I ride out through the pine trees up to the airport. The hills are covered with thyme and the air is astringently herbal. It's the smell of Central. Wild thyme carpets the rocky hills, crackling underfoot and releasing a spicy perfume. It was brought from the Mediterranean and during the gold rush the miners planted it to use remedially. The plants are woody and the leaves are tiny. They survive in inhospitably rocky, arid terrain which is scorching in summer and icy in winter. In spring thyme flowers colour the hills a dusky purple.
I spend the day settling in, taking Lionel for a drive to visit Tui in the Clyde cemetery and checking out this summer's stone fruit. The locals are saying it's been a cool season and when I swim in the lake, the water is skin tinglingly freezing.
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| Christmas greetings |
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| Cyde Cemetary |
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| Denny's packing shed |
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