THOUGHTS ON A LANEWAY

I LIVE ON A sheep and grazing property called Parkwood, near Grenfell, New South Wales.

My husband Alex holistically farms the 1300 hectares while I work from home, looking out across the garden. I can also see the entryway where the driveway stops and the laneway begins. It’s a great position as this is where I can watch Alex come and go. If he’s going and the dogs are in tow, I know he’s mustering, so I grab the drone and head out as well.

Luckily, our 18-month-old son Jimmy loves nothing more than hopping into his baby seat in the buggy to go mustering. I’ve grown to treasure these moments of our life on the farm and I feel that the laneways have a story to tell.

Our laneway is the epicentre of our daily journey. A mounded road formed by earth and table drains, it is our very own highway. We never have to plan ahead on our laneway, nor do we receive traffic reports via the radio. It’s never busy enough that we need to worry about being late. But we do at times need to be worried about getting bogged.

It may show up on Google Maps, but it’s not a road you would have ever driven down.

You’ll pass it as you travel along another laneway, a busier one, paved and marked with white lines. That laneway is known as the Mid Western Highway.

From the fences lined with pine trees and roadside ironbark clusters to a gate or two and a couple of stock grids, our laneway sweeps and curves to connect our property from south to north. Twelve kilometres of glorious, undulating country.

Vehicles pass along our laneway, but not the ones you see on any regular paved road. There’s a battered Mazda Bravo ute that ticks along nicely in third gear. Four dogs hang out the side, tails wagging and tongues flapping in the breeze. Sometimes there’s a quad bike, sometimes there’s a tractor, and other times it’s a combine harvester, but that is a rare and seasonal sight.

We have a lot of foot traffic. A regular pedestrian is often sighted morning and afternoon. She pushes a pram in front of her, a toddler leaning out the front taking in the sights. But that isn’t the type of foot traffic one should be aware of. It’s the four-legged traffic that you need to be more mindful of.

It’s the rumblings of the sheep as they make their way along the laneway. A path they have come to know so well. They know where it starts and where it ends. Where the potholes are, where the tree roots jut out from under the dirt. From above, they glide like fish in the sea, weaving their way past the ones who stop to graze or passing those who lag behind. They never feel pressured to run, they move at their own pace.

Each flock starts its journey at different points of the laneway, some start north and head south, others start south and head north. And always at the end sits my husband, the man on the bike, with four loyal Kelpies by his side.

The flock makes its way along the laneway, wondering where they are heading. Suddenly, they come to a halt. There is a fence up ahead. Not a proper sturdy fence, but a makeshift barrier. It’s been pulled across their ever-so-faithful laneway and the sheep are quite confused. They stand, looking ahead and wondering where it is they are required to go. The pack behind them is starting to bunch and panic starts to be felt among them. Until… they turn their heads left.

There a gate is wide open. A Kelpie appears in front of them, sitting quietly in front of the makeshift fence. Panic begins to subside, as the sheep head towards the opening. Surely there is respite for them on the other side. The Kelpie remains seated and the sheep pass through. That is where the laneway ends, and the green grass begins.

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.