A Story of Seven Summers by Hilary Burden

Author:Hilary Burden
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
ISBN: 9781743430699
Publisher: Allen & Unwin
Published: 2012-08-20T04:00:00+00:00

Overnight, a southerly had been gusting up to a hundred kilometres an hour, so relentless that it brought down a tall black wattle at the end of my driveway, blocking one lane on Pipers River Road. I heard it fall, cracking like a volley of bullets on the nightly news. I pulled on a waterproof jacket and braved the horizontal rain to survey the damage. By the time I’d reached the fallen tree, a car stopped and a woman got out. Without speaking to each other—the wind was too loud—we began clearing what we could of the tree debris blocking the road. Before long we’d done enough for her to get on her way.

‘I’ll call the council,’ I shouted against the wind. ‘At least the road is clear now. Thanks for the hand.’

I fetched the small pruning handsaw Audrey had given me when I told her I was going to buy a chainsaw, and was clearing the smaller branches when a truck pulled up in front of me. ‘Have you got a chainsaw?’ the driver asked.

‘No, but the council is on the way,’ I explained.

Above the wind that continued to howl, the driver said his name was Hilton and that he used to live in Karoola. He knew the family who once lived in my house, and had played footy on the oval down the road. I wasn’t surprised anymore. I felt looked after each day by this house on the corner.

‘Hang on,’ said Hilton, and walked to the back of his truck.

Pulling out a sturdy road brush he started sweeping the road free of broken sticks of wattle. He smiled, I thanked him, and he went on his way again. Before long, another ute had pulled up and a man hopped out.

‘Have you got a chainsaw?’ he asked me, offering to help clear the big tree from my drive.

‘It’s okay, I have another access to my driveway at the back, and the council won’t be long. Thanks anyway,’ I told him as he continued to clear bits of wood from the road.

He returned to his ute and fetched a pair of leather work gloves. ‘Here, take these. That’ll get it done,’ he said, and drove off. I wiped away a tear because I realised that I wasn’t alone here, even in the midst of a storm.

An hour later, two men from the council arrived with a chainsaw. One of them asked if I wanted to keep the firewood and even what size I’d like it.

‘That’s service for you,’ I said. ‘Small, thank you.’

I left them to it, and within thirty minutes, a neat pile of firewood was stacked at the end of my driveway, waiting for me to wheelbarrow it up to the woodshed. Another job or two to add to my ever-extending list of everything that needed doing about the place. Some things never got crossed off—usually odd jobs but important ones:

Fix fence (it had come off its bolt)

Clean out gutters

Sweep chimney

Turn shed into chicken coop

Move stack of wood to woodshed

Cut down remaining wattles over driveway .

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