By Lucy

Apologies for the lateness of this post! The internet, cell or wifi, would not behave so I could upload pictures!

Saturday morning, I slept in. Not that I was really hurting for sleep, I’ve fallen asleep easily here. According to my Fitbit, I’m not even thrashing around like usual. I feel really healthy, keeping active, eating a solid lunch and dinner. I haven’t felt the urge to snack or drink since I got here. But it felt sort of luxurious, to roll over as the sun peeked through the curtains, knowing it was Kelly’s turn to argue with the chickens.

I spent the rest of the morning on video chat with Jeremy. It was my first real bit of socialization since I’d gotten here, almost two weeks ago. I should have been on Discord and Reddit trying to make friends before I got here, but I wasn’t thinking.

Around noon, I headed out again, or tried to. I wiped out at the entrance to the driveway again.

Ok, once was an oopsie. Twice is a problem. Will I be forever doomed to fall every time I leave on my motorcycle? It makes me anxious. What were the tips for riding on gravel? Clamp the gas tank with your knees, keep a steady hand on the throttle, but keep your wrists loose and your elbows out like wings. Bikes are like horses – if you let them, they’ll find the path for you. Just don’t let the path of least resistance be the ground.

This time, I was up and running again within 15 minutes. On to Rakaia!

It takes about 10 minutes to get to Rakaia, then it took me another 15 minutes to lock up my bike. The hike was supposed to take around 4 hours, so I didn’t want to leave my helmet next to my bike, easy pickings. This bike has a helmet lock hook thing on the left side, so I pulled the left side up to some bushes, where it took a few minutes to get the metal buckle for my helmet into the latch and close it. At least I was secure that I’d have a helmet when I got back. I changed into my walking shoes and put all my other gear into the helmet bag, except my jacket, which I kept on.

The trail goes up and down for a good bit, before going very, very up. I don’t know what the elevation gain was, but it rivaled some of the hikes on the Giant! Unlike the Giant’s wide, groomed trail, most of this one was a dirt goat trail carved into the cliffside, scant inches from a fall of a hundred meters into the river, with nary a handrail. At some points the path was so faded the only reason I knew I was still on it was because of the plastic triangles nailed to the trees.

Outside of the windy place I lived, the sun shone bright overhead, and I was quickly overheating in my leather jacket and jeans. Oh well.

I passed lots of people for the first bit. After the first lookout, two kilometers in, the number of people on the trail thinned out – worn out by the steep climb. Jokes on them, because it was relatively flat after the first ascent. Relatively.

The recent rain had washed out the river, so it was no longer the neon teal but just a regular muddy grey river, unfortunately. Still pretty!

The next bit got more rough. There was even a part where the trail had washed out and you had to sidle around a tree to continue. There were parts of the trail with water running across them. At one point, I decided to try and step around a muddy section by stepping on the grass, which looked drier…. and wasn’t. It was like quicksand! I was sucked in over my ankles and my socks were soaked with mud.

True to the sign, about an hour and a bit in I encountered the coal mine. It sounds exciting, but it’s not much to look at – there’s a fence around the slit in the rock where the mine was, which is also barred. Personally, I find it interesting that they managed to discover coal there and mine it. Presumably they just sent it down the river.

When I first got here, Simonetta mentioned the nearby towns of Glentunnel and Coalgate were so named because of the mine; Glentunnel was named for the tunnel for the railroad, to ship the coal, and Coalgate cuz, well, coal.

Now, soon afterwards I got to the sign that says “path to lookout” and “alternative path to lookout”. Depending on your fitness level, I’d say just take the alternative pathway and skip the other one. The alternative path is shorter, but it’s also flatter. The ‘original’ path actually dips back down to the river level – for the boat launch – before veering steeply uphill. It was so severe I had to stop and catch my breath a few times, which I hadn’t had to do the rest of the hike, despite the heavy coat and my bag of gear. I will say, the alternative path did go through someone’s private cow paddock, and I did recently read an article about the number of random civilians who get trampled to death by cows, so be cautious.

