We drag the poles to a spot relatively close to school. “Can you and the girls start clearing the ground for their dwelling?” Adrian asks. “Here, let me show you how to skim the top off the rough ground; see?” He hands me a spade and sends a troop back to the school shed for more tools. I remove a layer of clothing and begin the strenuous work of clearing the ground. The week continues happily in this vein. Working side-by-side under the shade of the gum trees Adrian and I become firm friends. I realize we share a similar vitality and optimism; our conversation brims with potential and one morning I notice him watching me as I work. I smile and continue contentedly.
The whole class sleeps in the tepees on Friday night. I volunteer to provide food and organize the cooking. Everything goes smoothly and a handful of parents join the group for food, games and music, including The Laird who leads a game of spotlight on the new playing field before bedtime. At the end of the weekend Adrian gives me a thank-you hug goodbye. My hands are full and I find my head upon his shoulder in quiet acknowledgement.
I bump into Cordelia in the school courtyard a week later. We have become good friends through the Festival Group and every time I meet her I am aware of a deeply held, spiritual knowledge. A tall, thin woman with curly brown hair and a serene grace, she carries a beautiful aura. “You know, I have been thinking of starting some workshops on our Mountain for the home-schooling group I met last month”, I announce. “Would you be interested in helping me?” “Yes, I will certainly give it some thought,” she replies. “I felt we had a connection even before we met.”
“I have asked Adrian if he would like to be involved,” I add.
We shall see. A future seed has been sewn; an idea I have had brewing for a few weeks. But now we have festival details to organize; we are busy with the end of term preparations. Cordelia and I have rosemary sprigs to cut and decorate with red and yellow ribbon——one for every school child to hold during the Advent Festival. They will form a scented arch through which the school leavers will depart on the final day of term. A large rosemary bush grows at the edge of the garden, close to the car park and we head off together with a basket, two pairs of sectors and our broad-brimmed sun-hats.
* * * * * * *
At the end of term Adrian announces his surprising decision to resign from teaching and return to his family in Auckland. He struggles with full-time class teaching and claims not to be holding each child as securely as they need. The nine-year-olds go through a recognized change in Class 3, which can be tricky to handle and there are some challenging individuals in the group. The parent body are saddened by this news, although concern has been raised. The children adore their exciting teacher. However, Adrian’s mind is made up, he will not be returning next year. How sad. One mother from the craft group organizes a hand-made blanket as a leaving gift——each family to provide a square. Once complete she binds it with a beautiful border. We never get around to making our contribution; somehow it doesn’t feel appropriate. Having just said hello we are not ready to say goodbye.
“What a shame,” I admit when I next see Adrian. “We were really looking forward to knowing you better.”
The last day of the school year arrives, the sun shines hot and the holiday atmosphere crackles in the heat. I receive a gloriously warm welcome from the now beard-less Adrian; his friendliness extended to a full hug on the deck yesterday! His radiant smile fair knocks me over this morning——knocks me over with——with joy. What is it about our connection? My spirit tangibly flips when he smiles at me. I presume it is only in my awareness rather than his, especially when he announces he has fallen in love with Delphine; one of the class mothers. “I think I shall stay in the area after all——Delphine and I have a building project in mind. Yay! I am so excited. I might take on part-time teaching here at school.” I am glad for him, glad for the school and yes——I am glad for me too. Our friendship is only just beginning.
So, Adrian has a Lady in his life——‘just as well,’ I think to myself. My interest in him is reaching an unseemly level for a respectable, married woman.
Part Three Edge Away
The Craftsman stirs, inspired by the two before him. Skilled fingers reach for the tools of his trade. The ideas that flowed onto paper now take solid shape. Quick strides lead him to the workshop where he stands before the dusty timber racks. Pieces long ago collected——treasures of knot and grain——patiently waiting their time are now drawn out, into the light. They are dusted, admired and placed into purposeful piles; waiting for the touch of the blade to gift new form to each and every piece.
For hours The Craftsman works; joyous in his creativity. And what a work of art unfolds before him. The drafts and revisions gather uniform with the setting of the length and line, the draught, the beam and the tension of The Boat. The shavings begin to fall; joining the mountains of sawdust gathering on the workshop floor.
After several months The Craftsman looks on his work, close to completion. The long, love-filled hours have brought her to this point and beautiful she is. He runs his hand along her planked sides, enjoying the flow from belly to keel; a sweetly balanced, reverse curve——deeply satisfying. Soon she will be ready for a voyage——a maiden voyage——onto the Ocean for the first time. He picks up his smoothing plane, tugging out the long shavings that curl from its slit——completing his creative task.
* * * * * * *
She is built—the caulking complete, the brassware fitted, the rigging set and ready for the masts to be raised. The last coat of hull paint is dry after basking in the hot sun. The wind and water are poised, ready and excited. He checks the two——yes, they are still on track; they entertain the potential and the launching goes ahead.
With a creaking of ropes the wooden, wheeled dollies supporting The Boat inch their way down the ramp. Soon the rudder touches and the claret paint gleams brighter where the water-line now shows. And slowly The Boat slips into the sea——down, down until the buoyancy of the water matches her weight. With surprising speed the aft end rises, popping up while the front pulls slowly off her padded supports. She floats. She is beautiful; the balance perfect.
