My Mum the Shearer

It seems that I’ve inherited my mother’s ability to find, be found by and adopt any lost sheep. In some cases, her ability is literal. We adopted a large, lost sheep. We were in Central Australia, the year I turned 9. We’d been travelling for 6 months around the country and now had taken up residence in a single carriage of a converted silver bullet train (something like this). My bed was over the hot water service in the ‘laundry’; Mum and Dad had a fold out bed in the lounge room so my brother and sister could share the double bed in the single bedroom that there was.

When cattle or sheep were rounded up, little ones would often be brought into the community, almost like a toy, and, as toys often are, they’d be discarded and forgotten. This had happened to Sheepy. He had been around the place for a while. He was no longer little and cute, but full grown, fat and fluffy. Well, he would have been had his overgrown wool not resembled a large and fibrous tumbleweed, complete with spinifex grass and felted matting. Sheepy had wandered into our yard one day and, as I mentioned, Mum is genetically predisposed to be unable to resist something or someone in need of assistance. Sheepy became her personal project. She blunted the few pairs of scissors we had, regardless of their original purpose, trying to create a coiff from a conglomerate. The community thought it was hilarious, but I could understand her concerns. Desert days are not cool and Sheepy was lumbered with inches of filthy thermal insulation. Each day, scissors of various sizes and Mum waged war against Sheepy’s many extra layers.

With time and perseverance, Mum won the war against the wool. Sheepy bore his new, attacked by vicious lawn mower, wool cut with lightness and freedom, if not pride. His accepting personality was overcome, layer by layer, with the more realistic taciturn nature of a scruffy, hot male specimen. So Sheepy left his temporary home and ran off to rejoin the community at large. And, not long after, and not shared with the shorter siblings, Sheepy made a guest appearance at a local barbecue. Such is life, I suppose.

Travel Snippet

I wrote this last September and have just found it on my iPad. Clearly, I did NOT write anymore posts on the holidays. I DID have a good time though. Thanks for sticking with me since I DID begin. If you’d like to receive an email each time I write a new post, please click theĀ FOLLOW button down the bottom. I look forward to your comments.

Eski Caterpillar.

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Welcome friends, relatives and happy wanderers to Eski Caterpillar! (more about that name later). Hello from 36,000ft. Today I’m winging my way to Manchester via Singapore and Dubai. Emirates has been a new experience in being waited on:
“Yes, madam will have a hot towel, thank you for asking. Would I like a carrot and ginger muffin? Oh, alright then! Omelette or frittata? Hmmm.”
4 weeks away with my mum, sister and cousin. 1% responsibility, 99% recreation!
With my amazing husband and the kids and animals at home, and my time to myself, this seemed like a good time to take the plunge and begin a blog.
Thanks to the prompting of my lovely friend Diana of The Butterfly House.

Eski Caterpillar

Part 3 – Creative Writing – A Journey

3) Write a setting based on the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen.

Tasmania. Dove Lake. Snow capped mountains rise, blurry in the distance, around a gorgeous blue green lake. The air exits my mouth in cloudy puffs, drifting slowly in the calm air. The rough cut planks of the walk way form one of few human scars amidst the clumps of prickly heather. Heather is one of those mysterious plants that look round and soft and even a little fluffy from a distance. Up close, I notice the rough stems and gaps in the semi spherical blobs on the rocky ground. Dove Lake lies a few kilometres hence, glassy in the quiet of the mid afternoon. It’s enticing waters are as alluring as a siren’s song, and just as dangerous. Despite the smooth beauty of the surface, this way lies a swift and glacial freeze.