When I trudged into the kitchen area, Caroline at my heels, Dee said, “Morning, girls! Ready for your cupper?” I immediately noticed that she was acting more calm and gentle towards us today than she had been for the past couple of days, and I guessed it was because of the confrontation slash conversation with her the day before. She had probably gleaned that Caroline and I are both pretty sensitive humans...or maybe she respected that we had been able to communicate our way through an uncomfortable situation. Whatever the reason, I was extremely happy for the change in tone.
After breakfast, Dee told us that we would be going over to their friends’ house later that afternoon to help them put up a patio roof. “So, why don’t you just work for a couple of hours, then take the rest of the morning off?” She suggested. “Ned and I will help rake so you’s can compost the rest of the avocado trees.”
With Ned and Dee helping us, huge piles of eucalyptus leaves materialized in minutes. I was grateful for their help—they really are more far more efficient at outdoor tasks than Caroline and I (which makes sense, of course, as the closest thing to a “physical task” I’d ever previously accomplished was cranking out 45 minutes on a gym elliptical). At one point during the raking frenzy, Ned called out to Caroline and I. We turned around to see him and Dee crouched down, staring intently at something underneath an overturned log. We hurried over, and Ned said, “Have you ever seen a barking spider before?”
There, curled up in the soil, was a brown, thumb-sized spider. “Wow, it looks a lot like a tarantula!” I said, referring to the creature’s fuzzy appearance. “This is just a baby,” Ned said. “The adults are much bigger, especially the females. We’ve seen them out in the garden with thousands of tiny babies on their backs.” “And Ned's been bitten by one before,” Dee added. “The hospital had to call a museum to find out how to treat the bite because they had no idea!”
I looked over at Caroline to gauge her reaction to this, and she was eyeing the spider and the surrounding area warily. Seeing as the spider was hanging out in almost the exact same spot as had the black snake from the day before, I could tell what she was thinking: Can I rake somewhere else?!
After amassing quite a few piles, the four of us began to scoop leaves up in our arms and toss them into the back of ute. By the time the truck bed was filled to the brim, Caroline, Ned and I were all scratching our arms furiously. I noticed that the undersides of my arms were sprouting little red dots. “Ned, what’s going on?” I asked, confused as to why we were suddenly rash-ridden. “Oh, it’s from hairy caterpillars,” he replied. “Their hairs sometimes fall into the leaves, and they can irritate your skin.” Super, I thought. Of course this would be the day I choose to wear a sleeveless t-shirt—the day we happen to lather our arms with discarded caterpillar hairs.
I suppose I will take this opportunity to tell you that my skin is in the worst condition of LIFE—and I find it positively hilarious. I’m bruised and bitten, splotchy and pimply (my spoiled pores are not used to being caked daily with dirt! But what’s the difference between this and a mud bath?! Really now, pores...). I could compare my body to an old, beat-up car—the paint’s peeling and the number of dents is steadily increasing, but it’s running just fine!
Out in the bush, one’s exterior is merely a protective shield for the interior. I guess appearance has come to matter so much to people in the suburbs and cities because we don’t tend to participate in activities that mar our skin on a day-to-day basis. But here, they do. It’s no wonder Ned and Dee don’t own a decently sized mirror. (Which, frankly, I love.)
Anyway, trying to ignore our itchy arms, Caroline and I drove over to the avocado orchard and proceeded to unload the entire ute-load of leaves onto two or three avocado trees, spreading the mulch all the way out to the drip lines as previously instructed. When the truck bed was nearly empty, the wind started to pick up, and as Caroline walked away from the ute with the last big pile in her arms, several crisp leaves flew of her grasp and spun momentarily behind her like a dizzy flock of birds. I really wish I had my camera ready at that moment; it might have been a great photograph—Caroline-the-leaf-bearer, illuminated by the hot morning sun, trailed by brown and red slivers suspended in midair behind her.
We hopped into the ute when it came time for a refill, and I noticed that Caroline was getting really good at dealing with the glow plug and starting up the old clunker quickly. We were also much faster at raking today, even once Ned and Dee had moved on to other tasks—by 9:30am, Caroline and I had filled and unloaded the ute two more times all by ourselves.
