Last year Mr S and I decided to say goodbye to our lovely inner-city apartment. We had a rare opportunity to live rent-free in a one-bedroom bach: a chance to surrender our creature comforts and get out of debit in the hope to save for a house. Our friends told us we were crazy.
Glow-bug and I started out living alone while Mr S was away filming on location. The days were long; the air was stinking hot. Sunbeams blasted through the windows of the bach till 9 pm. This made Glow-bug’s bedtimes an issue: it was too far hot for her to sleep. To make matters worse, the bach has no functioning windows; it was like a glass house.
Naughty Fatty
All we could do was open up the doors and pray that the mosquito nets worked. Countless evenings were filled with loneliness and fear. Things would go bump in the night. ‘BANG!’ There IS something on the roof … ‘BANG!’ Oh no, it’s moving … My body seized up with terror. I could not move an inch. What the hell could it be? I was so frightened I couldn’t even stick my head out from underneath the covers, in case the monsters got me! Maybe I’ll be happier in the morning, I thought. There’s something about the sun; how it keeps on shining. The next day I realised it was probably just the neighbour’s cat Fatty stalking the baby sparrows who had taken up residency in our roof. Fool.
Conservation of water was paramount to our survival. Initially all washing was done by hand. Doing laundry is such a mundane task, but, I have to admit I became fond of hand washing. In fact I rather enjoyed all the stomping and squelching of the day’s scum between my toes. Sadly it was short-lived: only possible until Mr S finished, and arrived just before Christmas. We were spending so much time swimming at the beach and organising Glow-bug’s birthday that our once manageable hand-washing rapidly became a dank and daunting mountain of doom. The eternal failed earth mother once again – I gave in and found a local laundromat.
Taming our chicken
Life was simple and pleasant. At meal times we were joined by two wild chickens that befriended us. I could sit outside on the deck in my pyjamas all day drinking my coffee while Glow-bug roamed around the garden looking like some drunken pirate pillaging treasure. ‘Ohhhhhh,’ she says as she sets her eye on an old piece of floor cracker. Like any lethargic mother I would just let her go for it – who cares; it’s not going to kill her right?
Living at the bach, it didn’t matter if I wasn’t dressed; it didn’t matter if I hadn’t showered. It didn’t matter if Glow-bug made a mess with her food or spilled water everywhere – we were stress-free and content. Time and physical appearance don’t mean a thing when you live in a rural environment.
Sadly, after Christmas the relaxing romantic vibe was vanquished by a tsunami of nervous tension. I hadn’t done a thing to organise the first birthday party, and I also suddenly found myself back in producer mode, making arrangements for the screening of our short film, Lambs by Sam Kelly. It’s fairly difficult to manage anything these days when you don’t have any internet or mobile phone coverage.
More stress was brought to the table when we realised that the oven was absolute rubbish: everything burnt, no matter what you did. The only successful meal we could make was grilled cheese on toast. Days before the birthday we were shocked to realise that our bathroom tank had been completely drained – our toilet could not be flushed. In hindsight we shouldn’t have invited so many friends and relatives to visit prior to the birthday party.
Climbing Mt Taranaki
We commuted back and forth between New Plymouth and Wellington and the Horrowhenua, to make sure that Glow-bug spent time with all her grandparents. And to up the ante, we threw in a few mountain climbs too: why not?
Even though my birthday cake for Glow-bug ended up as failed chicken fodder, the party was a success. The film screening also went off without a hitch. Then I closed my eyes, I blinked, and our January had gone.
By the time early February came around Mr S had returned to working long hours in Wellington city. I couldn’t help feeling left out. Mr S would be with my family in the city, just around the corner from Lize and the Butt Commune. I would be by myself in the country: no internet, no fresh water, no flushing toilet. I longed to be hanging out drinking wine with Daisy and Lize. I wanted to see Miss Bee and Glow-bug harass ducks together. It seemed stupid that Daisy was going to be here in New Zealand for such a short time, and I would still be living and one and a half hours’ drive away!
Decision made, I abruptly I shifted out of the bach and joined Mr S at my parents’ house in Wellington. It’s not ideal. I had pictured myself being more successful and financially independent on approaching 30, but life just doesn’t work in straight lines.
The Bug and the Bee
Regardless of all these difficulties, this summer has been one of the most wonderful experiences of my life. We learned to live without our possessions; we climbed and fell down mountains; we rummaged around country fairs; we got covered in mosquito bites; we showered naked under trees; we got thrown about by the ocean waves; we got sunburnt; we decreased our carbon footprint; we celebrated our daughter’s first birthday; we traveled across the country; we played too much Risk and Trivial Pursuits with friends; we tamed chickens; we drank a lot of coffee; we painted; we planted; we wrote; we lived.
I feel so lucky to have had this opportunity. It’s not every day you get a chance to spend a summer being high-class hobos. However, hospitality has worn very thin after 15 weeks. Hopefully our new family home will be just around the corner, and then we can start our next adventure.
Where to next oh giant tea pot in the sky?
-Zelda
