It is overcast in Welly, cold and drizzling as I finish J's basement steps. I call T and make arrangements meet her at the bus depot in Martinborough. J drops me at the train station, I arrive in Martinborough a little later than I thought but T is waiting patiently to take me out to the farm. The road winds on forever, the usual incredible NZ scenery, typical back country with rolling hills that seem to go on forever stretching to the sea or vanishing in the distant horizon. T assures me it is only a 20 minute drive, I sneak a glance at my watch, we have been twisting and turning on rural roads for more than half an hour with no farm in sight. I can't help but wonder if I am being spirited off to some remote backwater never to seen or heard from again.
As if to reassure me we are actually going out to the farm T points to a tiny speck of light at the bottom of a monstrous gorge and proclaims "there's the house". I strain my eyes to see the faintest outline of a bank of lights, it is too dark to see anything else. Another 10 minutes of hair pin turns and yawning gulley's, we are at the bottom of the valley approaching Mt. Mable Station - the farm.
Tea (dinner) as the Kiwi's call it, is cold by the time we get there. I step out of the Land Cruiser only to be swarmed by three bare footed urchins all clucking at the same time. Company is an endless source of fascination for the kids. I am unprepared for the sight that greets me when I walk in the house. The domicile is a sea of chaos with kids running in circles around the newcomer, there is stuff and kids everywhere. A small cheerless fire in the stove does little to ward off the damp chill of the Kiwi winter. I am swarmed by P who is 10 and the only girl (she also runs track events bare footed), C a twelve year old boy, P a nine year old boy and the little fella D who is five. I give the kids CDN flags, lapel pins and tattoos ( I scored a heritage package of Canadian swag to give away on my trip). Within 10 minutes the kids have decorated their arms and legs with the tattoos. We polish off our tea which satiates my hunger and it is off to feed the lambs. Each of the kids has a small lamb which they are raising and have to bottle feed twice a day. The lambs practically tear the milk bottles out of the kids hands as they greedily suck the contents dry. We go back to the house, the kids are still bare foot in spite of the 3 degree temps. M and T have 4 kids, 2300 sheep, 300 cattle, 8 Jack Russel Terriers, 6 pig dogs, 4 sheep dogs and a small flock of chickens.
Sam, a neighbour, shows up with his sheep shearing kit bag stuffed to the gunnel's with beers. He proceeds to work his way through the contents of the bag while I watch with rapt fascination nursing my third. We sit around the kitchen table and I am regaled with tales of ringworm, parasitic infections, swine flu and other nastiness they have been dealing with on the farm. M (the host) tells me about the pin in his leg from an accident in the bush a few years back when he rolled his Rino quad like vehicle and was pinned under the machine for over six hours half submerged in a stream. M is also a rodeo competitor so tough goes with the territory. By the way he informs me with a chuckle, "we'll be using the Rino to go boar hunting tomorrow."
Sam polishes off another beer which disappears in his large ham like paws, I have lost track, is it an even dozen yet? I marvel that he must have the bladder of a bloody camel. T and M toss back a case of canned bourbon and cokes, no one else seems to have use the loo with the exception of moi, but then they are two decades younger than their Canadian guest!! Sam empties his kit bag and heads home. We trundle off to bed, I am sleeping in one of the kids rooms. A coil spring grinds into my back over the course of the night and I don't have my contact case so I decide to wear them to bed, big mistake. I wake up at 3am to the sound of a croupy cough, the lenses are glued to my eyeballs and feel like sandpaper. I peel the lenses off and toss them aside, damn it's back to wearing my glasses. I drift back to a fitful sleep alternating between freezing and some level of discomfort on the waffle like mattress. At 6am I hear tiny feet pad down the hall and stop at the door of my room. The door opens and a sliver of light ends any hope of sleep. P pokes her head in the door "Steeeeeve would you like to feed the lambs? Her Kiwi brogue inflecting her speech. "I would love to" I manage to croak back.
It is the start to one of the strangest days of my life.
