I buried my mother in the back paddock earlier this morning, before my dad was up, before the sun had appeared over the back of the milking sheds, with a stand of magpies watching. I chose this particular resting place because no one ever goes there and I didn’t want her to be disturbed. The lopsided square of land is filled with rusting farm equipment and thousands of bubble-holed rocks that push out of the earth like dinosaur eggs. It is the closest thing we have to a cemetery, and the thought gives me some comfort. Shooter, our old cattle dog is buried nearby, so at least she’ll have company….
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