The lookout was beautiful! I wonder about the lucky farmer who owns this land as simply a field for his cows to graze in. Do you get bored of such a view? God, I hope not. Personally, six months in and I still love catching a perfect glimpse of Mount McKay or the Sleeping Giant.

I got back to the parking lot at 4:30, with little fanfare. There were some people just starting out, for some daft reason. If they weren’t quick, they’d be walking back in the dark. Maybe they wanted a picture of the sun setting behind Mt Hutt.

My legs were jelly! I ended up at a total of 18 kilometers walked for the day, nearly 3’000 calories burned, rivaling a day spent scaffolding. I used the facilities at the parking lot and sat down for a few minutes to catch my breath before the ride back.

This time, as I came up to the hill, I just picked a clear spot and drove onto the grass. The grass was short and the dirt was compact, and offered much better purchase than the uphill gravel road. No one said I had to use the road, after all, and my bike has the heart of a dirt bike.

That this is all temporary does make it hard to improve things. If it were my bike in Ontario, I’d take it in to get the sprocket jacked up, the tires swapped out for something more all-terrain, and some hard-top saddle bags. But for six months, any money I sank into upgrading the bike I probably wouldn’t get back when I sold it.

At 6, Ethan knocked on my cabin door. “Simonetta and Gary won’t be back ’til late tonight, so they left sausages in the fridge for dinner.”

“Oh, ok. What do you want to have with them?”

“I’m having leftovers, do whatever you want.” He said, before leaving.

Well, fine, be like that! I have no idea how to cook on a gas hob, and woe be it on me to defile an Italian nonna’s kitchen! Plus, it seemed like a waste of energy and clean dishes to cook a bunch just for me. Simonetta had directed me to some frozen mince (ground beef) pies to eat up, so I just took two of them back to my cabin and heated them in the microwave.

I set my alarm to 6AM the next day. The train leaves Darfield at 8:55, but the biggest problem would be the circuitous route I’d have to take to get there. If I could just take the road north, I’d be there in 20 minutes, but I was not confident in my ability to take that turn and I didn’t want to find out at 8 in the morning. I’d have to take the south road and double back.

I packed up and headed out before 8. It was a cold, windy morning, clouded over, and soon my hands were numb on the handlebars. I found the train station without too much drama, parked and locked my bike, and massaged feeling back into my red, aching fingers. I took a picture of my bike, just in case someone took umbrage with how it was parked.

It was 8:40, roughly 15 minutes until the train gets there.

At 8:50, I noticed lights down the track. The train was early! I got up and stood next to the tracks, as Simonetta suggested.

The train didn’t slow down.

The train didn’t stop.

I stood there for several minutes, not understanding. For a moment I wondered if there was a second train at 8:55 and this one was a different one.

Then it ticked on to 9:00 and I realized I had missed the train.

But how? I had booked my ticket online, I had the booking confirmation to prove it and everything! I was early! I was visible!

I collapsed on the platform in a puddle of tears and called Rich, the only person I knew was online. I cried for several minutes about how I’m such a failure I can’t even book train tickets right.

I had been on the verge of a panic attack for a couple of days. I wasn’t making money here, and I was scared to drive the bike. The few places I had applied to after this had expired without actually replying to my application. Maybe I should give up my aspirations, and feed chickens and change hotel beds for six months. Except I hated the cold little cabin with the woodstove, the mice throwing leaves and poop at me in the night, and spotty wifi. I wasn’t having fun, I wasn’t learning anything, or even making money.

What was the right choice? What choices were there?

He talked me down, but he was out with friends and couldn’t stay long.

I slowly put myself back together. What would the Vagabond do? He’d be angry. He’d feel he was 100% right, and he’d call the train company and give them what for. I may be full of anger, but I lack his self-righteous confidence to express it.

I tried calling, but I couldn’t make my phone connect. Which is odd, cuz I managed to call my landlord from England in February. Oh well.

