ink marks on a blank page Sun Nov 23rd

I am by nature, and perhaps now that I no longer work in the real world a somewhat solitary person.Not to say by the word solitary that I do not like my fellow humans, I do, but years of working odd hours and being at the beck and call of the telephone cut many of my acquaintances loose so to speak. Folk seem not to want to bother with a person if one is not around or sleeping when they wish to be sociable. Then of course was the period in my early 40's when we lived on a farm and that cut us adrift even more so. Farms being of a necessity to be well away from so called 'normal' civilisation. Then during that time I went back to University to do a degree, in the process of that I mixed with humans who were very much younger than I was so tended not to make friends as one could hardly bring someone home who was only afew years older than my son.

Australian rural society is much like rural human gatherings all over the world, the folk who have been born and brought up in that community have an initial distrust of the interlopers and tend to not accept them until they have 'proved ' themselves worthy and then remain in that community for a good settling in period. In the town that I dragged my family to, the normal settling in period before the family finished being called 'blow-ins' was about twenty five years.

Our case was somewhat different as my wife is in the medical field so was quickly snapped up by the local hospital, when I say local, it was in another town about 25kms away which in Australia is really on the doorstep so she became a native almost immediately. For me, being accepted took a little longer as I still had this weird job that no one local could understand and of course I was studying at Uni. At this time in OZ farming types had a great distrust of 'them what went to Universities' after all what couldn't you learn about life by sticking your arm up a cows back passage.The eldest (son) joined the local football/cricket team so he seemed destined to become a local even quicker than his mother and the youngest(girl) was ensconced in the local primary school so she also was a part of the local community. What to do about father, me , robbi. About two to three years after arriving several curious and I believe completely Australian character traits rescued me from oblivion as a person in my own right and not the husband of and or the father of.

Firstly, the local 'pillars of ' owned a very large farm and dairy, then used to deliver their milk in bulk to the surrounding farms. Because I was home during the day a lot I became quite friendly with this terrific fellow who used to be our 'milko'. Now this is where it gets into the OZ country character.As you well know I can talk the leg off a chair but owing to the fact that when he was in my kitchen yarning and drinking coffee I had either been at work half the night or had just got out of bed so was very tired and thus spoke in very short but succinct sentences. We soon became firm buddies and I looked forward to the delivery of milk as much as he looked to the coffee and yarn at my place. One of the character traits in country and rural Australia is that the archetypal OZ male is supposed to be tall,rake thin and laconic to the point of being monosyllabic. I am neither tall or rake thin but because of lack of sleep etc I was a trifle laconic and spoke little but by the standards of the conversation, with great pith. Naturally as he was a milkman he went into many kitchens around the district so spread the word that robbi was 'okay', ergo it wasn't long (about 2years) before I got a little nod with the index finger crooked to the forehead as I went about my business in the town. Three years down the track and the local post office couple started calling me rob and handing me the letters personally so I knew that I was on the way to becoming a local.

The second and most major thing that catapulted me into being part of the local scene came about purely by chance and no it wasn't the time I almost burnt down my hay shed and the local volunteer firemen had to rescue me. My son had arranged to go fox hunting, the skins were valuable and they are regarded here as vermin, but on the night in question when his friend drove in to pick him up he was ill with the flu. This lad was about 18 and tall ,rake thin,laconic etc etc but for some reason turned to me and asked" You ever shot foxes Mr S?" "why don't you go with me" I thought it might be perhaps a test of the family honour so said I would but could I take my own rifle.Their farm was about thirty minutes away through very forested hilly dirt roads and this kid drove like an absolute madman so through the whole journey I just kept my mouth firmly shut in a very silent scream. We drove around the paddocks for what seemed hours and not one fox did we see when he tuned and said, "we should go back I don't think there is any about tonight"By this time I had regained my composure and voice so I agreed but said I would just shine the spotlight over to the left along that bare hill.Fantastic, a very large very healthy fox but really so far up the hill when he turned and sat all we could see were the two coals of its eyes.

"Oh hell" the kid said," he's miles away and normally what we do is shoot so the bullet just goes in between the ears so it doesn't mark the pelt,get more for it that way".me under my breath, Oh YEAH ?"Right between the ears you say" was my reply. Lined up the shot and squeezed the trigger,boom, and foxie loxie went down.

Yes Hortense you are right, the kid ran up the hill and ten minutes later came back with said beast dead as, right between the ears. He never said diddley except a laconic ,"well we best be getting you home, it's late and I think he's the only one out tonight". On the way back Horty he drove ever so slow and careful but not one word about foxy or really anything at all.
Two days later Hortense I went into the town for letters and everyone in the district seemed to be there, the couple in the post office even put a rubber band around my letters, an unheard of courtesy for a newcomer and the garage man actually came out to wipe my windscreen. My boy came home from school and spoke to me for more than two seconds and my little girl caught us all by surprise at dinner with"daddy did well at fox hunting , didn't he"
What is my point Hortense? well I guess Americans are a lot like Australians old girl and that is just how it is going to be for that nice man come the 20th of , best he savour the moment as I did .
Yes I know, it is Sunday the day is blue skies , gelato is there for the eating