Puppy Pie (3 page)

* * *

Feeling that morning tea is not quite ready, Useless happily climbs the stairs to his favourite room, the Folly. As usual, he plops himself down below the large triangular window and breathes a sigh of relief. Like his ancestors before him, Useless never wonders why he likes this room so much. All he knows is that he feels free.

And, like his ancestors before him, that is exactly what he is: free for a while from those mites that live on dogs, causing them to scratch and bite themselves for relief. Now, Useless is free to lie perfectly still without a constant tickling somewhere on his furry body.

Just as he settles down under the triangular window of the Folly, microscopic black specks leap off Useless and into the air. With centuries of practice to perfect their aim, the ancient Mite family lands precisely on the windowsill. And, if they had eyes to see, would find themselves looking over hundreds of hectares of the new crop waiting to be harvested.

Ma, the formidable matriarch of the family, gazes sightlessly forward, always alert for signs of danger. Since the first dog arrived on the farm carrying Ma and her family, she has been protecting the Folly and all of the descendants of Frederick Hepplewhite. No bigger than a comma, Ma rules her brood with an iron mind, mentally slapping and hounding wayward mites. If she were seen, Ma would appear as a mere speck in the life of the farm but she is the most important speck any farm could hope to have.

Around her, crowd dozens of microscopic mites invisible to the human eye. Ma, grandmother multiplied by thousands of generations, is the ancient custodian of the farm. Instinctively, she knows when something is not right.

‘Not right,' she mumbles to herself.

‘What's wrong?' Max asks, a muscular, miniscule speck crouching beside Ma.

‘Something,' she says irritably as she moves closer to the window and senses a beige car driving away from the farm.

‘What is it, Ma?' Dizzy asks, one of the latest generations.

‘A bland bombshell.'

Dizzy rolls her eyes: she's used to Ma talking in riddles.

The mites standing nearest her – Cha-Cha, Terra and Tiny – shrug knowing better than to ask for an explanation. Ma is infamous for two things: her prophecies and her quick, bad temper.

‘Not happy,' she frowns. She imagines her latest brood near by. ‘Bad time for bad tidings,' she mumbles to herself. Mentally, she shakes her head, imagining those around her.
This new generation -xyz- are all wrapped up in themselves
, she thinks.
They want everything “now”. Just when the Folly needs fighters, what do I get? A generation of dizzy singers and dancers
!
Oh well
, she mentally shrugs,
I suppose I'm surrounded by the best of a bad lot
. She senses each in turn: Max, all brawn but very little brain; Dizzy, forever going around in circles, and Terra, her most grounded mite.
Which isn't saying much,
Ma sighs.
Then there's Cha-Cha, infected with dance fever from watching too many dancing competitions on TV; and Tiny, the smallest of the family, too young to be useful.

Well
, she thinks despondently,
let's hope I don't have to call on the rest
.
O Solo Mio, for instance, always wanting to be left alone. Or Flighty who is just that: flighty. If only Dolo and Dyna, the most capable of all my mites, had stayed on the farm. But what do they do when my back is turned? Catch a French Poodle to Paris
!

She slaps herself hard:
concentrate, Ma. There's the future in front of us, a fine green crop waiting to be harvested
.

A slight breeze ruffles the rich green leaves, and the crop sways gently. In the distance, two giant fire engine red Harvesters crawl through the open gates.
Getting ready for tomorrow,
Ma thinks.
And tomorrow, with Harry's Harvester, that will make three
. A ripple of fear runs through her as she mentally pictures the new crop, the first of its kind in the area.
Why am I afraid all of a sudden? Everything seems so normal. No, something is wrong: I know that ancient feeling
.

‘Tell us a story, Ma,' Tiny asks plaintively, breaking across Ma's thoughts.

‘Yes,' Cha-Cha says wiggling. ‘I'm bored. There's no music up here for dancing to.'

Acting automatically while her senses reach into the heart of the Folly searching for the threat, Ma begins her recitation. ‘A century and a half ago, Frederick Hepplewhite was alive and well. He was a clever, cantankerous, hardworking man. One evening, robbers stormed into the farmhouse where the family was having dinner.'

‘Oooh!' Tiny whispers. ‘Was it a dark and stormy night?'