I went to gas up the bike first, then stopped at the grocery store. I had the little travel bottles still, but I might as well use buy some full-sized bottles; they wouldn’t last forever, and I was still committed to 2 months here.

Then I went back to where I was staying.

I parked the bike, took off my biking boots and changed into my shoes, then went into the staff kitchen.

“What happened? The train didn’t stop?” Simonetta asked, from seated at her desk.

“Yeah, can I borrow -” But she was already handing me the house phone.

I went back to the staff room so I wasn’t bothering her, then called them. They asked to call me back, and about 15 minutes later called back and said there had been a glitch in the system, so it hadn’t told the train crew to stop for me. Did I want a reschedule or a refund?

I froze for a long moment, thinking back to my tears. I could just ask for a refund and do nothing for six months.

“What did they say?” Simonetta called from the other room.

“Uh, they asked what days to reschedule to.” I winced. No going back now.

I went back to the office. She pulled up her schedule and blocked out Thursday-Friday for me.

Simonetta is good people. She keeps me growing and moving forward.

It still bollocksed everything up. She had blocked off booking the cabins so she wouldn’t have to try to turn them over by herself, but now I was free to do them, they probably wouldn’t have a last minute booking. She was also going to be out of town on Monday, so I needed a task list before she left. And of course, now she would have to hope she didn’t need me Thursday/Friday.

“I wonder if the daylight savings messed them up.”

“Daylight savings?” I tilted my head.

“Yeah, it was last night, that’s why all the microwave clocks are out.”

Wait, the clocks moved last night and no one thought to tell me?

I googled it. Yup, September 29th the clocks moved forward in New Zealand. That explains more of my tiredness – I lost an hour of sleep and didn’t know. It hadn’t a difference to me being on time cuz the phone’s time moves automatically.

I went back to my cabin. I had half a thought to go for a walk, or play a game, but instead I crawled into bed and slept for 3 hours in full sunlight.

I felt better after my mini-meltdown. I was still struggling with feeling like a failure, however.

On Monday my task list was simple. Since the place had been fully booked for the weekend by one group, I had to turn over the cabins. Just the Granary, in case someone booked last minute. I fed and watered the chickens, and sorted thru the mountain of eggs that had accumulated over the weekend.

You know, I always wanted chickens. I thought they had to be fairly easy, but honestly, this is easier than I thought. Admittedly, this is just day-to-day stuff, which doesn’t include building the coop, hatching and raising chicks, vet bills, and other things I don’t know about, but day-to-day is manageable.

The customers didn’t leave til noon. I didn’t want to just sit around waiting, so I weeded a garden within full sight of the cabins. Then I could keep an eye on them without being obtrusive about it. I got most of it done before they left!

My heart sank as I entered the cabin. They’d left a mess. It had been adorable, the kids playing hide-and-seek in the gardens, but they tracked dirt and grass inside. The family had also cooked something with a red sauce that was all over the white towels, and it looked like it stained.

It took me nearly 4 hours to get the place straightened out. As I suspected, the red sauce stained. I wasn’t sure what Simonetta would want to do about it, so I left them on top of the clean laundry for visibility.

After that, I was obviously overdue for my free time!

When I settled down in the cabin, I noticed Gary had brought back some absolutely ancient tractor to work on the house. He had lashed a forklift attachment to it, and a “box” to that, and was attempting to lift Regan up the side of the house with it. Regan didn’t like it and I can’t say I blame him. I trust that thing even less than the bosun’s chair! Maybe it was a good thing I was just feeding the chickens and changing sheets.

My knees are covered in bruises again, from dropping the bike on them and then working on them.

My hair has also gone curly. To be fair, I was born with curly hair – I get it from my mother. I prefer the curls, to be honest. If I could be bothered to dress up, I’d love doing little corkscrew curls with a curling iron and a can of hairspray. It’s just the water in Thunder Bay that makes my hair straight, for whatever reason, so the water here is obviously different.

