MEMORIES OF SPRINGDALE

[Maureen K Clifford]

over the years that I have been a member of ABPA you have read my ramblings about the sheep property I lived on - it was what provided me with the inspiratation to start writing again - and still does.

This was written when we first bought the place and I am posting it warts and all because it is what it is - a memory, and memories shouldn't be changed.

Sadly the property has gone, up for sale again for far more $$ that we ever got for it. The relationship has ended, most of the sheep are sausages and out of the original dogs only little Nush is still with us - with my ex partner.

I hope you enjoy this poem and the video clip I put together to share with you my


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2A2UQIPGwoc



Memories of Springdale


We bought a place called Springdale, fifty clicks out of town,
along a mongrel dirt road. It was old and quite run down.
It had stood here for a hundred years, and every year was hard,
and a hundred years of rubbish was scattered through the yards.
For eighteen years it stood alone, survived the winds and rain,
with no one to take care of it, alone out on the plain.
The only ones who stayed here, were the shearers when they worked.
They’d left oil stains on the floorboards and carved names in the woodwork.

We bought the place with all its faults and all its old rogue sheep,
and many days and night we spent endeavouring to keep
our perspective, as we fenced and cleaned and crutched away our days,
with sheep alas unlike Bo Peeps, that won’t come home to play.
The biggest rogues you’ve ever seen are living here with us.
They jump fences in an instant and turn the earth to dust.
They clamber up the steepest hill, and drop down behind logs,
so you never find the blighters even with our two good dogs.

The mustering here is hard, over hills and through thick scrub
and these mongrel sheep know this country so much better than us.
Just when you get them to the gate, through which you hope they’ll stray
an F111 comes and chases them away.
So there’s another four hours wasted as you muster them again
from the thousand acre paddock in the sleet or pouring rain
and by now the dogs have had it and you’re feeling pretty low,
you think you’ll ring the Air Force up and tell them where to go.

The strangest thing will spook these sheep, a rabbit at the gate
is enough to make these wethers not want to co- operate.
But we sit back patiently and try to keep our cool
because we’re shearing them tomorrow and we need to get their wool.
We’re enjoying our country lifestyle down here on the farm
now we’ve got a handle on these sheep, they all are quiet and calm.
Our first lamb was born yesterday and that’s a pretty sight
and we hope to have quite a few more over the next few nights.

So now we’re chasing eagles, and fighting off the crows.
Who fancy a lamb dinner but not ours - Oh dear me. No.
The foxes think our little lambs were put there just for them
and if they can’t knock a lamb off, they’ll try to nick a hen.
So we’re hanging in, surviving, hand feeding ‘cause of drought.
We haven’t given up yet, we’re not looking for an out.
And even though we’re poorer now than we have ever been,
We are happy, tired and contented living out our country dream

Maureen Clifford ©

[Leonie]

It's interesting how some places can stay in our hearts long after we have left them behind. Obviously Springdale is firmly settled in yours. Lovely memories.

[Irene]

HI Maureen,
Your love for the place/lifestyle/animals shines through!!
And you're right - memories shouldn't be changed. This poem is for you, not for perfection, and you have captured it beautifully.

Catchya
Irene

[Heather]

It's a place that obviously holds a lot of fond memories for you Maureen. The movie clip is fabulous! You are doing great stuff.

Heather