Me and my Mates

I haven't entirely withdrawn from the human race, I have merely withdrawn from the bullshit that seems to be a major part of it. That part about loyalty to family and friends, doing the right thing about them. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for those values, I did my best to keep them, right up until circumstances threw them in my face.

To all intents and purposes, we were the ideal couple Sonia and I. We were both successful in our chosen fields, had many friends and few enemies. We lived in comfortable upper-middle-class suburbia, drove good but not lavish vehicles, had few debts and credit cards that were used only when necessary and paid off at the end of the month. In this day and age, we were successful. And then. . . .

The first of the circumstances that changed my life forever happened on my way to work, my day job. As I approached an intersection I got an amber light, so I stopped. Unfortunately for me, the guy behind didn't. While I wasn't injured, my car was totalled. That, in itself, should not have been a problem, the car hadn't cost me a fortune, it wasn't new, so what was the problem? I enjoyed driving this car, it handled well, and it was quick when I wanted it to be. In the motoring world, it was one of those cars known as a 'sleeper', something that looked for all the world like a shopping trolley but which was a high-performance car. Many times at traffic light Grand-Prix I left many more fancied cars behind me.

I continued to work by cab and during the day managed to locate a similar car. It was slightly newer and slightly more expensive, even so, I arranged to buy it. Problem solved.

The second circumstance was a month or so later that I found out, another accident, something about a friend who knew someone who had a cousin who was shagging a married woman who just happened to be my lovely wife. Sonia was having an affair and it had been going on for some time. I confronted her with this and she, after first questioning why I should think that she was, admitted the truth. This left me devastated.

I reacted in a calm and collected manner to this devastating news. Like hell I did! I packed some bags and left without telling her where I was going or whether she should expect my return any time soon, and, using some money that I had squirrelled away, decided that I would purchase some land in the coastal hinterland and indulge in my real love, painting.

I sold my new not so new car and bought a Land Rover defender. For not a lot of money, I bought around ten hectares of temperate rain forest with a permanent stream that would provide water and electricity. I built a water turbine by channelling the stream flow through an artificial choke, through an impeller linked by a drive pulley and belt to a generator made from a washing machine motor. I bought a battery pack to store the electricity for when I needed it. I figured that if I went to bed early I would not need a lot of electricity and I could channel the sunlight to work with.

I needed a way to keep my perishables fresh for several days so that I could limit my shopping excursions to once a week. Under the house, under the kitchen, I installed a concrete tank. This had a tank within the tank that could be sealed to keep creepy-crawlies out. Surrounding this inner tank was a coil of 12 mil diameter copper water pipe. This was connected from the rainwater tank, through this coil to the kitchen. The outer tank was filled with sand that was kept moist by wastewater from the sink. This system was able to keep the air inside the inner tank some ten degrees cooler than ambient. I tested it and the inside temperature was between six and eight degrees Celsius, pretty much the same as a refrigerator. I would have to do without ice-cream and frozen stuff.

It took several months to set myself up so that I could start work. This meant clearing enough land for a modest pole house, that I designed and erected, using timber milled at a local sawmill from the trees that I felled. I had to buy corrugated iron for the roof and gutters and downpipes that fed rainwater into a large tank for house use. My first attempts at food production were thwarted by the local wildlife, that found young plants very much to their liking. I built an enclosure to keep them away while at the same time I didn't discourage their visits.

I did draw the line at paralysis ticks that thrived in this environment. While they, if they attached themselves in certain places, could prove fatal, even in other places on the body, could prove very painful and this could lead to complications. When designing my house I set up barriers on the poles to prevent them, and other creepy crawlies from getting into the house, and that included snakes.

Once a week I would drive into the nearest town for those things that I could not provide for myself, like milk and meat, flour and butter. I got some chooks and set them up to provide me with eggs and the occasional meat. These were housed in an intruder proof pen because there were a couple of feral foxes that tried their luck until it sunk in that they were never going to be successful. After that, they joined the wallabies as friends that would come into the cleared space and talk to me.