Monday I got a little bit of good news. One of the jobs that had expired had written me to say that February was too far out to be planning. I asked them if December was an option and they said it was. Some other jobs had also popped up, as people were starting to man up for the summer. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad.

Tuesday morning, I was instructed to be out by 8 so Gary could give me carpentry tasks. Yes!!

At 8, I threw on pants and went to the open door, fully expecting him to just give me a list and then take off.

“Ah, Simonetta says you have some carpentry skills.” He said, as he was sitting drinking a tea.

Yes… was that not discussed before she hired me?

We went outside and around the house. He gestured to a downspout. “It’s all blocked up, so we need to take it off. Just hop in the box and I’ll lift you up.”

Hah… Ha ha. Jokes on me.

Or not, because he couldn’t find the bit for the drill. Regan and Ethan had taken off to Akaroa for the day and taken all the impact gun bits with them.

“Well that’s alright, I’ll just take you down and show you the shop, ‘case you need anything. Hop in!”

For a second, I forgot which side of the vehicle to get in. I haven’t had to think about it a lot – motorcycles don’t have a passenger side door.

He tore down several dirt roads, not even bothering to buckle up. I wondered if the truck was even street legal. We passed a paddock of calves, several shanty shacks of chipboard and corrugated sheet metal, before we reached the shambles of a shop. Before he dug into a work bench for impact bits, he threw some lumber on the back of the truck and threw a rope at me. Presumably a hint to lash the lumber to the truck, which I did.

Then it was back to the lodge.

“Once we’re done that, I have a few other things-“

“Umm… I still have to feed the chickens.” I interjected. This was not well planned out. Or at least, if I was being released from chicken feeding for the day, no one had told me. And they’ve been cranky, because the time change means their breakfast is an hour late so far as they are concerned.

“Oh, alroight then. Go do that, and then we’ll get started.”

I ran back inside my cabin to change into my actual work clothes, then down to the chickens.

As I was laying out the eggs in the kitchen, he called the gas line guy, the bathroom finishing guy, and got called in return. He ran out of the house without a backwards glance.

I’ve had the feeling for a bit now that Gary would rather be anywhere but here. I haven’t decided why, but considering the house is being fixed up for sale, it’s not just shirking chores. Maybe he doesn’t want to sell? But Simonetta can’t run this place by herself… she had some sort of back surgery last year and bending over, to pick up the laundry, to make the beds, is too much for her. I applaud her for folding her cards before it was desperate.

We waited a bit, but he didn’t come back, so we went to finish turning over the other cabin and sorting things out in both. The family had jumbled all the dishes, so we had to count how many of each and move them to the relevant cabin. The stained towels defied a soak and Simonetta was trying to soak them a second time.

Around 2PM, Gary still wasn’t back, so Simonetta gave me a list of tasks to go take a look at for the next day.

I hadn’t actually taken much of a wander around the property. I guess I just assumed it was fields of grass and trees at the property line. I was mistaken! There was a little fenced-in secret garden, a gazebo tucked down two rows of flowering apple trees, a pond, and a funny looking tree with 3 stone statues. Attached to the tree was a sign that said “where the fairies meet”.

Fairies? What fairies? Maori, or Italian? Good to know someone has a sense of whimsy!

The guests who were checking in today were disruptive. The man kept asking for a variety of things, over time. The kids immediately ran over to the chicken coop and started poking the chickens with sticks. And the grandma threw an apple core in the recycling bin in front of me. I dread to think what kind of state they will leave the cabin in tomorrow…

Having looked at the projects, I went back into the house. “Hey Simonetta…” I hesitated, feeling silly for asking. “Could you teach me Italian?”

“Ah!” Her eyes lit up. “Of course I could! What level are you? Too bad the barn with all my teaching materials burned down, I had some good stuff in there… Here, grab a chair.”

I immediately grabbed a kitchen chair and placed it as indicated, climbing up onto it. She has a high shelf stacked with language-to-language dictionaries. I was directed to grab the Italian-English one.

