Dreaming of My Mother

She sits alone at the old treadle sewing machine in the dining room of her farm house.

The lino is many different shapes and colours but washed and clean. The dining table is rarely used, as the long table for many, is in the eat in kitchen. The sideboard is covered in trophies that her sons have won at local boxing tournaments. She is so proud.

Beside her is the stretcher bed she keeps for her eldest son when he comes home from his work far out bush. How she misses him and the noise of his pipe at night as he hits it against the window ledge. She knows he is home and safe when she hears that noise.

Yesterday was washing day. It must be Mondays as that is her day and no other day is acceptable. She must boil the water carried in the cream cans from the dam as the tanks are empty,  skim the top then she can boil the sheets so they become crisp and white in her copper. She puts the sheets into her wringer washing machine careful not to get her hands caught in the rollers. Now she must boil all of her husbands dirty farm clothes. She thinks of keeping the copper water for the kids to take their baths that night.

“Thank Goodness the old engine started so I didn’t have to wash all those clothes by hand,” she says out loud to herself. The old diesel engine, covered in dust and oil, beneath her home is her only means of electricity. It does what is required when it decides to start without any bother.

She wanders out in the searing heat to fill the clothes line. Sheets blowing in the slight breeze fill the line but is not enough space and she once again must hang the rest around the barbwire fence that surrounds the house.

Her mind wanders to thoughts of having the conveniences of life she has experienced while visiting the city, on the rare occasions she is able to get away. Things that city people take for granted.

How lovely it would be she thinks, to turn on the tap knowing there will be clean fresh water. Not having to carry green water from the dam to be boiled in the copper before skimming scum from the top so her children are able to bath in it.

To flick a switch and a light comes on, or turn a button and the stove is hot for cooking the three meals a day her large family expect.

She stares out of the window across the farm paddock to the hill where her children catch their bus to school.

Her mind jolts back to reality as she realises the time and knows her family will be wanting their meal for the night.

She takes herself from her dreaming place and wanders out to the paddocks once again to look for firewood. Firewood to heat the old stove and whilst at it she thinks she may as well put the old pot iron on the stove so as to have the kids clothes ironed and ready for the next days schooling.

The chooks have left a few eggs in the grass- outside. A bread and butter pudding to go with the jelly made days ago which should be set as the kero fridge has not gone out for a few days.

Standing in the heat of her kitchen she knows she has prepared a good meal for her family. For all her hard work, her day is almost done.
Now she must feed the brood that sit in wait at the long table more like a ping pong table. She will eat the left overs, after they have been served their meals.

Her family leave the long table. No words of thank you but she doesn’t mind. She has done what she set out to do for the day, satisfied that her brood are happy.

Tired and exhausted she now has tomorrow to look to. Another much the same as this was was.
Another day of being the carer for so many with the only rewards being the love only a family can give. Though she is never told, she knows they all feel as she does.

She glances around her family and she feels her heart fill with love and pride.

“Yes,” she tells herself, “It is worth every minute.

I LOVE AND MISS YOU MUM.