7 April 2016 - Whangarei Central Holiday Park, Whangarei, Northland

So here we are back in our comfortable safe haven in Whangarei, on power, near modern and functional sanitary facilities, washing machines within metres and rotary clothes lines that spin in the sunshine, unshaded by totara and puriri trees. I make mention here of these particularly wonderful native trees because it is those which obstruct the autumn sun from reaching the solar panels of  our roof early in the morning or the yellow rope clothes line I had strung between the cabbage trees on our section out at Parua Bay.

We returned to Northland in mid-March, soon busy with maintenance on our remaining rental properties and involved with the juggling of childcare and school schedules for our grandchildren, although I should take little credit for the latter. It simply happened that we were in the right place at the right time when the more involved and committed in-law-grandparents chose to spread their attention to progeny beyond the New Zealand shores.

This modest contribution to senior involvement proved to be rewarding beyond expectation, as had been our longer contribution last year to the family further south. Alas my maternal tendencies are hugely lacking , and so even the smallest positives prove an absolute delight! This is meant as a criticism of me, not of our delightful six grandchildren.

And even more, as we moved north from South Auckland, we were again in the right place at the right time, and found ourselves roped in to caring for our two very active and more alien (if for no other reason that we see so little of them) grandsons, after school, while their parents coped with the transition of a new job for our son and the first week of a uni-course for our daughter-in-law. This too turned out to be most enjoyable, although given my low tolerance levels and generally selfish nature, was not enough to make us change our plans for the year, even the term.

Family gathering occurred unexpectedly, apart from those with useful purpose. A weekend at Waihi Beach serendipitously brought our oldest and youngest children together along with their families. The opportunity lent itself to a rare grownup dinner out, now our oldest grandchild is old enough to be left in charge of her sibling and cousins. We drove through to Waikino and treated ourselves to a three course feast at the Falls Retreat. How lovely that was!

 

We were also about to share our youngest grand-daughter’s birthday, now turning four and as most modern young girls of similar vintage, bedazzled by princesses and fairies. On her mother’s suggestion, we bought her a Cinderella dress which delighted her no end.

My elderly parents, who are racing through their eighties and now embracing the fact they are no longer super-young after having held out for so long, were delighted to have us back, close enough to call regularly for morning coffee, an impromptu chat or simply a diversion from the mundane routine of life.  With them we have shared the delight of movies viewed at the local cinema: Mahana and Hunt for the Wilderpeople, both brilliant locally produced and filmed films, swapped book recommendations and learned more about their travels in England nearly thirty years ago.

It was in their charming apartment that we reconnected with my younger sister and her husband, after six months at the very least, a fact I should be thoroughly ashamed to admit.

We found time to catch up with several friends, sharing meals and morning teas, checking in on work sites while pleading our own work commitments as we left, and sadly not catching up with others. We spent some weeks out on our section out at Parua Bay, before Daylight Savings ended, although that specific fact had little to do with our departure. We weeded and whacked plants considered to be weeds often only considered so because they are not recorded in the list of native plants. There on the edge of the bush we had the absolute delight in spotting a pair of North Island weka rummaging for grubs about a weed covered stump; that was before we cleared the weeds away.

We had several days of rain; the temperatures barely dropped. It was perfect weather for the proliferation of mushrooms; these I gathered and feasted upon for three consecutive days, alone because my cautious husband was fearful that they might be toad stalls rather than edible fungus. I did exhibit a little caution, consulting Friends on Facebook and my mother by text. The former were encouraging, that latter suggested I discard the lot, all of which says much for the measure of love one’s own mother has, in contrast to friends who would have been sad, but had such a story to tell!!! They were delicious; I live to tell the tale!!

Owning a bare section, at least bare of dwellings and formal gardens, requires as much work as the domesticated sort; the bush creeps forward throwing out preliminary growth – bracken, ink weed, woolly nightshade, regular black nightshade and thistles. The latter just need to be grubbed out but Chris takes the weed-whacker to the rest, then we gather it into piles to dry, later carrying it all to another pile to be burned, along with trees and branches that have succumbed to age. On one clear morning when rain was forecasted to fall by 11 am, we set fire to such a pile and watched with alarm as the smoke billowed out across the nearby road, then swung around to the neighbouring house, finally heading directly skyward as planned on such a calm day. The rain did not arrive so we hung about raking and poking at the fire as one does; I fear there is a little of a pyromaniac deep within my psyche.

 The last three nights spent out toward the Whangarei Heads were spent camped at the Parua Bay Yacht Club, or more correctly at the Whangarei Cruising Club trailer sailer grounds. There backed up to the bay, we watched the sun come up in the east early in the morning, and set over the hill to the west, groups of Maori youth dive off the jetty into the cooling water, boaties setting out to fish early in the morning, seagulls dive for bread too stale to serve to my discerning husband and so much more.  Within metres of the compound, my husband had little option but to visit our own trailer sailer, a Farr 6000, which has spent the past eighteen months gathering dust and cobwebs with dozens of other like craft which do likewise. “Goldie” was given a couple of hours of attention, love and no doubt assurance that she would gain more of the same if she would be patient for at least another six months.

Within walking distance of our friends’ home, we lured Liz and Graeme to dinner in our little home and feasted and drank and sent them home to rest before they set off for work the next day; we rose slowly to nurse overfed and watered bodies.

Here too we were gifted a bag of scrummy feijoas, a fruit I look forward to every autumn when in New Zealand, but alas a fruit Chris hates; the texture, taste and scent repel his senses. The donor was a fascinating man who had a wealth of local political knowledge, gossip and opinion about those who leave their trailer sailers to languish in the compound. I re-donated half of the feijoas to those more appreciative but not before I had gorged myself of their plump ripe flesh.

And so now we are parked up in this familiar posse, familiar for our hosts, Brad and Claire, as busy and welcoming as ever, our fellow campers, some permanent and some who happen to swing by as we do, and the staff , the same friendly folk now in better heath than when we last were here.

At this point we have received confirmation that our caravan, a 2006 Sterling Jewel, and our vehicle, a Kia  Sorrento of the same vintage, are now waiting for our arrival in the United Kingdom. Chris’s brother, John, who has been instrumental in securing these items on our behalf, will be at the airport on 21 April with his special friend, Mary, to meet us on arrival.

There is little now to done; the suitcases to be uplifted from my parents apartment, our children and their families to be caught up with in West Auckland and Waihi Beach before we leave, and of course, our motorhome to be tucked away safely in its storage spot at Paeroa. I am counting down the days, and if I were of a more mathematical bent, I could tell you how many sleeps were left before we fly out via HongKong.