The Farmer's Wife

by Rachael Treasure

  Rebecca felt the rare experience of praise wash through her and for the moment she was overjoyed she was here on this hillside in the mountains with this exceptional man.

  When they arrived back at the homestead, it was almost lunchtime. Rebecca was expecting the machinery valuer soon to catalogue and photograph the machines for the sale, but she asked if Andrew wanted to quickly look at an old plough frame and air seeder. She left Archie in the sandpit in the garden with Funny, both of them digging happily, and walked with Andrew over the short distance to the machinery shed. On their way, Andrew whistled and raised his eyebrows at the assortment of farm equipment.

  ‘Your husband sure loves expensive toys!’

  ‘Ex-husband,’ Rebecca corrected, then sighed. ‘Never thought I’d say that. I guess we both had such different views of how it all should be.’

  ‘No point living with regrets,’ Andrew said.

  She led him around the side of the shed and indicated the metal plough that had grass growing up through it from where it sat on two old railway sleepers.

  ‘I’m not sure, but it could be converted into a pasture-cropping seed drill, couldn’t it?’ Rebecca asked. ‘If it could, then I would really make a start on the place. Get some oats in to help the perennial plants start to function.’

  Andrew laid a palm on top of the machine and looked it over. ‘It sure could be converted! It’s perfect. Then you won’t need any of Charlie’s big machines,’ he said. ‘You’ll simply need a tractor and this direct drill seeder, slightly modified of course. The rest you can sell.’

  The prospect excited her. Charlie and his complex machines had isolated her from the day-to-day practice of farming. The newer machines were so computerised she found she never had the time to learn how to operate them and she was hopeless on breakdowns. She’d found herself resenting the constant ordering of expensive electronic parts in the office. Rather than learning to drive the technical machines, it had been easier to leave it all up to Charlie. But now, simplifying the management to just a tractor and a basic drill would mean she could do it all herself again.

  Andrew stooped to inspect how he might attach the metal coulters and space out the tines on the frame. Then he stood, brushing off his hands on his jeans.

  ‘That old Connor Shea you have round there next to the baler?’ he began. ‘You could use the seed box off that and mount it onto this frame and link up the existing seeder tubes. Voila! Instant direct drill.’

  ‘That easy?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘No bank loan for new machinery?’

  Andrew shook his head. ‘It’s perfect. There should be enough parts floating about. I can weld her up in a matter of days. May need to change a few of my flights and move a couple of things, but I’d be happy to get you started. Then you’ll be up and running. You can trial some autumn sowing by drilling oats into your pastures nearby the house.’

  As she listened to his words, Rebecca breathed in deeply, realising that a whole new future could come into play for Waters Meeting right from this very moment. It was much better than pairing socks! ‘That’s so exciting! Thank you so much.’

  ‘It really is my pleasure,’ he said, then looked at her and smiled for a time.

  She could tell he was thinking and was about to say something. But the moment was shattered as Archie launched himself at the back of Andrew’s legs like a monkey, Funny following suit.

  ‘Oi!’ Andrew said, his grin broadening, his arms reaching behind him to hold the small boy. ‘How’d you sneak up on us?’

  As Rebecca watched Andrew swing Archie onto his back, she again thanked what Evie referred to as the universe for sending her Andrew. With a bit more positivity, it seemed everything was falling into place.

  Thirty-six

  ‘What’s that?’ Andrew asked as they walked from the machinery shed back to the house. Bec saw he was pointing to the jutting steel of the buried plough that rose from the earth like a partially sunken ship.

  She grinned. ‘It’s Charlie’s silage pit.’

  ‘Doesn’t look much like a silage pit.’

  Bec scrunched up her freckled nose. ‘Um. Actually it’s also his new beaut several-hundred-thousand-dollar plough. I buried the bastard.’

  Andrew’s eyes opened widely and when he saw on her face that she was telling the truth, he threw back his head and laughed loudly, then high-fived her.

  ‘Go, girl! But you didn’t think to take off the discs first to use as end assemblies for your fences? That’s what I did to my plough so I was never tempted to use it again.’

