HORSES

I quite like horses but I don’t love horses as many people do. My one and only attendance at a horse race only came about one day as I set out to go to the football at Windy Hill. As I went, I met a friend from work while waiting for a tram at the end of Puckle St, Moonee Ponds, and he was going to Moonee Valley to the races, so I went with him. Now this would hardly be the case if I loved horses.
I was surprised to learn that the Red Indians only had horses in the later days after the Mexicans left some there after one of their wars; I was under the impression that they had horses in the days of antiquity.

As I’ve been “mining the memories” it took me somewhat by surprise that my experience was about opposite to the Red Indians. Horses were an integral part of my first 15 years and practically no part at all since.
Living on a Mallee wheat and sheep farm, horses were a vital part of many operations. We had two teams of heavy draught horses along with the necessary hacks for riding and others for buggies, gigs and trailers.
We had state of the art pioneer stables, long and large hollow logs, split in half, lengthways for feed troughs.
The horses pulled anything that needed pulling, and on a wheat farm, lots of things had to be pulled, ploughs, seeders, harrows, binders, wagons, scoops, dead trees for fire wood, as well as gigs and such.

My mother was an Ellis, and it was said that the Ellis’s always had smart rigs and horses.
Great Grandfather Ellis never caught the gold fever but earned a modest but more reliable living as a teamster.
Even in my early visits to Melbourne there seemed to be almost as many horse drawn vehicles as motorized transport.

We went to school in a horse and buggy, the roof of the buggy had been torn off by a low branch in earlier days by my older brothers so we felt the sun and the rain, we would even take turns run behind to get warmed up on the frosty mornings.
I’ve been tipped out of buggies in runaways, swept off the horses by branches, bitten, trodden on ,knocked down, urinated on ,defecated on by horses. The latter happened when the droughts broke and the green grass sprang up; behind a horse in a small gig was not a good place in such times.
I’ve also had packed lunches stolen and eaten by horses more than once or twice.
Did I mention that I do quite like horses?
I will never forget the traumatic day when my father was knocked over by a heat crazed runaway Clysdale, knocked over is not quite the term, he did two or three circles in the air before hitting the ground. He had a lot of trouble making the haystacks that year using just one arm on the pitchfork. We could get the hay up to him but lacked the expertise needed to make the stack.
We also used a bag loader for the wheat bags to get them up on the wagon, a three bushel bag of wheat ways about 180 pounds, earlier than that the bags were 4 bushels. This bag loader was pulled up by a horse, my job was to lead the horse forwards, thus raising the bag up in an arc to my dad on the wagon, reaching him at about chest height, and then I would have to back the horse back to the starting position for the next bag.
This happened over 100 times each load, and being a young person with little stick ability or attention to detail, the bag would sometimes be delivered with a bit of a jolt; of course this could result in my dad being almost knocked over backwards by the force of the heavy bag. Who would work with kids?

During the early years of the Second World War all our heavy horses were sold at the Dandenong market.
I think my dad was a little bit sad, and my brother Murray even sadder. I can’t recall losing any sleep over it myself. The horses probably ended up in tins.
I sometimes feel that I have lived in two different worlds in one life time


Photos

PetaSue and the Blue Bando
Nugget,our "School" horse
Sunshine Ranch Queensland
Horses and machinery, harvesting.
Horses and buggy at Quambatook before my time
Horses and wagon
Harvesting at Quambatook c1920

OUR MOB




On average one of our mob celebrates a birthday every 12.166 days.
This may sound like trivia to the casual reader, but when the matriarch of the family takes present giving and "occasion" attendance seriously, "Houston, we have a problem".
Let's not forget that Christmas also happens annually, as well as anniversaries and other incidentals.
Now don't get the idea that I am complaining, my life has entered the "Happy Hour" zone, I am 5 years into "time on"



You know that your getting old if happy hour is a nap.
I am resting from my labours, perhaps taking Rev 14:13 out of context a little.


What do you think this person might be contemplating? "The Mob"?
This past week we have noted 2 birthdays, one who turned 45 and another 51.
Like I say, You know that your getting old if your sons arms are too short to read the newspaper. I hope that you "get" the subtlety of that. If you don't, you know that your getting old when your son is nearly as old as you are.
There was a poem that started, I remember, I remember, the day that I was born.
Well, I can't, but it probably wasn't a great experience for me at the time.
I was passing from one sort of life to another, which was quite necessary for all concerned, especially my mother.
It is also necessary that I have another transition, it might not look pretty from your end, although one morning you may not be able to wake me up!
Don't be concerned, I will be more alive than ever. But to coin a phrase from the Gladiator, "But not yet"

THE CHURCH IS ALIVE AND WELL ON PLANET EARTH

In recent years I have been fulfilling the role of a Christian Nomad. This has enabled me to see more clearly what is going on in different places and settings.
A couple of weeks ago I was able to attend an Anglican church in Berwick where "The Open Door" gave a presentation of the underground church in China, what an encouragement, what a challenge. I must read "The Heavenly Man" again. This is an account of the life and doings of a Chinese Christian.
After visiting a Church of Christ at Surrey Hills a couple of weekends ago, we went for coffee in a complex nearby, while there a young man I hadn't seen for some time came over and spoke with us, he said, "The church is powering on all over the place".
I wrote recently about a first communion and a baptism. Well, this last weekend we attended the Bayside church in Grovedale where one of our Grandsons, Jarred Holt, was being baptised. The church was full of young people. As is usual these days I seemed to be the oldest person present, which suits me fine as up to this point I haven't had to hang around with old people. Perhaps that day is approaching!
But back to the baptism, this was to be a baptism in water where the candidate is placed totally under the water. The Bible indicates that this is symbolical, not only of washing, but an identification with Jesus Christ in his death, burial and resurrection, and is reserved for people who "believe", often referred to as "Believer's Baptism"

Jarred was able to stand up and give a good account of why he was taking this step.
It was deeply moving for him, and I think also for all who were present as he paid tribute to Jesus Christ, and then to his mum and dad.
For me,my mind ran back something like 25 or 30 years when Jarred's father,(and our son) Greg Holt, stood in the Dandenong Baptist Church and have a similar, moving testimony. What can I say? God is good.
According to doomsayers, the church is about to disappear. How wrong they are.
The again, it may well do so. Have you never read, "For the Lord Himself will descend from heaven with a shout, and the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet of God. And the dead in Christ will rise first, then we who are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air, and thus we shall always be with the lord"?
At that time the doomsayers can say, "I told you so"