We’ve sold the house. Four weeks until settlement and finally a new Shangri-La found! The guard is changing and new residents hopefully enjoy our fourteen years of gardening. Regrets, uncertainty, slowly replaced with the knowledge that a new chapter beckons.
The soft early breeze gently ruffles the Wisteria canopy, a few weeks ago just a bare superstructure, then delicious mauve flower bracts, and now, its dense green foliage, ready for summer shading. I sip my long black, the soft rumble of early traffic murmuring in the distance. My favourite place.
The kids will be arriving in half an hour, their day starting early with a drop off at Nannie and Grandpa’s for breakfast, showering and school delivery. Another weekday starts.
Chirrup, chirrup. Mum arrives with breakfast. Nervous uncertainty, something not quite right. My presence momentarily unsettling before the imperative has her manoeuvring herself towards the family: snuggled, hungry and eager. Minutes later, Dad arrives with more offerings. Mum’s off, as the routine of raising a new family continues.
Currawongs pose a threat. Swooping in under the canopy, cawing in anticipation, angling to get closer to the family as Dad attacks viciously. Talk of a David and Goliath battle! He is not in the mood for any nonsense, and swoops. The large bird flees, Dad hot on its tail, up into the early pale dawn, then into the nearby Pittosporum.
From the loungeroom, we have taken on the role of assistant gatekeepers, ever on guard, ready to bang on the glass if the predators threaten. We wonder if Mum and Dad are aware of our duties. Do they appreciate our efforts?
The deck has telltale leaf droppings as the new family settle. I have conducted a detailed inspection of their chosen establishment and agree that it has been well selected —intersecting branches, maximum green coverage, tricky entry and departure. But still, the bigger birds approach, the chirrup of small voices a dead giveaway to a possible repast.
More breakfast arrives. Every few minutes there is a delivery. Uber Eats would be challenged – deft feeding, and then off to the discovered supply of big, fat, slivery worms.
Bing bong bing – the children arrive. I’m in the kitchen; porridge for one, Weetbix the other. Their noisy exuberance steadied with a quick game of checkers before shower, dressing, and into the car. Frenetic morning routines continue furiously.
Misses Google advises fourteen days to become fledglings. The worms keep arriving, while boxes are filled and stacked in the hall and spare rooms. Tentative flights are observed, while we deconstruct into cardboard boxes.
We say final farewells. The prearranged furniture uplift nears. The pace quickens, last minute discoveries of forgotten treasures are wrapp, along with the emergency box of essentials.
A garden meander: a last coffee on the verandah. Dad, then Mum, shepherding three fluffs of feathers, flutter down onto the railing. A proud new family presentation, and they’re off.
Our doors are locked. We bid an emotional adieu and deliver keys to the Agent.