It’s times like this I am reminded our family bonds are strong. And strong in the best ways, not rigid but flexible. They bend with the wind so they don’t break, and old limbs support new growth. It had been an interesting day, not quite the perfect day I’d imagined, but satisfying in a humbling way somehow.
It had been a while since we’d all been back to the property. Not much of a farm now, just the horses, a few sheep, and the chickens, with the half dozen or so dogs and cats to keep Mum and Dad company. I was struggling to come to terms with Dad turning 70, but it was great to get everyone together, and the kids couldn’t wait for the party.
Turning up the drive, I put down the window, stretching my neck out to breathe in the scent. It was the bird calls that reached me first, then the familiarly comfortable scent of pine and earth, mingled with fresh rain. Passing the ducks on the dam I was taken back to a carefree time when things had seemed so simple, and a wisp of nostalgia left a sense of calm contentment.
The gravel drive stretched invitingly to the big house. As we ambled nearer the scent of woodsmoke made me smile because no matter the occasion Dad loved a friendly fire in the pit out back. He said the kids loved it, but we all knew it was his excuse to sneak a few toasted marshmallows.
Celeste couldn’t wait to see Hannah. Studying at Sydney uni, Hannah hadn’t been home in a while and Celeste missed her adoring cousin. The boys ran ahead but I held Celeste’s hand as we dodged the mud up to the house. She tiptoed strategically, delicately placing her feet on the highest bits of ground to avoid the mud, like a ballerina on pointe, determined to make sure her blush ballet flats and white bobby socks stayed pristine.
She’d always been that way. After having three boys, it had been a shock, having a girl, but it hadn’t occurred to me it would be much different. I’d painted her nursery a pretty pistachio green (gender neutral in my mind) and for practical reasons had dressed her mostly in the boys' old clothes. Not wanting to prescribe her roles or interests, she’d largely played with the boys' toys, except the ‘girly’ things others had gifted, and until she uncompromisingly demonstrated a love for all things pretty and pink. Over the years, I admit I’d developed a bit of a complex after comments from family, friends and acquaintances - and even strangers - that I must love ‘dressing her up’ after all those boys. As if she were a doll that was mine to play with. To avoid the assumptions, I’d justified attempts to cajole, entice and ashamedly even bribe her into more ‘practical’ or at least less ‘girly, glittery and frilly’ clothes. But no amount of anything could prise her dolls from her arms or interest her in mud pies and trucks, and the tears, upset and disappointment on her face shamed me into submission. Never had I attempted to coerce the boys into anything.
Free of the mud, and safely on the paving leading to the door, I looked up and noticed Hannah watching us. With her head tilted, she smiled and waved, stepping down as we neared to scoop up Celeste who squealed with laughter as Hannah spun her around and kissed her cheek.
‘I’ve missed you so much, little miss Cele’, she laughed. ‘Look at you, I think you’ve grown’.
I smiled and gave Hannah a big hug and a kiss after she’d released Celeste. I’d missed her just as much.
My sister’s daughter had always been a force to be reckoned with. The qualities that made her an obstinate, tantrum throwing two year old, at twenty one, made her a determined leader, sure of her own mind with a will to make anything happen, and someone others would willingly follow.
‘And who’s this gorgeous little princess all dressed up in her pretty pink party dress?’, crowed by brother-in-law Anthony as he stooped toward Celeste, his beer already in hand.
‘You’re just the prettiest little thing’, he smiled. ‘Got a kiss for Uncle Anthony?’
‘Won’t she be the heartbreaker?’ he said, raising his eyebrows, ‘You’ll have to lock her up’, he winked at me.
I noted Hannah rolling her eyes with barely controlled disgust behind her father, and her forced smile, as she took Celeste’s hand,
‘Let’s go find Grandma then hunt down the other kids’.
Doing a Bachelor of Advanced studies, with a focus on politics and gender studies, I smiled inwardly thinking it just as well for Anthony that Hannah lived on campus.
