A Day in the Country: Maggie Mackellar fondly remembers how much her mum loved the pop-in.
SOME PEOPLE ALWAYS SEEM TO HAVE A SPARKLING HOME, FRESHBAKED BISCUITS AND A HOT CUP OF TEA READY FOR SURPRISE VISITORS. MAGGIE MACKELLAR IS NOT ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE ...
MY PHONE PINGS. “We were wondering if you were home this morning and if the patient was up for a quick visit?” “Yes!” I say. The farmer is on crutches as he gets acquainted with a brand-new knee and visitors will be a good distraction. I add ‘make scones’ to my already too-long morning list.
I grew up in a house where there seemed to be a constant stream of people ‘popping in’. My mother would warm the teapot, pull out the biscuit jar, which would be full of her date slice, sluice the hot water around the teapot, warm the cups and all the while the chat would flow over the kitchen bench and fill the room with what felt like tendrils of connections out into the world.
My mother was also a great popper-in-er. She would take a bunch of flowers, a cake or slice and leave the house with an airy “I’m just popping in on … be home soon.” I’m thinking about the ease with which she hosted people and the comfort she dealt out as I race in from checking on rams to find the kitchen full of smoke.
I’d hoped my scones would be fluffy and golden, but when I pull them from the oven they are not golden and they do not look like scones. I scoop them into the chook bucket, hope the smell of burnt scone will clear soon and scrounge at the back of the pantry for a packet of Scotch Finger biscuits. I feel anxious for a moment. I hate not having anything to offer guests. Then I think of my mother and how hospitality flowed from herself, not from a clean house or perfect cake. These friends will only laugh at my failed domestic moment and I’m pretty sure they’ll turn a blind eye to the household chaos, the weeds waving their seeded heads in the flower beds and the lawn in need of being mowed.
Despite the fact they live a couple of hours away, my friend wasn’t joking when she said they’d be right over. Her husband is an aviator and their idea of a Sunday drive is to hop in the chopper and come for a cuppa. I can hear the whump of air in the distance and in moments the trees in the front paddock are tossing their branches in welcome.
It’s quite the arrival. My friend is laden with flowers from her garden, a bag of just-picked veggies and a big smile. She follows me inside while I find a vase and flick the kettle on. We carry our cups out onto the veranda and sit in the pale late autumn sun and the chat flows freely. It’s just what the patient needs. I can see his world expand, the pain and frustration of his knee forgotten in the wash of friendship.
There’s a grace to the act of popping in. When it’s done with generosity it’s a gift. And you can reciprocate by giving your visitors a little moment out of their world. They don’t need a frantically tidied house, a three-course dinner or even a homemade cake. Today I only managed a plate of bought biscuits, a hot coffee and a seat in the sun and yet I hope our guests left with a sense of the richness of exchange – a small slice of time given to being together on a sunny Sunday morning.