Wet Encounters Ch. 17 - Epilogue

All three of us knew what had happened when such movements had taken hold in Africa and we expected that violence would soon begin to erupt on Bougainville. All three of us had families to consider so we decided to offer our properties to the local Native Cocoa Growers Co-Operative at rock bottom prices. Each of us had paid for our properties many times over - James and Harry, even more than I had - so we wouldn't be walking away with nothing; which would probably be the case if we stayed. Each of up had been smart enough to have ferreted our profits away in Australian banks. And each of us knew we had enough to start over; not in cocoa, perhaps, but in something else.

The sale of our properties took place after the major harvest of 1985 and Juanita and I and our three children - we'd been blessed with another daughter, Kimberly Anne, in March of 1974 - turned our backs on the country we loved and which had been the birthplace of our children and relocated to Australia.

By the time we made our move, the trust that had once existed between James and me had been re-established. We found that we worked well together and that the skills we each had complemented those of the other. John, Sarah, Tracey, Bobby and Mandy had all reached their high school ages and were attending boarding schools in Australia. If it hadn't been for the move, that would have also been Kimmy's fate, once she reached high school age.

Australia, at that time, was a buyers' market. It was in the middle of a recession that hit the farming sector hard. We ended up buying a couple of large, adjoining dairy farming properties up in the hinterland behind Queensland's Sunshine Coast. When I say they were large, I mean that they were large for that area. James and Liz' property was twelve-hundred acres, while mine and Juanita's was fourteen-hundred acres. Both were well-grassed and well-watered. And both were ideally suited to the production of avocadoes and Bauple (Macadamia) nuts. They were also ideally suited to small, specialised cattle breeding enterprises.

Harry and Joan Nettles bought a more modest but similar bankrupted dairy farm not far away from our properties.

Neither of their sons had expressed an interest in farming - one had become an engineer and the other a doctor - so Harry and Joan only wanted something that would keep them occupied until they could retire.

Each of us - James, Harry and me - initially mapped out three-hundred acres for planting to avocadoes. The remainder of each of our properties, we set up for cattle, which would provide us with a revenue stream in the short term. Harry wasn't interested in the cattle part of things but allowed us to run a few dozen head on his place to keep the grass down. The three of us worked together to plant up our properties and set up our irrigation systems. After that, Harry looked after his own place. James took on the management of our avocado plantings, while I assumed responsibility for the cattle.

Within five years, we were not only producing some of the best Angus beef cattle in the country, but we were also harvesting our first marketable crops from our avocado plantations.

The houses we built to replace the original dairy farmhouses - which had seen much better days since their construction almost one-hundred-years earlier - could best be described as 'sufficient'. They were built on the second-best site on each property. We always intended to construct our primary homes on ridges that overlooked the coast and both Juanita and I and James and Liz had set those sites aside for that purpose. Only our house cows and horses were allowed to graze over that part of each property.

Work on each of our permanent homes began in 1996. Although different in layout, both James' and Liz' home and ours were designed around the classic Queenslander style, which was ideally suited to this part of the world.

When completed, both homes had wide shaded verandahs but the one that Juanita and I built broke with tradition by adding a large, cantilevered deck, which gave us an uninterrupted, one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the whole of the Sunshine Coast.

It was while Liz and I were sitting on that deck that she raised the question of forgiveness.

That was the afternoon that we started to rebuild our relationship. We talked about how much we missed our spouses and how much we had loved them; and why. For the first time in forty-eight years, we spoke of 'The Mill Manager's House Affair'; what caused it and how it affected both families.

That was the day when, for the first time in our long lives - we have both exceeded our allotted time - we actually communicated. We were completely honest with each other and held nothing back. We laughed at some shared experience we remembered from back in our youth. We cried when we remembered harsh words that one or the other had said.

Our voices were raised when we became angry. Then we'd smile when we realised that whatever had prompted that anger was so far in the past that it bore no relevance to our present lives.

From what had started as afternoon tea, we moved through sundowners - wine for Liz and beer for me - as we watched the evening sky change from pink to purple to grey, gradually being replaced by the light of the string of towns along the ocean strip that formed the Sunshine Coast.

We kept talking while I prepared dinner. My cheffing repertoire had improved since my omelette-cum-quiche back in the mill manager's cabin with Juanita. I had already thawed and marinated a couple of chicken breasts in preparation for a Tuscan Chicken dish I was planning for this evening's meal. We continued to talk openly about anything and everything while I grilled the chicken and made up the sauce. While I pottered about in the kitchen, Liz sat on a stool at the breakfast bar. We chatted like old comfortable friends; which I suppose we were. Even the silences were comfortable.

