The leaves rustle. Some detach from the tree and gently fall to the ground, like a hammer on the Moon. A face peers out from between the branches. It’s me, only covered in soot like Bert in Mary Poppins.
I clamber down the ladder to the ground, revealing the state of my hands. They’re the colour of pencil lead and they make my face look clean. Without a pause, I walk to the end of the row of trees and place the loaded bucket that’s fastened to my chest down on the crate.
A little pink slip bears my name, holes punched through it, one for every bucket. I grab another bucket and head on back into the bush to continue the forage.
That’s right, this year, I’m responsible for harvesting your Christmas cherries. Just me and my lead-stained hands1!
It’s now two years since I left The AM Show as Line-Up Producer, with the golden goal of traversing the length of Aotearoa on my little inflatable boat. Twenty four whole months! In that time, I’ve had jobs tearing down shelter belts on an avocado farm, putting up shelter belts on the same avocado farm, driving the shuttle during a hop harvest, night supervising a busy hostel and now, the icing on the cake, picking cherries.
Fifty percent of my decision to do cherries was out of curiosity. Worth their weight in gold, these tasty little juice-burst morsels turn up on the market a few weeks out from Christmas. People go berserk for them for a few weeks, then they disappear just as quickly as they appeared. Interest got the better of me and I applied. Given my recently stacked horticultural CV, I was put on the crew.
So, here I am in Blenheim (not the cherry capital of NZ, but not all films come from Hollywood) slogging my guts out to make sure Kiwis get their festive reds this year. We start picking at 6:30am every day and stop at 3pm.
To make the situation extra rough - because I love an adventure - I’m living at a DOC camp while I work. Yes, tenting, with only a cold shower and no kitchen!
The slumming it is partly out of choice and partly because the local holiday park wouldn’t do a weekly rate below seven times their nightly rate. So, I opted to just pick and choose where I stay. I can enjoy paradise at the beach camp when the sun is out, then move back to the holiday park when I want to boil the jug and watch The Chase. Freedom, er, living!
My Facebook inbox pinged this week. It was a message from an interesting cat named Jeremy. He’d heard me on Aotearoa Adventures podcast talking about the Waka and Waewae Journey and wanted to touch base and discuss routes, passes and rivers. So, just a stock-standard conversation between adventurey types, then.
We had this chat last night and it was rejuvenating. I will fully fill you in on Jeremy’s packraft endeavours in a future post, but here’s a bullet point gist:
In 2017, he traversed the length of the South Island;
by packraft, on foot and by scooter;
yes, he carried a little kick scooter;
Our chat was hugely inspirational. Not just because here was a fellow human who had pretty much completed what I’m hoping to do. Knowing that your goal is possible and you are not barking mad is always uplifting. But my conversation with (until this week) total stranger Jeremy, revealed he inherently understood the ethos of my mission. I’ve never had to explain so little!
Growing up, the message was always “don’t talk to strangers”, but I’m glad I did this time.
Right, more about Jeremy’s journey on a later date. I have to hit the public pool now for a shower. Just $5 and they have a hot pool!
Mā te wā,
Dunc
Not really lead, don’t panic.