The Craftsman smiles——a smile of gentle satisfaction. Her name in pale blue script stands out clearly; ‘The Celestial Sea’. ——He was right——she is indeed fine.
Chapter 1 Entertain
It is the beginning of January 2006 and we are home from Christmas in the South Island. The household survived a two-week, close encounter in car, ferry, hostel, water taxi and generous accommodation with Kiwi hosts from our previous school. Our holiday destination was the Able Tasman National Park on the northern tip of the South Island. The journey south was as much of an adventure as the destination; our student lodger accompanying us and putting up with shared family rooms in various youth hostels along the way.
Our first night was spent on the edge of Lake Taupo with friends of our wine-merchant chum Ricardo. We were given a warm welcome and installed in their cosy fishing lodge along with a couple of grandsons. Farming landowners from Taihape, they escape to the lake whenever possible. Our hosts were surprised to discover our English student was female——they had presumed otherwise; {perhaps because they have grandsons rather than granddaughters}, but they quickly adjusted the sleeping plan. The family dormitory in the extended lodge was fun. With matching bedding and curtains we settled down for our first ‘family and student sleep ensemble’.
Lake Taupo, {pronounced Towpor}, is simply huge—an unending expanse of water lapping quietly at the garden boundary. The family boat was anchored nearby and the day’s catch of six, large trout made for a jealous Laird. What a wonderful way for the grandsons to spend time with their grandparents. Every holiday they motor out to fish, choosing a different location each day. There was fishing tackle everywhere——and sports equipment. It was definitely a boy’s household.
The town of Taupo is modern and touristy. Motels, fast-food outlets and bars make incongruous bedfellows with the serenity of the
enormous stretch of water. Taupo and its famous lake is a unique town that began life in a volcanic eruption in 186AD. This enormous blast blew a 660 square kilometre hole in the earth, sending so much ash into the atmosphere that the Romans recorded red, fiery skies. The lake has a perimeter of approximately 193 kilometres and a deepest point of 186 metres.
“I want to fish here soon!” The Laird’s enthusiasm was soon ignited ——Ricardo has recounted many angling stories about Lake Taupo——it is a famous destination for the world’s keenest fisherman; many lodges and motels boast appropriate facilities for the enthusiastic angler. The area is steeped in Maori spirituality and cultural history; Tuwharetoa Maori arrived in the 13th Century. They were descendants from The Arawa, one of the famous canoe tribes that landed in Aotearoa from the Pacific Islands during ‘the great migration’. The first European settlement was in 1830, heralding the arrival of Christianity, scientific research, traders and educators. We had been through the town twice before on skiing excursions to Mount Ruapehu.
“Haven’t you posted the Christmas package yet?” An increasingly exasperated Laird put me on the spot when we stopped for lunch the following day. “You know you’ve missed the last posting date don’t you?” ——“Yes, I know,” I replied without resorting to irritation myself. Very little makes me cross; I suppose I am fairly detached from the emotional ups and downs of an earthed existence. We found a Post Shop easily enough and dispatched the large parcel. The overseas postage cost was high. Oops——tiny objects next year. I should have organized it before our departure, but I ran out of time.
“And stop opening the window. Use the ventilation button instead——grrr.”
The Laird’s bad moods increased as the journey progressed, an unpleasant trait that has been gaining regularity in recent years. Why is he so irritable, so much of the time? It’s exhausting. I sometimes wish things could be different. The volatile mood, or flat, dulled spirit makes for an uncomfortable family atmosphere and I wonder what our student friend must think of us. Nevertheless, year in year out, we diligently plod on——taking holidays together when it is obvious my husband would rather be somewhere more challenging and thrilling——and certainly less annoying than amidst our domestic rabble.
Towards the end of our trip messages arrived from England with sad news. The Laird’s mother was seriously ill, her slow demise over the last year putting her back into hospital. We were staying in a Wellington backpacker hostel at the time where the Laird spent a long time talking to family back home. It didn’t look as if she would pull through. Realizing the end was near I thanked The Angels for ensuring he made a special, goodbye visit in June. The breathtaking scenery of the ferry crossing between Picton and Wellington was forgotten as we gathered together as a family and headed into the centre of town. We found a church and lit a candle for dear Granny to send her on her way. We were not close but seeing my husband now I wonder at his teenage dismissal of his mother. I watch him as he comes to terms with her passing, offering comfort where I can. I sometimes wonder if he considers me a replacement mother figure. Perhaps that’s why we are often unsynchronized as a couple.
The Wellington Backpacker Hostel is worth a mention. Our Christmas hosts told us it was one of the smartest hotels in town thirty years ago. It certainly retains a grand, if now disheveled, stature. Built in the art deco period the internal features remain impressive. There are stained glass windows in the main dining rooms and a beautiful, curved oak handrail leads guests upstairs to the various floors. Even the bathroom tiles and plugs are the originals, making for a genuine ‘time warp’. We liked it and would stay again.
