all roads lead to dot's house
Travel Tales #6
All Roads Lead to Dot’s House
We saddle the horses and tell Dad we’re going on a “really long ride”.
We ride out through the gate near the chook house, past the haystack, through the graveyard where farm machinery goes to die, and into the bush that covers the hills above our farm.
We ride along the track, mostly used by escaped sheep, a few meters in from the fence line. We canter and giggle and grab fistfuls of wattle blossom as we go and throw it at each other like confetti, until we reach the "Top Gate" – which leads from the bush down through a couple of paddocks to Dot’s House.
Dot's house is an old family farmhouse wrapped in a bullnose verandah, that smells like burnt toast, stewed peaches and old books. It's the house Dad grew up in, and his dad before him, and was built by his grandfather who grew up a stones throw away.
Despite the harsh summers and winters Dot manages to maintain an English style garden full of roses, geraniums, and in winter - bright yellow daffodils. There's also a big orchard full of oranges, lemons, peaches, pears, plums and nectarines.
We deliberate briefly… Should we keep going over the hills on the long ride we had declared to Dad, or should we visit Dot?
“Let’s just call in for a quick drink,” we almost always decide. Dot always has sarsaparilla and fun projects on the go.
We head down to the cattle yards. Because we intend to stay only for a quick drink, we don’t unsaddle the horses. We just loosen the girths and loop the reins through the cheek straps of the bridles.
There’s no surprising Dot. She has a sixth sense when it comes to visitors. As we approach the garden gate she’s already outside to greet us with a happy, “Hello girls”. She gives us all wonderful Dot hugs, cups our cheeks in her smooth wise hands and says, “Ooh you’ve got cold little faces.”
Dot always seems to be in the middle of something very interesting – like baking biscuits, or whipping egg whites and sugar for macaroons – which she lets us eat straight from the bowl. Or she’s got her sewing machine out on the kitchen table making or mending something.
Whatever she’s got going on, she’ll create fun little side projects that make us feel included and special.
Some days she’s out in the garden and we help her pick fruit from the orchard, flowers to fill her many interesting vases or pot cuttings to somehow take home.
Whatever the activity, we forget ourselves and after half the day has passed in blissful crafty grandma time we remember – “Shit the horses!”
We give Dot quick cuddles and race up to the cattle yards to check on them. Often we find that they’ve rolled and their saddles are hanging down under their bellies. (Shhhh don’t tell Dad.)
We put the saddles back in place, jump on and ride home.
Dad tells us not to gallop them home as it teaches them bad habits. So we keep that hush hush.
When we reach the bottom of our driveway we line up. The horses get fidgety, they know what's coming. We look at each other. “Ready?”
We lean forward, grab fistfuls of mane then yell in unison - “Go!”
The horses leap into an instant gallop and we race up the driveway giggling and crying with happiness.
As we near the house we pull the horses back to a walk, then amble up as though we’ve been walking the entire time.
We kid ourselves that Dad won’t notice the puffing and sweating… Or the dust for that matter which for most of the year is abundant.
He asks us how our ride was and we look sheepish as we tell him we went to Dot’s house. He rolls his eyes with mock exasperation and says, “All roads lead to Dot’s house!”
_
Yesterday would have been Dot's 94th birthday, and I really wished I could have jumped on the back of a horse, ridden through the bush, then spent the day with her doing fun grandma stuff.
This little story is an excerpt from At Least The Wattle Keeps on Blooming which I wrote a while back. And was also published by Rebelle Society, with a slightly different focus.
Leonie x
P.S. Dad admitted to me recently that his dad also told him not to gallop home, but he always did. ;)