“Read that, let me know if there’s any words you want to work on. How shall I teach you? Immersion, perhaps?”

I nodded. That was my biggest issue, practicing with someone. I could stuff words in my brain all day but it wouldn’t make recalling them happen naturally. But also, read the dictionary? For real?

I wondered if I dared tell her about the Vagabond. She’s perceptive – she’d notice any hesitation. It would be the whole story, or none of the story.

Actually, concern about that was foolish in itself. I was still hoping he might join me here, and there would be no secret about who we are to each other. I guess I am just still embarrassed about being hung up on him.

At dinner, Simonetta announces, “Lucy asked me to teach her Italian today.”

“Si!” I chirped happily.

“Why?” Gary asks, looking at me as if I’m mad.

“Umm…” Finally someone asked. I chickened out. “I plan to go to Italy next year.” I said, face red. It’s not technically a lie… I do need better Italian before I spend a year there.

I could feel the storm front rolling in Wednesday morning, the pressure squeezing my head like a vice. The chickens could tell too – once they’d eaten, they ran back to the shelter of the henhouse.

One of the eggs was small, and chalk white. I was immediately concerned – that had to be a sign a hen was sick.

Usually I tidy the kitchen and either load the dishwasher or unload the dishwasher once I’m done washing and putting the eggs away, but Simonetta was up already and working on it.

“Quindi, that’s your word for today. It means “so” or “then”. Like if you’re giving directions, you turn here, then – quindi – this next turn. Do you speak French?”

“Oui.”

“Ah, that helps.” She went off on a story about her university level Spanish classes. Apparently she started at a 65 in February, knowing no Spanish, and by April she was getting A+’s.

I was glad for this. I started off despairing at the constant reminders at my lost love, but I’d managed to turn it around. Between her instruction, the dictionary, and Duolingo, I should make leaps and bounds in my Italian.

“This egg…” I showed her, when I could get a word in.

“Oh, one of the Dr Suess eggs!” When I was still confused, she added. “The white hen.”

Righto. She has mostly brown hens, but there are two odd ones; a white one, quite a pretty bird, and a large black one that I mistook for the absent rooster at first. They had been part of a larger group that was gifted to her, mostly deceased now. Neither of them laid many eggs anymore, but she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to cull them.

The boys had brought a cherry picker to assist them in power washing the house. It had been decided that they and the tool truck would stay here until the house was ready to go on the market. Then we can start work on Akaroa. I watched Ethan familiarize himself with the controls for half an hour and was willing to put money down that he had never driven one of those before. Which was a sort of sting, because I have an actual license to operate one, and I’m pretty sure the only difference between me and him is that he looks like a big strong boy. But I wasn’t really feeling ambitious. Once I got back to Canada, I’d be doing 12 hours a day, 7 days a week scaffolding again, so maybe I should just enjoy the break.

Simonetta and Gary disappeared around the side of the house to assess the work. I decided I didn’t want to sit around like a bump on a log, so I wandered off to the paint shed again. Half the buckets are varying shades of creamy off-white, for touching up the house. I started grabbing buckets and hauling them outside. I had a mind to just bring all the paint out of the shed, then organize the multiples into neat piles. When I got about a third of them out, Simonetta appeared.

“What are you up to?”

“I thought I’d organize the shed, since I have to move everything around already…”

“Oh, no no, just find the double tea paint. Once the strong boys get here, I’m going to get them to do it.”

Sure, but I already have to move just about everything in this shed to find it, so why do the work twice? Oh, fine, whatever. I found a small can of double tea, maybe half full, and put all the other cans back. I walked it up to the front of the house, where Simonetta was loading up the laundry.

“Oh, you found it, good. The guests have gone, help me hang up this laundry and then we’ll see what kind of mess they left.”

Surprisingly, the house was very clean. Just goes to show you can’t judge a book by its cover. They didn’t even appear to have used the towels at all. It took very little time to turn it over. After that was done, we retired for lunch.

