PUSHING THE LIMITS

Early morning laneway walks, cups of tea and a novel or two next to the bedside are three homely habits I can’t live without. Yet my work as a photographer will often take me to new places, and one of the things I love most about that is the chance to explore other people’s farming acreage. Each property, each operation, is so different to the next.

The lay of the land and their laneways is what truly captivates me. I recently visited the Central Coast of New South Wales to photograph the owners and employees of Limitless Lodge, a pre-training, spelling and rehabilitation centre for racehorses and performance horses. The ground was dewy, but the morning sky was flawless.

It didn’t take me long to find the property’s laneway. There was no straight line on this particular laneway; instead, it curved, with no end point in sight. It was smooth and unblemished; there wasn’t a pothole to be found. The yearlings galloped around the laneway, the clop of their hooves barely heard as the soft earth absorbed the impact.

I adore horses. I find them incredibly majestic creatures. Looking into the eyes of a horse is like looking into its soul. Growing up on the outskirts of Wagga Wagga in New South Wales, I was lucky enough to have a childhood that prominently featured horses. Pony club, gymkhanas, one-day events — I did them all, thanks to the dedication of my mother. It takes a patient, organised and selfless woman to push aside her own weekend doings to load up a horse and all the gear that goes with it and watch her child go round and round on her four-legged, hoofed friend all day long.

After school, to avoid doing my homework, I would often wander down to the paddock to visit my horse Steel. A green apple and a slice of bread was always on hand to feed him. He would wistfully continue to nuzzle at my hand long after he had gobbled up his treats in the hope that more would appear. Steel was a Quarter Horse and, as his name implies, when he was born he was the colour of steel. Dark, grey-blue dapples completely covered his body. He had a lustrous silver mane and a creamy white tail. I would spend hours washing his tail in the lead-up to eventing competitions, trying to get it as white and as gleaming as possible, although my attempts at braiding his mane into neatly bundled rosettes the size of gum balls always ended poorly. Throughout, Steel would stand patiently with the odd head-toss thrown in, just to remind me that he was being tolerant of my mane-tugging. As he aged, Steel’s dapples faded to a snow-white coat with fleabitten brown spots. The last of the dapples to fade were the ones that trickled down his hind legs. Steel was loyal and extremely quiet and loved nothing more than to rub his face against my shoulder.

I often dreamed about working with horses full time after I finished school. My parents weren’t so enthusiastic about my ambitions. Education and the opportunities that came with it were important values that my parents encouraged for myself and my siblings and so we completed our final high school years at boarding school in Sydney. It was my parents’ way of showing me that I could do both: study and maintain my passion for horseriding, albeit at more of a simmer, when I returned home in the school holidays to ride my beloved Steel.

Being at the Limitless Lodge training facility provided me with a glimpse into the parallel universe that I might have occupied, had I decided to continue my teenage trajectory. Rising at the first light of day to muck out the stables, saddling the fillies and colts and heading out on the track for a three kilometre training loop. I am in admiration of the riders’ bravery at being legged up and over these vast, only-just-broken-in thoroughbreds. It takes a lot of guts to stay in the saddle of a very young, very energetic yearling. It makes me question whether I would have had the pluck to handle it.

As I observe the women and men devotedly tending to the horses in their care, I am captivated by the geldings and mares at the performance stables. Much like my Steel, they’re adorned with jumping saddles and breastplates. My Kieffer jump saddle is the only thing I still have that connects me to my years of eventing. It has been with me throughout this non-equestrian period in anticipation of the day that I will purchase another horse.

For the moment it sits stoically in the corner of our shed.Sheltered from the outside elements, it rests underneath a cover of dust bunnies and dead blowflies.

On sunny days I’ll sporadically take it out and give it a once-over, dusting off the cobwebs and giving it a good oil. The sun will hit the surface of its freshly greased leather pommel and I find myself admiring the finery of it all: the memories it holds are dear to me. This saddle bore me when Steel and I would dash through the cross-country course. Many a time I found myself temporarily unseated, then quick as a flash I would be back in it again. An instructor, my mum or just an observer on the field having dusted me off and hurled me back into the seat.

I give the saddle a pat, as if it’s one of our five working dogs, and tell it how good a piece of craftmanship it is. I promise it that one day I’ll pull it out and, rather than just oil it, I’ll fling it onto the back of a horse. When that day rolls around, it may look a little different to my teenage years. Small children will be in tow. They’ll have tiny boots and tiny saddles and sit on top of wise, slow-moving ponies. The pace will be more of a ramble than a canter, as we toddle down our beloved laneway with its straight lines and many gates. But I look forward to those days with the sweetest anticipation.

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.