The wallabies quickly became my mates. Fred, the boss male of the mob was the first to pay me a visit. He stood and watched me sawing wood and banging in nails for some time before hopping off. The next day he was back. I stopped what I was doing, and grabbing some leaves that I'd cut from a lettuce I'd used for a salad the night before, I held it in my hand and moved towards him. When it appeared that he would hop away, I said, "Here ya' go mate." And put on the ground. He looked at me for a while and then hopped over and, after sniffing at it, he ate it.

This routine went on for a few days before he tentatively took the proffered leaves from my hand. Now I'm obliged to spend at least twenty minutes in the morning hand feeding all ten, starting of course with Fred.

These animals were joined by five kookaburras that were gainfully employed as my alarm clock each morning, for which they received a reward of, if available, strips of meat, and if this was not available I'd dig them some worms from the garden. There were many colourful birds, parrots and rosellas along with a variety of finches that dropped by for seed from the feeder and a dip in the birdbath. A pair of wagtails set up shop on the end of the clothesline crossbar and built a nest to raise three chicks. These were the cheekiest of my feathered friends, always around me when I gardened, ready to swoop on disturbed flying insects and telling me, at least it sounded like they were chirping 'thank you very much' before flying off to check out other prey. None of these creatures were any longer afraid of me and were quite vocal in their own way, especially the superb lyrebirds, which, once they had heard my chainsaw, were able to mimic it perfectly.

This was the life that I had built for myself. No TV or radio, I had some CDs for musical accompaniment while I worked, the rest of the time it was just me and my mates. I lived alone but was never lonely. I had many mates now, mates that could be relied upon to be true to me.

On fine days I would sometimes carry my easel out onto the grass and set up to paint. On these occasions, I had an audience to watch the work evolve from the blocked in background to the finished product. The wagtails would often perch on top of the canvas and would some times crap on the unfinished painting. I took this, not as a comment as such, and would either wipe it off or incorporate it into the work. With expressionist painting, you can get away with stuff like that. There were times when I thought of what the buyer of the work would think if he knew that part of his purchase was bird shit.

When I had my first five canvasses finished, I framed them and took them into town. I found a place that would display them for sale. With my first lot, I stayed in town for a couple of days until they were sold. After that, I just took them in and Roger, the store owner would sell them and give me the money the next time I was in town.

This system worked well, and my reputation grew with each batch to the point that, after the fourth batch, Roger began to push me to increase production. I resisted the temptation. "What I'm doing follows sound marketing principles, establish a demand and restrict supply, thereby increasing the price that you could ask". I wasn't greedy, choosing only a modest price increase, enough to cover any increase in the price of paints and canvas.

At times, when inspiration deserted me, I was able to concentrate on my next major project that was to fire-proof my property. It didn't happen often but, when there was a fire in this part of the world, it was spectacular and deadly.

Crown fires are highly dangerous and almost impossible to put out once they take hold. What happens is that the underbrush ignites and creates an updraft that vaporises the oils in the eucalyptus leaves. These ignite sending embers ahead of the fire front. When these embers hit the ground they ignite the dry underbrush thereby creating its own mini-ecosystem of winds and updrafts perpetuating the process.

I set up sprinklers on top of my house that sprayed the roof. The water ran down the gutters and into a large underground tank, almost like a covered swimming pool. A solar-powered electric pump would draw water from this tank to feed the sprinklers. I would keep a watch as the fire approached, making sure to spray any embers that hit the ground. I was able to get several industrial-strength blower fans from a clearance sale. I ripped out the heating systems and replaced these with water jets that injected streams of water into the airstream which turned it into a fine mist. Any embers arriving on the scene had to travel through this mist to reach the ground. None hit the ground alight. This was helped by me keeping the grass short and moist. The wallabies tried but couldn't keep the grass down, so I had to use a ride-on mower that I picked up cheap at a clearance sale. I wasn't looking to buy it, but it was cheap enough not to make too big a dent in my living funds. With this setup, I could relax once the fire front had passed.

