By the time I glanced at the clock and saw it was edging toward 11:00 am, the house in Kaiwaka was back to how we found it: clean, organized, and uncluttered with our stuff. We’re totally packed except for the computer bag and a few odds and ends. The little car is loaded to the brim. Only the sense of anticipation remains.
This house…oh, how we’ll remember it.
It wasn’t only the structure itself, lovely as it was, perched in its peaceful pocket of rural New Zealand. It was Dave and Eing. From the moment we arrived, weary and road-worn, they wrapped us in kindness. There’s something profoundly comforting about landlords who feel more like friends, who show up with a bag of jasmine rice because they read you were running low, who insist on dinner and quietly outmaneuver you when the bill arrives.
For two months, we lived in a kind of gentle stillness.
Yes, the location was remote. There were times we had to plan carefully for groceries or errands. But what we gained in exchange was immeasurable. No traffic noise—no traffic at all, really. No crowds. No sirens. Instead, our days were punctuated by the bleating of sheep, the low murmurs of cattle, and the occasional triumphant crow of a rooster. The peacocks’ haunting, almost cry-like calls would drift through the air, and the magpies carried on their animated chatter as if narrating the countryside.
Silence, but never emptiness.
This morning, as Tom slid the last bags into the car, we realized we could leave one newer carry-on behind for Dave and Eing. Doing so, may mean I won’t be wedged quite so tightly in the front seat during our two-hour drive to Auckland. Small victories matter in this nomadic life.
Yesterday, we found ourselves talking about Penguin, Tasmania, and what awaits us there. A town of just over 4,000 people, hardly a metropolis, but after Kaiwaka’s sweeping rural landscape, it will feel lively in the most delightful way. Easy access to shopping. Restaurants within minutes. The freedom to pop out for coffee without mapping a minor expedition.
And the beach.
Across the road from our new home, the shoreline stretches wide and welcoming. Parks nearby. The scent of salt air. And each evening, the fairy penguins will return from the sea, waddling ashore in the ritual that gave the town its name. I can hardly wait to see them with my own eyes. When we do, of course, we’ll share photos. Some moments are too special not to pass along.
It will be cooler there than Kaiwaka has been lately, and I’m looking forward to the temperate air. The heavy humidity we’ve felt here will give way to something fresher, something brisk enough to invite long seaside walks.
And then there are the celebrations ahead.
Valentine’s Day. My birthday, on February 20. Our 31st wedding anniversary, on March 7.
Three beautiful markers in just a few short weeks. We may go out to dinner. We may simply stay in, sip our adult beverages, make a special dinner, and treasure the view by the water with grateful hearts. After all these years, it’s less about grand gestures and more about shared glances, quiet laughter, and the steady comfort of knowing we’re still choosing this life, and each other, every single day.
There is so much to celebrate beyond the dates on the calendar. The quality of our lives. The freedom to follow the sun. The kindness of strangers who become friends. The health that allows us to pack up once again and head toward the next horizon.
We leave Kaiwaka with full hearts. And we arrive in Penguin carrying that gratitude with us.
Be well.
Photo from ten years ago today, February 11, 2016:
