Pampered in Wine Country

Hello, Family and Friends!

I remembered a funny incident from our first night at Trotter's Gorge that I forgot to write about. You see, we pulled into the camping ground when the sun was just about setting, and situated as we were between mountains (aka in a gorge), everything got dark about half an hour before it was even supposed to. So that first night we were setting up in the dark, but to our astonished glee we realized pretty quickly that we weren’t getting eaten alive by sandflies – the gnat-like bloodsuckers that had consumed us on our journey down the West Coast. We knew that they could be lurking in the twilight, but when we got in the tent and turned on our flashlight we still didn’t see a single one. Sandflies are small enough to fit through our tent’s mesh doors, so not seeing any in the tent was proof enough for us that we were in sandfly-free territory.

Now, Brandon’s flashlight has been running on fumes for about three months, but we haven’t wanted to replace the batteries because they are so dang expensive here. So we started using tea lights to illuminate our nightly card games in the tent, and until our first night in Trotter’s Gorge that had seemed like a really great idea. We lit our tea lights and started to do a puzzle from our fantabulous puzzle book, but then we noticed a distinct buzzing sound emanating from beyond the mesh at the top of the tent. We stopped talking and listened to it, and we became convinced that it had to be bugs of some sort that were trapped between the solid tent exterior and the mesh vent, but we couldn’t see anything beyond the mesh, so I lifted a tea light to get a better look, and there illuminated by my candle were about fifty of the leanest, meanest-looking mosquitoes I had ever seen.

The sight was pretty frightening, but Brandon soon pointed out that even though their buzzing was ominous, at least they couldn’t get through the mesh. I breathed a sigh of relief that we were still safe, but then Brandon gasped and said, “Watch out!”

“For what?” I said, looking around me.

“The candle!” B said.

“Which candle?” I asked, looking at the candles we had lined up next to our air mattress.

But then I followed B’s gaze to the candle I had in my hand, which was quickly burning a sizeable hole in the mesh vent – the only barrier between us and a legion of hungry bugs. Mosquitoes poured into the tent then and B very patiently began squashing them one-by-one while I ran to the car to search for some tape to patch up the hole, which continued to be a concern throughout our six nights in Trotter’s Gorge and the three nights we spent camping in the rain north of Christchurch a few days later.

The rest of our stay with the Gilsons in Christchurch was really great. We spent four nights with them, and they really made an effort to make us feel at home. The day at the French-style village called Akaroa was really pleasant – beautiful vista points and a lovely picnic complete with canisters of hot tea/coffee (kiwi life revolves around tea breaks). Akaroa was also the home of the Earthship, or whatever it’s called. It’s a really spiffy-looking boat that won an international race-around-the-world on bio-fuel.

Too soon the time came for us to leave Christchurch, but a WWOOF host was expecting us in Blenheim, which was a five-hour drive away, so we had to hit the road. We left Christchurch early in the morning so we could work for our new host as soon as we got there; we were determined to start on the right foot this time. We stopped in a little highway town to make ourselves some PB&Js, but besides that our only stop was at a place called The Store, which had advertised a need for wait staff and kitchen hands. We’d emailed our resumes the day before, but we wanted to meet the manager in person. The people working there were very nice, but the manager wasn’t due in until later, and B and I couldn’t really wait around, so we said that we’d drive back the next day. We were now thinking of WWOOFing as a last resort, hoping to find real jobs somewhere near Blenheim, and The Store seemed beautifully situated.

Our first stop in Blenheim was at a grocery store, where we were planning on buying our host a bottle of wine – as always, determined to make a good first impression. However, as we were walking down the aisles of the grocery store I turned my phone on and discovered that I had a text waiting from our would-be host. She said that all her beds were actually going to be full for a few more days, so she couldn’t take us until Thursday or Friday. Well, that would have been fine and dandy if we were still in Christchurch, but now we were $100 in gas away. In the end we bought a cheap bottle of wine for ourselves and drove back out to The Store to meet the manager, hoping that we’d get jobs and everything would be solved. Of course, the manager said that he wouldn’t have a need for us until next month. The silver lining of all this was that The Store was close to a DOC campsite called Marfells Beach, which is where B and I decided to set up our tent for the night.

Marfells Beach was really gorgeous, and all the campsites were at the top of a hill overlooking the water; we could hear the crashing surf from our tent. However, we were once again setting up and cooking in the dark, and to make things even more interesting it began to rain.

