We once had a lake view, looking to the north. But that was thirty-five years ago, when the street was just two ruts between the matagouri; briar rose; and tussock, and there were no houses or trees other than what we’d planted. That was when the arrival ritual was to sit on my father’s knee and steer the Valiant down the “street”.
What we still have, and should always have, is a lovely view to the south.
On the southern edge of the once and future terminal moraine of the Hāwea glacier my father bought a section and built a modest crib, nearly forty years ago. That’s where we are now.
Looking out: on the left there’s the Clutha valley, and in the distance the Dunstan mountains and Bendigo’s clutch of vineyards. On the right, the Cardrona valley and the straight, hill route to Queenstown over the Crown range. In the middle, the Pisa range.
Behind me: the little house, full of holiday memories and another holiday still in progress.