That Special Place

One of my favourite places is right here in my own backyard.

You see, I live on a small acreage property a mere 16km from a sizeable city. These green belts are few and far between these days. My husband and I live on two and a half acres of heaven amidst the hustle and bustle of city life, which we share with our three young adult children. The grounds are surrounded by large, towering native trees; paperbarks and eucalypts that possums, bird life and the occasional tree snake share with us. We enter our sanctuary through electrics gates, and it seems we can almost blot out the rest of the world, except for the constant whir of car and truck tyres along the bitumen road that snakes past out front.

To get to my backyard, I have to leave my house via the back door and whenever I step outside, I am always greeted by two ridiculously boisterous and happy Old English Sheepdogs. Since their arrival, I can't remember a time when they haven't been there to greet me. Every time the door opens, no matter what time of the day or night, they are ready to share the love, and participate in any game or activity I might have in mind, even if I don't necessarily have any of these things on my mind at the time.

Their names are Mitzi and Jelly Beanz and they certainly entertain our family with their quirky characters and amusing antics. Jelly Beanz has this habit of planting his head right between a spare pair of knees so that his shoulders sit squarely there. To match his sweet personality, it is his way really, of getting a quick 'cuddle' in before the unwilling (usually a guest) recipient pushes him aside. Our family are used to him; he's been doing this since he was a puppy, only now he is fully grown and is sometimes mistaken for being rude (usually by guests). But we know he is not. It's just his way. We're sure he finds it comforting and people-like. Well, why should the two-leggeds get all the cuddles?

To go for a walk down in my back yard, I must navigate and sometimes distract these two four-legged friends, who accompany me to the old, green-slatted garden gate that rests on rusty hinges and has developed its own character over the years. Some might describe it as having a weathered look, but I choose to describe it as having character. Tight feathery fungi grow sporadically on its surface. The gate's entry leads into the adjoining paddock that houses our daughter's two Lippizzaners. There are several ways to enter the back paddock, but I usually go through this gate. I bought the gate a number of years ago when, with the help of a friend, we constructed a dogs' yard. Our friend Steve is a perfectionist and he creatively paved a short pathway where we pass through. I've always liked the effect. Grass grows between the pavers and gives the contradictory sense of tamed unruliness. The yard no longer stands, but the gate remains as testimony that it once did.

The back paddock is divided evenly in two. Electric tape runs parallel to the small creek that cuts across the yard. The tape separates the two inmates and makes sure things remain calm and manageable. The dogs have a healthy respect for the horses and it is at the gate I leave them. They run along the house yard fence and watch closely as I continue on my way.

The front paddock is cropped short and covered in numerous bare patches of earth these days, due to the perpetual drought our area seems to be in, plus the fact that our block is not designed to support two giant horses. Darlings that they are, they give the pasture a good beating, with no time to recover. My dear husband constantly laments on the state of the paddocks, but to no avail. "If only we just had one horse," he whispers, shaking his head. But we all know deep in our hearts, things will not be different, at least for the time being.

A short distance off, Dutch, one of the lippis, shifts his weight, takes a break from picking and raises his head to glance in my direction. He nickers softly, anticipating a treat. I stroll across to him and he notices my hand slip deep into a pocket. He moves closer. From the back paddock, Obie bursts into a shrilly trumpet asking, "What about me?"

The odd fly hovers around the horse and Dutch swishes his tail from time to time to relieve the irritation. I pull out a chopped up piece of carrot and hold it flat on the palm of my hand. The soft, blunt whiskers on Dutch's lips tickle as he muzzles the carrot and slips it into his mouth. His lips never stop searching, even while he busily grinds the prize and squeezes out the juice.

I leave him to it and with a parting pat, continue on my way to the small dam. About nine years ago we planted a small weeping willow and now it stands tall, draping its long tendrils over the dam. It is an impressive tree and my favourite. During the autumn and winter months, its leaves disappear, but during spring and summer, new leaves reappear and showcase the tree in all its glory. It really is the jewel in the crown on our property. Recently I bought my SO two new saplings for his birthday; one being a jacaranda, the other, a bottle tree, and if things work out, we're hoping that these grow into fine specimens as well.

It is at the dam where I love to linger. Obie pops his head over the electric tape and accepts the treat I offer him. It is peaceful down here and a place I can listen to the birdlife and contemplate life, one of my favourite past times.