Old friends and caterpillars

I hadn't seen my old friend John since the year my Dad died. We were best friends in our last couple of years of high school, then he came down from Auckland when he heard of Dad's death and was a tower of strength to me. He loves to tell the story of how, because I had to fly home from a holiday in Australia, I didn't have a dress suitable for a funeral, so he took me to town and bought me one. He was that kind of a guy. Then a few days later, he drove me all the way down to Wellington (an all-day trip, one way) to pick up my worldly goods so that I could move back home with Mum. 

John and I stayed in touch for most of the next year, but then we lost contact. Every time I went to New Zealand I inquired around, but no one seemed to know of his whereabouts.

About two years ago, we found each other on the CCNZ alumni website and sent sporadic emails. When I decided to take this trip, I wrote and asked John to pick me up at the airport. He was there, waiting faithfully for me as I exited the security area, at six o'clock in the morning.

Lucky he's a fireman and is used to crazy hours!

It's funny how time passes, but doesn't really change some things. I've noticed that when you don't see someone for a few decades, you settle back very easily into old patterns of relating. So it was with John and me. He fed me buttered hot cross buns and showed me his beautiful bird art. 

Really.

He did!
John is eight months sober and very proud of the fact.

We nattered for a couple of hours about life and birds and family and mutual friends and addiction and the pragmatic aspects of spirituality. 

Then we went for a walk.

John is a bit of a conservationist and a walking encyclopedia of native birds and fauna. He lives on the Orakei Basin estuary, surrounded by green things and songbirds.

John wanted to find a new walkway that had been built around the bay, so we ventured forth. 

Following our noses.

We walked down some steep stairs to an area that had been restored. New Zealand kinda owns the word "verdant".

Of course, when you go down stairs, you eventually have to go up stairs.

Luckily, there were many beauties along the way.

We weren't quite sure where we were going. 

Well, I hadn't a clue and John was only slightly less mystified.

So we stopped to ask this lady if she knew the way.

She was ever so helpful, but by the time she was done talking we were not much wiser. 

Watch the video and you will see why!

You'll have to click on the video and it will take you to my web album, where you can watch it in all its glory.

We crossed the estuary on an older wooden walkway and saw eels winding their way through the shallow water. It was a beautiful, sunny day in a small piece of paradise. 

The one things everyone we consulted agreed upon was that we would have to take a shortcut through this school. It was big on gardening, apparently, and sported several scarecrows along the way...

...as well as various and sundry other forms of garden art.

The vegetables were prolific.

Did you know that potager means kitchen garden in parleyvoo Fransay? 

Well, strictly speaking it is jardin potager. 

(I hear that in David Suchet's smooth French accent.) 

Shall we deviate? It is quite amusing.

We roamed the neighbourhoods, admiring many things.

John admired this bench and sat down for a while, even though it was in the middle of someone's front garden. Note the boy's jandals, otherwise known as flipflops, for the Americans. I certainly couldn't have done all the miles we covered in such minimal footwear, but it didn't seem to bother him.

Finally, we found the entrance to the descent that supposedly led to the new footbridge across the estuary.

You forgot about that, didn't you?

The path was fenced off, with dire warnings to all those who venture forth, but we ignored both, intrepid explorers that we were, hopped the fence, and started downwards.  The path was obviously still under construction, but luckily it was a holiday weekend so all we saw was evidence, no workmen. Scattered tools and gaping holes were no impediment to us and eventually we arrived at...

...this!

Ah yes.

The old "ten foot gap between the shore and the footbridge" dilemma.

It is, we were informed, the victim of a land dispute.

I gave up.

So up I went again.

John said we had a choice. We could go back the way we came (boring!) or venture forth and walk around the bay.

This bay!

I have been known to get into trouble when given such choices in the past, but I chose the bay anyway.

We passed a swan plant and I had to linger and try to catch some good pics, in spite of the ever-present breeze that did its best to thwart my efforts.

Swan plants are hosts to monarch caterpillars. Anne told me later that you rarely see a swan plant of any good size because the caterpillars do such an efficient job of munching them.

Several other insects were availing themselves of the bounties of the shrub.

We crossed the estuary again by a more substantial path and passed the weir. John said the estuary is drained every day through this weir to keep its water clean.

Wild!

And then, yes, we walked all the way around the bay and back to John's house.

And then I took a nap.

The end.