When the two of us finally meandered into the house, having successfully mulched all six avocado trees, I noticed just how much the muscles in my right arm were killing me. My arm had been bugging me while we were raking, but now that I was sitting at the kitchen table relaxing, I was unfortunately able to fixate on the pain. I mentally solved a relevant equation: two days of pick axing + two days of raking = bad short term effects on weak arms. Luckily, when I mentioned my cramping muscles to Dee, she pulled a jar of horse liniment out of the cupboard and a pack of frozen spinach from the freezer to use as an ice pack. Caroline clandestinely pointed out that the liniment was labeled, “NOT FOR HUMAN USE,” but I decided to ignore that.
I rested my arm, now lathered with the pungent jelly, over the next few hours of vegging. I sat taking notes on what had happened so far during the day (blogtastic!) while Caroline lounged in Ned and Dee's hammock reading Bill Bryson’s “In a Sunburned Country,” a travel book packed with tales of Bryson’s Australian adventures. Evidently, it’s bloody hilarious—Caroline seemed to squeal with laughter every five minutes over one of the guy’s anecdotes. Dee, who was trying to immerse herself in a steamy romance novel, finally looked up. “We’ve got ourselves a resident hyena, eh?”
After one particularly enthusiastic bout of laughter, she called out, “Dee, listen to this!” Dee rolled her eyes playfully but put down her book. Caroline, who could barely speak because she was laughing so hard, proceeded to read a paragraph about how Australians downplay the severity of the numerous dangerous creatures in their country while, in the same breath, recall stories about the elderly uncle who was bit in the scrotum by a poisonous snake and had to go on life support. “But he’s off it now, so it’s OK!” Finished Bryson’s Australian impression. Caroline could hardly breathe. “It’s…just…so…TRUE!”
Dee said, “Er—yeah, that’s normal!” She didn’t really seem to get the joke. Understandably so, as this is a woman who nonchalantly told us that, as a child, she regularly had to brush redbacks (comparable to North America’s black widow spiders) off of the outhouse toilet seat before she sat down.
A little while later, when she was no longer able to focus on her book, Dee's eyes lit up. “Would you like to try a couple of the fruit wines that Ned and I made three years ago?” She asked me, looking excited. “Sure!” I said, wondering what on earth had suddenly inspired her to host a spontaneous afternoon wine tasting. But I didn’t fight it. She led me to the shed, where she reached under a shelf and pulled out what looked like two very dusty bottles of rum. But before I could tell her that I didn’t particularly want a hard-A appetizer, she explained that her and Ned fermented their wines in old alcohol containers.
It being the first time I was ever about to consume years-old fruit wine from rum bottles with broken seals, I was more than a little intrigued. “But don’t you need to vacuum-seal wine or something?” I asked as we walked back to the kitchen. She looked confused. “No…” Seeing as I actually know nothing about wine production, I decided to shut up.
She took two cups out of the cupboard and poured me little tasters of both of the wines she held in her hand. “This one is cherry, and this one is plum,” she said, pointing first at the burgundy-colored liquid in one cup and then at the slightly darker wine in the other. I tasted one and then the other, smacked my lips, and announced that I liked the cherry one a bit better. Although I would probably never sit around sipping these weird wines for pleasure (they both tasted like bitter sherry), I mentally congratulated them for their efforts. Ten points!
During lunch a couple of hours later, I casually asked Dee what subjects her three adult daughters liked when they were in school. This innocent question unexpectedly became a full-blown discussion about education, to my dismay—I couldn’t easily forget the brief child-rearing conversation we’d had in the car the afternoon before, during which the phrase “children should be seen and not heard” was actually uttered. Caroline asked Ned and Dee if they knew what Montessori education was; shockingly enough, they didn’t. She proceeded to tell them about how great it is, and that the method encourages educators to focus on each individual child’s needs and skills. “Children are allowed to choose their learning schedule based on the subjects they enjoy,” she said approvingly.