  ‘I wasn’t in the frame of mind to think of that,’ Bec said. ‘So you don’t think I was an idiot doing that? I could’ve got good money for it.’

  ‘Not for a second do I think you are an idiot. I would like to bury every plough in Australia. I’m proud of you. If you had sold it, it would’ve been used to tear up the soil elsewhere. Mind you, you may have trouble explaining Charlie’s plough to his solicitor.’ Andrew set his square hands on his hips and shook his head.

  ‘He’s not going to get it, is he?’

  ‘The farm?’ asked Andrew. ‘Your family farm? He wouldn’t be that cruel.’

  She looked up at him hopefully, then shook the worrying thoughts from her mind. ‘I’m hungry. You must be too. Let’s grab some lettuce out of the garden for lunch,’ she said.

  Rebecca pushed open the old wooden gate to the vegetable patch that bordered one side of the homestead and entered her Eden, Archie and Funny following at their heels. She instantly felt a sense of peace as she stepped along the white gravel pathway that ran between raised beds formed from thick slabs of lovely old bridge timber.

  On hard days, when her babies had been really little, her vegetable garden was her one place of mental stillness and contentment. She relished the chance to get to it and would park both boys in the shade in their double pram, Ben as a toddler and Archie a baby, lethargic from the rhythmic swaying of the leafy trees and the heat. She would sink her fingers into the manure-rich soil, delighting in the feel of the cool moist haven of worms and other unseen creatures. Her old Kelpie dogs nearby, sleeping on their sides in the sunshine.

  As she mulched and watered, weeded and pruned, then harvested crisp fresh vegies for the kitchen or to give away to neighbours, Bec would sometimes glance out over the fenceline to the barren, dry paddocks of Waters Meeting beyond and wonder why they couldn’t manage it so the farm looked and felt the same way as her garden.

  Innately she knew the answer, but she was too hesitant to form the thoughts into one ugly conclusion. Her gaze would slide to the chemical drums that were stacked up behind the machinery shed, and to the hard metallic discs of the plough. Then she’d look back to her sleeping boys, a picture of chubby baby health bundled up in the pram, their pure skin as yet unblemished by life.

  There she stood, a farmer’s wife and mother, in her oasis in the middle of the desert that was her family farm. It was at that moment, when she saw her garden alive and thriving and her farm struggling and dying, that she knew, for the sake of her children, she had to inspire change in the men. But it was also in that moment that her marriage began to fail. And once Andrew had arrived into her life and given her the answers, everything had shifted.

  Andrew’s voice woke her up from her reminiscing. ‘I found some interesting research the other day,’ he said. ‘When I get the chance, I’ll put it on some slides for my next presentation.’

  As Rebecca pulled carrots from the rich soil, she listened to Andrew with interest.

  ‘There were some American scientists who studied mineral depletion in vegetables between 1940 and 1991. I couldn’t find any results post ‘91. I have a feeling the US government might have suppressed the findings because the depletion would be far worse these days. You know, levels would be scarily low. Anyway,’ he continued, ‘the studies showed a reduction of vitamins and nutrients as high as seventy-six per cent in some vegetables. And in Australia, some of our meat only
has half as much iron as it did in the seventies. All due to lack of nutrients in the soil.’

  ‘Not this soil,’ Bec said, grabbing a handful and drifting it through her spread fingers. She could tell it was teeming with vibrant living health.

  ‘This soil is unfortunately the exception. Did you know in Australia today it’s possible to buy an orange that has zero vitamin C in it?’

  ‘Doesn’t surprise me,’ she said, flicking a slug from the lettuce into the chook scrap bucket. ‘You know, Charlie used to scour the papers and talk about commodity reports, inputs and returns. I think he’d forgotten agriculture is about food.’

  ‘But when you’re a mum, you don’t forget. The women haven’t forgotten,’ Andrew said. ‘Look. We blokes ought to judge our farms not by how profitable they are, but how they look. And how they feel. But you know, sometimes men aren’t too good at letting themselves feel.’ Andrew turned his gaze on her. ‘I can talk all you like about soils, but when it comes to talking about how I feel, I’m hopeless,’ he said, ‘especially when I need to ask people for help.’

