The Muster
Dedicated to those before us and those who appreciate the simple life.
It was a pre-Dawn Brekky stars still in the sky
Hot tea and coffee sipped out of chipped enamel cups
The coals of the fire stoked up and smoke curling high
The smell of bacon soon has the ringers lining up
Boots pulled on and hats jammed down
It’s time to catch the horses
Watching the sunrise from the saddle makes you thankful you don’t live in town,
Listening to all the birds with their early morning choruses
Soon enough the morning stillness is corrupted by a chopper
Two ways start to crackle to life
Smokes are hastily rolled - no one wants to get caught wasting time and risk being called a hopper
As the sun starts to light the land the cattle are in for a surprise
The call has come in to start on a tail
Horses ears prick forward as they search for the mob
Weaving through the bush along an animal trail
It will make almost any man thankful for a trusty cob
After a few hours with the mob moving along steady
A few fellas may start to relax - maybe even doze
Those tricky old cows or cheeky scrubbers know and they are on the ready
They take the chance and make a break keeping the ringers on their toes
Up comes a shout across the two way ‘Jack bloody wake up’
And Jack finds himself racing across the plains
This cheeky Mickey he’s not one to give up
Jacks blood is up, pumping furiously through his veins
As he knows a ringer worth his salt will throw this Mickey down
He takes the leap and grabs his tail
Jack hopes like hell he’s got this right so he doesn’t look like a clown
The Mickey lands with a thud, Jacks taken the wind from his sails
Unceremoniously the Mickey becomes a steer
He’s let up and rather gingerly staggers to the herd
Meanwhile Jack cops some slaps upon his back and even a friendly cheer
He pat’s his mount grateful he hardly had to be spurred
The sun starts to set over the dusty cattle yards
All animals penned safely up to be drafted on the morrow
The ringers all looking forward to a game of cards
Laughing at who’s going to beg, steal or borrow
The cook serves up a hearty meal of beef
As evening falls around the bush camp
Jack tells of his trusty horse Chief
And how without much encouragement he chased that Mickey down like a champ
As the night wore on the yarns got bigger
A fella claimed to have thrown a hog
The stories grew with vigour
Laughter ringing through the bush – lying unaffected the cooks sleepy dog
Swags rolled out underneath a chandelier of stars
Soon the sounds of the outback return to the air
No sounds of horns or cars
Maybe the occasional knicker from a mare
The dingoes far off howl
A welcome breeze through the trees
A Curlew and a Nightjar owl
The welcome noises of the night that nobody sees
Life out here is not for the faint of heart
But time spent in the bush will truly leave an imprint
Jack just came to get a start
Little does he know this will become a lifelong stint.
Written by Grace Perry.
