Dorrigo - my dreaming

A mother's Courage In a quiet home on the mountain a girl child of  seven years played with a dented kewpie doll and studied her mothers tears. Unseen or heard, the child watched as the mother - worn with strife -  broke down and sobbed with the hopelessness of their grey and burdened life. The child with an old man’s wisdom said nothing, then tiptoed away - and the mother regained her courage to face yet another long day. Copyright Lynda Cracknell 2001

A blanket of evening mist muffles the sounds of the bush - and a little girl will soon dream again. In the morning, the dream sinks into the mist of the valley below -  the mist feeds on the exotic remnants of sleep and settles replete as the morning dew. Grape hyacinths glisten brilliant blue beneath the tank stand, Soon to be carried away by birds to their hidden bowers. A careful stack of wood is a child’s play car, adorned with a pumpkin leaf steering wheel. Then a dead chooks' feathers are pulled from the white and bumpy skin, still hot from the boiling water in the four gallon drum. The family eat well today. The mother sews on a treadle machine, and the child perches On old Mrs Ferris’s black box to watch and learn. But the light fails so sewing stops. The air turns chill in the shadows Of the late day and the mist re-forms to greet the night. Mist expands to fill the valley and reaching high, billows over onto the plateau – and soon  drifts silent and ghostlike towards the house. The door is open. The thick mist advances through the hall - lingers, shifts, seeks with wispy tendrils to meet its self - and  the child, the mist and the dream again become one. There is a sudden draft -  the united one, the everlasting phantasm, is melded with the mountain wind – and swept away. Children of my future - remember me when a breeze wraps up the fog and sweeps it away from the mountain top. Hear my singing in the wind, and rejoice with me in the new fresh day for I am still that child, and live with you on our mountain forever. Copyright Lynda Cracknell (nee Stevens)

Misty Memories

Note: When I was a child I never witnessed my mother crying - but I think that was because she was caring enough never to be caught. Either that, or her enormous strength and courage helped her to go on from day to day without tears. I think she'll understand if we cry for her now.

X

The 'X' marks the approx location of my childhood home, north east of the township of Dorrigo in northern NSW

Links to some of my Dorrigo memories My Dad the Cattle Drover My Childhood home in Dorrigo The Dorrigo to Glenreigh Train

or - back to my home page