I lost track of time reminiscing and catching up with my sisters and brothers and their husband’s and wives, dissecting everyone’s busy lives, and the kids' problems and triumphs. Among preparing salads, cooking the BBQ and devouring the meal, with lots of toasts and impromptu speeches about old age and past fun, the huge tribe of grandchildren had enjoyed the multitude of games permanently on offer. Between tending to the fire and challenging the kids to table-tennis, Dad was in his element. He still beat them all at croquet, and loved playing umpire and conflict manager between the tribe of competitive boys over their badminton wars. Having everyone around energised him, not that that was a problem as Mum had complained about the size of the property, how hard he was working, and her attempts to get Dad to slow down now he was an old man.
‘Impossible’, Dad had laughed, ‘I’ve got to keep fit to run around with all these kids.’
I knew the boys would sleep well after playing with the dogs, chasing sheep, quad bike riding, and terrorising the chickens. My life was easier as a result of the older ones who enjoyed entertaining their younger cousins, and kept them out of trouble.
The only trouble was getting Celeste out of the house.
‘She’s really nothing like you, you followed your father like you were his shadow. I couldn’t get you inside’, laughed Mum after Celeste’s latest refusal to the multiple attempts by almost everyone to have some fun outside.
Celeste had spent most of the day happily playing with Grandmas’s dolls and the tea set she kept for the kids, between some board games with Beth, Sophie and Jarred. It occurred to me that my mother had attempted to tone down my boyishness when occasions demanded, and I had to laugh internally. At that moment the boys ran yelling and howling past the window like a pack of wolves. The boys could just be boys, it seemed.
Celeste sat delicately licking icing off her painted nails, as we put the finishing touches on the cake when the excited call came from Sophie that they were all going to the paddock to bring Butterscotch up for pony rides. On her heels followed Hannah and the boys bringing in eggs wrestled from the chickens.
‘Come on Cele, we’re going to get Butterscotch’, declared Hannah. ‘And you get the first ride.’
‘But I don’t want to get dirty’, moaned Celeste, tired and worn down from resisting attempts all day that she no doubt felt were designed to ruin her outfit and her fun.
With her sad, pleading face turned to me I gave her a much needed hug and reassured her, ‘It’s your choice, you don’t have to’.
I noticed Hannah’s brow furrow as she turned to me, ‘Don’t you have other shoes in the car?’ Then exasperated with her hands raised, ‘so she can have some fun!’
‘No Hannah’, I sighed, ‘I didn’t bring other shoes because she wouldn’t wear them anyway.’
Fed up with the delay, Jarred stated in his matter of fact way, ‘we don’t want you to come anyway. It’s no fun cause you’re so slow’, before running out the door with Sophie and the other boys.
I already noticed Celeste’s tears welling, before Hannah blurted out, ‘Well suit yourself your majesty. You don’t need to be such a prissy princess, you just miss all the fun’.
Hannah had turned to look out the window to watch the others already traipsing off down the paddock, and didn’t see the impact of her words. When she turned and saw the tears, it was too late to take back her words.
An inheritance from my grandmother, I’d always turned to humour as a pressure relief valve. The pause stretched. This time I had trouble opening the valve. But the family branches were supple, not rigid, and so, I breathed, then flexed my voice.
‘Well Celeste enjoyed picking her special outfit for a very special occasion, and she’s always wanted to be a princess’, I smiled.
‘Some of us don’t have to engage in everything to know exactly what we like and Celeste knows what she likes and who she is. She’s determined and can choose for herself.’
As an intelligent young woman, I knew Hannah got it. She just wanted the best for her cousin and I knew we’d have her support, and for that I was grateful.
I realised, like the environment, the family was its own ecosystem, delicately balanced, harmonising a variety of unique life. Attention to the health of all was crucial to the balance of the whole. I was content we’d restored the whole and the new branches were supported to grow in new directions.