KERRE MCIVOR
Iwas talking to my friend Wendyl Nissen a couple of weeks ago and I knew she was up in the Hokianga before she even told me. Her voice changes when she’s in her happy place. She has a beautiful voice but in the city, she sounds rushed, harried.
In the Hoki, she sounds relaxed and completely chilled out. I was telling her how much I was looking forward to getting our house back this Christmas – our lovely tenants who’ve done such a good job of looking after our sanctuary are moving into their own home at the end of the year.
While I’ll be sorry to see them go, I can’t wait to get back up north. Wendyl said, “Why wait? Pack a suitcase, jump in the car and come stay with me for the long weekend.”
There wasn’t even a polite pause on my part or a, “No, no, I couldn’t – it would be too much botherr.” I was in like a robber’s dog. “I’ll be there by 5pm Friday,” I said and started counting the days.
As I counted, I realised that I would be in the Hoki for the
All Blacks semi-final against England. Wendyl doesn’t like rugby and I couldn’t possibly ask her to come with me to the Opononi pub to watch it.
“Oh well,” I said to myself bravely. “Friends before footy.” I consoled myself with the thought I’d be back in the city for the final. Ha!
On the Friday, I skipped out of work the moment I switched off the microphone and jumped in the car. Wendyl had told me she would look after the food and I could take care of the booze – a very sensible division, given that Wendyl is moderate and I am not.
I stopped off in Dargaville and loaded up on French fizz and wine. As I was packing it away into the boot, a chap pulled up next to me in his farm ute. He got out and gave me the once over. “You always wear those shoes to go to the supermarket?” he asked, pointing to my red high heels. “Well, yes,” I replied. “If I’m wearing them that day.” “Pretty full on for the supermarket, aren’t they?” he said, grinning as he walked off, his Red Bands slapping on the concrete.
Ahh, Northland. It’s good to be back. The stop in Dargaville broke up the trip and before I knew it I was cresting the hill and there was the glory of the Hokianga Harbour laid out before me, a view I never tire of.
A short time later, I was pulling into the drive and there was Wendyl, and the dogs, and the new chickens and delicious canapés and a view to die for.
The hug from Wendyl was worth the four-hour drive alone. Nothing beats good friends.
KERRE PACKS HER BAGS FOR A WEEKEND ESCAPE TO THE HOKI
We talked and gossiped and laughed and cried – there’s been a lot going on in our lives.
Then she put me to bed, in sheets that smelled of sunshine and with roses from her garden in a vase on the bedside table.
We went around to see my place the next day. I walked around the property marvelling at how the trees had grown and at the work Eli, who helps look after my place, had done in eradicating the pampas and ginger and reclaiming the land for native trees. I don’t feel so guilty about my carbon footprint flying to see the grandchildren with all those trees thriving there. It’s a magical place. I wish you could all come and visit me there.
Later that night, after dinner, Wendyl asked me if I wanted to watch the rugby. She is the ultimate hostess and I knew that already, but this was next level. “Yes,” I whispered, scarcely daring to believe, and she took my phone with the Spark Sport thingy on it and the next thing, there we were watching rugby together, streaming it onto her big telly.
We all know what happened next, but really, what does it matter? Being with Wendyl in the Hoki put it all in perspective. Good friends and the beauty of this country are what fill your soul. It was 48 hours of bliss.