Destination, arrival imminent.
Anticipation, expectation mounting
Nervous children, on edges of their seats.
It had been a long journey. Dad driving overnight,
Christmas was a day away.
Mum agitated as it was ‘your’ family we were making the sacrifice for.
Would Gran have the air-con working this year or would we be sitting in the sweltering heat once again.
As morning grew closer, the fog descended, and we knew a hot day was ahead of us.
Thoughts shifted to the dam, the dogs, the old horses Gran kept in the home paddock who’d eat carrots from your hands.
Dad spoke his thoughts wondering what changes he might see. His dad, Pa, had died during the year and he was curious as to how his mother was coping now she was alone.
At the farm gate, he got his answers. The long drive had been mown, the garden around the old homestead was flourishing, a riot of colour, the dogs were still there giving their usual raucous welcome, tails wagging with such force you could see they were struggling to stay upright and not just spin in circles.
It was clear Gran had been busy.
Through the foggy morning we saw her striding up the path from the chook house, a basket in hand, full of eggs we assumed, a grin on her face betraying her delight in our arrival, our destination reached.
Cups of tea, bacon and eggs,
Tired bodies stretching,
A morning nap and we’d back in farm mode.