Page 15 of Queenslander
“No worries.” He ruffled Rainbow’s hair. “Hi cowgirl! How was school?”
“Good.”
He winked at Ronnie, touched her shoulder and walked towards the boys’ soccer team that was practicing two fields over. Jackie was all right.
Ronnie walked into the center of the soccer pitch and was instantly swarmed by girls like chooks gathered cheeping and peeping around a feeder. “Did you miss me, Wattles?” Their school mascot was a wattle, an acacia tree with sunshine yellow flowers.
A chorus of ‘yes’es, a few cheeky ‘no’s.
“I missed you, too. Let’s start at the beginning. Matildas, to my left. Football Ferns, to my right.” The girls separated into their scrimmage teams on either side of the pitch, then converged along the center line. They knew the tradition.
Ronnie stood between them, hand on her hips, scrolling through playlists on her phone. She set the speakers on the center line. “Ready?”
The girls nodded. No one smiled. They took the coin flip extremely seriously.
She pressed a button. The opening bars of “U Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer played over the speakers. The team onher left, the Matildas, began side-stepping, heel-stepping, in time to the music. Ronnie danced along for any of the girls who had forgotten the moves she had taught them. Left-right fist pumping. Criss-cross feet, grapevine, hands in the air, then slide. Walking in place, jogging in place, jumping side to side, spinning around. Ronnie mouthed the words.
The next track was for the Ferns group. “Obsession” by Animotion blasted through the speakers. Rhythmic synth and drums, followed by a haunting high-pitched synth line before the bass voice joined in. Ronnie shimmied her shoulders, side-stepping to the beat. The girls tossed their ponytails and pigtails, shimmying and clapping. They got down on all fours when she did, then rolled over and sprang up to their feet in a spread-eagle, jumping, clapping, and then shimmying in a circle, arms in the air.
Afterwards the primary school girls closed their eyes. “Raise your hand if you think the Matildas won. No peeking.” Ronnie counted fifteen hands. “Raise your hand if you think the Ferns were better. Keep those eyes closed.” She counted eight hands. “Open your eyes. Congratulations, we have a winner. Drumroll, please.” The team patted their thighs.
Ronnie pointed her fingers, crouched, swung her arms in a circle, then pointed to the group on the left. “Let’s hear it for the Matildas! Woot woot!” The girls all clapped. The team on the left side of the line shrieked and jumped up and down, hugging each other. “Well done girls! Better luck next time, Ferns. It was close. You were fire as well.” Ronnie picked up a soccer ball, set it on the center line. “Matildas, your ball.”
Farms collect broken things. Free from the limitations of space, they hoard. Upsend Downs was no exception—useful things came here after death to oxidize.
Unfixable things waited for resurrection.
She snapped a picture of Rainbow on her phone. Rainbow sat on the seat of an unrecognizable lump of rusty metal in front of Stone House.
“What is it?” Rainbow asked.
“Horse-drawn potato harvester. Nev bought that thinking she would get it working again.”
“But she doesn’t grow potatoes.”
“Not yet.”
They walked to the horse barn. Inside was quiet and tidy, no one there except animals. It smelled like hay. Rainbow saddled Brighty the fat pony while Ronnie saddled Dreadnought the mare, her favorite.
On the wild side of the fence, Shadow grazed beside this years’ foal, lazily flicking flies away with her tail. Feral ponies ignored fences. Brumbies belonged to no one, like rabbits and brush turkey. The name "brumby" probably originated from the Aboriginal word "baroombie," meaning wild. Australia had more wild horses than any other country, all descended from escaped thoroughbreds. Years ago, Shadow had been shy and skittish, but Ronnie had been feeding her carrots and apples.
Reg had affectionately nicknamed her “Brum” when she was still little and feral with a mane of thick black hair. Now Rainbow was that child, the one they all loved, the one they hung their hopes on.
Ronnie double-checked that the nine-year-old had tightened the pony’s girth. She tightened the belt under his belly another notch until it was snug. “Good work, kiddo. You’re a pro. We’ll hire you soon.”
Rainbow led the way. Ronnie’s horse followed the pony up the perimeter trail uphill through the bush, towards the top of the mountain owned by the international Centre for RainforestResearch, then cut downhill towards Lake Tinaroo, through Nev’s hay pastures and sheep paddocks.
Dreadnought and Brighty waded across Lazy Creek.
Miniature kangaroos called pademelons—Rainbow’s favorite because they looked like teddy bears—camouflaged against bushes in the shade.
The trail descended gently towards Lake Tinaroo. Barbed wire fence on their right—Johnson’s cattle farm. No cattle in sight today, only empty paddocks with gum trees along fences and creeks. She had been fantasizing about buying that property for years, had even squirreled away a few thousand in the bank for a down payment in case any of it ever came up for sale.
The trail veered left at the marsh that formed the eastern edge of Lake Tinaroo. Below, water lay flat and brilliant. “Thirty-five square kilometers of surface area,” Rainbow said. “I learned that in science class.”
They rode uphill to the Upsend Downs Native and Exotic Plant Nursery, passing the potting shed, walking the horse and pony between rows of healthy-looking plants, through the lavender field and orchard of young trees in pots.
The view from top of the hill still took her breath away.
