Here I am, all tucked up in this Covid-19 lock-down, happy to be where I am …
We’re out in the country, in a sparsely-populated part of New Zealand, hunkering down and hoping the storm passes through without touching us … without touching family, friends, anyone and everyone.
But it’s too late for that wish, I know it.
There’s going to be a period of adjustment, with the possibility of 4 weeks at home, due to the Prime Minister announcing a state of emergency today.
No one is sure of what shape that will take.
There’s a friend needing a ride to Queenstown Airport, hoping to catch one of the last flights back home to Australia. We’ll try that tomorrow.
The Department of Conservation, my employer, has us working remotely, from home.
Claire, my flatmate/landlord and friend, has 4 weeks off from her job. My girls are here, blowing in from other places, to become part of this tiny community.
The supermarket is open over in Te Anau. There was a brief panic but things settled down and our shelves are, generally, well-stocked.
And then we woke to snow on the mountains yesterday but we have a fire, here in the lounge, so that’s all okay. We had shopped over days, quietly working out what we might need if forced to stay home. So we’re good.
The Fiordland community is a stunning community. They are used to coming together in times of disaster … in a way that makes the disaster seem entirely manageable, if we simply work through it together.
Although, this summer season it does like we’ve experienced it all. And we’ve come through. I expect people here will continue to support one another, in those ways that they always have, and so, I feel quite blessed to be part of it.
Restaurants have given away the last of the food in their kitchen, as they’ve shut down their kitchens, gifting meals to the elderly and the vulnerable.
Facebook groups have started up: kindergarten teachers entertaining children at home, work groups that allow us to stay in touch with each other now that we’re working from home. And then there’s the community noticeboard, humming with life. Perhaps I might be heard to whisper a small vote of thanks, in the direction of Facebook.
Even the dogs … out here on the farm, are squirreling away ‘food for later’. I saw Koru tucking her possum, almost tenderly, into a ‘bed’ out there on the path.
Don’t look, if squeamish … just saying but I couldn’t resist sharing a photograph. The ‘stuff’ I have cleaned up lately. Mark, formerly Dad’s cat, vomited up his self-service mouse meal. The skull had not digested, at all My daily life, here in Manapouri, is one that makes me smile more often than it makes me cry. And really, what more can a soul wish for than all of this …
Kia kaha (stay strong) We’ll get through this, and perhaps we’ll learn new ways of being here in this world that gifts us so much.
