Heading Home

Changeover day... again. I head back to Christchurch, relieved to be on hand to sort out the rebuild. There's the kitchen to design, taps to think about, spouting to co-ordinate, flooring to buy, windows to finalise. But it's going to be sad leaving Lionel acceler. His ageing is accelerating and this time he is talking less,  gradually withdrawing from the world.
It takes a day to pack up, drive and unpack. When Kahu's around we inevitably argue.There's stuff to pack in the car, mostly mine, and I have to sort out food and leave the house as it was when we arrived. And I always leave something behind. The sun is scorching as I load the Suzuki. I'm taking clothes and framed pictures I have stored here, as well as luscious Central Otago fruit: apricots, cherries, nectarines and peaches. Not to mention another case of olive oil. I call in to see Stephen in the cherry orchard at Cromwell. He's picking fruit to export for Chinese New Year and gives me two wine cases of seconds, as well as some to deliver to a mate on the way. Lynette's dug up a clump of garlic chives and these permeate the inside of the car. It smells like a soup kitchen.
The drive feels slow and I'm happy when the silhouette of the Port Hills comes into view. First stop, North Beach to cool off in the sea. I surprise some German backpackers cooking dinner in the car park with an offer of fruit. "Jesus!" is the reaction when they see my bulging wine boxes. They're very happy to vary their diet of pasta and brocolli with tasty, juicy, fresh fruit. They remind me of Felix and Johanna who stayed with me two summers ago while waiting for Christmas parcels. Felix is the son of a friend I made while looking after a youth hostel in Alaska in the summer of 1992. Olaf arrived and we did a tramping trip up a nearby glacier then stayed in touch. We exchange Christmas letters every year and, when Felix and Johanna turned up, they felt like family. So nice to get to know the next generation of travellers.
When I visit the house and clear the mail box there's a Christmas letter with pressed flowers from Johanna. Serendipity. The site is altered by scaffolding. We're moving on. I check the verandah posts. They are too short, very plain  and very square. This gives me a restless night's sleep. The stress of decisions which could be costly makes me toss and turn. The neighbours update me on the cat- food gone but no sighting. I give them a shoe box of fruit. I haven't seen Pierre since before Christmas. I may have to sleep overnight.

Max and Gus swimming in the orchard dam

Orchard loo