Over Three Decades
Thirty years ago I married a farmer. Usually captain of the local Fire Brigade. Good in a crisis, he was and is always brilliant at taking charge.
When I first moved in to the homestead our honeymoon time was fun. We chased each other like kids in the schoolground with Catch n Kiss, playing tricks, games, drawing strange exotic animals on each other’s backs, then driving the other crazy with guesses, or scaring each other jumping out from behind doorways in the dark.
I thought it would always be the same and scoffed at older couples who relentlessly told us…things will change, they won’t always be so good.
We told each other jokes that weren’t funny, and laughed because it was them telling it. We listened to our partners life stories, filling in their timelines, imagining the child they were before.
We wasted endless hours in bed, refusing to get up or do a thing. God it was good. I don’t regret a single hour or rainy day. Better still, a cold, winter weekend in bed, only getting out for food, drinks and showers together was the best time we’d had.
Ever.
Visiting my parents a couple of hours away, I couldn’t sleep without him next to me. Without his body warmth, I felt homesick, lovesick.