  Just then a car horn sounded. It would be Tonka Jones come to see the machinery.

  ‘He’s early,’ Bec said, turning away from Andrew. ‘Lunch will have to wait, sorry. Come on.’ She gathered up lettuce plants and carrots in her soil-stained hands.

  ‘Afterwards, when your machinery man is done,’ Andrew said as he opened the gate for her, ‘we can go out in the paddock with your heifers and I’ll show you how to poo score.’

  Rebecca’s eyes brightened. She had missed the field day that the RLM had dryly titled ‘Manure assessment as a measure for stock health’.

  ‘Poo scoring!’ she said. ‘Now there’s an invitation a girl doesn’t often get. Yes, please!’ As she walked ahead of him, she laughed up at the sky. ‘I am the luckiest woman in the world!’ She smiled.

  Rebecca’s mouth fell open when Tonka Jones gave her a rough total value of the machinery inventory.

  ‘Of course it’s a conservative calculation,’ Tonka said, leaning on the bonnet of the ute with the clipboard and paper spread out before them, a booger crusted with dust hanging from his nostril hair, unbeknownst to him.

  ‘Conservative? It’s amazing,’ said Bec, swiping at her own nose, hoping Tonka would take the hint.

  ‘Bet you didn’t know the old man had that much tangled up in diesel and big wheels.’

  The total on the page leaped out at her. Over a million dollars’ worth.

  ‘Bet you’ve never felt like a millionaire,’ Tonka said as he began to flick back over the digital photos he would soon upload on the internet.

  ‘I’ll be phoning Cory at the bank straight away,’ Bec said excitedly. ‘Recently I have been feeling very rich. But I’m not talking money. I’m talking soil.’ She smiled at Andrew and put her palm on her pregnant belly, thinking of Sol and the blessings of her children and friends around her and the future of Waters Meeting.

  When they had farewelled Tonka, who had accused Bec of having hay fever due to her constant nose rubbing, Andrew and she made their way back into the kitchen.

  ‘How about that poo-scoring lesson?’ she asked Andrew a little while later after lunch. ‘I’ve got half an hour before I have to leave for Ben’s bus.’

  Andrew rubbed his hands together. ‘Yes. Let’s go!’

  Rebecca, Archie and Andrew made their way down to the lucerne flats. She hadn’t been in the riverside paddocks since Archie’s accident there. She felt a shiver of awful memory run through her and wondered if she should recount the events to Andrew. She opted not to. It was part of the past now, and her little boy who seemed happy trundling along with Funny didn’t need reminding.

  ‘Pretty pugged,’ Andrew said, looking at the deep divots the cattle hooves had made.

  ‘Tell me about it. Charlie would put the cattle on here in the winter. It drove me nuts. Plus we used to irrigate this paddock a lot, but then the government took our water licence away. Downstream, an entire state away, people were kicking up a fuss.’

  ‘Probably a good thing, really,’ Andrew said. ‘Putting on more water the way we do is fool’s gold. Look at how capped your soil is.’ He expertly unhitched his pocket-knife from his leather belt and with the silver blade flipped the crusted soil over. ‘The moss in between the lucerne plants shows me you are on ground zero. It’s really degraded. At least the moss is soil cover, but you can feel the lifelessness under your feet. It’s like concrete.’

  ‘I know,’ said Rebecca sadly, realising that what she had thought was so wonderful about irrigation ten years ago was now failing the land. ‘And I don’t like the look of those thistles.’ She nodded towards a swathe of high scotch and variegated thistles.

  ‘Well, my advice to you is start to like the look of them,’ Andrew said. ‘Let them seed. Better to have them than just moss and bare soil. Plants build soil health, not the other way round. You just need to focus on the plant species you do want and manage for them. Not manage against the species you don’t want. If you get rid of those thistles, there’s a million more seeds in the ground to bring more. At least their long tap roots are doing some good. Over time the thistles can’t come if you generate the competition by managing annual and perennial plants together — not separately, which is how we’ve always farmed in this country.’

