We live in a lovely quiet street with a view across Toowoomba to the North. My room is now on the ground level so I don't see quite as much of the wonderful vista that I once saw from my bedroom upstairs. However my new room is on the north eastern corner of the house with a large picture window behind me and full length glass doors beside me. Positioned so that I can see out the doorway into the family room and kitchen, I also have a beautiful view of our front garden including a fragrant rose garden. With 58 rose bushes and 30 gerbera plants I can pretty much tell you which new bud has started to open each day. With all the recent rain there has been a mass of new buds and with each bloom a beautiful fragrance. As the fragrance permeates the air tantilizing my senses distant memories are triggered.
One very special memory is that of my beautiful Gran who wrote to me every week when I was at boarding school. I always knew the letter was from Gran before I saw the handwriting....the rose scent of the paper all her letters were written on, reached my senses and immediately I would be homesick for my family.
Other memories evoked as I look outside in the early hours of the morning remind me of wonderful family fishing trips! Strange you may think, however very true. A few mornings ago the sun had not risen above the horizon but it had cast the first light into the morning darkness. The wonderful morning scents and the still quietness reminded me of waking in the early morning in a camp down by the river. The only sounds breaking the silence were the fish jumping out of the water, the very faint rustle of leaves falling to the ground or the lizard hurriedly moving from grass tuft to tuft!
The birds still hadn't started their morning trill and I would lie on my swag daydreaming, not realizing these special moments would become future memories. Dad would quietly rise and head off up or downstream to run the hand lines as mum would get the campfire going, to ensure the old fuel drum filled with creek water would be hot enough for our morning wash.
Soon the birds were singing their morning melodies and the sticks on the campfire would crackle as the flames leapt to life after laying dormant in the coals overnight. Mum too would soon head off to run the lines while I remained at the camp reading and my brother and sister slept.
Oh that has just reminded me of an incident that happened on one of our fishing trips when my brother was allowed to take along his daisy air rifle that Uncle Jack bought him. This particular day mum and dad went off to run the lines, Brother John (as I affectionately call him) went off through the bush with his rifle and my sister and I remained playing at the campsite. Suddenly I felt an incredible sting on my cheek, I had no idea what had hit me until I heard my mother yelling at Brother John. Dad took the rifle out of his hands and told him he wouldn't be getting it back! Turns out he thought I was good target practice!. I still have the scar on my cheek, albeit very faint! Although I often laugh at that memory it does remind me of how dangerous our childhood activities may have been.
Back then our fishing trips would produce, yellow belly, jewfish and even cod. These days the fishing trips are less productive. As I look out into the clear blue skies my memory takes me back to the lead up to our wonderful fishing trips. The weekend before we would pile in the car loaded with dragnet; five gallon drums with holes in the bottom, rope tied to the handle and chunk of raw meat tied to the inside bottom; cotton lines and small pieces of raw meat. Dad would head out of town to a dam and here we would spend the afternoon catching crayfish to use as fishing bait. This was so much fun.
We would dangle our cotton lines in the muddy dam water hoping the crays would nibble on the raw meat so that we could draw them out of the water and scoop them up in our nets. Dad would toss the drums into the dam and after awhile draw them back in and as the water ran out the holes we excitedly counted dad's catch. Sometimes, dad would send Brother John into the dam with the net while he or mum walked the bank with the other end of the net. As the net came up out of the water onto the bank, we would rush in to collect the crays and toss them into the wet potato bag, as this was to be their home for the next week. The bag would have grass tossed into it and then be placed in the laundry tub where it would be kept wet until our trip the following weekend.
Another fun activity was helping mum and dad dig up the garden or chook pen in search of big fat garden worms. In recent times, as we made gardens in our Toowoomba homes, we would find heaps of big fat juicy garden worms and invariably someone would say..."oh Poppy Bill would love these worms for fishing!"
I have so much to be grateful for. I thank God for my wonderful childhood. The amazing memories, the love of wonderful parents and family and now a beautiful garden to wheel around or to look at from my bed and allow so many wonderful memories take me back to my childhood and the family I love so dearly.
What do you have to be thankful for? Do you have wonderful memories? Are you creating memories for your family?
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