Away from the suits coupled with boots, of policy and the economy, a country route leads to my roots and fresh new grass shoots. Where community pride is nestled on a sheep's back ride and the old folk meet in the middle of the street, lies my home town of Boorowa.
Most weekends, I travel from Canberra up to our farm in Nabiac. The 7 hour drive is often filled with subprime coffee, entrepreneurial podcasts and dull taillights leading me further along the journey. It's important to get home. It's where my family and history lies, where my mind and the eagle flies. But while Worimi country always represents home, Boorowa will always have a place in my heart.
Loaded with the knowledge from the papers and books I read, this time it was back to my Grandparent's farm of Amerton in Boorowa to talk to Greg about his sheep, the market and the weather. As we drive through the paddock, his weathered hands and sharp eyes take to the pocketwatch as we form a circle of feed, every second leaving a trail of the animals I had admired as a child and my reason for connection to agriculture today.
But my love of this small town stems deeper- it's the stories that hold it together, the whispers of the land, that informs the town spirit and it's past. It's the way the history is shared, told through the people and properties we pass along the way, rather than the dollars or an apparent success now idolised by the media. Along an old dirt road out of town Nan tells my sister and I the stories of our past, as we grasp to our thoughts of the future and how this little town helped grow us into who we are now.
In a time when we have become more connected to our devices than the people we talk to them through, our ability to share and understand these stories and dreams abates. Where do your dreams and stories lie?