Absentmindedly, as she continues searching for the threat, Ma says, ‘Yes, if you like, it was a dark and stormy night. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, the first thing the robbers did was tie up the family and polish off the dinner. Next, they threatened to burn down the farmhouse if Fred didn't give them all his money.'

‘Oooh!' the mites say in unison.

‘Now, Fred had worked very hard and didn't want to lose his money, his farmhouse, his family or his life. But this time, Fred was well and truly up the creek. His hands were tied. And so were his feet.'

Tiny stifles a laugh: she knows Ma has no sense of humour, and doesn't mean to be funny.

‘So,' continues Ma, ‘it was now up to your ancestors to save the family and the farmhouse. But what could they do? The dogs were asleep under the house and unaware of the threat. So, your ancestors did the one thing they did best: they bit the sleeping dogs awake. Next, the dogs rushed into the house. As soon as the dogs saw what was happening, they jumped up on the robbers and knocked them to the ground.'

‘Oooh!' the mites chorus: they love this part of the story.

Ma pretends not to hear, and continues. ‘Then the fiercest dogs surrounded the robbers with teeth bared, snarling nastily. In the meantime, one of Useless' smart ancestors yanked and pulled at Fred's ropes with her teeth until the ropes gave way. In fact, Useless comes from a long line of smart dogs although you'd never think it to look at him,' she adds picturing Useless asleep below them. ‘Then,' she says continuing, ‘Fred grabs the robbers' weapons, releases his family, ties up the robbers with their own ropes, and sends the youngest son on horseback for the police. Fred always believed that even if the robbers had got their hands on his money, they would have burned down the farmhouse just for spite. A lot of people were jealous of old Fred. He'd done very well for himself because he'd worked hard.'

There is silence while the mites digest this cautionary tale.

Just then Ma, alert as always, senses tea being poured into a mug. ‘Jump!' she yells as Useless, ears pricked, tunes into the sounds of morning tea. He gets up immediately, picturing crumbs and fallen titbits. Just in time, the mites land back on Useless who sighs wearily and pads down the stairs to the kitchen.

Useless noses into the kitchen and plops down under the kitchen table. As he does, Jake begins cutting up the flourless chocolate cake and slicing the date roll.

‘What if,' Harry begins, ‘there was a crop that not only fed you but clothed you and insulated your house?'

‘This new crop of ours is completely pest resistant,' Tom breaks in quickly as Useless scours among their feet searching for crumbs.

‘Don't forget it needs less water to grow than most other crops,' Lucy says. ‘So it's perfect for a drought-riddled country like Australia.'

‘Guessed yet Gull?' Jake asks grinning.

‘That's easy. Bamboo,' Gull says triumphantly.

‘Why bamboo?' Helen asks passing the date roll to Lucy.

‘Well, you said you could eat your new crop, and you can eat bamboo shoots.'

‘True,' Harry says nodding.

‘Then you said you can make it into clothes. And I've touched towels made out of bamboo – so soft. You can make bowls and mugs and other stuff out of it too. Oh and,' she adds, ‘you can use bamboo for scaffolding on buildings, it's that strong. So', she says, ‘I bet you're going to harvest bamboo.' She looks around the table and grins.

Every face smiles at her but then they all shake their heads sadly.

‘Please stop teasing me,' Gull whines. ‘Tell me somebody. What is it?'

Chapter 2

‘Well, you're sort of close,'
Tom says. ‘But not close enough.'

Gull groans.

‘Give up, give up, give up,' her cousins chant happily.

‘Alright,' Gull says. ‘You've got me. I give up.'

‘But not without a mighty struggle,' Helen laughs sipping her tea.

‘Well what is it, Helen?' Gull asks.

‘Hemp,' the cousins chime before Helen can answer.

‘Hemp?' Gull echoes. ‘But what can you do with hemp? Isn't it a weed?'

‘Nope,' Harry says happily. ‘But it grows like a weed. It's got so many uses that I'm going to leave your cousins to fill you in. I can hear Ted and Jimmy bringing their Harvesters in now. Don't forget to clean up everybody. And set two extra places for lunch, will you Jake?' he calls out as he and Helen head out to the big shed. He shouts cheekily, ‘Ted and Jimmy might look like a couple of bean poles, Gull, but they can put away a whole puppy pie.'

‘Oh, Harry,' Helen says loud enough for the children to hear. All the way to the big shed they can hear Harry and Helen laughing.

