Country Living – Summer of love

I devoured my Kiwi summer in the same fashion that I devoured my watermelon – until my belly burst. Closed borders have seen us renew our vows of patriotism and fall back in love with our great lands. Tiki tours are now the hip Kiwi equivalent of first class travel to Paris. So it did not surprise me when the husband came belting down our driveway with a big ole’ 80s classic car to partake in such affairs. Oh, this thing was a crack-up – lipstick red shagpile carpet, Champagne fridge in the boot, cognac set under armrest, and a backseat large enough to bed your lover! It looked like we were picnicking in style – corny cool 80s sort of style.

So slide in, buckle up and let me take you for a spin. In my endeavour to see as much as I could over summer, I slung the picnic basket permanently in the car and off we went. My memories of summer are like a flickering old movie reel, outstanding moments that come and go in my mind. Driving from Waipu to Langs Beach saw reckless me hang my head out the window; the sweet smell of gum trees pierced the warm air, and my hair flew all around like it was reaching to hold onto the precious moments. The sun darted in and out of the trees as we whizzed past. The Mangawhai cliff walk was worthy of my sweat. The view across our eastern seaboard dotted with colourful beach dwellers was so astoundingly beautiful my eyes ached from visual stimulation. It looked like vanilla cupcakes topped with colourful sprinkles. Surf lifesaving nippers were just too cute – tiny caps full of intent to be our next surf lifesaving heroes. I am sure they will be.

Estuary picnicking was most fun. Shallow waters and sun bring the best out in families – a  kaleidoscope of beach umbrellas and family cocoons full of happiness. Mothers and fathers gingerly playing waterwise with happy little toddlers. A boardshort-clad father on holiday, slowly turning sausages. His little boy in blue, arms stretched out and bread in hand waiting to fill his grumbly-tumbly after all that water play. Hundreds of brightly coloured sand toys sparkled like gems in the sand. The scene was but a giant goody goody gumdrop ice-cream that had melted in the sun all around me.

Over in Omaha, I got a bee in my bonnet over drinking rosé on a pink beach. Half tide is less than ideal to lug heavy vintage picnic accessories over rocks but why wait? Life’s pleasures can slip away faster than the water that moves. Impatience is my sin, and for this I received a right royal growling from hubby for my “consistent, irrational, and ridiculously impractical behaviour”. Lol.

My children made rafts from old farm drums and bits of wood, all bound together with baling twine. Watching them balance on top of a murky dam giggling, falling, and splashing made special motherhood moments.

But it was down the end of a dusty road, with tinder dry grass, a muddy estuary and a long drop loo in Wharehine that formed the dot below my exclamation mark and my summer clarity. A raw and honest Kiwi camping spot, void of glamorous notoriety, filled my summer heart. Two young families invited mine to share their picnic rug. Families that had never met, shared kai. All our children played happily together and two snapper from the husbands of their families were gifted to mine.

Sausages, camp stoves and little muddy toes – the warmth of their company matched only by the warmth of the afternoon sun. So, cloaked in rays of sunshine and happiness, I bid farewell to my beautiful summer for now and long for her return.

Julie Cotton
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