Domestics

Lionel goes to a social programme, Enliven, in the morning so Nic and I head to Clyde for lunch. Looking after an ancient person requires a lot of patience and it's a second job, on top of Nic's work at the supermarket. Living with an old person is different too, differing lifestyles and tastes in TV watching, not to mention fronting the medical issues. Lionel had a full scan last year after a stomach bleed and his overall health was fine, but his mobility and mental acuity have been steadily declining. He's becoming more withdrawn and quieter, a big change from his former sociable and opinionated self. If Nic wasn't here he would be in care. I've helped stave it off by coming down for school holidays for the past seven years, and his carer, Jill, has looked after him above and beyond the call of duty. Because she cares. She still comes to shower Lionel but Nic shoulders the weight of the care; 24/7 with no breaks is intense. So we enjoy the fresh air and freedom of Clyde's main street. The old buildings have been looked after too and there's a sense of pride in the township.
I manage another round of preserving apricots then cool off with a swim. Meanwhile, back in Christchurch, the scaffolding is going up.

Hotter by Degrees

We go on a morning trip to Roxburgh and stop for an almost world famous Jimmy's pie. The Teviot Valley is part of Central Otago's fruit bowl- apricots, nectarines, cherries, apples, pears and berries. Back home I do some apricot preserving- the overflow method. Lionel is helping but has trouble getting the stones out as the fruit is firm and his fingers are knarled with arthritis. When we're done we head off to Cromwell to visit Stephen, my cousin, and his family. They are part way through house building on a scenic site close to Lake Dunstan where they have a vineyard and grow olives. Last summer Kahu did some orchard work and stayed here, making an older boy bond with Max and Gus. For the past year, I've been selling 'Ollie's Olive Oil'. It's dark green with a peppery finish, totally moreish, and named after Olivia, Stephen's better half. Stephen also helps harvest Olivia's family's cherries down on Burnt Cottage Road. I pick up some seconds.
In the evening I'm on the phone to Kirk re verandah posts. Seems the ones which were delivered were too short and Nicky has some. They're too short too. Earthquake engineering means the posts have to sit on the ground instead of the old way of sitting on the verandah deck. This catches us all by surprise.

Selfie with Max

Cromwell in the Sunshine

A few things to organise from afar with the house then lunch with Lionel, and coffee with the fabulous Lynne Wilson, artist and gardener extraordinaire. I take Lionel to a family favourite, Nicolls' cafe and garden centre. Tasty food there and lots of activity: Mums having a break but with kids, grandparents and whānau, business people having busy conversations, holiday makers, covens of older women chatting, and groups of gossipy younger girls.There's a cacophony of cutlery and small children wailing Lionel enjoys observing the hustle bustle from a table safely out of the way, but when the chips and tea arrive its eyes down and looking.
We drive to the heritage precinct, relocated buildings from the commercial hub of Cromwell's main street before it disappeared under the waters of Lake Dunstan in 1990. The buildings date back to the 1860's and have been lovingly restored. The story goes that Cromwell was named after Oliver Cromwell by English surveyors to spite local Irish miners. But the miners were not to be silenced and the streets have Irish names: Antrim Street, Boyne Place, Derry Street, Mayo Place, Inniscort Street.
Lynne has brought her dog, Rosy, a rescue pet, well catered for and protective. Over the years I have bought several pieces of Lynne's raku-fired pottery. She loves iron work and has taken inspiration from local cemeteries. She is also a writer and the conversation finishes  with blogs. Records of present time connecting us through story.

Cromwell's defining feature

Cool Weather

There's a cool wind from the south. I take Lionel for a drive and buy some apricots for preserving. Oddly enough the water in the lake is warmer than yesterday. It's mountain fed, though, and colder than the sea.

Alexandra airport- 360 view

Roadside litter

Sunday in Central

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.

Christmas greetings

Cyde Cemetary

Denny's packing shed

Dramatic Weather- the Neo Normal

Changeover day... again. I pack up, tidy up and say goodbye to Dougal. He doesn't seem too fazed. There's an organisational meeting at The Good Habit, a former home for nuns near the Basilica. to plan a combined 60th: John, Clive, Will and I. 240 years should bring some wisdom to the table. We get distracted by food and gossip but John goes away with a list.
Unpacking and repacking and retracing my steps to Leinster Rd because I always leave stuff behind, I start the drive south mid afternoon.The weather forecast is ominous- gale norwesters. On Thompson's Track wind gusts push the car sideways. There's an apocalyptic yellow tinge in the sky which takes on a pink hue through sunglasses. It's the smoke from the Australian bush fires and the news is that several are merging into a super fire. The dim light and strong wind are elemental, dramatic and moody. I take it slowly. Dust and dirt sweep in horizontal waves, carried from the Southern Alps to the Canterbury Plains. Tree branches swing wildly. I drive down to the banks of the Rangitata River and hold onto the door when I get out of the car. There's a visible pall of dust skimming the surface of the water.
Jack's fish and chip shop is a favourite stop. Kahu's is not here to share the food so I press on. Light comes and goes with the cloud cover. At Lake Pukaki the Southern Alps are shrouded and the water lashes the shore, but driving into the Lindis the folds of the hills provide shelter. Kahu sweep along the updrafts, looping and soaring in eruptions of air. Companions of the road, they scavenge on squashed possums and  pancaked rabbits. This road is an old friend to me, I've been to and fro over the 35 years my parents have been in Central Otago. As I drop down to Central Otago from the Lindis the light is playing on the hills about Tarras. Home.

Thompson's Track

Rangitata Bridge- 4:30

Vipers Bugloss at Lake Pukaki

Lake Pukaki

The Lindis Pass

Cental Otago near Tarras

Friday Already

I have a post Thursday drinks slow start and take myself to College Ave to dig it off. I'm making progress cleaning up. I reckon if I stick at it, the garden will look like it's always been there. Glass half full. It's a big job on my own but I'm used to it. The sun climbs and I head to the beach where the fresh sea water clears up the remainder of my groggy head and gives me an appetite.
Today's job is more kitchen bench research. I find another supplier and another warehouse. There's a treasure trove of slabs, their origins displayed in their markings. The intricacy and movement of the patterns draws me in. It's like watching water flow round rocks. They are all different, though those from the same quarry have sibling resemblances. I love rocks and have spent many a happy hour fossicking beside river beds. There are three finishes: polished, honed and leather. There is also neolith, a process whereby left overs are reconstituted and have miracle qualities. Seems like the human race has harnessed even the core of the planet. I wonder how finite this resource is.
My next errand at Spotlight takes me to Moorhouse Ave. Exiting the car park I encounter a once bustling but now neglected part of town near the site of the old railway station. Graffiti paradise. I half expect a tumbleweed to come rolling along the dirt and gravel.
In looking for a short cut to a design store, I stumble another well established part of town, the Barbados Cemetery. I've lived in Christchurch for 20 years and never been here. The smell of freshly cut grass is enticing and I slow my steps. Prone headstones are another reminder of quake disruption and the frailty of human habitation.
Dusk finds me in the garden spreading the dirt pile into the diggings.