Free Of Ashes and Rivers that Run to the Sea by Marie Munkara Page A

up until there were big pools left in the bends where the current had carved out the sand and gravel. I would sneak down early when the sun was coming up to watch the birds flying in for their morning drink and bath and to listen to them chattering, and again in the late afternoons. Eventually the water would evaporate and they’d disappear until next time.
    One of Uncle George’s acquaintances had a property nearby. It had working horses for rounding up sheep and checking the fence lines but there was also a black Shetland pony with a cream-coloured foal that we kids would ride in the paddock next to the stone cottage where the workers lived. Opposite the cottage was the tack shed which smelt of Neatsfoot oil and hay and was where I learnt to rub the saddles and bridles with dubbin after I’d finished riding. Sometimes I’d help oil the stock saddles that the blokes used and they taught me about things like surcingles andmartingales. One bloke knew how to make stock whips and saddles and he was a perfectionist, if the tree of the saddle he was making didn’t feel right then he’d start again from scratch. There was a round yard for lunging and breaking horses and this was where they were shod. I would help by passing nails or horseshoes or clippers for trimming the hoof, though when I think about it now I must have been more of a nuisance than a help.
    There were early-morning rides when the frost crunched under hoof and the sun rose on a frozen landscape that looked like it was covered in snow. When I would warm one hand at a time by sticking it under the saddle blanket while I held the reins with the other, and while our breath, horses and humans alike, would billow out in big clouds of mist. These were the mornings when, if we were quiet, we’d surprise a fox taking an early-morning walk, or a mob of kangaroos grazing. And when we got back there’d be porridge and cups of tea to warm us up.
    There was another house on Uncle George’s property where we sometimes stayed as well. This one wasn’t as old or as interesting as the homestead on the hill but its bathroom was spectacular. In the centre of the room was a massive bath which along with the whole room was tiled like an ancient Greek bathhouse. There were dolphins and people and the mosaics were all tiled by hand like an old fresco. When the days were hot Julie and I would fill the bath and float around, it was heaven.
    One day we heard Dinky barking out the back and when we investigated, it was a brown snake. Aubrey was sent to dispatch it with a shovel. ‘Shall I kill it?’ he kept saying with a big grin on his face as he stood there shovel poised while the snake lay coiled and watching him. I wanted it left alive and screamed out ‘ No! ’ at the same instant as Aubrey brought down the blade of the shovel and sliced the snake in two. Later that day we were out the back again watching an enormous flock of galahs settling in the gum trees. This time Aubrey grabbed the double-barrelled shotgun, took a pot shot and ended up on his arse from the recoil while we all laughed. The flock took off in one huge screeching mass and for a few moments blended into the mauve and pink of the setting sun. It was a breathtaking sight.
    Once while we were out driving around we found a little joey sitting alone in the scrub. Uncle George explained that when the mothers are being chased they sometimes leave their joeys under a bush and come back for them later. The little ones weigh them down and that way if the mother gets caught the joey still might have a chance to survive. There was no sign of this one’s mum and he was too small to fend for himself so after Julie and I kicked up a fuss to keep him, we took him back to the homestead and fed him milk on a spoon with a pinch of salt to stop him getting diarrhoea. We gave him a pillowcase to sleep in and then headed back home where the vet gave us somebottles, teats and formula