UNCLE FRED
It
is early Friday afternoon. The day threatened heat but the breeze has
won over. There is no one about, no cars, no noise, just me and the
insects and birds. Yesterday we visited Uncle Fred. It may be the last
time I see him due to him being ill.
Fred is a champion of a person, completely down to earth and beautiful. He is nearing seventy eight and has lived a life tough on his body. Accepting his fate, he has taken up smoking again, he figures why not?
Over the years he has been a shearer, drover, fencer, farmer, horseman, truckie and numerous other things. In recent slower years, he went weekly to the local Farmstay resort and sheared a sheep for tourists. Fred is so Australian looking that they even put him on a Scatchie ticket for a while there.
The Japanese love him too and took him over there for a shearing stint. He was offered about three grand for his well worn hat while there. He declined and it still sits on his head from sunrise to bedtime.
A few years back now, I ended up living with him for a while. I had been working long hours in palliative care and needed some easy time of no responsibilities. Most of those perfect days were spent sitting about under falling Autumn leaves, playing guitar with my cousin while Fred sat out the back in his usual place reading the paper.
We lived well together. He was easy and accepting company, a young woman and an old uncle. It was lovely in every way. We became mates as well as family.
He was always open to try new things yet still gives me grief about a particular lentil dish I once cooked us. He enjoyed all of my cooking, except that. I think it was just a little too vegetarian for an old sheep shearer. I enjoyed it though, the food and the heckling.
My first song had been half written a couple of years earlier, but I had closed the book on it for a while. I was completely ignorant back then as to how huge a role songwriting would come to play in my life's work. I was to be surprised by that later. While living with Fred, I finished that song and wrote another one the same day. So the poor old bloke had to hear those two songs at least a hundred times a day for months, until I wrote the next ones, which were of similarly tragic themes.
Saying goodbye yesterday I counted my blessings for such time with him and for being his niece. Fred is the best of men and has been a great uncle. I have been blessed, indeed.
May his homeward journey be gentle and smooth.
Fred is a champion of a person, completely down to earth and beautiful. He is nearing seventy eight and has lived a life tough on his body. Accepting his fate, he has taken up smoking again, he figures why not?
Over the years he has been a shearer, drover, fencer, farmer, horseman, truckie and numerous other things. In recent slower years, he went weekly to the local Farmstay resort and sheared a sheep for tourists. Fred is so Australian looking that they even put him on a Scatchie ticket for a while there.
The Japanese love him too and took him over there for a shearing stint. He was offered about three grand for his well worn hat while there. He declined and it still sits on his head from sunrise to bedtime.
A few years back now, I ended up living with him for a while. I had been working long hours in palliative care and needed some easy time of no responsibilities. Most of those perfect days were spent sitting about under falling Autumn leaves, playing guitar with my cousin while Fred sat out the back in his usual place reading the paper.
We lived well together. He was easy and accepting company, a young woman and an old uncle. It was lovely in every way. We became mates as well as family.
He was always open to try new things yet still gives me grief about a particular lentil dish I once cooked us. He enjoyed all of my cooking, except that. I think it was just a little too vegetarian for an old sheep shearer. I enjoyed it though, the food and the heckling.
My first song had been half written a couple of years earlier, but I had closed the book on it for a while. I was completely ignorant back then as to how huge a role songwriting would come to play in my life's work. I was to be surprised by that later. While living with Fred, I finished that song and wrote another one the same day. So the poor old bloke had to hear those two songs at least a hundred times a day for months, until I wrote the next ones, which were of similarly tragic themes.
Saying goodbye yesterday I counted my blessings for such time with him and for being his niece. Fred is the best of men and has been a great uncle. I have been blessed, indeed.
May his homeward journey be gentle and smooth.
