Open Writing

I think the Americans first had the idea of shipping their aged off to high priced “condominiums” down in Florida, herding them all together around swimming pools, “the club” and shopping malls with beauty parlours and hair salons to care for the well heeled, blue rinse brigade.

The idea seems to be catching on in other places. Retirement villages are springing up all around us. Nice, neat, ownership bungalows, in quiet cul-de-sacs, with people of your own age and similar ways of living. A tidy way to enjoy your retirement and keep your independence. But let me tell you of another retirement home I know.

We will continue our journey down from Mangarakau to the mouth of the Anatori River. First through cattle stations with homesteads set back in the hills, then along the cliffs by the sea. A tortuous bendy road, with little room to pass, and often washed out or closed by slips. Finally we dip down into the bush and pass under a spectacular arch, the gateway to the Anatori.

A tree has taken it into its mind to bend over and join hands with another, a veritable bridge and hanging garden, such plants growing along the top of the arch. Were those in Babylon like this? Then you emerge to the mouth of the river, a wide mouth opening into the roaring Tasman, and here, along its banks, are loads of fishermen’s huts, caravans and tents. It is a white baiter’s paradise and a fisherman’s haven. They are all over the place, casting lines and fixing nets. It takes you by surprise.

However I digress. On this particular day, when we discovered the Anatori, we spotted two old folk sitting beside their 4WD, doing nothing, so we stopped to chat. We assumed, like us, they had headed this way to explore, but no.

“We are waiting for our house,” they said.

“What?”

I must first explain that here, in New Zealand, it is not unusual for houses to be transported on the backs of lorries. They trundle along at about 5km per hour, with police escorts and pilot vehicles back and front, while frustrated motorists follow in convoy, struggling to keep their engines ticking over in bottom gear.

“Waiting for your house?”

“Yes, we bought a piece of land across the river and are retiring there.”

Apparently these two had spent all their holidays down here, year after year, fishing and white baiting, and seemed to think it was the ideal place to retire to.

“How do you get across?” I asked.

“Oh, you wait for low tide and then watch the cattle. The ford changes everyday but the cattle find their way across. It’s all right, as long as you have a 4WD and a big clearance.”

I had noticed a power line crossing the river, just one line.

“Is that for power and phone?” I asked.

“Oh no, just power but you need a back up generator in case the line goes down.”

“What about contact with the outside world?”

“Well you see that hill over there, if you climb up it you can use a cell phone.”

At this point thoughts about broken legs and heart attacks crossed my mind, never mind running out of bread. So I pursued with my enquires.
“What if you run out of food and water?”

“We have a couple of deep freezes over there already and there are a couple of water tanks coming with the house. We’ll get plenty of water off the roof.”

My mind raced around all sorts of problems. The river being flooded and impassable, over two and a half hours to the nearest shops, petrol and diesel supplies, not to mention doctors, and the road often closed! But these were the “laid back, she’ll be right,” kind of Kiwi, who didn’t worry about the mundane.

A sound of loud, low geared engines and air brakes disturbed the peace. Something big was coming. How on earth could something which needed engines that size come along that road and how on earth would it get under that arch.

I turned round and looked back. Emerging from the bush were two, not one, full sized semi-trailers. They chugged along the road and stopped beside the river. The drivers got out and, as truck drivers do, lit a cigarette and leaned against their cabs.

On the back of one of the trucks was a brand new, big house, fully constructed. The other one had two large water tanks as its load. The mind boggles.

I was wondering what would happen next, when a fellow on a farm bike appeared on the dirt track over the other side. In front of him came half a dozen cows, the reconnaissance group. He nudged them into the water. It must be low tide. Sure enough, after moseying around for a bit, wondering which way to go, the cows started to amble across the river mouth. The drivers and the old couple watched, and then had a chat, doing a lot of pointing and looking at the river. Those trucks had a heavy load and, big though they were, could they cross the mighty Anatori, no mere stream?

Finally a conclusion must have been reached, for the old couple climbed into their vehicle and led the way across the big river. The semi-trailers followed and were last seen vanishing over the hill into the “great blue yonder.”

I often think of the old couple in their “retirement home.” I hope they have enough rain to fill their tanks and don’t run out of provisions, as it is a long way to the nearest shop. I dare say the Westpac Rescue helicopter will go in and get them, if there is a major problem. But for now, I wish them well and hope that the tide will always be in their favour.

A funny place to retire to though. They must like their own company.