The Ponderosa
Posted: Thu Jan 03, 2013 8:53 am
I first had a go at this in my very early days, I think it may have been the second poem I posted on the old forum. Since then I’ve fiddled about with it and may even have posted a later version (not sure) anyway none were much chop so over the last couple of days I have completely rewritten it.
Once again it’s based on a true story, the old bloke mentioned is one of several I got to know over the last 40 years. Wonderful characters all of them, some a little eccentric but all honest and generous to a fault. Sadly they’re all gone now.
One of the reasons for my interest in this story is that the old chap named his camp ‘The Ponderosa’ which was the same name we had for an opal mine in Coober Pedy, but that’s another story. I have a couple of black and white photo’s of those days including the mine, but don’t know how to post them.
Cheers Terry
THE PONDEROSA T.E.P. © 31/12/ 2005 – 1/1/2013
It must have been a year or so since last I’d passed his shack,
way out near Eucalyptus on the old Pikes Hollow track.
I’d known him for some years and always stopped if passing near,
to catch up with the old bloke and we’d often share a beer.
His camp was near some breakaway; a truly awesome sight;
majestic views out to the lake when seen in fading light.
While visiting his camp, you sensed what freedoms all about,
despite its isolation or the signs of recent drought.
It’s called ‘The Ponderosa’ and for years that’s where he’s stayed;
there tucked among some mulga trees with hope of summer shade.
Inside was pretty basic and his furniture quite old,
his pride and joy the kero fridge for keeping stubbies cold.
A feeling of uneasiness had greeted me that day,
his camp appeared deserted; hard to think he’d moved away.
An eerie silence greeted me when opening the door
and noticed then that odds and ends lay scattered on the floor.
It soon became apparent he’d been gone for quite awhile,
for many of his treasures had been dumped there in a pile.
I sensed that things were missing, yet his clothing still hung there,
but pots and pans lay scattered now as was his silverware.
I felt quite apprehensive as I took my leave that day,
with feelings that I’d lost a mate since last I’d come this way.
I later heard that he was crook and not expected back,
confined now to a hospice, after years out on the track.
Next time I passed that way I stopped and camped there for the night,
I knew by then he’d passed away; a visit now seemed right.
Not much remained of his old camp for most had disappeared;
or carted off to other camps; the shack site almost cleared.
Yet something of him still remained, I sensed it all around,
it whispered from the mulga; heard his footsteps on the ground.
This made me feel quite welcome in the way that old mates do;
I thought I heard his voice - imagination though I knew.
As dusk approached that evening I lit his old camp fire
and looked out to the breakaway; it’s beauty to admire.
Then drank a final toast to him before the light had gone
and thought about a grand old bloke who sadly had passed on.
********
Once again it’s based on a true story, the old bloke mentioned is one of several I got to know over the last 40 years. Wonderful characters all of them, some a little eccentric but all honest and generous to a fault. Sadly they’re all gone now.
One of the reasons for my interest in this story is that the old chap named his camp ‘The Ponderosa’ which was the same name we had for an opal mine in Coober Pedy, but that’s another story. I have a couple of black and white photo’s of those days including the mine, but don’t know how to post them.
Cheers Terry
THE PONDEROSA T.E.P. © 31/12/ 2005 – 1/1/2013
It must have been a year or so since last I’d passed his shack,
way out near Eucalyptus on the old Pikes Hollow track.
I’d known him for some years and always stopped if passing near,
to catch up with the old bloke and we’d often share a beer.
His camp was near some breakaway; a truly awesome sight;
majestic views out to the lake when seen in fading light.
While visiting his camp, you sensed what freedoms all about,
despite its isolation or the signs of recent drought.
It’s called ‘The Ponderosa’ and for years that’s where he’s stayed;
there tucked among some mulga trees with hope of summer shade.
Inside was pretty basic and his furniture quite old,
his pride and joy the kero fridge for keeping stubbies cold.
A feeling of uneasiness had greeted me that day,
his camp appeared deserted; hard to think he’d moved away.
An eerie silence greeted me when opening the door
and noticed then that odds and ends lay scattered on the floor.
It soon became apparent he’d been gone for quite awhile,
for many of his treasures had been dumped there in a pile.
I sensed that things were missing, yet his clothing still hung there,
but pots and pans lay scattered now as was his silverware.
I felt quite apprehensive as I took my leave that day,
with feelings that I’d lost a mate since last I’d come this way.
I later heard that he was crook and not expected back,
confined now to a hospice, after years out on the track.
Next time I passed that way I stopped and camped there for the night,
I knew by then he’d passed away; a visit now seemed right.
Not much remained of his old camp for most had disappeared;
or carted off to other camps; the shack site almost cleared.
Yet something of him still remained, I sensed it all around,
it whispered from the mulga; heard his footsteps on the ground.
This made me feel quite welcome in the way that old mates do;
I thought I heard his voice - imagination though I knew.
As dusk approached that evening I lit his old camp fire
and looked out to the breakaway; it’s beauty to admire.
Then drank a final toast to him before the light had gone
and thought about a grand old bloke who sadly had passed on.
********