I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. I knew that such an alternative, child-centered method of educating kids would be lost on Dee and Ned, and sure enough, they were gazing at her a little blankly by the end of her spiel. There was a painful pause, and I was frantically thinking of something to say that would burst the bubble of awkwardness. That’s when Ned said, “Back when I was at school, we were hit with wooden sticks or leather whips. Once, I was called into the principal’s office for something I didn’t do, and I received such a shock when I was whipped that I pissed me’self.” Oh, boy.
She took two cups out of the cupboard and poured me little tasters of both of the wines she held in her hand. “This one is cherry, and this one is plum,” she said, pointing first at the burgundy-colored liquid in one cup and then at the slightly darker wine in the other. I tasted one and then the other, smacked my lips, and announced that I liked the cherry one a bit better. Although I would probably never sit around sipping these weird wines for pleasure (they both tasted like bitter sherry), I mentally congratulated them for their efforts. Ten points!
During lunch a couple of hours later, I casually asked Dee what subjects her three adult daughters liked when they were in school. This innocent question unexpectedly became a full-blown discussion about education, to my dismay—I couldn’t easily forget the brief child-rearing conversation we’d had in the car the afternoon before, during which the phrase “children should be seen and not heard” was actually uttered. Caroline asked Ned and Dee if they knew what Montessori education was; shockingly enough, they didn’t. She proceeded to tell them about how great it is, and that the method encourages educators to focus on each individual child’s needs and skills. “Children are allowed to choose their learning schedule based on the subjects they enjoy,” she said approvingly.
I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. I knew that such an alternative, child-centered method of educating kids would be lost on Dee and Ned, and sure enough, they were gazing at her a little blankly by the end of her spiel. There was a painful pause, and I was frantically thinking of something to say that would burst the bubble of awkwardness. That’s when Ned said, “Back when I was at school, we were hit with wooden sticks or leather whips. Once, I was called into the principal’s office for something I didn’t do, and I received such a shock when I was whipped that I pissed me’self.” Oh, boy.
A change of subject was dangerously in order. “Um…Ned and Dee…?” I asked tentatively, clearing my throat. “Are you gonna go back to Mareeba again on Monday?” Dee shook her head and consulted the calendar hanging next to the table. “We’ll be there for a doctor’s appointment on Wednesday, though.” “Well, could we head back into town on that day with you?” I asked, gaining confidence. “We’re going to explore Port Douglas for a few days, I think.” To my relief, Ned and Dee just nodded, appearing totally OK with the idea. I was ecstatic that my proposition wasn’t a problem, and I was immediately filled with excitement at the prospect of gaining a different learning experience somehow, somewhere, starting Wednesday.
[Looking back, I should have been more patient and stayed the originally-planned two weeks with them. I should have focused more on my current learning experience instead of looking ahead to another one… but I’ll elaborate on this in a future entry.]
At around 4:00pm, Ned and Dee told us to hurry up and get ready to go to their friends’ house. Dee wanted us to change out of our dirty work clothes and into something slightly more presentable, so Caroline and I quickly threw on some jeans. As I was getting into the car, Ned, who was still in the house, called me over to him. “Yes?” I asked as I approached. “Do you want to lock up your laptop in the filing cabinet?” He was motioning towards my computer, which sat snuggled in its soft black case on the table. “Um…why?” I responded. The last thing I was worried about at Ned and Dee's was theft. What, is a mischievous wombat going to waddle off with my laptop balanced on its back? Ned shrugged. “I dunno, just to be safe, I guess.” “Well, sure, why not? Thanks, Ned,” I said as I handed him the computer. He took it gently out of my hands and proceeded to lock in the bottom drawer of the cabinet, alongside their rather impressive opal collection.
After taking a ton of pictures of the animals, Caroline and I finally introduced ourselves to the resident humans, Robin and David. I asked them when we were going to start putting up the roof, but Dee responded before they could. “It’s too windy to do any work—it would be too dangerous. So, Robin and David won you girls only two hours of work today, eh?” I thought, Well, actually the WIND won us only two hours of work today…it’s not like it could have been controlled… (I never know what she means by such statements. I am starting to get used to her pointed jokes and sarcasm, though. I am trying to just let them roll off of me.)
