I'm greeted by a cuz with a coffee as I get out of the sea at Waimairi, 'Hardcore." It's 730am and the water is warmer than the air. I tell him, but he's still really impressed by my effort. I manage staff briefing on time shaking sea water out of my dreds as I walk in the door.10Mcc are hyper first period and I'm chilled, literally. My brain is still finding its feet after the early morning shock. I drive out the gate by 2pm. The drive south is not plain sailing, my eyes are sore. They feel like they're covered in gravel and I'm squinting against the light. I fish sand out of one at Geraldine, sloshing the other with water. I push through sweeping along Lake Wanaka around 730. I feel my way round the lake, up to Aspiring Station before spotting cars, a swing bridge, balloons and wedding sign. The sun has disappeared behind the hills but I'm at journey's end.
At the right spot, now I have to get my stuff to the lodge which I can't see. I find a wheelbarrow, load up, and push. Over the swing bridge, up a narrow track through tussocks till I can't go any further. I'm nursing a bung ankle hoping I don't do any more damage. And I'm exhausted. So close yet still so far. A knightess in shining armour appears, then another wandering minstrel. They take up the slack...I stumble into the lodge clearing. Nadia and Andrew take up more slack. They pitch my tent while I collapse with a plate of food. There are familiar family faces and unfamiliar ones, a Convergence face, Corinne, Jane and Jeff's neighbour. All is right in the world, it's time for a wine.
I'm woken early by screeching. It's a gaggle of cheeky keas. Six, having their own party. Keas are iconic South Island birds, declining in number, partly because they're so curious they peck at everything, including lead roofing and nails on bush huts. I meet family and friends at breakfast and find the caffeine addicts. The sun is shining and the sky is high country blue. It's a great day for a wedding, comrades. Cheery conversation and cereal then I psych myself up for an alpine swim. It's so cold my head feels like it's locked in a vice. Corinne makes me a hot herbal to calm my shivers.
Back at the lodge we sit around discussing when to change into wedding clothes. When Jeff appears in his wedding suit the feathers fly. The womens' bathroom is a flurry of makeup in front of the mirror, and I wait for an old granny to come out of the loo so I can escort her safely to her seat. Old broken bones would surely sideline celebrations. Granny goes slowly up the hill where we gather in a clearing. There's no music, just the rustle of leaves and chirping of birds. Jane arrives looking as glamorous as a mountain guide ever could at a bush wedding, white dress with a flash side sweep hairdo. We're hushed in admiration at the heart felt vows of love and adoration from this couple who share so much. The age gap of 23 years falls away. What difference does it make, love triumphs.
Usual wedding protocol...drinks, photos, speeches, food. The speeches stretch, someone farts and we get the tipsy giggles. The kids run around, adults talk too much for their attention span. I read Shakespeare's sonnet 116, "Let me not to the marriage of true minds." The final word before we let loose on food to dance off. Waterloo by Abba is the wedding waltz. We all take to the floor but get stuck with glitches in the music, till Abba takes up the slack. In law and outlaw cousins, we the last ones up and drinking. I melt from the fire down to my tent.
The keas are quieter next morning but drifting bacon smells entice me out of my tent. Those under 60 who don't climb mountains before breakfast emerge softly into the morning. Nursing a hangover, I thank Jane for inviting me. I don't know her super well but we share the value of family, whanaunatanga. The social glue that holds us together. Feathers are flying in a flurry of food and packing. I get help with my stuff and walk down to the Matukituki for a swim. No easier this morning but the sun is strong and my skin alive by the time I get behind the wheel to go home. Short stop at Sousa's then straight through, leaving behind a weekend disappeared too quickly.
No comments:
Post a Comment