I slept well behind Cathy’s Pie Shop even though we shared nearly an entire bottle of chardonnay. She’s a well off Kiwi who lost most of her wealth, but has found her own ‘trail’ after leaving a cheating husband and buying up property to rent.
She loves us trail walkers looking for answers as we walk day after day. She instilled confidence in me that whatever it is I’m seeking would work out and that – like Dorothy – the answers are probably already inside me.
Walking straight uphill this early morning onto a flower-covered hillside above the ocean. I can hear the waves crashing below. My pants are already soaked because the deep grass is drenched from last night’s torrential rain.
Just as I left the beach last evening and wandered back to the alicoop, a woman about my age wandered by, smiled and said hello. I followed her and asked if she might sell me a beer. She looked dumbfounded, “You need one?”
Yes, in fact I do after all those hot kilometers.
Turns out she doesn’t like beer at all. And and would much rather I share sparkling wine.
The next thing I know, I am included with husband, dad and cousin for cocktail hour. Tracy is a midwife, Ben, a carpenter. We natter for hours, and I learn much better Maori pronunciation – like wh is a ‘f’ sound, and that their home on the beach is called a bach, pronounced “batch.”