whanganui, december

picking fresh strawberries, raspberries, plums, peas, courgettes, potatoes, beans, cauliflowers, broccoli and cabbages from the garden.

sleeping with the windows wide open and only a thin sheet covering me.

meeting john at the beach after work for a surf.

spending christmas eve with my family: my sister's delicious food and playing "bead spooning" with my dad, niece and nephew.

watching the ashes from australia, on telly. go england!

rain that comes like a mist up the river.

being bitten by mozzies in the hot evenings, cicadas droning on during the day.

watching the movie "avatar" with john and his daughter.

pohutukawa trees in full bloom.

hanging with my workmates on the riverbank at our company's christmas party.

not wearing shoes, except when absolutely necessary.

finding myself stuck in a rip and unable to get back to shore while surfing at castlecliff, as thunderstorms and torrential rain come and go around me.

the scent of roses, of rain on hot ground.

grooving to fat freddy's drop in lower hutt.

fruit smoothies for breakfast [banana, strawberry and mango is my favourite combination].

big stars in the sky: rigel, betelgeuse, sirius, procyon, canopus, jupiter, achenar.

fierce sunlight that can only be dealt with by good sunglasses and good sunscreen.

the dogs, full stretch and panting on the back porch.

a cold glass of juice on a hot afternoon.

finding time to read.

doing a walking meditation around tess and aladdin's riverside garden at nine o'clock on a sunday night. the smell of lemon trees, the feel of dirt on the soles of my feet, the sound of the quiet river.

seeing the full lunar eclipse.

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photos by anne-marie emerson

1. my strawberry patch

2.pohutukawa in full bloom

3.december sunset

4.john at durie hill, waiting for the moon to rise in eclipse [that's durie hill tower in the background]

the art of being alone

"i don't know how you can spend all that time on your own," said my mother to me before i left for flounder bay. "it would drive me crazy. are you sure you'll be all right?"

[i should point out that when i went to south australia my mother worried i'd be eaten by crocodiles.]

i had a big stash of books, ink for my pen, a good weather forecast and plenty of food. i was about to spend a week in my favourite place. there are definitely no crocs in flounder bay. i knew i'd be all right.

but after i had arrived at flounder bay and settled in, i didn’t feel all right. an unexpected feeling of panic hit me. hadn’t i been looking forward to coming here for months? so why did i feel like running away? why did i have this overwhelming urge to talk to someone?

and then i realised: i wasn’t used to being on my own.

this was a novel discovery for me. i’ve always enjoyed my own company. back in the day, i’d come here for a week and be content to speak to no-one. i had been hanging out for that very thing. but here i was, feeling lonely.

for most of my adult life being single has been the norm for me. i was used to doing things by myself, like going on holiday. it never worried me. in my late thirties, things have changed and i’ve found myself far more “attached” than at any other time. it’s been about four years since i last came to flounder bay alone.

so i have lost the art of being alone – a highly under-rated art, i might add. when my last relationship finished i promised myself i would spend a lot more time alone. a noble promise, but one that was knocked sideways when i unexpectedly fell in love again.

once i realised why i was feeling so off-kilter, i was fine. i decided to reacquaint myself with myself, and that meant doing what ever i wanted for the rest of my time alone at flounder bay. so there was plenty of writing, yoga, long walks, eating and sleeping. but what i did most of was lie in the sun [smothered in sunscreen] on the little lawn in front of my cabin and read, while birds sang at me from the ngaio and ti kouka trees. it was a long, long time since i’d had such glorious and uninterrupted time to read.

and it was perfect.

after five days, john arrived to disturb my sunny solitude ... but that was a whole different kind of perfect.

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[ps. can i just say, this new blogger thing is a piece of crap. take that, blogger.]

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photos:

1. driftwood post on the beach, flounder bay

2. standing in the stream, flounder bay
3. lichen-covered rock, southern headland, flounder bay

photos by anne-marie emerson

things change.

I have just returned from a holiday at Flounder Bay. This is one of my journal entries written while I was there:

I’ve noticed an unusual amount of activity down at Bill and Anne’s house while I’ve been here. [Bill and Anne own the farm and run the camp.] This morning I asked Anne what was going on. She told me they’re packing up and getting ready to leave! On Friday they hand over the camp to strangers.

I was shocked. Bill and Anne built the camp on their farm several decades ago, and have run it with their quiet, unhurried friendliness ever since. I cannot imagine the place without them. They are as much a part of Flounder Bay as the two headlands guarding the beach, or the slow aquamarine roll of the Pacific Ocean on the sand.

But I do understand their reasons. It’s hard for them to have a real holiday when they’re busy looking after everyone else’s holidays, and running a farm. They’re getting on in years and Bill has had some health scares recently. They’re not selling the camp, just leasing it; and they will still live and work on the farm. It would be very sad indeed if they had decided to sell up and leave completely – Bill’s family has been on this land for a century.

But it’s hard to think of some one else running this place. What changes might they make here? Not too many, I hope. People love this camp for what it is – comfy but not luxurious, in beautiful, natural surroundings, and affordable for the average Kiwi family or foreign backpacker.

There are too few places like Flounder Bay left in New Zealand. So much of our precious coastal land is being sold to fat cat developers. Yes, it’s even happened at Flounder Bay – just look at all the fancy houses going up in the village. Ugly! But some one is raking in the money. I’m sure that’s all the developers care about.

Bill and Anne are constantly being offered huge sums of money for their land, but they won’t sell. I hope that when they’re gone, their children and grandchildren will feel the same way.