Grey power on holiday

Charlotte Rietveld deals with new age and Hare Krishna guests staying in the shearer’s quarters while her parents get the holiday away.

With winter approaching we’ve somehow made it through as one of the fortunate patches with sufficient rain. Ten minutes’ drive in any direction tells a different story, one that seems more aligned to reports from around the country. Rest assured what drought has spared us, Covid-19 has not. I’m pleased to advise that none of us have succumbed to Covid-19’s ills but our onfarm tourism trade sure has. Unlike so many other tourism business’s tragic state, I find it hard to pity ours. This is purely due to it being a secretive side hustle belonging solely to my mother.
Barely seeing a cent, The Boss and I were rewarded at best with a lavish lunch for our tourism toil. Now with farm tours and accommodation taking a dive, it appears my mother has taken a bow. Not before time, retirement is beckoning and I’m increasingly seeing ‘away’ spanning days in the Gold-Carders’ calendar.

The most recent of such trips was a jaunt to Wanaka over Easter. Rapidly becoming Mecca for any Iron Disease sufferer, Wheels at Wanaka proved irresistible for The Boss. An after-Easter jet-boating trip was quickly added as ‘away’ stretched further across the calendar. Sure enough, their trip coincided with a now uncharacteristic solid booking run at the farm shearers’ quarters. With lambs to fatten, ewes to flush and preschoolers at heel, I was breezily delegated three consecutive accommodation bookings as my parents whisked off down south. In truth, ‘whisked’ is rather euphemistic. Having been lured into exhibiting at Wanaka’s vehicular extravaganza, their mode of travel was a 1955 Humber Super Snipe. Known as more of a fuelhungry plodder, they’d pimped the look with the obligatory gold-carder accessory; two e-bikes on the towball.

“Comfortably at the height of the ethical consumer chain, their organic clothes and virtuous food had me blushing at our heathen ways.” 

Just as grey power was heading out the drive, in rolled the first of the shearers’ quarters guests. It turned out the contradictions were just beginning; the gas-guzzling Humber made way as Nissan Leafs streamed silently up the drive delivering gently-living poets, writers and weavers on their weekend retreat.

Comfortably at the height of the ethical consumer chain, their organic clothes and virtuous food had me blushing at our heathen ways. Perhaps sensing his mother’s angst, my three-year-old son decided to match their lyrical conversations with some poetry of his own. I remain unsure how many times they heard him riding his bike round the yard shouting “poo poo bum bum honey sandwich yum yum”.After the Nissan Leafs and poets had enjoyed a recharge and returned to their energy neutral abodes, the second booking duly arrived. If the high energy and gleeful greetings didn’t have me guessing, the bloke with hair to envy, exceptional earrings, flamboyant scarf, hat and jewellery galore should have. Such is my deprived cultural awareness that it wasn’t until a request for an altar that it dawned we had been blessed with a merry band of Hare Krishnas. Even ol’ poo-poo-bum-bum could barely get a syllable out, watching wide-eyed as the dramatic pilgrims kept arriving. Quickly converting the humble shearers’ quarters into an elaborate shrine, the bell-cladded revelry kept both farm dogs and children in spellbound silence. With such enviable talents I couldn’t help but engage. I’m proud to advise an impression was made – I was later advised we were kindred spirits, with Mr Exceptional Earrings and I apparently siblings in a previous life.

Alas, the time came for my new-found family to depart. In stark contrast, their replacements were a swanny-clad bunch of 4WDing farmers from Fairlie on a jet-boating trip. After such exotic predecessors, this group of strangers instantly felt like old mates and I had to remind myself they’d come to see each other, not their host. Nevertheless, Speights were shared, as were yarns of boating and bbqs, mishaps and mayhem, kindred spirits indeed.

Despite best requests, unfortunately neither my bank manager nor husband will permit a jet boat. I’m not sure I have quite the temperament for the Hare Krishna clan and thanks to a three year old I fear my admission to the Literary Society might be on hold.

That aside, all were overwhelmingly warm-hearted and I concluded I’d had as much entertainment as grey power on holiday.