Memories of John’s mother
I don’t think I have as many memories as I could have had of my mother. Not when I was growing up. Not as many as my sisters, maybe. We lived on a farm and I spent most of my life outside playing or fighting with my brother. We had a treehouse and it was all enclosed with old hessian bags and we could sit up there for hours and take shots with the .22 at crows or make little roads in the sand up on the hill for our toy cars. My baby brother came later. If I wasn’t with my brother I was out with my father on a tractor or in the sheep yards. I didn’t spend a lot of time inside. My mother did. But there are some things I remember and as I got older there were some more.
Before we moved to the bush…
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