My plan was tested the third year I was there and proved itself extremely successful. The grassed area surrounding the house provided a haven for about a dozen wallabies as well as other animals enjoying the cool conditions under the misting spray and my veranda railing was a handy roosting place for dozens of birds. My mates increased after the first fire. I would have to sell more paintings just to cover the cost of additional feed for them.

The second fire brought some problems for me. The fire service had a water bomber flying around dumping water on the fire front. It passed over my place several times and I didn't think anything of it until I went into town. "Was that your place I saw on TV?" Roger asked as I placed the new canvasses on his counter.

"Probably, there were a lot of planes flying overhead."

"Expect a visit from the fireys."

"What makes you say that?"

"I heard a couple of them talking and they mentioned your place was not affected by the flames even though the fire passed right over it, and they said that you had a large collection of animals taking refuge on your grass."

"Yeah, my mates know it's a safe place when there's a fire happening."

"Your mates?"

"I have a mob of friendly wallabies that graze every day on my lawn and I guess that they must have spread the word because as soon as the fire got close all sorts came out of the woodwork to seek shelter, plus the sprays keep them cool in the heat. My veranda rail is a handy place for the birds to roost, there was the odd jostling for a good position but they seem to get on with each other."

I thought no more about this conversation until a week later. The fire had run out of steam when it reached farmland and could be controlled and extinguished. A few houses and farms sheds went up and there were crop and livestock losses, but it wasn't as bad as some previous fires.

It was a day after my regular trip into town. I had just fed my regulars and talked to them when I heard a vehicle coming up the road. Calling what was once a timber trail used for dragging logs out of the scrub a road was something of a stretch, but it served its purpose. The fire service truck pulled up next to the house and a figure in overalls liberally splashed with hi-vis stripes jumped down. "Mister Jackson?" She had her hand out.

I shook it, you can't be impolite with the authorities now, can you? "Steve, this Mr Jackson crap is too formal for around here, what can I do for you?"

"I've been having a chat with the water-bomber pilots, they mentioned that your property wasn't affected, even though the fire passed directly overhead, so I thought that I'd come out to see what they were talking about." She looked around. "You don't seem to have suffered any damage."

"I'd hope not."

"The other thing that they noticed was that there were a lot of animals taking shelter here."

"Yeah, I've got to look after my mates."

"Mates?"

I whistled. "Fred, come here." And like always Fred, emerged from the bush and hopped over to me. "I'd introduce you if I knew your name."

"Julie Thomas."

"Julie'll do. Fred, this is Julie." Fred hopped over to her. "Julie this is Fred. Now pat him on the head."

Julie patted Fred's head. "I'm pleased to meet you, Fred." Fred stayed where he was. "You want more, is that it?" She patted him for several minutes, in the meantime the rest of the mob had come out of the scrub. "Good lord, how many are there?"

"Must be a dozen or so. The number varies, when there is plenty of feed out there they don't always come in, but I'm expecting more to arrive from further away when the word gets around, given that the fire has cleared out the underbrush. This is a good thing if you ask me."

"What do you mean?"

"Keeping the fuel load down so that, if a fire starts there's not enough underbrush to start the updraft that fuels it. If you look up, it's a long way to the canopy."

"We try, but every time we propose a fuel reduction programme the local greenies complain about us destroying the habitat of their furry friends."

"I've got news for them, their furry friends know how to get away from a fire. How many times have you gone into the bush after a fire's gone through and seen dozens of dead animals lying around? They shelter in caves or creeks, the birds fly away to a safe place until it's over."

"What are those things?" She pointed to the misting fans that I had stacked away under the house.

"Oh those, I set those up on the upwind side of the block and they spray a fine mist into the air and it's blown downwind. This has a threefold effect, any embers that are blowing over have to survive the mist before they hit the ground, few do. They also kept the ground wet so that those that survive the passage through the mist don't have dry grass to ignite, and they also keep my mates cool in the heat. That's why all those animals came out of the scrub."