I cracked a bottle of a locally-produced Rosé, which I'd had chilling in the refrigerator and dished up our meals while Liz set the places at the table. I might be a bit biased but I thought the meal was one of the best I have put together. Liz must have enjoyed it as well because the conversation all but ceased while we ate.

"When did you learn to cook like this?" she asked. "I always knew you could throw a meal together in an emergency. But I had no idea you could do this sort of stuff."

"It started when Juanita and I were trapped in the mill manager's cottage," I said. It looked like we were going to have to live on the stuff you and James had stored in the pantry until Juanita remembered that she'd bought some supplies while she'd been in town. I retrieved them from the back of the Toyota and we ended up having a banquet. That's when I discovered that she was stove-shy. I ended up throwing a meal together - as you say - using the ingredients I had to hand. She refused to cook for the rest of our stay in your little love nest.

"I found out later that she was an excellent cook but that she was always prepared to sacrifice her place in front of the stove if someone else should volunteer. It seemed to work out that I volunteered more often that I thought I had."

Liz and I hugged each other with more affection than we had shown towards each other for many years when she departed after dinner that night. It was the beginning of a lengthy period of renewal for both of us.

Over the following weeks and months, we found that the barriers that had stood for so long had disappeared. Our goodbye hugs became longer and tighter. Our cheek kisses became lip kisses. And those lip kisses started to take on an element of passion.

We both seemed to be reluctant to take our feelings for each other to the next level, however. Perhaps we thought we would be showing disloyalty to our sleeping partners if we allowed ourselves to take that next step. I know I did.

I had arranged to go out to Dalby one weekend to look at an Australian Stock Horse filly I'd had my eye on for some time. She had excellent bloodlines and the photos I'd seen showed her to be well-put-together but I needed to run my eye over her before making the final decision. I invited Liz to come with me. I told her that it would be an overnight trip but that everything would be above board. I would book separate rooms so she didn't feel compromised.

She claimed that that would be a complete waste of money and suggested that I book a single room with two beds.

"We're both adults," she said. "And besides, we were married to each other once upon a time. I've got nothing that you haven't seen and, unless you've grown over the years, you've got nothing I haven't seen."

I ended up buying the filly and Liz and I ended up sharing the one bed. She argued that it would be unkind of us to dirty two sets of sheets when my bed was big enough for two people.

We've still got a few things to sort out but I've asked her to move in with me. That'll free up her house for John and his family. John has been managing the avocado plantations on both properties for the past ten years; even longer, to be honest.

We bought out Harry and Joan Nettle's property when they finally decided to retire and planted the unused five-hundred acres to avocadoes. With his degree in Horticultural Science and having worked the plantation with Harry, Bobby was the ideal choice to manage it. We gave him his head and told him he could run it as he pleased. All the figures would come through the central office, of course, but for all intents and purposes, it was his property.

I thought he would be an excellent fit. He had an inquisitive mind and Harry had instilled in him the desire to continue to improve his world. He had one failing, however. He was a bit of a lone ranger and didn't work well with others.

John had also obtained his degree in Horticultural Science but he likes to get down and dirty. I don't believe there is anyone in the country who can get more out of an acre of soil without destroying it with chemicals than he can.

Sarah also lives on the property with her husband, Bill. He's a cowboy and horseman and has been managing the cattle operations since becoming part of the family. I have to attribute my renewed interest in horses to Bill, who brought my love of these animals back out into the light. It was something I set aside when I went up to New Guinea but I now love nothing more than to climb up onto the back of a horse to help with our cattle. We currently run five-hundred Angus breeders on that part of our country we've not planted to avocadoes.

The other girls live off the property.

Tracey and Mandy live down on the coastal tourist strip, where they own a trendy and well-respected restaurant. They're both married. Tracey's husband is an air conditioning engineer and Mandy's is a builder. Both men are self-employed.

Kimmy has a degree in archaeology, which ideally suits her free spirit. She's off exploring somewhere. I only hope she will get back in time for the wedding.

Oh, that's right. I haven't mentioned the wedding, have I?

Liz and I have been talking about remarrying. I've suggested that Wednesday, November 27 might be an appropriate day for it. That was the date, forty-eight years ago, that our first marriage ended. I figure it might give us something to talk about in our old age; when we start to slow down.

--ENDS--