Sure do got a purty mouth
December 5, 2005Ruby Bay, New Zealand
9:27pm
We feed all our wet garbage to a big pig named Ben that lives in a pen at the top of our driveway. Now this is not a wee pink Wilbur with a remarkable smile and a sweet curl of a tail, oinking all around, this is a massive, black with brown bristles, steel ring through it’s snout, wet swine mouth licking and smacking his pig lips as it vacuums up anything we give it. Shall I define anything? Orange peels, grapefruit peels, lemon peels (I looked for a pucker, a shudder, anything), avocado stones, eggshells, bones, small pieces of lumber, a lost Asian tourist and a couch cushion. David, our host, also made sure to tell us to just dump the bucket of slop into Ben’s pen, because if you try to feed him by hand, he will not distinguish between a rind and your ring finger, leaving you a nickname of stumpy for the rest of your life. Needless to say we follow his instructions quite rigidly. I have yet to feed him a piece of bacon or a pork chop bone. Yet.
Day four of our new home and no complaint, minus the ugly fat pig, as we further immerse ourselves into the communities that our near our eight-week home.
Saturday was spent at the Nelson market, and checking out Nelson in general. It is a nice medium sized town that we will probably only occasion on market days and if we need something specific. And of course when visitors arrive at the end of the month. Otherwise it is just a place where we would spend money. We seem to have a desire to watch the colourful bills drift out of our wallets (which I check every four seconds to make sure it is there) and into the waiting hands of all the sweet salespeople with their caked on make up and fairly large asses. The market itself was pretty nice, with a number of hippies or flashy types offering us their wares at low prices. There is a huge hippie element to this region, and its something I actually like, except for their acrid onion pit smell. I like the influence, the “peace man”, the organics of it all, but come on, hop in the shower every six or seven days please, the water conservation argument only works for so long.
After the market we ate Thai and then drove to a place called Rabbit Island, which is basically miles and miles of beach serviced and protected by the regional government. We were only on a recon mission, so we only checked out what locals would call a crowd, which was basically a smattering of people, about 1/50th of what would be on Wasaga any summer weekend, on a beach 50 times the size. There just doesn’t seem to be enough people here to warrant us calling them a crowd. It is a good thing.
Rabbit Island is about ten minutes from our house. Everything we need is basically within a ten-minute drive. This is different from back home where everything you needed was usually within a ten-minute walk. It’s a car culture, but I guess anywhere small enough to be a small town usually is.
The property we are on has three houses. Ours, the owners and another one about 200 metres from ours that is also available to rent. It was more expensive than ours by about 100 bucks a week, with the only difference being a little bit bigger with a clear, clean view of the ocean. There is another couple staying there for 12 days. We all arrived at the same time and were given the same orientation speech about the pig I mentioned earlier. They have a son, a seven year old, who Hud has taken an immediate shine. I, however am less enamored. For whatever reason this kid speaks in such a slow methodical cadence that it takes him about twenty minutes to get a sentence as short as “Can I have some juice?” out of his mouth. He is obviously bright, but it just irks me the way he talks. If Hud starts emulating him, I will immediately cease contact by making up some story about weird Canadian viruses that fester around meaty pigs and olive trees. His parents, Glenn and Tayna are pleasant enough. They are emigrating here, or to Blenheim, about a 90-minute drive from here. They are just a little bit older than us and they are retired. Yep, retired. I did not ask him how (although I was just dying to, but he suspected I did, so I didn’t, how cool am I?), but Steph has since eked out info that he is an engineer and sold a company. They have a house in Santa Barbara, a house in Utah and have just purchased a house in Blenheim, which closes in two weeks. Anyway, on Saturday we went over to their house for some drinks and some cheese and bread. David, our host, and a bit of a gabber, also joined us all as we chatted and got to know each other a little better. I like her better than him, as she laughed at my jokes more, and as you know, that is the only reason I like people.
I drank a nice chewy bottle of Chardonnay and three beers, leaving me of course with a bout of insomnia forcing me wide awake at 4am for the day. The day being Sunday.
Sunday was spent at the Motueka A&P Fair, which is basically a country fair displaying livestock, farm machinery and greasy food. All things we love! There also were logging exhibitions meaning there were a number of men in undershirts. Men that should never wear undershirts.
They also had really old rickety rides that Hud went on and laughed as we cringed as they creaked and bent, leaving us breathless and hugging him immediately after the smoking teenager stopped the ride by holding one of the merry go round horses and plowing his boots into the ground.
As we were leaving we did manage to sneak a gander at the team of oxen being led around by men that looked like the men that raped Ned Beatty in Deliverance. I was more afraid of them then I was of the ox that looked only a little bit smaller than a hippopotamus.
The last part of the day I took Hud on a small car so he could drive us around a small track. He loved it, and I even got him to cut off and Indian woman and her two year old on the inside lane. No one takes the Grahams on the outside.
Today Steph and Hud and Tayna and her son went to Rabbit Island for a real beach visit. I stayed behind and got started back on the novel. I was tentative, but the flow came in spurts, and by tomorrow, when Hud and Steph start at Playcentre, I should be back in the groove. I still like the story, I just don’t love the writing.
Later Hud and I went to the playground and to get an ice cream while Steph had a nap. I love the dad/Hud times. He just listens to me talk about anything with such interest, even if without comprehension. I listen to him as attentively, and we hold hands as we walk down the sidewalk, ice cream streaming down our faces and onto our shirts.
We are quite the pair.
He’s easy to love.
Love to all,
J.
posted by Jason @ 1:29 AM
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