Snap, crackle and run
September 14, 2005Onemana, New Zealand
8:10am
No preamble today. Well, a small one.
Yesterday Steph took Hud to his play group and was invited to lunch at Frederica’s house after, a german mother of two who also attends the play group. She still breast feeds her two children. One is five and one is three. That, is another entry all on its own. All I can say on that right now is…”Can I get a hit Ma, I’m going out with the boys…I’m just going to jump in the shower, can you put it in this shot glass? I see the future.
So, I was presented with pretty much a full day on my own. This whole portion of this trip has afforded me the luxury of being alone. A strange feeling when you are used to the frenzy of 24/7 wife and son companionship. 9:30 they are gone. Hud running back along the front porch to give me one last hug. I meet him down on one knee and stay there for about 11 minutes as my muscles have locked up after the morning tramp (I could use a morning tramp duh dun dun tiss!).
So alone has many options. Alone could be Dr. Phil. Alone could mean lighting a fire. Alone could mean the tussled bed upstairs, heating pad still on, waiting for my spread eagled body to dive in. Alone could mean raiding the cupboard for deliciously evil carbs, with their seeds and crusts, and crunches and doughy delights. Alone could mean the cleaning of the house. Alone could mean carnal thoughts and the slippery jar of hand cream. Alone could mean writing.
Alone did mean writing. From 10-12, break for lunch, then from 1-3, I wrote almost 3500 words of the rapidly progressing novel. Writing this is kind of fun. I have the giant story. I have three solid characters. But each day the path widens. Or splits. And you tack on little vignettes to add value to the characters. To give them depth. We have memories. That is what makes us somewhat whole. These characters have memories too. And writing them is interesting, particularly because they have no boundaries. Well the same boundaries of gravity and lack of fire breathing, as this is not a science fiction novel. Anyway, it is fun and I actually miss it when it is impossible to write, i.e. when Hud is climbing Mt. Dad.
At 3:20pm, Steph and Hud had yet to return, perhaps they were all suckling at the giant teet of the fraulein, who knows. I decided to check out a hike suggested to us from Ross, our neighbour who doesn’t let me talk, across the street. The walk began at the bottom of our street, before the descent to the beach where I walk everyday. I cut through the park and jumped a small fence where I could see a path leading off to the distance. Ross told us there are small beaches at the end of these walks, so I had an idea of what my goal was, I just had no idea how to get there. I followed the path along the farm fence for about 200 metres before it swerved into the forest. A small river cut through the forest and down towards the ocean. I could not see the path, so I thought maybe I was to follow the river, which had quickly turned into many many little waterfalls. It was very zen, in the middle of a thick forest, listening to the waterfall, watching it cascade down to the waiting sea. But there was no path here. I was holding on to large vines and scaling down mossy rocks. I must have taken a wrong turn. I climbed back up the waterfall, praying these vines would support my weight, and stood at the point where I initially decided to climb down. Across the river I noticed a small opening in the forest, right on the edge of the cliff. I crossed and looked down. It was at least 100 feet directly down to the ocean. I looked out for a little bit. Nope. No urge to jump. No urge to test my non-existent wings.
To my left was the path so I followed it. More forest and then a clearing. A clearing that teetered on the edge of the cliffs again. I looked down. All rocks. No beach. Was Ross insane? The path continued back through the forest and then along the edge of farm fence again. There were cows grazing on the endless landscape of green as far as the eye could see. I plodded on. I climbed over low branches and ducked under not as low ones. I tested the metal fence to see if it was electric. Actually I did this at the beginning of the walk. The path was too close to the fence to try to avoid it the whole way, so got down on my knees and stuck my tongue to it…just kidding…I slapped it as fast as I could. No jolt. All good.
About twenty minutes into the walk, after climbing and descending large grass hills, I finally got a glimpse of my destination. I was still really high up so was beginning to fear the descent was going to be beyond my ability. But there it was. A beach. A small horseshoe shaped cove with about 200 metres of sand. I soldiered on. The descent was not severe at all. It zig zagged and was pretty gradual, not as severe as I feared, and secretly hoped. At the end, about fifteen feet above the beach, lay a slick rock. I saw a root and grabbed on to it to support my repel. It wasn’t a root. Just a tricky stick. I slid about ten feet and landed on my right knee. Ouch. It hurt. A lot. But the initial pain subsided quickly so I knew I was going to be ok. Besides. I made it.
Certain times in my life I have remembered feeling like I was the only person on the planet. Once on a horse farm near the Oregon sand dunes, I was smashed on rye and ran down the trails as fast as I could, only to come to a clearing right on the coast. A velvety blanket of fog swept through me as I stood there, and there, I felt like the only person in the world. Here, as I trudged through the trillions of broken shells acting as sand, watching thick chunky waves crash over rocks and almost soak my feet, not a footprint to be found, I felt like the only person in the world. Usually I feel small at these moments, such a pinprick, but today I felt huge, like I was part of it all, like I was the cause of it all. It was a nice feeling.
Of course, within seconds, I found a fakenstock sandle, and noticed other flecks of human kind scattered about the beach. At the end, hanging underneath one of the trees, was even a swing. A swing I had to try.
Now the wonderful person who decided to trudge the rope and plank of wood down this path was probably not thinking a ball of gristle the size of myself was going to jump on his/her swing. So needless to say I was a little wary about sitting on it. It was elevated; you had to climb on a rock to get up to it. Slowly I evaluated the risks involved. The tree was still alive, so there was a good chance the branch would not just snap. The ropes were worn, but not ancient, so they may just start to unravel, giving me ample time to jump off. I concluded to jump forward if indeed I heard the dreaded crack of the huge branch hanging about thirty feet above me. All of this became bunk as I swung for about thirty nervous seconds before jumping off back down to the beach.
So I sat for fifteen minutes, and watched the surf. I promised myself at least fifteen minutes before heading back. I made sure I soaked this moment in, not just immediately dreading the return walk.
On the walk back, there was only one moment of mild humour. I climbed up one of the grass hills and rounded a corner, and there, on the side of a large hill, were about forty cows, mostly bulls, grazing and mooing. Every single one of them stopped and stared at me. It was like I rounded corner on a subway platform and ran into a street gang beating someone up. Everyone staring, waiting for the next move. I stopped and tried staring down all these cows, but they just stood there, staring, chewing, mooing. It was pretty funny, if not a tad unnerving.
I made it back in one piece, my legs covered in scratches, my knee a little swollen. Steph and Hud were home when I arrived all sweaty and glowing. Steph hilariously recapped her afternoon with the nice German couple who live here without working and can do so for another five years. Like us, but with way more scratch. Hud greeted me again on the porch with a big “Daddeee”.
He smelled like granny smith apples and love.
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 2:32 PM
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