new surf dialogue

February 19th, 2010

Slowly getting the day going. The cicadas are filling the air with thier incessant hum buzz. The red-headed rooster has ceased the wake up cock-a-doodle calls and the morning bird songs have, become faint, headed deeper into the bush. Tea cups have been emptied, bodies lightly stretched and freshly picked fruit peeled and consumed.

Urenui alarm cock, er, clock

Maria showed us around the property yesterday morning, simultaneously unveiling the work that needs to be done. We fed the chooks, cleared leaf debris, cleaned the tomatoes of their blight stricken stems and foliage, and harvested lettuces, pole beans, basil and spring onions f tor the roadside veggie stand. Neighbors drive by and drop some coin into the honesty jar and head for home with dinner compliments. These honesty jars are everywhere along the roadsides and in the campgrounds. One fills thier own gas tanks here and then pays (although the pre-pay is slowly creaping into the country). But a general trust of one another seems to be an engrained social aspect of life here. Open doors, hand waves and hi-ya’s.

A couple of sandwiches filled with avocado from Scrubbs and Louia’s and tomato and lettuce from the morning garden work waltz fueled us for an afternoon surf check. Building swell wrapped its way into a particular river mouth and raised up a right hander that peeled 150 meters down the line. Not quite offshore, the winds were gusting hard out of the south, making the conditions less than perfect, but decent enough. Tucked into the pocket of a down the line wave sprint, I felt the grin of the surf mad creasing across my face. Aalloohhaa.

Back to the homestead, we made a trek down to a beach closer to home, reconnaissance for tomorrow’s session. With seatbelts unbuckled as we came back to SH 3, a police man drove past and took notice. He stopped up ahead of us and motioned us to pull over, standing in the highway and pointing to the shoulder, by now we were buckled in for safety.

“I see you weren’t wearing your safety belts when you came up to the main road.”

“Yeah, we were just putting them on actually, sorry about that.”

“Can I see your driver’s licence please. Looks like you been surfing, find anything good?”

“Yeah! down that one road on the other side of town, fun little peaks cruising through. Bit windy, but still working.”

“Oregon huh? Thought you sounded like you were a long way from home. What are you doing here, just traveling, surfing around?”

“Yes we are, and studying too. WWOOFing up the road.”

“Heaps of good surf around here. I surf too, looking forward to tomorrow. You should go down that road around the bend, the one right before the smokestacks. Really good spot. Sweet as really.”

“Awesome, awesome!You know, I don’t think we realized that you had to use seatbelts here, seen so many people without them on.”

“Oh yeah, gotta use them. A let you off with just a warning this time, but yeah, $150 fine actually. Pretty steep. Keep buckled up, and yeah, tomorrow, check out that spot. Might see you there.”

Steely Dan laughed with us as we made our way back to our empty home. Maria had headed to a weekend cheese making seminar that she organized, Simon still out in the field, working for a seismic drilling firm – a unfortuneate temporary necessity for paying off the mortage, to get free and clear and back to the land. Ironic but real. Molly is waiting for us though, Maria and Simon’s one year old Austrailian terrier, bouncing around the garden as I pick out the kale and courgettes for the evening feast.

And with Simon home we dine and converse of our day and our lives until the eyes grow heavy. Off to the mosquite net wrapped bed.

Front porch morning view

And now with oats in our bellies – thanks Crista – wood needs to be stacked, weeds need to disappear from under the zapp fence and surf needs to be ridden. Mahalo.