There'd be a well about here, probably four or five more in this paddock, and an access road," Charlie speculated. His eyes scanned the waving wheat which stretched to the horizon. An orange-red flame billowed from a flare stack in the distance against the darkening clouds. His boots squelched in the black soil.
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"Don't need any more rain," Lisa observed, "If it holds, we'll be back in the black, might even get that holiday." She searched overhead for the sun, but it was smothered by cloud. "I reckon that's lunch." Charlie nodded, they turned and headed for the quad bikes.
THE Kangaroo grass whipped their legs as they rode past the faded Willow Downs sign, up the tree-lined drive and to the sandstone homestead.
Incredible, Charlie mused; he'd only mowed it last week. The pasture was so tall that he'd lost sight of the calves in the paddocks. The homestead sat grandly atop the hill overlooking the plain, where it had seen off a seemingly endless cycle of drought, fire, more drought, then flood, with mice and locust plagues thrown in. The steely 18th-century eyes of Charles Willow's portrait watched them enter from above the mantlepiece. "I'll put the kettle on."
"Righto," replied Lisa. She checked the answering machine. Hi Mum, it's Jess. Sorry we can't make it up for Saturday, a big case came up. I'll call back. Love you. Hi Mum, Dad. It's Nick. I'll call by tonight for dinner. I'm hoping to get your decision on the proposal to take back to the office. See you then. Love you.
Charlie frowned at the last message. "Thought we had another week?"
"Would it make a difference?"
"Probably not."
Lisa went to the kitchen where she made ham and salad sandwiches. Charlie slumped onto a chair at the big oak table in the dining room. She returned to see him staring at the family photo wall. A black and white of Charlie's great grandparents arriving at the homestead by horse and cart, Charlie and Lisa's wedding in the front garden, Charlie's first prize at the Royal Easter Show, Lisa's election as president of the Chamber of Commerce, Nick's university graduation, Jess's Environmental Law Prize. There was also a space for future grandkids.
"They've done so well," Lisa's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Yeh, but why does Nick have to work for a bloody gas company?
"What else is he going to do here? Take over the farm? You said yourself it was too much work for too little pay. The drought nearly killed you."
"We paid good money for his education. Never thought it'd bring the end of Willow Downs."
"It's not the end. The access fees will pay a manager, with some leftover. We could retire. Nick's future is in the town."
"And if they hit the water, we can kiss goodbye to it all." "They won't."
"No one knows that."
"Nick's done the calculations - he can sort it."
"Hmmm. Yeah, well that fence won't sort itself."
CHARLIE felt a sense of freedom as the wind whistled across his stubble-filled face. He accelerated through the kangaroo grass with fencing wire, tensioners and pliers clanging along in the box on the back of the quad. He wondered why it sounded louder than usual, till he realised he'd left his helmet back in the shed. Normally Lisa wouldn't let him forget, but she'd gone to town to meet a prospective member of the Chamber. Charlie was near the south paddock now and decided it wasn't worth going back if he wanted the fence fixed by dinner. He'd also meant to remind Lisa to pick up a case of beer while she was in town. Town was 20 minutes away. Lisa had a list and remembered Charlie's beer. She loved the drive through the wheat and cotton, the fluffy white trail along the fence lines, the bales lined up in the paddocks like giant dunny rolls. She recalled the first time she saw a cotton farm from a distance in winter and thought it was snow.
Lisa met with the owner of a new web design business who was excited about the town's future, agreeing to join the Chamber. It meant one less empty shop in the main street. She'd wanted to call in at Nick's office, but the meeting and shopping took longer than expected, so she sent a text instead. When Lisa drove past his office, a crowd had gathered. They were shouting and carrying No Gas placards. She recognised some of the parents from school and pony club. She glanced at the time and remembered the roast in the oven.
Charlie finished the connections and wound up the tensioners, looking down the fence line with satisfaction as the wire straightened. There was a loud ping as the wire snapped. He watched it collapse and curl back through the posts. Damn! He considered starting again, but Lisa was serious about meal punctuality. He loaded the gear on the quad and headed back towards the homestead, the cool evening air blowing back his greying hair. At the top of the rise he saw the flair stack again in the distance. The wind had calmed, and the flame shimmered like a yellow candle. A wisp of black smoke rose into the sky. He took a short cut across the paddock, grabbed the signs the neighbour gave him weeks ago and headed down the driveway.
LISA turned off the highway into their road and noticed a Farms Not Gas sign nailed to a post. There was another one on their gate. The grass brushed the bottom of the Toyota as she pulled up outside the homestead. She walked around the veranda and found Charlie, sitting on the step out the back, holding some broken wire as he watched the sunset.
"Nick will be here soon."
"I know," he turned his head and noticed her gaze on the wire. "I've still got that fence to fix."
***
John Gallop, the author of this piece, is a finalist in the 2022 Newcastle Herald Short Story Competition. Read the full list of finalists in this year's Herald Short Story Competition by visiting the Newcastle Herald website.
