Big Boat Man and I walk on the beach almost every day. It depends on if the weather is cold, windy, or rainy. So, obviously not every day. It also depends upon how we feel, whether tired, or achy, or just can’t be bothered. So, again, obviously not every day.

But on those days which we do go out for a walk on the beach, we feel invigorated, alive, and righteous to have done our exercise for the day. As always, we solve the world’s problems and discuss affairs of state. We nod to passers by and stop for the occasional conversation about dogs, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and the prime minister.

The other day, we had just started out. The tide was in, which meant that we had to walk along the cement seawall. This also meant that we were in close proximity of those who passed by, narrowness of the width of the walk path and all.

Suddenly, I sense BBM moving quickly. I turn to catch him if he is stumbling toward the big rocks which help save the coastline from the breaking waves. Instead, I quickly realise that he is not falling. He is in fact doing a jig with his arms and legs spread wide and his walking stick pounding a beat on the path.

I look past BBM to see a woman with cowering arms covering hunched shoulders, her eyes wide, and then a stumble past us to recover herself and move away quickly. I’m still trying to suss out the situation when I hear BBM mutter, “At least I made her look at us”.

How embarrassing. BBM strongly believes that when one passes another person at the beach, a minimal nod should acknowledge their existence, if not a full blown, “Good afternoon”. It is respectful and polite to let them know that you have seen them, you are a fellow coaster, and they are worthy of your acknowledgement. Who knows what that young lady learned from her encounter with a crazy man dancing a jig with a flax stick which has a colourful handmade tether and rubber walking-stick end?

Spring has been different this year. I’m not sure what to think of it. We used to have a lot of sparrows’ nests above our bedroom window. These nests had to be built elsewhere while the builder extended our overhang. So, with the sparrows moved on, the blackbirds appear to have shifted in. What a drama we watch every morning! Apparently, they don’t do the neighbour thing willingly. Instead, they chase one another hopping all over the garden. Then, they fly after one another with wings flapping and an intensity the sparrows never had.

There are two nests above my kitchen window and often BBM joins me to simply watch the drama. We laugh as the sparrows bring in the numbers to show that they are not intimidated by the black birds. But then we laugh harder as another new phenomenon occurs. There is a tui which has taken up the pohutukawa tree and all its surroundings as its territory.

The tui caws loudly and literally dive bombs the entire crowd gathered around the birdseed I have put on the ground. It comes in with its wings spread wider than I thought was possible, cawing and screeching to disperse the others. Any bird too slow to move out of the way gets pecked as the tui flies after it. The sparrows used to wait for the daily morning feed by lining up on the electric wires outside the house. They can no longer do that. The tui appears to think anything which is in sight from the tree, across the wires, and into our garden is its territory. That includes me.

I was hanging my clothes out, no other birds were around, having been cleared out just as I carried my wash. I look up at the tree, and sure enough, the tui is staring back at me, sizing me up. I finish with the clothes and start toward the back door, which takes me past the path the tui had already cleared. The tui screeched and came toward me with wings wide. Oh no you don’t, I think. I stand my ground and the tui veers off, giving my face a blast of air. It returns to the tree. I stare back. This is my garden, I tell it. You will not scare me off. We need to rethink how this garden arrangement is going to work this summer.

Speaking of the garden, when we were preparing to use the Polaris for BBM to get up the hill after his knee operation, we cut down a row of cherry trees. We talked to some neighbours and believed they were what we called ‘fake’ cherries. In other words, not bearing edible cherries but producing the beautiful blossoms in spring. So, last week, I parked my car and stopped to talk to a neighbour on the other side of us. “I see you cut down all your cherries across the front,” he says. Yes, I agree, that is what happened. “I don’t suppose you saw the edible cherries because the trees had grown tall and the cherries were at the top?” he said. Huh. Is that right?

Turns out, what we had cut down was in fact edible. A whole line of them. And the arborist had not advised us differently. The neighbour then helpfully told me about a dwarf cherry which we could plant that wouldn’t grow so tall that we couldn’t see or reach the cherries. But, as luck would have it, no garden shops have any of that kind of cherry in stock any longer. They’ve sold out. It seems there are people who are in the know who have already replaced their cherry trees with this new dwarf variety. No more stock is expected in this year. Pity.

So, spring is here and Brynn has a young couple visiting from the States. It is kind of their honeymoon, birthdays, and anniversaries all rolled into one trip since covid hit just as they were wed. Brynn is excited because she is a foodie and looking forward to introducing them to lots of different kinds of cuisine found in New Zealand. But she also is working, so she asks if we can show them around the first couple of days. Yes, definitely, our sincere pleasure.

The first restaurant we take them to, pavlova is on the dessert menu and they both taste it. It appears that the iconic dessert is very similar to a dessert a grandmother made from a faraway homeland. So, perhaps a kiwi twist on something which has existed elsewhere? OK, so no more bragging how this is definitely a kiwi dish and not an Australian dessert.

The second meal, we cannot go for fish and chips because Brynn had already called dibs on giving them that experience. So, I suggest lunch at a noodle shop? Isn’t that Asian, they ask? Yes, it is, I agree. Well, they say, Brynn took us to a Korean restaurant last night and it all kind of tastes the same. BBM and I raise our eyebrows. Clearly, they have not yet honed their taste buds. No problem, we take them to a kiwi restaurant which has newly opened the night before.

Here, we discover that they do not drink alcohol. BBM is starting to suspect they are younger than we thought. The male orders ginger ale. I point out the ginger beer which is kiwi, yet not real beer. Yes, he says, I know. She wants to know what a lemon, lime, and bitters is. Well, it’s made with what is called lemonade, which is kind of like your 7-Up, but isn’t. Then some lime and bitters are added. What are the bitters? I have no idea. Are they alcoholic? I don’t truly know. I know that I was asked for my identification when I ordered it in the States a few years ago. Let’s ask the waitress here. The kiwi waitress makes an executive decision and declares that there is, in fact, no alcohol whatsoever in a lemon, lime, and bitters drink.

BBM and I get home. I pull out the bitters bottle and read on it. 47.7% alcohol, it reads. Well, I tell BBM, as long as a person doesn’t know that they have had five drops of alcohol in their drink, they haven’t sinned.

Later, she hears me order a Heineken Zero. Oh, she asks, that doesn’t have any alcohol? No, I say, I prefer this taste to the other beers. I give her a taste. She carefully considers what it is doing in her mouth, turns to her young husband and states, “Yeah, it doesn’t sting my mouth! No alcohol in it.” And, there you have it.

No, wait, you don’t have it yet. It turns out that he has never seen/heard/touched the ocean before. He dips his hand into the sea and states that he can now say that he’s touched the ocean. Well, I inform him, you can say that you’ve touched an ocean. You cannot say that you’ve touched the Pacific Ocean. Huh? Because what you’ve just touched is actually the Tasman Sea. Well, they look at each other and agree that it was sea water, so it counts.

And, now that I think about it, there was another amazing couple of firsts. We took them to the restaurant to have breakfast while we watched the All Blacks play the final in the World Rugby Cup. Not only was it their first ever professional sports game to watch on television, but it was the first time in his life he had eaten a poached egg. And there, I think I can safely say, you have it.