TheBanyanTree: Reflections

[Kitty]

What started out to be the description of a physically difficult task became 
one of an emotional, loving memorial to a long-time friend.  Thank you for 
sharing your good-bye to Tourmaline with us.

Kitty


----- Original Message ----- 
From: "Roger Pye" <pyewood at pcug.org.au>
To: "The Banyan Tree" <thebanyantree at remsset.com>
Sent: Friday, December 17, 2010 7:20 AM
Subject: TheBanyanTree: Reflections


> The long handled posthole shovel in my hands sank a full bladelength into 
> the hill of dirt next to the long shed at 'Innisfree', our 15 acre 
> property in eastern New South Wales, 120 kms from where we live in the 
> Australian Capital Territory. It was cold at the farm for a dense mist had 
> come floating in from the seaboard over the escarpment early in the 
> afternoon bringing a chill which had stayed as the fog dissipated. The 
> coolness was one reason why I was scooping dirt from the hill and tossing 
> it a metre or so to my right, away from the shed, building yet another 
> mound. The original hill had come from the cut-and-fill operation three 
> years ago which had levelled the site for the shed; the new one was to 
> have a different purpose to just lying idle with weeds growing on it.
>
> As I lifted another shovel full I heard the roar of an engine starting up 
> and glanced in the direction of the noise in time to see a large truck 
> nose out the gate of Claire and Andrew's property next door. On the back 
> of the truck was a Kanga machine designed for digging and backfilling 
> trenches. Its owner/driver, also called Andrew, had been laying phone and 
> power cables then backfilling the trenches for most of the day. I knew all 
> this not through psychic means but because I had wandered over to our 
> neighbours two hours before to have a chat with Andrew the trench digger.
>
> There was a solid 'CLUNK' as the spade hit a buried rock and almost jarred 
> itself out of my hands. Dropping it to one side I picked up the mattock I 
> had been using to break through the hard crust of the hill, swung it up 
> then down and flicked the offending stone out of the way. As I changed 
> tools the engine noise sank to a low hum then stopped; raising my head I 
> saw the truck was facing up the road towards our own gate. Keeping the 
> shovel in one hand I collected the mattock with the other and walked down 
> off the hill, around the back of the shed and into it through an open 
> roller door to stand both up against an inner wall.
>
> The engine roared into life once more. I went out of the shed and for a 
> moment watched it trundle slowly up the road; the three alpacas near the 
> dam grazing which we had been given by friends in October last year all 
> raised their heads as the truck went past. As I went to open the gate for 
> Andrew I reflected on the similarity of the event about to happen to the 
> one three years ago when one of our helpers had commented that having the 
> vegetation scraped off the site for the shed would be a big help. On that 
> occasion there had been a large digger working on the land immediately to 
> the west of us. I had chatted to the operator, asking whether he would 
> clear the grass etc for us. He had driven down in his ute, glanced at the 
> site and shaken his head. "No, mate, scraping's no good, no good at all," 
> he said. "What you need is a level site. Hold on, I'll get my 
> laser-level!" Ninety minutes later I handed him a hundred dollars; we all 
> waved as he grinned and drove out of the gate in his ute, the digger 
> following behind. Between us and him was the newly dug site, clean and 
> level.
>
> I held the gate wide open as Andrew manouvered the big Dodge 500 truck 
> around on the narrow road so he could get through the gateway. "1974," he 
> answered when I asked him later on how old it was. He parked the truck on 
> the track a little way from the shed, got out and walked over to the new 
> mound in front of where I had been digging. "You did that this arvo?" I 
> nodded. "Not bad!"  "Not hard," I answered quietly. "I'd get cold, dig and 
> toss until I was warm then go and do something else until I got cold again 
> and do some more. It's done me good to have something to do."
>
> He stared at me, at the mound, at me again. "Fifty dollars," he said. I 
> said I didn't know if I had that much on me. He said nothing as I pulled 
> my wallet out of my back pocket, opened it, saw the note inside then 
> remembered getting it from the ATM in Canberra that morning. "Here, I'd 
> forgotten I had it," I said, givng it to him. "Hardly surprising," he 
> answered. "How would you like it, half a metre out, built high and flat 
> topped?"  "Yes, that'll do fine, half a metre out from there and there (I 
> pointed) and about a metre or so high."
>
> I stood back and watched as he expertly turned the machine this way and 
> that, rolling it on its tracks to what was left of the original hill, 
> picking it up and reconstructing it as I wanted on the low mound I had 
> built over the body of our oldest alpaca during the almost three hours 
> since the vet had put her to sleep at my request. As the mound built up I 
> thought that his and my meeting this day could only have been an occasion 
> of serendipity - he had not been next door the day before when the alpaca 
> had been found in the gully, savaged by dogs, wild or otherwise, nor would 
> he be there tomorrow. While I was only there because of the need to be so, 
> to talk to the vet and make the decision.
>
> I left Innisfree at 6.45pm, three-quarters of an hour later I caught up 
> with the old Dodge toiling up a hill and waved to Andrew as I went by, 
> knowing that I would reach home about the same time as he reached his, 30 
> kms away in another direction. A long hard day for all three of us, I 
> reflected.
>
> ******************
>
> Vale Tourmaline, 1988-2010
>
> Tourmaline, you were the undisputed leader of our tiny herd. You led the 
> way in all things. At your lead they grazed and wandered the whole of our 
> fifteeen acres freely and undisturbed. You were instrumental in their 
> acceptance of our Yorkshire Terrier, Miss Ruby, as (I am sure) just a 
> strange small sort of cria; if you did not welcome or come in search of 
> Ruby, she went looking for you to touch noses.
>
> Tourmaline, Robin and I salute you. The nobility and proudness with which 
> you embraced life and everything you did at Innisfree were so very evident 
> as you patiently waited for the inevitable to occur yesterday and then 
> accepted it with such quiet dignity. Travel with our love and admiration 
> on your Journey to your next adventure and, one day, come back to us in a 
> different form. Be sure you will be welcomed, always.
>
>
> RnR
>