In summer I am a firefighter – bushfires – and over the summer fire season I have weekends when I am on stand-by, confined to home ready to go to work should a fire start. It is a great time for doing jobs around the house. Last summer I planned to refurbish the back deck, which was in need of a couple of new stumps and bearers and joists and other things I know nothing about in order to stop it falling into the rose bushes. Step one was to pull up the old decking and see what was underneath. Then I put in the new stumps and replaced a few bits in the supporting structure. The last step was to nail down the new decking. I put in the order and the timber arrived – last week – in May, late Autumn, heading into winter. My summer job is in danger of becoming a winter job.
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| An Eastern Spinebill - they appear in the backyard when winter starts and it is too cold in the hills for them. I was sitting on the half-made deck when I took this photo. |
The old decking is being fed slowly into the fire to keep the house warm while I am outside laying the new decking; drill then nail, drill then nail; playing with power tools and hammers and chisels and saws.
The drill is an old one my father gave me – one of about three. It’s a good quality beast. The only thing it won’t do is unscrew as my dad glued up the reverse button many years ago. The hammer I am using was also given to me by my father. I have five or six hammers, none of which I have bought. He also bought me the saw I am using – one of three he has given me.
The chisel is mine.
My father was a carpenter by trade. If I ever asked his advice in anything ‘house construction’ or vaguely carpentry-like he would take over as my work wouldn’t be up to scratch.
Late last month my father died. He was 81 and his health had been poor for a while. A smoker for many years, he spent his last years with a machine by his side that could suck the oxygen out of the air for him and deliver it via tubes and things. In the hospital it was a direct connection to an oxygen bottle turned up as far as it could go. Slowly his breathing grew shallower until there was none at all.
The following night a storm brewed and there was thunder. We joked that it was probably my father arriving in Heaven and complaining that the tucker wasn’t up to scratch, or it was served a bit later than he wanted, or that the chairs weren’t comfortable enough. Sadly, he went through his life with things never quite the way he wanted them to be. I heard him complain about the topping on a pavlova. “Strawberries! No, I don’t want a slice; should be banana on a pav.”
We are all an accident of our upbringing; our attitudes and approach to things. If I learnt anything from my father it was not to be like him – not to wait for things to reach my individual definition of what they should be. I learnt the importance of accepting (and hopefully enjoying) what’s offered. It’s not about accepting mediocrity; it’s about accepting things for what they are. It’s not always easy though.
My father was grumpy a lot of the time and my childhood memories are greyish with only occasional flashes of colour. He didn’t take me to the footy or camping; he was always too busy with work and stress and anxiety. But he tried. Where we did connect he helped. At high school I did an elective in photography and developed an interest that continues today. My father gave me his camera, and a lens with macro and telephoto functions that became a favourite, and filters and a range of other gear. I still have the lens, which is sadly growing mould inside and of no use anymore, and the camera, which has also stopped functioning, even if I could get film.
My partly constructed deck, worked by me using his drill and his hammer, is flat and the boards evenly spaced. I have hammered in lots of nails and only bent one so far. I have used all sorts of tools and haven’t injured myself or removed any fingers.
I think my father would be pleased.