“Oh yes, the boys had to unplug your wifi repeater to work on the roof. They’ll plug it back in again when they’re done.”

Excellent.

I had some more odd repair jobs after lunch. Luckily, the guys and the tools were here today! I walked out to the truck and asked Regan, who was puttying some nicks in the exterior siding, for help finding things. I prefer Regan to Ethan or Gary – he at least seems like he wants to be helpful. I grabbed a hammer, the staple gun and a handful of nails.

The netting fence was easily fixed with the staple gun. The siding on the woodshed was harder to fix. It had been loose for long enough that the wood had warped, so it wasn’t as simple as lifting it back into place. I used the claw end of the hammer to bend it up, and it split in one place, the rotted wood crumbling away. A few nails tacked it roughly into place… it wouldn’t last, but it just needed to look intact for the showings.

The third task was to fix the gate out in the back 40. I wandered out there with my hammer and handful of nails, just to take a closer look at it. Simonetta suggested I go around the paddock side instead of arguing with the overgrown bush in front of the gate.

On the paddock side, there were a few buzzards huddled around a dead sheep. Yummy.

When I got to the gate and knelt down to take a look at it, I facepalmed. Someone had screwed a piece of wood to the gate where the broken bit was… without marrying the two pieces. Which is not only useless, but now I have to go get the impact gun to remove it!

I walked alllll the way back to the house, grabbed the impact and the full battery, then bugged Regan for the bits, which Ethan had taken up into the lift truck with him. It was just a box with them all jumbled together, like looking for a needle in a stack of needles, most of them caked with rust and dirt. I grabbed three that looked close and wandered back. I ended up having to use the hammer to pry 2 of the screws out, as they were too embedded in the wood/ bent to come out. After that, it was pretty simple – I already had the screws, the wood and the impact.

As I worked, it occurred to me that the shutdown was supposed to start in April, but they’d probably want me back 3-4 weeks early for pre-shutdown. Click, I should be back for March 1st, not April 1st.

Was there a point in continuing to hunt for future work? I wasn’t having any luck with Worldpackers, and any real job would want some sort of commitment. Maybe I should just stick around here til February, then tour the country for a bit before selling the bike and heading out.

When I got back to the house, Simonetta was attacking the hedges with the hedge trimmer. I obediently grabbed the wheelbarrow and the rake and cleaned up the trimmings. While we worked, she talked to me in Italian. “Siamo giardino. Ah, no, giardino is the garden, as a noun… Cultivare a giardino. That would be gardening, the verb.” She grabbed a saw from the truck and had me cut off a dead part of a bush.

When I had finished dumping the last of the clippings in the pile in the back, she was back inside at her computer. “Anything else for me?” I asked.

“You just don’t stop, do you? No, that’s all for today.”

Well, there wasn’t much to do with my wifi gone. Also, I was sort of hoping I might get paid eventually. “Do you mind if I stay here longer?”

“What? Ah, no. Those two strong boys will be here for 3 weeks, and gone before you anyway. No, you can stay longer if you want. Just let me know a date so I can plan.”

I wandered out towards the road for cell service, wondering at what she said. Was I free earlier in the day and had misunderstood? But I don’t know what else I would have done with my time. And it felt good to be helpful. I got the feeling most of her “woofers” were not very skilled, and Gary seemed to prefer doing his own thing elsewhere. I imagine as the weeks go by, there will be more pep in her step.

“Woofers”…

I googled it quickly. I discovered that WWOOF is some organization, like Worldpackers, that lets you trade “volunteer” hours for room and board. A cursory glance at the website showed that it was overflowing with options, unlike Worldpackers. Perhaps I had spoken too soon.

Well, I could still do both. Stay a bit longer, then use WWOOF to travel around the country a bit.

I despaired each hour of the day that ticked by without it raining. It’s not just riding in the rain; even if it stops by the morning, the gravel road won’t be dry, and might be a swampy soup.

Shortly after sunset, the heavens opened up.

It rained all night.