Saturday morning at Talua is a time for work. Outside work. Work around the home.
Today I was hanging my washing on the verandah. It was raining. Pitter patter pitter patter pitter patter. I can hear the thwack of a small axe as a small boy cuts firewood. I hear the thud thud thud of a machete as a young woman trims the edges of her garden and the scratch scratch scratch of a scrubbing brush as her sister washes in an outside sink. Rusher rusher rusher, a boy scrubs the pots with sand to remove the black from the fire. And the chatter of the small children, wandering, watching and laughing, too young yet to work.