I think Feijoas might be a bit like marmite. I mean, they’re actually nothing like marmite (one’s a green, kiwi sized, fruit from the guava family (originally from Brazil, which is odd, given how much NZ dislikes non-native species), and the other is black, sticky and salty and delicious on toast), but they divide opinion in NZ the same way marmite is a love/hate topic at home. It’s feijoa season at the moment and they are EVERYWHERE. It’s like in the UK when it’s time to harvest apples, or courgettes and you just can’t give them away because everyone has far too many already. Except it’s worse than that here, as most people have at least one feijoa tree in their gardens and feijoas are prolific producers. Every day at work there are buckets of the things – and they get devoured! So far, I’m not a fan (unless they’re dried, in which case they’re amazing) as they have a weird after taste. When I start raving about feijoas, you’ll know I’ve gone properly native and I’m staying here. (We were having the, seemingly endless ‘shall we stay or not?’ conversation the other day and decided that (secondary/high) school choices would play a big part in the decision – so we investigated, and it seems that the options are, unexpectedly, lacking. There’s either a public (state) school which is very progressive (yay) but also huge (1400 kids, easy to fall through the cracks), a Montessori school (30 min drive out of town) or private schools which are either single sex or religious, or both. Maybe we’ve found NZ’s Achilles heel? They seem so open minded in every other respect – environmental and socially conscious, politically liberal – that I wasn’t expecting the (private) school options to be so conservative. Bugger.)
I’m writing as I have a rare moment of peace on the boat (well, ‘peace’ is relative, there are no boys fighting, no ‘mummy, look’s, and no scowling husband to tell them to be quiet, but the engine is running – I can turn it off when the batteries get to 45% (currently 39%), as there hasn’t been enough sun (or wind, which is very strange in this city) to keep up with the toaster, oven, heater and coffee maker this week. And we need a dehumidifier, because there is nowhere to dry wet boots and coats and rugby kit. So we are going to have to plug to mains power soon – but over 3 years of self sufficiency isn’t bad going.
Aforementioned children and husband are at school and out on a bicycle ride, respectively. Hamish was very unsettled by all the bustling before the various departures (especially Charlie’s – who knew it could take so long to get ready to go out on a bike?) but he (Hamish, not Charlie) has finally given up being worried and has flopped down on my lap…having only recently vacated the space between me and Charlie in bed. He goes to sleep by the side of our bed, but is guaranteed to be snuggled up next to us in the morning. I was cross about this at the start and spent hours trying to make him stay on his bed. Then one night he did. And I was sad that he wasn’t cuddled up next to me. Apparently I’m contrary.
We’ve been exploring a bit more this month – yesterday we went for a walk with some school friends to Makara Beach – it’s only about half an hour from home, and maybe 10 minutes from the nearest suburb, but all of a sudden you turn a bend and the houses are gone and it’s wild and Scottish. It reminded us of the drive down to Innerleithen – through a gorge with a river at the bottom of it (albeit with more trees) and gorse everywhere (apparently, even though gorse is not native, it’s also tolerated here, as it is a pioneer species that protects native saplings while they grow – it seems that ‘imported bad, native good’ narrative isn’t as clear cut as it’s sometimes presented – I remember having similar conversations about buddleia in Scotland – it’s great for wildlife, and easy to grow…but it’s not ‘native’. Don’t get Charlie started on red squirrels.) Makara beach is on the west coast, which is much more rugged, with piles of drift wood from Tasman sea storms (several whole trees, but interestingly very little plastic). We’d picked a calm day though, so managed a small fire, which I’d assumed would be merely decorative, until our friend John pulled out some veggie sausages and a frying pan. He’d forgotten the oil, but nobly sacrificed the butter from one of his sandwiches – I bet he was a boy scout. Predictably shoes got wet from jumping between rocks (how great to see how other parents deal with that sort of thing though – just as Charlie was about to say ‘I told you so’, John was heading over with advice on how to wring the water out of wet socks, and instead of a sobbing, embarrassed child we had a happy one diligently working away to rectify the situation – lesson learned there), hands were grazed and we had to carry Hamish for a while (the sign at the end said ‘no dogs, working farm’ but we figured if we carried him he couldn’t worry any sheep), but we had the best time, especially when Leon showed the boys that they could use the Muehlenbeckia bushes as trampolines.