We received a sad telephone call when we arrived home. Granny died in the early hours of December 30th. The Laird will travel back to the U.K for the funeral next week. He doesn’t appear distraught. As a couple we don’t address deep emotion, so I don’t know how he is really feeling. Does he harbour a hidden grief? Despite the news from home I go ahead and organize a gathering with the new friends we have made over the past months. It is The Laird’s birthday at the weekend, and my husband LOVES to be sociable: ‘A party on the Mountain with music, food, and merriment. Please do come’. We invite Hau and Abby, a friendly couple from School. They are the first to arrive. Abby is Swiss and Hau is Maori; a wise, gentle man with whom The Laird is especially friendly. They always greet one another in traditional Maori ‘Hongi’, {nose and forehead ‘sharing breath.’}. They enjoy kayak fishing together, and often watch rugby in the top cabin through our ‘Sky’ installation. Abby is a craft expert; it was she who organized Adrian’s blanket gift in December. She has a daughter with an attention disorder from a previous relationship. Adrian had her in his class last year. She is a challenging child and I admire the couple’s stoic handling of the increasing difficulties, especially since her dysfunctional, Maori father has recently staked his claim for partial custody. Their own son is the complete opposite——a calm wee fellow with a shy grin. Abby often works in Kindergarten and Hau has recently qualified as a deep tissue masseuse. I have started monthly treatments with him. He is a gifted man and we are pleased to call him our friend.
Bernard and Felicia are also included. Although I have referred to them as our Dutch friends, Bernard is a Kiwi. Felicia is Dutch. Their comfortable home made for our easy start here last July. They have two small children and arrive with an expensive bottle of single malt whisky and a big salad. We have also invited Krista and Frank, a couple from College in their mid thirties. Krista is a bubbly character with lovely golden locks. She wears glasses and laughs a lot. Frank is head of the college curriculum and a funky dresser. I thought they might have a couple of small children, so you can imagine our surprise when they told us they have five children and their eldest is fifteen! Well——some Kiwis appear to marry young and have large families.
Krista often talks about the home-schooling programme she uses with her youngest children. She has told me all about the mothers who work together in this way. They are the group I have in mind for our Mountain Workshop initiative; Krista showed interest in the alternative schooling I talked about a few months ago. Of course, she knows of our school in Waikite Bay but has never visited. The lively family arrives for the party in high spirits and tumbles out of their people carrier, much to the interest of the Go-Getter and The Minx. Cedric the Scowler is never too keen on sociable interaction, although it doesn’t take long before he is the centre of attention with the huge mountain-board jump under construction in the middle of our main lawn. Oh well——there goes my grass. He is happy, which is the important thing. I can do without a neat garden. He is becoming a skilled leaper while strapped to the board on wheels.
“Can I ask Adrian and his new girlfriend to your party?” I had asked The Laird earlier in the week. “Of course,” he had replied. “I didn’t know he had a new girlfriend?” I hadn’t been in touch with Adrian since the beginning of the summer break when I heard he had crashed his car. An inexperienced driver had smashed into the little green vehicle, recently given to him by one of the parents. It had spun upside down and landed in a petrol station forecourt on a main road into Auckland. I was concerned and had telephoned. Luckily he was unhurt, although the car was a right-off. The last time I had seen it he had a pig in the boot!
“Hello Adrian, how are you? Are you enjoying your holiday? The Laird is having a birthday party on Saturday and we wondered if you and Delphine would like to join us on The Mountain?” “Thank-you”, he had replied. “I would love to come, but it will just be me. Delphine and I split up at the beginning of the holidays.” There was a moment’s pause before I said: “Oh——well——come alone then. We would love to see you. About six p.m? Great.” I had replaced the telephone receiver slowly. It was good to hear Adrian’s voice again. I was looking forward to seeing him at the weekend.
The evening sun offers a warm welcome to our friends. Adrian is the final guest to arrive; he parks his pale blue Holden below the cabins and walks calmly up the steps of our
narrow deck. I have been watching out for him while preparing the birthday feast. A large chocolate cake sits on the kitchen table; Rinky has decorated it with yellow candles and gorse flowers. I walk outside and greet my handsome friend. “Well, hello there. Come on in. We are about to eat.” He is looking well and gives me the warmest of smiles and a lovely hug hello. “You look good,” he comments. I beam spontaneously and it happens again——I lay my head upon his shoulder. How strange——I wonder why I did that? It really is extremely nice to see him. He places his guitar in the corner of the room and introduces himself to Krista and the children as they gather around the kitchen table. He is brown and relaxed. I can see Krista warming to him already as he talks about school and his summer break away.
“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you,” we sing long and loud. “Anyone for more cake?” Busy children flock around the celebration while others head out, onto the hill with full plates and lively chatter. We enjoy showing everyone around The Mountain. We talk of our dreams and plans for the future; The Laird is hoping to start his own Adventure School in four years’ time. “We’d like to bring students to New Zealand every year for a ten-week period; perhaps to The Mountain if the plan is financially viable.” Adrian listens to our enthusiastic ideas for the future. “Do you really plan that far ahead? That is remarkable. And your enthusiasm——where does that come from? I like it.”
The Celestial Sea Page 8