Chapter 7: Farm Boy

Mary had four horses in the shed that doubled as her stable.

The six-horse stalls were on the south side, and the back of their stalls could be opened into a five-acre fenced paddock on that side of the sheds. The stallion was a big horse. He was a deep chestnut, and his coat shone with vitality. He nickered as soon as he heard and smelt Mary enter the shed.

In the stalls beside him were two mares and a gelding. The gelding had a touch of grey around his muzzle and was of similar colouring to the stallion. Mary introduced him as Zeus and his son, the stallion, was called, Ares.

The bay mares were Aphrodite and Athena. Both were pregnant by Ares. Mary informed him they mares were both due to foal towards the end of February. They had both come into season later than usual, but around here, it happened when it happened.

Marty hadn’t had a lot of experience with horses, but he liked the young stallion. Ares happily took the carrot that Marty had offered him. He had let Marty pet him and scratch his ears while he munched happily.

Mary was surprised, as Ares was known to be as picky about letting males touch him as Zeus was. Even Athena stretched out her neck for Marty to scratch her; she was more likely to bite you first. Ben had said she had the most cantankerous horses he had ever met.

Zeus was fussy about who could ride him. He was great with the little kids and very gentle with them, but he didn’t like men and even some women. If he didn’t like you, he would sit on his arse or drop and roll. Ares had also taken up his father’s habits of late.

Mary would normally let them out for a run, but with the cyclone approaching and the rain, she decided a day or two in the shed wouldn’t hurt them. She went over to a gate that was in a chain-mesh fence that split the shed into two sections and closed it.

The horse shed was the same length as the garage. Mary often used this section, which took up the same area as five-car bays, to let the horses have some space if the weather was bad. Bales of lucerne for the horses, straw for the floors, tools, various other pieces of farm equipment and her big ride-on lawnmower were on the other side.

Mary pulled several biscuits off a bale of lucerne, dropped them on the straw-covered floor and let the horses out of their stalls. She warned Marty about getting behind the horses. The horses happily ambled out and selected the square of lucerne of their choice.

Marty found a long-handled shovel with a square-nose being pushed into his hands and was given a quick lesson on how to muck out a stall. He happily helped and between the two of them, they finished in no time.

Mary left the horses loose in the open area and closed the shed behind Marty as he had gallantly offered to man the big, three-wheeled wheelbarrow. She directed him to the compost heap. He was surprised to find eight small towers that she called the compost bins. Each was divided into five sections about 40cm high and about a metre in diameter.

When he realised Mary was going to try to lift the top four sections up by herself, he quickly got on the other side and helped her. They split each tower from its base. They removed the conical covers and then added a new ring to each tower. They shovelled the fresh dung and old straw into the new rings.

Mary then got him on the other side of the rings on the ground, and they gently shook them. The compost and worm casings fell through the mesh, and they were left with a heap of wiggling worms with the odd clump on top. They dumped them into the new material and replaced the hats. Mary attached the clips to keep them in place.

Marty found himself back on the shovel filling the wheelbarrow with the new compost. Then he was digging it back out again to place it around the fruit trees that Mary wanted it to put under.

Mary had to laugh at his millions of questions as they worked. It wasn’t hard to tell that he had never worked on a farm. He didn’t seem a stranger to a shovel, however, and she guessed that he actively worked as a geologist. The honed muscles also suggested they weren’t just maintained in a gym. The lawyer side must be his second job she guessed.

Marty was having a great time. He loved being out in the fresh air; even the rain had eased for a bit while they were in the yard. The smells of the farm and even the work pleased him. He hated being stuck in the office for long periods.

By the time that they had cleaned off the tools and washed up, he was hungry and more than ready for his second cup of coffee. Mary made him drink a large glass of water first. He enjoyed the fresh rainwater with no added chemicals in it.

He was soon digging into a plate of bacon, sausages, runny eggs and fried tomato, onions and mushrooms. He had helped her collect the eggs and even got to pick the tomatoes. The mushrooms came out of her mushroom farm in the shed.

Mary asked him if he liked her sausages, and he nodded enthusiastically. “The boys were going to help do a beast and a pig in a couple of days. We may have to put it off until Pam moves on,” she said.

“Do a beast?” Marty queried, between mouthfuls.

“Yeah, we have a nice fat cow in the paddock with my pigs on the other side of the house with the second shed. I have a cutting room set up in there with a cold-room big enough to hold two carcases. I can pack the meat into the freezer section or leave the meat I’m ageing or pickling in the fridge section. The boys take half a beast between them as payment for helping me,” she informed him.

It suddenly dawned on him what she was telling him. “How do you kill the animals?” he had to ask.

“Bullet between the eyes is normally the best. If you do it right, you can still collect the brains,” she said nonchalantly as she wiped up egg yolk with her toast.

“What do you do with the leftover bits?” he then wanted to know.

“Not much is left over. We have a pit for the stomachs. I used to strip the intestines and reuse them for the skins on the sausages, but I’ve gotten lazy and buy the skins these days. The fat is rendered and reused, and the bones are cut up for the dogs or soup,” Mary responded.

“You don’t have a dog,” he stated.

“No, I haven’t replaced Scrubber. He died just before Christmas. Ben has a nice bitch for me, but she is only nine weeks old. He doesn’t wean his pups until they are ten weeks. Mark was going to bring her over when we do the beast.”