. He climbed down gingerly from the cab of his truck, got into it – which was better than riding on it, I thought – and headed off to his second farm block.

  Three days later a very subdued Harry came riding down the Forrest Downs driveway on Michael’s motorbike, closely followed by his wife, who then gave him a ride home to Tumbling Downs in their farm ute. At least it looked as if they were on speaking terms with each other again.

  *

  My feelings for the land have been strong ever since I was a little girl. It’s not something I can really explain, because I don’t know when they started or whether there’s even a cause for them. These feelings were what took me to Oobagooma Station as a young woman and kept me there. It wasn’t just McCorry who kept me there – the land had a pretty strong pull too. Finally I was where I’d always wanted to be: in the heat and dust and space of the outback.

  Even today, I love the outback and I love being outside. Don’t get me wrong: I like a nice clean house too and I like material things, but I can always see beauty in the outdoors. When I was out in the camp on Oobagooma, at night-time we would sit around and just listen to the bird calls. I do that even now. I can lie in bed and hear a mopoke calling. All the sounds of the animals tend to stand out to me.

  Elsewhere I have talked about my belief in ‘the sun, the moon and the kangaroo’. I don’t set much store by organised religion: the bush is my religion. I truly believe that there is spirituality in it, and that it’s made me more spiritual. Being around Aboriginal people all my life, too, has made me more spiritual than religious. When I lost Kelly, a Catholic priest came out to the station, handed me a Bible and told me to read it. I started to read it and when he came out to visit again I questioned him.

  ‘This doesn’t make sense,’ I said to him. ‘How come these fellas in this Bible can come back from the dead, and all these other people who have passed, and my son can’t? None of this is right.’

  He said to me, ‘You’re trying to blame God.’ I could tell he really didn’t want to talk to me about it.

  I said, ‘No, I’m not blaming God. I just want some answers.’

  Well, that was the end of the Catholic lesson. Since then I have stuck with my theories about what true spirituality is. And I’m happy now because I believe that even though my son is not here in a physical sense, he really is here, so everything is fine.

  There was another thing that really helped me lift myself out of feeling sad about Kelly: I went to see a medium out at Bunbury called Anthony Grzelka. I had read an article in a newpaper about a woman who had lost her child and gone to see him, and she really picked up afterwards because her child came through to this medium. So I thought, Well, what I have got to lose? He had a two-year waiting list but I somehow managed to get an appointment earlier.

  I had been asked to think about who I wanted to come through before I arrived at the appointment, and naturally for me it was all about Kelly, so that morning before going to Bunbury I went and stood at the sideboard, as I had three photos of him there. I picked up each of them and put them back down. Then I went into my bedroom. I had a photo of him by the bed. I picked it up and wrapped it in a tissue and put it in my handbag.

  I had never met Anthony before, but I went in and sat down and he looked straight at me and said, ‘There’s a little blond-haired boy walking towards me and what looks like an old, bent man. They’re walking towards me and the little blond boy is in the lead.’ I just looked at him and I thought, How do you know? Because he was describing Kelly and McCorry. Then he said to me, ‘He says that you’ve got a picture of him wrapped in a white handkerchief in your handbag.’ Well, that just blew me away. I pulled the photo straight out of my bag and showed it to Anthony. And from that moment on, I was all right. To be told that by someone I’ve never seen before in my life, who knew nothing about me, was amazing. I had no explanation for it other than it was my little man in heaven coming through.

  From that experience, I felt that my boy was around me.

  *

  When I woke early on the morning of 24 April 2010, a Saturday, Kelly was on my mind – except this year for the first time I wasn’t filled with sadness to think of his birthday. I showered and blow-dried my hair in preparation for the big event, before hanging Michael’s suit and my wedding outfit securely in the back seat of the Mercedes-Benz. In the meantime Michael did a quick run around the feedlot, mainly checking on the water supply; although we planned on being back on the farm that evening, for feedlot cattle a day without water can be disastrous. And we weren’t taking any chances, as there was no way we wanted our wedding day clouded by misfortune.

  As soon as Michael arrived back at the homestead he promptly showered and dressed, then threw our small carry bag into the vehicle. Laughing, fizzing with happiness, we were really more like a couple of big kids with a secret instead of two adults who were getting married at eleven that morning. Only Leisha, Nigel, Brock, Cohen, Robby, Tara and our marriage celebrant, Peter, knew of our big event. Michael’s and my dear parents were in the dark, as was Michael’s daughter, who was living in outback Queensland with her mother.

