A PLACE TO CALL HOME

I LOVE THE WAY the definition of home shifts through the stages of life. When I was younger, home was where my parents lived, where I was raised.

But once I had finished school, my parents sold that childhood home, situated on a small block of land outside the New South Wales town of Wagga Wagga, and moved in to central Wagga. For my late teenage and early adult years, that house became my new home, though it never quite held the sentimental values or connection of the previous one. It was a place for me to visit between university terms, where I could spend time with my parents, eat good food and rest.

When I met my husband Alex nearly seven years ago, he was amid a move to a new property in the Central West of New South Wales. I remember the first time I visited Parkwood; it was a weekend in May. It was overcast. When I arrived, a smiling Alex was unloading the last of his furniture. After living a bachelor lifestyle on various properties throughout his agricultural career, he had little to fill this four-bedroom house. Thankfully the previous owners had left some furniture behind when they downsized to a smaller place. Alex was ecstatic with his newfound furnishings and home.

The next morning, we set off together to explore the property. Alex had visited Parkwood once, to inspect it. This was his first time to take it all in and acknowledge his new home. I tagged along in the side-by-side, eager to see the lay of the land.

The paddocks were intoxicatingly green, and ewes were lambing. We drove past the sheep yards and through a set of double gates that welcomed us onto the laneway. I was captivated by the laneway: no potholes, good fencing — this laneway was in good shape. On that first drive down it, it seemed to go on forever.

When I thought we had reached the end and the final paddock, the laneway instead split into two, providing further access to more paddocks and an ironbark forest which completed the boundary of Parkwood. Alex drove through each paddock, ticking them off on a map he had drawn, confirming names and boundary lines. He connected with the property so quickly.

When he would veer off the laneway to inspect grass, dams and bordering paddocks he’d always know which direction would take us back to the house. I was flabbergasted, completely disoriented. To me, Parkwood was so foreign, too new.

As our stages of life continued together and became more intertwined, so too did my interest in Parkwood.

Weekend visits became more frequent and goodbyes harder. When we decided that I should move there to live with Alex, I was thrilled. No more painful goodbyes; we would be sharing our lives together. But the house into which I moved still didn’t feel like home. For me, home became a person and that person was Alex. We worked together on giving the house a more homely feel. We furnished it a little better and slowly filled the house with treasures and happy memories. We got engaged, we got married, our children Jim and Beatrix came into our lives.

Now, seven years later, when I think of home, I think of Parkwood and our little family. I think of all the work Alex has done to improve this property and the work we have done together in the house and garden. I’ve come to know the lay of this land so well that I can picture in my mind every gate, every tree. I can close my eyes and see where the laneway rises and curves and where it weaves and splits. I think about the way the light hits it at sunrise and how it glows when the sun sets.

I often tend to muse about life when I’m sitting behind a mob of ewes on the laneway. For livestock, their definition of home is instinctive. The ewes have been here for many years and, like me, they’ve come to know the laneway and the paddocks well. Together, when mustering, we all move in unison, up and down our beloved laneway. South to north for the paddocks out the back and north to south for the paddocks across the highway.

Even when they’re in a paddock, when the grass is so long that they can barely see ahead, they let their noses and the scent of moisture lead them to water, to the freshest green pick and the shadiest trees. They weave through the grass until they find a slashed path — thanks to Alex and his tractor — and forge ahead to where they need to be, to their homely spot among the trees.

It’s comforting to know that I have a new definition of home which now involves my own growing family. This is my base. This is what I now think of when I think of home. It brings me happiness, joy, and fulfilment, which I think is what home is supposed to be.

Alexandra MacAlpine lives on Parkwood, a sheep and grazing property in the Central West of New South Wales. Follow Graziher on Instagram to see her ‘Thoughts on a Laneway’ reels.