We were a little pissed off at this point, but we were trying to roll with the punches, so we opened up our cheap merlot and made a night of it. The next morning we slept in, but when we emerged the sun was shining and the tent was on its way toward drying off.

We left our tent at the beach when we drove into town, hoping to get free internet at the Blenheim library. We did a lot of job-searching that day, and it seemed like most of the jobs available to us would be seasonal vineyard pruning since the Marlborough Region (where we were) is a really big producer of wines. It rained again that night, but the next day was the same routine: one part applying for things online and two parts walking around to businesses, giving our resumes to anyone who said they might be hiring within the next month. I had a run-in with a regional Avon representative, who overheard me offering my resume at a cafe. She had this big scary eye makeup on, and she practically shoved me into her meeting with the local Avon rep. It was all really strange, but I eventually made it clear that I'd rather cut off my right foot with a spork than be a door-to-door ("Oh, we hate that word," said the scary Avon Woman. "We prefer to say 'person-to-person.'") or telemarketing Avon lady. About half of what I learn on a daily basis are the things that I DON'T want to do with my life.

It rained three nights in a row at Marfells Beach, but it was a good experience. Any accommodation that offers B and me some privacy trumps everything else, anyway. But then, since we had no other real options at the moment, we went to our next WWOOF host, a clean-freak, cat-loving single female who has built a beautiful day-spa retreat in the Marlborough hills. The ground floor of her building has the treatment rooms, but the top floor is her living space. B and I were put in the only bedroom on the bottom floor, which was nice because it gave us a little space. However, basically the first thing she said to us when we arrived was that she couldn’t keep us for the five weeks we’d scheduled. As a matter of fact, she said she only had a week’s worth of work for us. Brandon and I sighed and went with it, glad that we’d drunk the wine ourselves.

The work she had us do wasn’t bad – mostly grounds-keeping type stuff. I got to mow the enormous lawns with a ride-on mower, which was pretty cool, and B got friendly with the weed-whacker. We cleaned out a shed, organized her cabinets, ironed her linens, took down fences, pulled staples out of old carpet – that sort of thing. It wasn’t bad. Also, she went out most nights, which meant that B and I got to cook for ourselves and have some privacy in the evening. She tried to be nice, but she was just too finicky to really be friendly. Like, we apparently touched her cabinet faces, which left fingerprints, which she had me scrub off. And one of her cats was a bit skittish, so when that cat came in the house we were only allowed to talk in whispers. She told us a story about these awful WWOOFers who would always make tea when the cats were eating. Why was that so awful, you might ask? Well, the kettle was over near the cat food and she thought her WWOOFers were intentionally disrupting her cat's meals. Nevermind that she fed them about eight times a day and they were morbidly obese. And she’d say ridiculous things like, “It’s amazing how much warmer it is downstairs.” Now, we were sleeping downstairs, and it was SIGNIFICANTLY COLDER down there. I don’t know what would possess her to say something like that except that she was trying to play mind-games with us to make us think that she was being nice to put us in that room. Either way, B and I had figured out that we could roll a mini-radiator in from the massage room, which we did after the first night, so we didn't care.

So we got to the day spa on Firday and we were trying to figure out what we were going to do after our week ran out with her, but we took a break on Sunday and went to the farmer’s market. I love farmer’s markets, especially when they’re treated like an event. This one had live music (a saxophone player who reminded me so much of my grandpa, which made me happy), and was loads of fun. We met a guy there named Bob who was manning a feijoa stand (Feijoas are a NZ fruit – sort of like a mini-guava), and pretty quickly we discovered that not only was he from Los Angeles, but his brother teaches at the USC cinema school. We got to talking and learned that he and his wife needed some WWOOFers, and that they have a cottage that they rent out during the pruning season. We’d already lined up jobs through a vineyard contractor, and there is a possibility of getting a better deal once the pruning-organizer for one of the large vineyards comes back from her annual leave, so it seemed like a perfect situation. We got Bob’s name and number and said we’d call.

We were very relieved when we went back to the day spa and told our host that we’d come up with a plan b and could really leave whenever she was ready. We expected to get some sort of date from her so we could tell Bob exactly when we’d move in, but instead she dodged specifics, listing the jobs she’d like us to do before we left. Then she said that she’d heard negative things about not only the cottage, but also about Bob and his wife. B and I didn’t really give it much consideration and were mentally planning on leaving after the weekend, not wanting to overstay our welcome at the day spa.

