Country From the Heart 2012

Short Story Competition Entry Statement


This story was written for entry in “Country Style” Magazine’s short story contest which had a word limit of 2000 words. It’s requirements were “Create a story that references, directly or obliquely, the idea of ‘cooking from the heart’.” It was sponsored by KitchenAid- hence the tacky names I used for the main characters, Kitch and Aidie. I feel my story suits the theme of the ‘River Of Life’ as it describes in great detail a day in the life of a rural family, from a mother’s perspective, and the current they have chosen to take with their lives by living where they are and doing what they do. Not to mention a bit of real life river in crossing the Maranoa to get to work!


Country From The Heart

By Kylie Douglas



It was the piercing shrill of the alarm rather than the rooster or baby that summoned Aidie from her sleep at 5am. Grudgingly she rose glancing at the cold, wrinkled mug of tea on her bedside table. As she debated whether to risk downing it as she dressed or relish herself in the luxury of a hot cup, Aidie gave thanks to her husband, Kitch. He had not disturbed her when he habitually placed it there much, much earlier when he rose. The line of light under the closed office door told her Kitch was busy. Probably engrossed in the day’s weather or stock market (all ordinaries and commodities or the four legged kind) which he valued all of equal importance. He was gathering his thoughts and strength for yet another day of the branding muster at ‘Overdraft Downs’.



Kitch was cleverly avoiding the commencement of action stations in the kitchen where Aidie began the mindless task of packing with military precision the big, battered blue esky that would feed the mustering troops for the day. She worked with haste, revelling in the solitude before any of the younger two ‘helpers’ arose and demanded attention. Thankfully the baby slept on as she packed tin pannikins for tea, coffee in a thermos flask, sugar, teaspoons, orange custard kisses, chocolate chip muffins, pink lady apples and sliced seedless watermelon. At least she was a reasonable cook even if she didn’t enjoy it. One of Aidie’s greatest embarrassments was achieving the home economics award in High School two years running. Later, Kitch would see to the water coolers. They would be packed with frozen bottles so everyone would enjoy a cold drink all day long. As she assembled cold roast beef with corn relish and salad sandwiches on wholemeal bread, Aidie reminisced in the contrast of how mustering lunches were packed during her childhood in the very same kitchen…….



Everyone made their own sandwich from a salty slab of corned beef slapped it between two slices of white bread with some of Gran’s choko pickles. There would be a slice of boiled brownie fruit cake wrapped in waxed paper as well. Often the cake ran out so a second sandwich of jam was made as a substitute. The food was then wrapped meticulously in newspaper with an old sock of tea leaves completing the package. It had taken her many years to perfect the folding technique around the bundle. There was always a stampede for the comic section of the paper to wrap your lunch in as it was the most desired to be read by all the ringers at dinner time. An orange was the real treat, sweet and juicy even though it was warm from the trip across the paddock in the saddle bag.

The old mustering days started much earlier, for everyone camped at the property instead of driving to work each day. Horses had to be ridden to muster paddocks for many miles as trucking them to starting points was unheard of. You left in the dark on horse back with your lunch squashed into your saddle bag on one side of the saddle; quart pot for boiling up a cuppa on the other. There was no room to carry water bottles. Water was drunk from the same sources as the livestock; be it dam, river or trough. It always tasted as fresh as a mountain spring as you were usually so parched your willingness to pour anything down to settle the dust in your throat was unstoppable. By lunch time, your legs and bottom were in grateful reprieve of the saddle as you had usually covered a lot of country searching for mobs of cattle in thick brigalow scrub and tall spiky pine trees. Often you followed mobs that where heading in to water as the temperature rose down well worn cattle pads. Lunch was usually at a picturesque spot under a large shady tree at a waterhole whilst holding the cattle. Quart pots were boiled to make tea if the cattle were behaving. The now soggy, squashed sandwich made before dawn was a tasty morsel and even better if toasted on the billy fire. Homemade toasting forks fashioned out of 10 gauge fencing wire were always found hanging in a tree at decent water points from previous musters. Toasted sandwiches, billy tea, cool shade and open air; sometimes a quick kip was on the menu as well…….



“Mum!” shouted Cooper to Aidie bringing her back to the present with a thud. “Can I have vegemite and not honey today? Where are my clean jeans? I need my frozen pop top bottles too!” Her daughter, Georgina also appeared although she was more dressed for riding than her brother. “My boots are missing again!” she whined, “You know where they are, don’t you? Are they on the other side of the river again?” Right on cue the baby, Dawson, awoke with his usual bellow to be fed and changed. Kitch had also arrived to eat and turned on the radio full blast to the country music hillbilly hour on the ABC. He passed an unchanged mess maker to Aidie as he put the kettle on to boil. As she latched the leather strap around the laden esky, Aidie saw her son spill an entire box of rice bubbles on the floor as he attempted to help by refilling a container. Well there’s a time saver, she smiled to herself as she toyed with the idea of pouring a bottle of milk on the floor with it and telling the family breakfast would be served on the lino this morning. Organised chaos reigned as the family sat down to a breakfast of cereal and toast. Nothing would phase Aidie today for she was going mustering too and she could not be happier about it.