‘Only kidding!' the cousins say quickly in case Gull takes her uncle seriously.

‘I'm getting used to it,' Gull sighs. ‘Now, tell me country cousins, what can you do with hemp?' she asks as she helps Jake stack the dishes in the sink. He turns on the hot water.

‘Thought you'd never ask,' Lucy laughs as she shakes the tablecloth on the other side of the screen door. ‘You see, Mum says we buy lots of stuff from overseas that's made of hemp so she reckons we should grow it ourselves and make that stuff here.'

‘Now are you ready for the list?' Jake asks laughing. ‘We can recite it in our sleep we've heard Dad and Mum so many times.'

‘Just picture a plant,' Tom begins, ‘that you can use not only for food and clothing…'

‘But run a car on it,' Lucy adds.

‘Make rope with it,' Jake says.

‘Make canvas out of it,' Lucy says.

‘Even make jeans out of it. In fact, the first jeans were made out of it. Even the drafts of the United State's Declaration of Independence were written on it.'

‘On canvas?' Gull says, her head spinning.

‘No. On paper! On paper made out of hemp.'

‘Wow! Am I the last person in the world to know all this?' she asks amazed.

‘Ah, no, not quite,' Lucy laughs. ‘However, as almost every country in the world grows hemp, you'd think more people would know all about it.'

‘That's why almost all the farmers in the district have turned their farms over to hemp this year to see how well it grows.'

‘And how profitable it can be. The farmers have already organised all the processing and baling.'

‘And they've got mills around the countryside waiting to turn it into cloth.'

‘And retailers in New South Wales and Victoria ready to sell it in their shops. Even the big stores are selling it. You know, it's very big in Europe.'

‘Don't forget,' Jake says, stacking the last of the plates for drying, ‘you can use hemp oil on your salad.'

‘And put hemp with other materials, like cotton, when you're making clothes,' Lucy adds.

‘Oh, boy,' Gull says impressed. ‘Next, you'll be saying you can build a house out of hemp. Or weave chairs out of the fibres.'

‘But you can. You can do both those things,' Jake says eagerly.

‘Now there's an interesting thought,' Lucy says. ‘Maybe I could weave some art for a change. Thanks Gull. I'll keep that in mind.'

Gull grins at Lucy, happy to help her. ‘What will this crop do?'

Lucy says, ‘It's for hemp cloth. There are more sheds behind the big shed, so we'll sort it here and when it's ready, the teams of locals working in the sheds bale it and cart it to the railway, put it on the train and then it's sent off to the mills and made into clothes.'

Sensing there are no more crumbs to be had, Useless wanders out of the kitchen and ambles into each of the rooms in the farmhouse gently goaded by Ma. Satisfied that the threat isn't in the house, Ma sits back while Useless saunters outside to the various farm enclosures. Ma, senses alert, knows that Useless will pad over to all the sheds, following his nose.

* * *

Standing by the sink Tom continues as he drains his mug of tea, ‘And the cloth manufacturers pay us as soon as they buy it.'

‘Which means… Tom says.

‘Which means,' Jake continues, ‘Dad and Mum can pay off their overdraft with the Bank. I know it worries them although every farmer seems to have one.'

‘Sometimes you just have to,' Lucy explains shrugging. ‘You have a good year, then a couple of bad years while you wait for another good year. An overdraft tides you over in the bad times.'

‘Unless they're all bad years for well, years,' Tom says. ‘Then you're really in trouble,' he adds. ‘But as Dad says, he's one hundred per cent sure this will be the year to turn everything around.'

‘Fingers crossed,' Jake says cautiously. ‘Well Gull, now that we've filled your mind with endless possibilities for hemp, what do you think?'

Gull simply looks from one cousin to another.

‘She's gobsmacked,' Tom laughs heartily. ‘She knows everything about hemp …'

‘Except what it looks like up close,' Jake adds.

‘Oh yeah,' Tom says. ‘Come on Gull, I'll take you on a tour of the hemp crop.' He looks under the table and around the room for Useless but he's not there. ‘We'll grab Useless on the way: probably over with his puppies. We'll follow the dirt track up to the rise at the end of the paddock. Then you can look back and see how the farmhouse looks as it floats on a sea of deep emerald green,' he adds with a poetic flourish.