Towards Balranald

Leaving Home

Don’t rush – prepare the van – I look at her – she looks at me – she moves to stamp her foot – her demeanour threatens that she is about to make a fuss – I look at her sternly – she looks back – she does not look happy - we stare at one another for a minute or so – her demeanour softens - I sense I am getting the better of her – we stare at one another some more – my confidence grows - I proceed to ready her for the road – not a quiver of mal-content – not a sign of her bad temper – she is packed down, hooked up and ready to go! – Perhaps her streak of independence has been broken?

Towards Berrigan – the countryside is looking fresh – it had cleared much of the water from under the feet of its vegetation and in turn the vegetation has responded to the burst of sunshine – it is lush and green and the landscape looks happy and content.

Berrigan

Berrigan remains Berrigan – Bernie’s memories are stirred – says she – “that is where Don and Kath lived – that is their old farm” – “where was their last farm” says I – “I am not sure – I was only a kid you know!”

Further along road she says – “not much rice being grown here now!” – “That is Possum and David’s place!” – She says.

Through Finlay - just like its neighbour Finley remains Finley - Bernie’s memories are stirred again – we pass the old hospital site – “that was where I was born” 

Past though Blighty – a decent pub – ah! the modern day farming technology –not a rough sign on rotting timber to announce the existence of the hamlet as was the norm of past days – it is now announced by a sign that has been laser cut from sheet steel – rustic – effective!

We approach Deniliquin – the wedge-tailed eagles soar – the road kill needs to be cleared – further along the Eagles no longer have a need to soar – their bellies are full and they sit on roadside stumps looking on with disdain as the motorists move pass them – their demeanour reminiscent of those displayed by Chairman Mao when he accepted the salute of his armed forces.

The impression that Deniliquin has upon me hasn’t changed – it still strikes me a place that despite its best efforts is little more than slightly overgrown rural hamlet that has not managed to retain its share of the wealth that its rich agricultural resources and heritage should have afforded it!

We lunch in a rest stop just inside the town – it is not just Blighty that has a fetish for laser cut sheet steel signs – this must be a district fetish as Deniliquin seems to suffer the same malaise.

We smile – we are the impartial observers of Road Rage Deni style – of course the “rager” was driving a ute – of course the ute had huge driving lights – of course the ute had mud flaps so large as to be absurd – not so expected however – a petite female driver – as is usual with road rage – foul, foul language more likely acquired in a woolshed servicing the progeny of peppin-bred rams than amongst the colonnades of the local convent.

We leave Deniliquin behind - It is a long time since I have travelled this road when it is not suffering from privations of liquid manor from heaven – the paddocks are green – the trees look alive and their leaves have a vibrancy that is missing during the long hot days of summer – the boredom normally induced in the traveller by the landscape is conspicuous by its absence

“Should we stop here in Moulamein Bernie?” –– nice lake – look at the park again –– nice place – tiny place - nice wharf on the river – friendly people - look at the caravan park – not as appealing as one might desire - fuel up and move on – oh Moulamein if you only knew how little trust we have in the impertinent van that follows behind us you would forgive us forsaking your hospitality,