  There was a touch of sadness that Robby and Tara and new baby Lilah Marie could not be present, but Tara had only been released from hospital the day before, and both Leisha and I had made it clear that Robby’s priority was to be with his little family. Naturally, he wouldn’t have had it any other way, either.

  After a pleasant two-hour drive to Boyanup, we arrived at Leisha’s to be greeted by my two happy grandsons, who were accompanied by their rather large, overexcited dogs. After hugs and handshakes from the boys, Leisha was able to squeeze in between them to say hello.

  ‘Come on in, I’ve got the kettle on,’ Leisha said as she opened the car doors, grabbed our gear and began moving the family towards the front door of her home. Just like a clucky mother hen moving her brood of chickens along, I thought.

  I was pleased that there were no feelings of stress or sadness in Leisha’s home, in spite of her memories of Kelly. Instead there was a beautiful sense of calm as we looked through the huge window, across the crystal-clear pool, to the banks of the Preston River shaded by large old rivergums.

  ‘Where do you want to be married, Mum?’ asked Leisha.

  I stood quietly for a minute to simply absorb the peace and tranquillity of the view.

  ‘Right here, love,’ I said. ‘Right where I’m standing will do.’ I couldn’t think of anything better than to be at one with nature on our wedding day, plus Michael and I wanted to keep it all as simple as could be.

  Leisha hung up our clothes in the bedroom, to save them from getting creased, before she joined us for a much-wanted cup of tea. Then the house phone rang loudly.

  Leisha answered it. After a minute she turned towards Michael and me, and said, ‘Peter says you must have another witness, Mum.’ I guess my girl must have read my mind, because she said, ‘Brock’s too young.’

  I had really wanted my oldest grandson to be the witness at our wedding, but it wasn’t to be. Funnily enough, though, nothing could stress me now and I said, ‘Let’s get someone off the street, love.’

  But I got the impression from the look on Leisha’s face that she wasn’t really impressed with that idea. ‘No, leave it to me,’ she said, then called Nigel, who was at the Jamiesons’ farmhouse checking on preparations for their own wedding.

  Within minutes the phone rang again. ‘It’s organised, Mum,’ Leisha said. ‘Nigel’s mate’s wife, Jules, will be here within the hour.’

  How good is that, I thought. Since leaving the outback of the Kimberley I have met many kind people living in these rural country towns. How generous it was of Jules to come over to Leisha’s home to be our witness at such short notice.

  My dear girl was so well prepared and unflappable that she told Michael and me that we had half an hour to rest before it was time to dress for our wedding. I crashed out on
the bed while Michael sat up and read an Australian crime novel beside me – can you believe it, on our wedding day?

  Some time later I was woken by Leisha saying, ‘Mum, it’s time to get dressed.’ She had actually let me rest far longer than she should have, knowing how much I needed it. I woke feeling quite terrible thanks to my cold, and I wished it would go away just for one day.

  After taking a quick warm shower, I dressed in my soft yellow trousers, delicate tiered top and short jacket. The yellow of the outfit was broken up by handmade roses of various shades of brown and beige. I thought Michael looked very handsome in his dark suit, crisp white shirt, and blue and gold tie – of course, on his feet were his good RM Williams boots.

  Leisha was dressed and ready in her off-the-shoulder Lisa Ho gown, while Brook and Cohen looked so smart in their black pants, vests and crisp long-sleeved white shirts, topped off by dark bow ties. I might add that Cohen came out of the bedroom with his bow tie wrapped around his forehead karate-chopping.

  As I took a moment to glance around at my family I couldn’t help but smile, thinking how handsome they all were. And I was over the moon to see how much this wedding meant not only to Michael and me, but also to my darling grandsons and Leisha.

  I returned to the bedroom to check on my appearance and was just thinking, How happy and beautiful I feel, when Brock came in to find me.

  ‘Are you ready yet, Nan?’ he asked, as he was to give me away. Cohen had already collected the wedding band with its diamonds, and was constantly opening and closing the little ring box to check that the ring was still inside.

  Leisha came and embraced Michael and me in turn, then she walked with Michael into the lounge room where Peter, our celebrant, was standing. Jules had also arrived and she looked lovely.

  Cohen went and stood by Michael, while Brock took hold of his nan’s hand and led me out to stand by Michael.

  As Peter greeted me, Brock began to say, rather prematurely, ‘I do, I do, I give my nan to Michael D.’