  ‘You make it sound so simple.’

  ‘It is. As long as your animals and your soil microbes are getting plenty of Vitamin F for food with a diverse range of plant species. “Weeds” have root systems that are as deep as the plants are tall. Your farm should look as messy as a roadside. Like it’s been abandoned.’

  ‘Is that how your farm looks?’

  ‘It does. The neighbours think I’m nuts, but I have a full metre of topsoil, I have drought-resilient native pastures and healthy animals and any rain that does fall is held on the place due to the ground cover. But it does take a paradigm shift in thinking. Now shall we go score some poo?’

  ‘Let’s.’

  They fell into silence as they trudged over the paddock to the gate into the heifer paddock. Here Bec had boxed the young sheep in with the cattle, giving them the best of the flats while the conditions remained dry.

  ‘They look OK,’ he said, eyeing the stock and walking to a fresh pat of dung. ‘I’d score that about a five. Not bad. If it’s not mounding like that, it means the animals don’t have enough dry matter.’

  He scouted about for more dung while Archie inspected a pat with a stick and Funny began to roll in some.

  ‘Your poo is all pretty spot on. The pup likes it anyway!’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Bec, delivering a cheeky grin. ‘It’s great for a girl to hear that!’

  Andrew laughed a little.

  ‘It’s a juggle, but I have enough feed ahead of them to maintain them. Just.’

  ‘You’ll be fine. And the baby? When is he or she due?’

  Rebecca baulked a little at Andrew’s question. The reality that she had Charlie’s baby on the way sometimes still surprised her. She was busy enough now. What would her already packed life look like after a newborn was added to the mix?

  ‘Another few months to go.’

  ‘That’s great.’

  ‘It’s scary. Being on my own and all.’

  Andrew put an arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick squeeze. ‘Everything will turn out.’

  She thought Andrew would drop his arm away, but he didn’t, and they stood like that looking at the heifers, young ewes and wethers that grazed calmly before them.

  ‘My wife and I couldn’t have kids,’ he said, looking off to the distance. ‘It’s why she left me. She was angry about it. It would’ve been nice. To have some of our own. But now I get to enjoy other people’s kids. Like yours.’

  ‘No kids may be a meant-to-be kind of thing for you. Your work around the world is very important. Kids would limit you.’

  ‘No, they wouldn’t, and you know it. They grow you.’ He turned to face he
r. His sadness was tangible. ‘I’ve been wanting to ask you this for a long time, Rebecca. Since even before Charlie left. I really need your help. You’re perfect for what I plan to do. I’m going to the States next year. Montana. I’ve teamed up with a big-wig movie producer, who has a ranch. He’s passionate about the soils work. His name is Bernard Truman. He wants to facilitate a world information tour.’ His voice began to quicken to one of urgency and almost pleading. ‘He and I could really use someone like you on the team. You know the material back to front and you’re just as passionate. You could bring the boys and the baby. Help me out while I’m away on the speaking tour in the headquarters. Bernard has a massive ranch. It’s a beautiful part of the world. You’d love it!’

  ‘Hah! Yeah, right.’ Bec laughed, but her laughter faded when she saw the intensity of Andrew’s look.

  ‘I mean it. I’d love to have you and the little ones along.’

  He looked so tall and so utterly rock solid standing before her. Then Rebecca realised with a flash it was here on this very same river flat she had kissed Charlie when he had first come home to Waters Meeting. They had made love in the leafy green of the lucerne crop not far from here. Now over a decade on, here she was with another man. There were no Cinderella notions running around her head now. Life had taken her on a very long journey and to a place where she realised her journey was her own to make. She didn’t need to be attached to a man to live her dreams. But where were her dreams? Here on Waters Meeting? Or beyond in a bigger life contributing to such meaningful work as Andrew’s? Or could her dreams lie with Sol?

  She looked away from Andrew. Off in the distance on the edge of the paddock, the Rebecca River was sleeping quietly. Unlike her river namesake, Rebecca felt a torrent within her, as if she was in flood right now. There were so many possibilities. But this place was her everything. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, leave it. Ever. ‘I can’t.’