"The way you talk about the animals you must think they have some way of communicating with each other."

"Yes, I do." I couldn't think of anything to add to this statement.

"Apart from the misters and keeping the grass short, what else have you done to fireproof your property?"

"If you have a squiz (look) on the roof you'll see a series of sprinklers. These draw water from the swimming pool and spray on to the roof. The run-off goes back into the pool and so it goes."

"Swimming pool, I don't see a pool."

"Actually it isn't really a swimming pool, I just told the concreters that because it was easier than having to explain the purpose. After the tank was set out I poured the foundations for the poles, One the poles were set in place concrete pipes were set on the foundations and the floor poured to a height of fifteen centimetres The pole is inside the pipe, held in place by concrete poured after. A concrete roof to the pool keeps the dirt out and stops the mozzies from breeding. It's covered with a mixture of crusher dust and cement that keeps it tidy and provides a base for storage."

"You seem to have thought of everything."

"I hope so. Listen, would you like a cup of coffee before you have to go back to where you've got to go to?"

"Sure." I led her inside. The interior was open plan, no internal walls at all. There was mosquito netting draped over a frame over my bed, rails for hanging clothes, cupboards for jocks and socks. The kitchen has a slow combustion wood-fired stove that provides me with all the cooking I need. Again, there were cupboards for storage. My one concession to modernity was the espresso machine. I set it in motion and took some biscuits from a cupboard. I opened the hatch to my cold storage and took out some milk. Coffee made, we sat on the sofa.

"This is some setup you have here."

"I cope. My next project is a goat or two so that I don't have to rely on over-processed commercial milk, I might even learn how to make cheese."

"Given your attention to detail, I think I might enjoy tasting that when you get around to making it. So, amongst other talents, you're an artist."

"I try to be."

I've been wondering where those paintings that Roger's been selling come from, he wouldn't tell me."

"Yeah, I swore him to secrecy, and because he values his wedding tackle (reproductive organs, man parts), he has kept his word."

She went over and went through my next collection. "Can I buy this one?" She had a picture of Fred that I had no intention of selling.

"Actually, I wasn't going to sell that one, but. . . "

"But what?" The caution flag was out.

"For you, I'll make an exception. It'll cost you though. My works are going up in price as we speak."

"I was afraid of something like this. Okay, how much?"

"Dinner at the best restaurant in town, complete with wine, and none of the cheap house wine either."

"Do you mean that if I were to go to this mythical restaurant and tell them to feed you with their best tucker, I get the painting?"

"Are you expecting me to eat on my own? You'll still get the painting for less than it's worth, and I want you to join me. Just think of this, if I were to ask you to have dinner with me, the best you'd get is fish and chips from the takeaway. This way both we get a good feed, you get the benefit of my scintillating company for a couple of hours and, drum roll please, you get to keep the painting that I wasn't going to part with."

"Are you always this self-confident?"

"I don't know, this is the first time I've tried this out on a real person, it works well enough with Fred but his reaction is no indication of how it would work with someone like you. How did I go?"

"I can't wait to see if you can live up to the hype."

"Does that mean . . .?"

"Yes." She took a card from her pocket and wrote an address on the back. "Be there at 6:30 sharp. I hope that I'm not going to regret this impulse. Don't be late."

We were once more standing by her truck.

"I won't. What should I wear? I mean is this joint silver service or is neat casual good enough?"

"Casual's fine." She climbed into the truck. "See ya." She put it in gear and drove off.

What was I to make of this? I had no intention of getting involved with anyone on a personal level but what the hell, she seemed pleasant enough and, as far as her working clobber allowed, she was easy on the eye.

It was around half an hour later that the doubts set in. She looked to be in her mid-thirties. If this was the case, why was she single? Had she been married and is no longer or is she a widow? I was heading towards a panic attack when it dawned on my, who am I to judge? Technically I am still married, I haven't applied for a divorce and as far as I knew Sonia hasn't, I mean to say, how could she, she didn't know where I was.