It’s not that I am unhappy with the direction my life is going; I’m proud of the things I have accomplished, seen and learned thus far, and I know there is much more knowledge out there for me to gain. It’s just that I feel anxious about all the things I COULD do in my life. I was blessed with the agency to choose how I want to live, and I’m grateful for the number of open doors in front of me…yet, it’s a terrifying thought to walk through one and shut all the others.
Maybe Ned, Dee, Robin and David did not have many options, and they had to “settle” for their current lifestyle. This is typically a horrifying and tragic concept to upper-middle and upper class-ians, at least from what I’ve gleaned in my 22.9 years of Californian suburban existence. But we don’t seem to have many people who balance their time well between work and play in the Silicon Valley. We might not have a whole lot of folks living with humility and tranquility of the spirit in the wealthy pockets of Los Angeles or Santa Barbara. For such individuals, a taste of rural living could be a helpful lesson on how to lead a calm, grounded and peaceful life. It’s proving to be one for me.
All in all, I am glad to be living what I believe is an “examined life”…but it would be nice to feel like I didn’t have to examine or analyze it once in a while. It would be nice to accept life as a mysterious river—its twists, turns and rapids uncharted—and float contentedly along on a polka dotted tube.
***
Later that evening, once everyone was filled to the brim with barbequed sausages and beer, conversation inevitably became a little more easy and a lot more interesting. At one point, Robin bluntly asked Caroline and I if we were religious. “Well, we’re not your stereotypical American Jesus fanatics, if that’s what you are trying to get at!” I replied. Robin looked relieved. “Thank GOD!” She said, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of her exclamation. “I just can’t stand those American evangelists on the tele.”
“You can watch American televangelists here?” Caroline asked incredulously. (Fun fact: Caroline’s vocal inflection is already starting to sound British/Australian when she asks questions. It’s hilarious. I can’t wait to find out how bad it’s gonna be when she returns to the States next fall.)
Robin went on to explain that a few Southern televangelists actually have followers in Australia. “But I don’t know why anyone would send those people their hard-earned money,” she said, shaking her head. “They wear flashy suits and gold rings—it makes you wonder where all those donations go, eh? They’d seem a lot more credible if they just looked normal!” “But maybe they have the right idea, charging for religion,” Dee piped up. “We should start up a cult out here!” Robin screeched with laughter. “Yeah, right. And what are we going to call it—mango-ology?!”
As the guffaws subsided, a teenaged girl trudged into the backyard from inside the house. “Ah…hello, mate!” exclaimed Robin, smiling at the girl. (Caroline and I later admitted to each other how surprised we had been to hear a woman refer to her daughter as “mate.” But it was kind of cute.) The girl bent down, whispered something in her mom’s ear, and then took off again, ignoring everyone else. She looked exhausted and was wearing a uniform polo shirt, so I guessed that she was just now returning from work.
Robin went on to explain that a few Southern televangelists actually have followers in Australia. “But I don’t know why anyone would send those people their hard-earned money,” she said, shaking her head. “They wear flashy suits and gold rings—it makes you wonder where all those donations go, eh? They’d seem a lot more credible if they just looked normal!” “But maybe they have the right idea, charging for religion,” Dee piped up. “We should start up a cult out here!” Robin screeched with laughter. “Yeah, right. And what are we going to call it—mango-ology?!”
As the guffaws subsided, a teenaged girl trudged into the backyard from inside the house. “Ah…hello, mate!” exclaimed Robin, smiling at the girl. (Caroline and I later admitted to each other how surprised we had been to hear a woman refer to her daughter as “mate.” But it was kind of cute.) The girl bent down, whispered something in her mom’s ear, and then took off again, ignoring everyone else. She looked exhausted and was wearing a uniform polo shirt, so I guessed that she was just now returning from work.
“What does your daughter do?” I asked Robin. “Clare? She works at a hardware store in Mareeba,” Robin said. “Oh, OK,” I said. “Is that her after-school job?” “Naw,” replied Robin, “She’s been working there since she graduated from high school last year.” Robin said this as though she had absolutely no qualms about her daughter’s career choice. I thought of my own parents, and how disturbed they would have surely been if I had forgone attending the University of Southern California in favor of stocking shelves with screwdrivers and socket wrenches. Caroline, obviously thinking the same thing as me, asked, “So, is she thinking about going to college?” Robin shook her head. “She isn’t interested in uni, and neither is Davie.” (Davie, their son, is a first-year in high school).