One afternoon during our time at the day spa, B and I went to some cellar doors for our first wine tasting experience. We went to two different wineries, and it was so much fun – not just because it was free. B and I are both novice wine drinkers, but we were really trying our darnedest to detect the flavors described on the Tasting Notes. Some were detectable, but others, like the “almond and ginger Danish straight from the oven,” seemed a bit far-fetched. It was a great afternoon, and B and I want to do more tastings before we leave the region. That shouldn't be hard since there are 110 different wineries to choose from!

Finally Thursday rolled around again, so our week at the day spa was up. Even though the day spa woman hadn't given us a straight answer about when she wanted us to leave, B and I called Bob to see if he and his wife (Jennie) could take us. He said that would be fine, so as we were digging out the ground beneath the shed (to level it), we were talking about how great it would be to have our own place again. At this point the day spa woman came down the hill to criticize our work and we told her that we’d be leaving as soon as we finished. Suddenly her face changed.

She said, “Well, you can leave if that’s what you decided, but that puts me in a bit of a tough spot because I’d scheduled you in for five weeks. I’ve been turning other WWOOFers away until June.”

We were baffled. This made no sense at all. Brandon spoke up, “But we thought you only wanted us for a week.”

She paused for a moment and then said, “Well, what I wanted was to see if you would be hard work.”

I was actually really pissed off at this point. I mean, this woman had put us through a lot – first three nights of camping in the rain, then telling us we had to be out in a week. “But you said you only had a week of work left. That’s the whole reason we started looking for jobs,” I said.

“Well you’ll do what you have to do,” she said, which made no sense at all, and then she retreated up the hill.

B and I shared a look, and then B put down his shovel and said, “I’ll start loading the car.”

I love Brandon so much.

I stayed down by the shed to finish the shoveling, which was basically un-finishable. [NOTE: If you have a shed and you decide you want it to face a different direction, but that new direction means that the shed is on a hill, even out the ground BEFORE you get two tired WWOOFers and your cousin Bill to move it for you.] Of course, in the five minutes that Brandon left me alone a wasp flew up my jeans and stung my leg. Twice.

When Brandon came back to tell me the car was loaded I was crouched on the ground holding my leg and looking, I imagine, a bit bedraggled. The day spa woman came back down the hill at that point, saw me, and helped me back into the house where she gave me some lavender oil to help relieve the stinging. Then we all said awkward goodbyes before B and I got in our car (whom we call “Mark”) and drove away.

Every time we leave a WWOOF host there’s a distinct sense of relief. Every place is different, of course, but leaving every place feels basically the same, like the world’s thermostat and brightness levels get turned up a notch or two. After leaving the day spa we did some grocery shopping and went to the library in town before going to Bob and Jennie’s place (Windsong Orchard), which is where the cottage is situated. We bought a pizza in town, so we ate that while we snuggled into our new home, the so-called “Blueberry Cottage,” which gets sun in the morning, has windows overlooking the orchard, and has a-happy-winter-for-Brandon-and-Jenny written all over it. We know pruning will be hard work, but it will make all the difference to come back to our own space, and it doesn’t hurt that our space is a cottage in the middle of wine country.

Now, here’s the funny thing: Brandon and I checked our email backlog and we realized that we emailed Bob and Jennie months ago about possibly WWOOFing for them. They responded to our email, but not until we’d already accepted the offer from the day spa. However, the day that we were going to possibly arrive here at the orchard was May 7th, the exact day that B and I moved in. As a matter of fact, Jennie still had us penciled in on her calendar, but we never would have come here if we hadn’t run into Bob at that farmer’s market. If that’s not a fortunate coincidence then I don’t know what is.

We’ve done our first two days of work for Bob and Jennie, and they’re very fair hosts. We do exactly four hours of work in the morning, and it’s hard manual labor, but nothing B and I can’t handle. Then we have lunch together, and then we’re here in the cottage for the rest of the evening. The cottage could be warmer, and we’re hoping to come up with some brilliant strategy for waging war against cockroaches, but we love it. We’re thrilled that we get to stay here for three months. We don’t need much, Brandon and me. Four walls and a roof are nice. A floor, when one’s available. Food, but nothing too fancy. Clothes, but we have plenty of those. Peace and quiet and space are oft sought after, but we’ve managed without them. Each other – that’s one thing we can’t live without.

We’re hoping the weather’s good up north, and especially that California will get some rain soon so those Santa Barbara fires will get under control. We’re thinking about you all, loving and missing you as always.

Your Happy Inhabitants of Blueberry Cottage,

Brandon and Jenny