Well. Today’s prompt over at The Daily Post is certainly a challenging one. I have been flicking through photo’s all morning, despairing of ever finding anything that even remotely suggests unconventional love. My interpretation may be tenuous but the story is true.
These photographs are of our old shearer’s quarters, which have been empty, neglected and slowly disintegrating ever since I can remember. The house is in its final stages of decay, having long given up hope. I always find it sad to see old buildings fall apart, slowly losing their memory of the people who once lived and loved in them.
A few years ago we noticed an unfamiliar car turn in to our paddock and drive down to the shearer’s quarters. Naturally, dad went over to investigate. He found two women, mother and daughter, aged 76 and 24 respectively. The elder woman explained that she had bought her daughter to see the place where her mother and father had once lived, when they were no older than her daughter was now. They had met whilst both working for the same shearing team, him as a shearer, her as a roustabout.
She also pointed to the two weeping willow’s that stand in our paddock, ancient and regal, like stately old woman. ‘I planted those tree’s from seedlings, when we lived here.’ she explained. ‘I’m so happy to see them still alive.’
This is a true story, romantic in its simplicity. In this lovely old house had lived this lovely young couple, itinerant workers who had lived and worked here when our farm was part of a much larger one. Unconventional love? Perhaps not. But love in an unconventional place? Absolutely.