I was shocked that Robin didn’t seem to care whether her kids went to college or not, although it was kind of refreshing to meet someone who’s all right with letting her kids choose their own destinies after high school. But I thought, Maybe there are financial reasons behind her apathy, or maybe SHE didn’t go to college and therefore doesn’t see the value in it. Still…how can someone not want their kids to get the most education possible? Then, to my chagrin, Dee announced, “Davie should go to a trade school. You can make way more money coming out of a trade school than from going to college!”
Toto, we’re not in the Bay Area anymore.
After a few more minutes of banter, the group began to dissipate—Robin and Dee went into the house to check on Davie and his friends, who were allegedly having a PlayStation rage fest, and David began to gather wood for the fire pit. I realized that it was getting late (9:00pm…Heavens to Betsy!), and I felt myself losing steam. I was really enjoying being outside, though, as there were no mosquitoes to be found—the wind must have banished them for the night. It was also warm without being humid, which is a miracle for Queensland, and David was starting up a cozy little fire (which wasn’t really necessary, but still felt nice). I looked up, and I was immediately awe-struck by the stars; they seemed to dust the sky like confectioner’s sugar on a rich cake. Stargazing is a definite plus of being 60 kilometers outside of the closest town, I noted.
Caroline followed my gaze and began to admire the stars, as well. After a minute or two, she asked, “Ned? You like astronomy, right?” Ned, who had been lost in thought, snapped to attention. “Er…yes. How did you know?” “Well, back at the house, I noticed your collection of astronomy magazines,” Caroline said with a grin. “Could you show me where the Southern Cross is?”
I was shocked that Robin didn’t seem to care whether her kids went to college or not, although it was kind of refreshing to meet someone who’s all right with letting her kids choose their own destinies after high school. But I thought, Maybe there are financial reasons behind her apathy, or maybe SHE didn’t go to college and therefore doesn’t see the value in it. Still…how can someone not want their kids to get the most education possible? Then, to my chagrin, Dee announced, “Davie should go to a trade school. You can make way more money coming out of a trade school than from going to college!”
Toto, we’re not in the Bay Area anymore.
After a few more minutes of banter, the group began to dissipate—Robin and Dee went into the house to check on Davie and his friends, who were allegedly having a PlayStation rage fest, and David began to gather wood for the fire pit. I realized that it was getting late (9:00pm…Heavens to Betsy!), and I felt myself losing steam. I was really enjoying being outside, though, as there were no mosquitoes to be found—the wind must have banished them for the night. It was also warm without being humid, which is a miracle for Queensland, and David was starting up a cozy little fire (which wasn’t really necessary, but still felt nice). I looked up, and I was immediately awe-struck by the stars; they seemed to dust the sky like confectioner’s sugar on a rich cake. Stargazing is a definite plus of being 60 kilometers outside of the closest town, I noted.
Caroline followed my gaze and began to admire the stars, as well. After a minute or two, she asked, “Ned? You like astronomy, right?” Ned, who had been lost in thought, snapped to attention. “Er…yes. How did you know?” “Well, back at the house, I noticed your collection of astronomy magazines,” Caroline said with a grin. “Could you show me where the Southern Cross is?”
I furrowed my brow. “What in the blazes is that? A constellation?!” “Yeah. It’s only found in the Southern Hemisphere,” Caroline responded distractedly, her eyes searching the sky. “We may have to stand over there to get an unobstructed view of it,” Ned said, pointing to the nearest field. The two of them walked away, engrossed in an impromptu astronomy discussion, and I heard the restless rustling of leaves—the wind was beginning to pick up again. I sunk low in my chair so that my neck was nestled comfortably in the cloth backrest, and I felt my eyelids grow heavy. As the fire warmed my toes, I slowly drifted off, lulled to sleep by silver clouds racing across the face of the moon.