Our other big adventure this month was heading to the Sounds with Selkie. We had a few days in Wellington to show them Mt Vic and the Botanics, school, Te Papa and Cuba St, and then we did a big shop and cast off from the dock for the first time in months. We were all a bit out of practice, so Kit was sick (Hamish thankfully wasn’t, although he did refuse to pee or poo for 36 hours), and I swore very loudly when one of my plant pots fell down the companionway and spilled its contents all over the galley, the steps, the floor and the cushions in the saloon (Charlie just told the boys to ‘leave Mummy alone’ – they got the message pretty quickly and left me to sit on the floor down below scooping up soil feeling a bit queasy. Miraculously both plant and pot were unharmed, and were much better secured for the return journey. Thanks to Captain Charlie’s excellent planning we were in the right place (Sinclair Head) at the right time (1 hours before Wellington high tide) to get to the entrance of the Tory channel at slack tide. It was a bit bumpy, but nothing like as bad as some of the Pacific atoll passes we’ve been through. We hung out at anchor in a beautiful bay – I thought there would be loads of boats, but it was just us and Selkie, like the good old days – skimming stones on the beach while a Fantail (Piwakawaka) chatted to us, and then we headed to Picton for dinner out and a hike down the Snout peninsula the next day – spirits were kept up at the end of the 5 hour walk by playing ‘guess that tune’ from the hummed intro. Turns out our kids know their 80s rock bands. Unfortunately, Charlie also taught them the Chicken Song…
It was great to hang out with Selkie again and to be at anchor – more ‘when/shall we go sailing again?’ conversations. But for now, work continues to be great (I put on my big girl pants and inserted my first, and second, ever cannulas last week (the small tubes that go in your hand/arm to give medicines/fluids intravenously – it’s an important skill, but one that just passed me by as I didn’t work in a hospital for long enough to learn it. It’s quite a daunting prospect to stick a big needle in someone, and lots of people find it traumatic to be on the receiving end, so I’ve been a bit scared of it, if I’m honest, but it was actually fine – I’ve got enough banter to keep anyone distracted. The adrenaline rush after I’d done it was quite noticeable though – I was shaking so much I could barely put the dressing on to keep it in place). Charlie’s app is coming together well – he has a designer now and a logo and colour scheme – all very exciting. And Roo and Kit continue to amaze and frustrate us – all age appropriately! They visited the National War Memorial with school for Anzac Day, and came home to tell us all about Galipoli and how they’d been reading letters from a kid their age writing to his not-much-older brother who was on the front line, until his last letter was returned. You could see they’d both been thinking about it, and how it was still relevant now with wars they’ve heard about in the news. Roo particularly was talking about it for days.
Kit’s big thing at the moment is rugby. We encouraged Roo to try it too, and I’m so proud of him for trying (it was intimidating for me to try to talk to a close knit group of parents who’ve all known each other for years, and I’ve got plenty of experience just launching into conversations with strangers, so it must’ve been even more daunting for him), but he decided it wasn’t his thing (he was running around the pitch, but never once, in 3 practices and one match, touched the ball). I have to say we didn’t insist he kept it up once we found out the two boys would have practice and matches at different times on different days! So now he’s playing basketball (with a school team, so much less intimidating as it’s kids he knows) and he even scored last weekend! Woo hoo! Hopefully that’s the last new activity for a while – it’s exhausting physically having to ferry them around all over the place, but also mentally, constantly having to be your best self and cheerily introduce yourself for the millionth time. Even seemingly innocent questions from new people like, ‘how many kids do you have?’ always make me uncomfortable – I always feel a bit guilty leaving Bertie out (it was his birthday this week), but mentioning him in passing on the wet and windy side line of a year 4 rugby match with people you’ve only just met didn’t seem appropriate.
Blimey, that’s a bit of a sad place to end. Sorry about that. Please be reassured that I’m not sad – the sun is now out, the engine is off and, when Charlie is back from the shower, I’m going to out for lunch (wouldn’t want to leave Hamish without a lap to sit on).
PS It’s been strange observing the coronation circus from afar. We didn’t even try to watch the coverage on the TV, so most of what I’ve heard has been from the Archers, and one staunchly royalist (Kiwi) colleague. Most other New Zealanders we know have been ambivalent about it, rather than fiercely republican, which surprised us (one made a good point I hadn’t thought of, which is that many Maoris apparently don’t want to lose the King as Head of State, as the Treaty of Waitangi is with the British Crown. Without that connection, the Treaty could be weakened, and it is still a cornerstone of NZ policies in all areas (health, education, justice), providing the legal basis for protection of Maori rights, despite being 170 years old). Our Kiwi friends have also been surprised at our lack of interest in the coronation, but it just seems wrong to be spending so much money on such a performance when so many people are struggling in the UK. When we saw some folks dressed in regal fancy dress (King Arthur, Queen of Hearts) in the pub the other night, I have to admit the sight (particularly the guy in the crown and union flag) made me (and my fellow expats) wince with embarrassment. I’m not a total party pooper though – we celebrated International Day of the Midwife at work with decorations, free magnums for the staff, and, of course, a cake competition, with booby cupcakes, sponges in the shape of birthing pools and the obligatory placenta cake (for clarification, that’s one that’s made to look like a placenta, not actually made from placenta…)
Lucky Girl 
Helen! Another delightful read, sweetheart. Everything seems normal. Nick and I too are talking about what to do next, sail or not sail, Selkie or different boat, all while trying to be in the now squeezed in this camper van. We are off to get snow chains today and head south! But Nick continues to talk about becoming a midwife!
It was so wonderful to spend time together again. It seems we do belong together! xoxo 😉
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