Parua Bay, Northland

This morning dawned yet again to the chorus of the tuis who prefer the puriri trees on the farm across the road to our own totaras. We have been camped here on our section since last Monday, a total of five nights since arriving back from the Bay of Plenty; the number of days always relevant when one has to consider the portable loo canister situation and other such mundane matters living as we currently are.

To the south east, cloud covers the high peaks of the Manaia range although the jagged summit rising above the harbour is just visible. Further south the Brynderwyns are cloaked in cloud which suggests the rain falling further south again may reach us before the end of the day. In the meantime, I can hear my husband working away with his pruning saw, clearing the massive cypress debris that stretches from the top of our camping spot down into the gully. We had the power company come and fell four large “trees” that had sprouted up out of a long fallen cypress and grown too large for our small urban chainsaw. The precarious nature of the fall direction was also worrying us; better to let the professionals deal with it. And so they did, taking out one more totara with it and creating havoc with the survival chances of a whitey-wood, a lemonwood and a dozen pungas. Yesterday we cleared away the totara debris from the whitey-wood, pruned back the tree ferns and now just hope that nature will heal. Our chainsaw is again with the fix-it people causing great consternation and stress for the woodsman, who is now thankfully happy with the reliable little handsaw.

Mostly I am happy to have my husband back near me each day, working at a pace that he enjoys rather than one under obligation and driven to task. He worked seven days a week, eight ‘til five right through until Saturday 29 November, and while I know there are many who work twelve hours shifts, seven days straight, or even more, they normally do take a break of at least a day. My husband would not, despite the protestations of his daughter and I;  the work had to be done and time was limited. And so, after many weeks of painting, which he is definitely over, and many more albeit enjoyable and challenging weeks of carpentry, we left the relocated house in the hands of our children to complete as they could, and came away having given all we could. (I use the world “we” rather liberally, because my own efforts in the projects were scant, mainly all about feeding and caring for Chris, which I suspect I did not do too well; he is now ten kilograms less than he was when I arrived back from Canada at the end of August, although much of that is by design.) 

We actually did take a break in the midst of all this, coming north to Whangarei at the end of the first week in November, and spent five days attending to urgent matters, reacquainting ourselves with our hometown and catching up with some of our old friends and all of our northern family. I then stayed on while Chris took himself back to his Waihi work, and spent almost a further fortnight staying with my parents and babysitting the youngest of our granddaughters while her mother undertook some contract work. 

Caring for a two and a half year old is something I have not had too much experience with because when my own children were that age, I was working fulltime and others were left to this. Aurelia was a joy; we did lots of reading, duplo construction, puzzles and wildly adapted games for older children. I even managed to take her to her beloved Mainly Music sessions at the local Anglican Church a couple of times; surprising myself by getting almost as involved as uninhibited childhood educators and good mothers do. Lunch and morning tea at the Town Basin with girlfriends were highlights, as was shopping for clothes with my mother; all pastimes not normally part of my life.

Thrice I walked the newly completed Hatea Loop, a 4.2 kilometres walking and cycling route around Whangarei’s inner harbour. Much of the walkway has been open for years and done by us in the past, especially given that we have frequently camped adjacent to part of the boardwalk in the past. The old part meanders past the cafes and shops of the Town Basin, along the edge of the Marina on both sides of the river, crossed here on the old road traffic bridge now named the Canopy Bridge and home to the city’s weekend artisan markets, past the Reyburn House art gallery and Riverside Theatre, down past a growing number of sculptures, lorded over by the magnificent structure titled Waka and Wave, mangroves and scarlet flowering pohutakawas, none of this in any particular order, but now all brought together by the completion of $30 million, 285 metres long opening upper harbour bridge, Te Matau a Pohe or the Fishhook Bridge of Pohe,  and the more recently opened Waiaroha footbridge which connects the Hihiaua Peninsula to the Port Road precinct. 

One Sunday afternoon I met up with Kit and his family and we wandered the circuit at leisure as you must with small children, pausing on the footbridge to admire holes in the sea  floor, to watch contractors make hay from the extensive grasslands on Pohe Island and to chat with acquaintances and family et en route. 

My second circuit took just an hour, walking with my dear friend Brenda who is just gaining her momentum again after almost a year recovering from a water ski accident. The fact I just kept up with her was testament to her determination and to the fact she is almost ten years my junior.

Then one early evening I walked the circuit at speed with my athletic sister after she finished work for the day, catching up with her news and discussing the improvements in the city over the past few years. Karen insisted we would take it easy rather than run as many who passed us do. Again her youth, a mere two years on mine, was evident and I realised that I had become very unfit since returning from Australia where we did so much walking.

It had been my intention to catch the bus back to Waihi, and I spent some time sussing out the best transport provider. Naked Bus offered the best fares on the face of it, but then they charge for luggage by the piece, a confirmation fee and insurance, which takes their price almost to the same level as Intercity. I was finally put off the Naked Bus when I heard how the luggage was handled, or rather not; the passengers are left to toss, push and shove their own luggage in willy-nilly. The driver is not at all concerned with weight distribution or the order it should come out and all round it seemed to come back to “you get what you pay for”. I elected to travel with their competitor but then my parents decided to align their own family circuit trip south with my return and so I was saved the public transport grief by travelling with them in their motorhome. This was very kind and accommodating of them given that motor homing means you can take a day or two to reach your destination, but when you have a passenger, you are bound to undertake the trip in one foul swoop. I was duly delivered to Larissa’s door with my luggage, very thankful, a sentiment we did our best to express by taking them to dinner at the Waihi Beach RSA where they stayed overnight.

Chris had spent the intervening weeks coughing through the nights and days and sounding quite ghastly when I phoned him from time to time, all the more convincing me that his gigantean efforts had to come to an end. He assured me daily he was feeling much better, which emphasised the fact he had been too ill to work at some stage but had pressed on regardless. Needless to say this post is to laud his stamina, sense of commitment and many other positive attributes, rather than mine, she on the side-line. 

We spent four more nights at Waihi Beach, then on the Sunday morning Chris packed up all the tools and maintenance gear that had been taken down, then we set off in the motorhome and Isuzu pulling the heavily laden trailer, en route north, stopping over at the NZMCA POP at Ardmore before the last leg “home”.

Unloading and sorting everything back under our leased house was a mission, but it did give us another opportunity to encourage our excellent tenants to take up the option to buy our home when the lease comes to an end in the middle of next year.

Today we intend to catch up with Kit, Kyla and their two gorgeous daughters at the Onerahi Santa Parade and spend some quality time with them during the afternoon, although as I write this the clouds have increased, the skies darkened and the prospect of Christmas street celebrations is looking less attractive. For them life has challenges ahead, Kit having been made redundant just yesterday and their future uncertain. 

The rest of the week will pass quickly, dealing with the business and personal matters before we absent ourselves from Whangarei for all the months ahead; some more bushwhacking, more socialising, more storage arrangements for our too many possessions, farewells to local family.

Then at the end of next week we will travel to Auckland and help Olly, Jess and their two boys move into their first home, as opposed to rental accommodation of the past. We will remain around for a week undertaking whatever tasks they deem useful, and then we will travel south, toward Wellington and the Cook Strait ferry, spending Christmas in a bush camp somewhere en route. Our days will be our own without any constraints apart from our ferry booking. I can hardly wait!! I fear I am a very selfish person after all!