At least her childhood mustering breakfasts were a fashion of the past, Aidie pondered as she stacked her dishwasher. Who had time to cook steak’n’ eggs or the stomach to eat them at 4am? Aidie mentally ticked off her morning to do list before she escaped out the door. The kitchen had toned down considerably in volume as the rest of the family had absconded to do other chores before the mustering ringers arrived for the day at 7. As she flew down to the cold room to grab vegetables to add to the dinner she was now preparing, she again smiled to herself about her difference in cooking cuisine to the current TV and reality trends. She was making a ‘mulligan’ for dinner with no recipe in mind, just what ever was close by and handy. Lamb shanks were perfect for any slow cooker meal and to think about how trendy they had become now when once they were considered dog tucker! Cuts of meat, how to cook them and where they were served certainly had come along way from the budget basic to the finest restaurant table in the last several years. To her all of the ‘new’ food ideas were ones she had grown up with. Low food miles had always been the go when living so far away from any decent fruit and vegetables. You had to try and grown your own as best you could. Impulsively substituting ingredients was the norm as you never had all of the items called for and popping to the shops or markets was impossible. As Aidie thought this she was sloshing soy sauce into the shanks to swap with Worcestershire sauce. Food continues to be so central so many aspects of culture. When someone dies, you give a casserole, there is always a Christmas feast and what would any celebration be without a cake? With the lid clunked and the switch clicked, the dish did not look that appetizing now but would be warmly welcomed when they wearily returned that evening. With perfect timing, the ringers arrived with the baby sitter for Dawson also on board.

Aidie headed for the loaded ute ready for the drive to the river. Sharing the back with 16 working dogs wasn’t ideal but it was not far to travel. The river crossing road had been demolished in the flood. All of the horses had been swum across on the first day of the muster and kept at the second set of yards further west of the station. Other branding equipment had been bravely driven over in the bucket of the tractor by Kitch. Boating across was another option, however, with such a strong current in the river most felt much more confident wading the waist deep water each day.

The procession of crossing began and since everyone was dressed in board shorts and thongs whilst carrying boots, socks, undies, jeans and the important lunch supplies between them it made a most amusing sight. Once across, the dogs shook themselves off and the humans scattered behind trees to dress. Boots laced, spurs buckled, hobbles belted and hats plonked they all again piled into another ute to continue the commute to work with the yards being the desired destination. As they drove, eyes were peeled looking for missed or unbranded cattle in the paddocks that were supposedly ‘clean’. On arrival at the yards the real work commenced; about 120 calves to brand that had been drafted off the night before. By this stage of the muster everyone had a position in the chain of events as the calf moved up the race. Aidie was responsible for holding the leg as the calf lay in the ‘cradle’. It was brilliant upper body workout. Kitch looked after the head, adding tags and ear marks as required. Georgina was a tag gun loader, a job she took most seriously, whilst Cooper was responsible for yarding the calves into the race. A smooth rhythm of branding was established and by mid morning the calves were gratefully back with their mothers bunting their udders for more milk. Smoko time!

Hearty appetites were noshed with hot coffee and the spread Aidie was whinging about packing up that morning and even she had to admit it was worth the effort. After the break the horses were yarded from their small paddock around the dam. Saddled, and with apples and water bottles packed in their saddle bags, they headed off to muster more cows and calves in “Bush” paddock to draft and brand tomorrow. Aidie revelled in the vast openness away from the house and all of its responsibility. She was simply delighted to see her family ride together on their own special mounts that had been sourced from far and wide for them. The reward of doing extra days of school work in their schoolroom last holidays was now being reaped by everyone in the clan. This was the purest example of why their family lived where they did and did what they did; for the sheer love of it. Yes, there were challenges of weather, cattle prices, isolation and distances to be covered to access services but mostly that was part of the challenge. Seasons in the last couple of years had been sensational, she thought as her horse meandered through girth high grass. Gradually, as Aidie gave thanks for this glorious moment in time, the mob of stout cows and burly calves was calmly put together by the team. They headed back to the yards with their bounty for a late lunch.



After the cattle had been yarded and horses hosed down, the esky was again unpacked and the food shared in the shade. It was eaten at a purposely made table and bench seats under the tree these days so there was no need to squat in the dirt. “Good grub today Aidie.” thanked Kitch to his wife. She smiled in response. Her cooking might not be exactly from the heart but the country certainly was.