Recall

 Can you recall?

Can you recall being woken in the pre-dawn, then dressing in the dark?

Making your way through the sleeping house, to breakfast in the kitchen. Subdued conversation by the slow combustion stove. Steaming cups of tea? Do you recall?

Remember pulling on our boots outside the kitchen door? Walking up the slope to the shed, the dawn of an early summer's day breaking the sky to our right. The dogs chained to the kennels, straining to be let off. But not today, we have different work today.

Do you remember?

Do you remember the sound of our boots on the shearing board, as we walked past the stands on our left? Silent now. The catching pen doors to our right, worn smooth and dark-stained from years of greasy wool. The silence of the shed looming dark behind them. Do you remember?

Does it come back to you?

Does the smell of leather and horses come back to you, as we lifted bridles from their hooks and opened to door to the horse yard? The horses, brought in the night before, walking over, expectant and needy. A few handfuls of chaff in a 12 gallon drum, cut lengthways for a feed trough. a quick curry comb over them both, then bridles fitted, with cheek-straps left undone. A quick hoof check, then blanket and saddles are on. The chaff is gone, so cheek-straps are done, girths are tightened, and we mount. Now we feel the day has begun.

Remember?

Remember walking out the yard gate, around the corner of the yards and up over the ironstone patch, gently clicking and talking to the horses, their ears flicking, and pulling gently at the bit? Up to the Ram Paddock gate, opened and closed as we go through. 

Is it there?

Is it there, in your memory? The easy way we broke into a hand canter, almost spontaneously, as we headed North. The horses keen to go, and us, so young and loving life, revelling in this freedom and this responsibility. Of course, we were really burning the edge of the horses' energy, in preparation for the work ahead. Or so we would say if questioned. But it was lovely to ride like that in the early morning.

Can you see it?

Can you see the fences of the top paddocks as we rode up, the horses blowing gently, and the day beginning to warm around us? Into the East paddock. and then we split, you to ride North and then around to the East, me to go East, then off to the North. Can you see us doing that? 

Is it still in your Memory?

Does your memory still show you us pushing along the paddock edges, well in, but within sight of the fence? Far enough away to push the stock into the centre, but close enough to catch the stragglers on the fence. Watching as we rode, seeking out the clumps of Brigalow, where some old ewe may have "planted" a lamb or two, or behind a patch of lime bush, where a matriarch might stand defiant and stamp her hoof, until the wise old horse would gently call her bluff and send her scurrying off. I know your memory holds it close.

Does it come back to you?

Does the gathering of the mob come back to you? As we gently pushed them down toward the gate, the morning tending towards noon. Ewes calling for lambs, stopping and looking back. Lambs bleating, running back and forth from one sniffing ewe to another. Slowly now, no more than a walk. we have miles to go.

Remember?

Remember walking the horses slowly, sparing the ewes and lambs? Chatting, and telling of moments when some old girl would refuse to leave her lamb, until you picked it up and put it across your saddle. Then she seemed quite happy to go running off ahead, so you could put him down again and let him run to catch her. Or the sadness of seeing a young carcasse, and a mother standing near, reluctant to let her baby go. And the horses, heads down, reins loose, ambling along...content...

Can you picture?

Can you picture the gates in the corner? The mob beginning to compress. One of us rides ahead to open the gate, while the other stands ready to start the push. One of us behind, ready to initiate the push, the other through the gate, preparing to stem the rush. Not too fast, not too slow. Keep the mob together. The dust cloud gathers in the gateway as the they stream through. Now a moments milling to break the forward momentum. let the ewes find their lambs, then off we go again.

Can you recall?

Can you recall the final stage, with dusty sheep, and the heat of the day almost here? Moving the mob with care, but trying to beat the worst of the heat, so ewes and lambs don't stress. You've got at least a couple of lambs across the saddle-bow now, as the younger ones tire and need a gentle hand. The back of the mob is almost all lambs now, they are slowing, but we're almost there. I ride ahead and open the gate from the ram paddock onto the ironstone patch, then shepherd the mob around the corner and into the top yard of the stockyards. The mob streams slowly through the gate and is easily turned into its' destination. 

Bringing the lambs in for marking.

We swing down and lead our horses down for a drink...