MY SOUTHERN HEMISPHERE IDENTITY
Full Moon Rising in Golden Bay, New Zealand
New Zealand, two small islands at the bottom of the world, was not a part of my consciousness fifteen years ago. Then, I met my husband, an American who had emigrated there, and they came with the package. I never questioned that we would exchange my home and a chilly Northern California winter for his home and a sunny New Zealand summer, January, February and March each year.
That began what felt like yearly time travel. A 12-hour flight created a shift from the Northern Hemisphere to the Southern Hemisphere, from thick sweaters and jackets to flip flops and shorts, just like that.
I’d pop a different sim card into my cell phone and, immediately I had my New Zealand phone number and local contacts. The ATM machine spilled out colorful money adorned with images of Queen Elizabeth to fill my New Zealand wallet, which also held my ATM card for the local bank, my library card, garden store card and coffee discount card.
This world meant driving on the left in a car with the steering wheel on the right. We were the ones with the accents, as we navigated ‘Kiwi English’, with so many different words, rubbish, (trash), bonnet, (car hood), boot, (car trunk), petrol, (gasoline), rubber, (eraser). plaster, (band-aid), chilly bin, (picnic cooler), just to name a few.
My name changed from Diane Covington-Carter to Diane Carter, no need for the hyphenated version where I had no real history. When my husband became a New Zealand citizen in the late 1990’s, (with dual citizenship in the US), he had to pledge allegiance to the Queen of England.)
With my husband’s encouragement, I obtained my Australian citizenship and passport, gained by descent from my Australian mother, which allowed me to visit or live in New Zealand. My new citizenship required a file full of documents about my mother and myself, a fee of $210 and voila! I just glided into New Zealand with my Australian passport, no questions asked, (and no allegiance pledged to anyone). (Australian and New Zealand citizens can enter each other's country to visit, live and work indefinitely.)
We carried on like that for fourteen years, a different hemisphere, country and version of life for three months of the year. In 2020, when COVID hit, our three months expanded to eighteen, when New Zealand closed its borders. All flights in and out were cancelled. We were fine there, no masks, safe, a death rate of five per million and watched in dismay as the rest of the world struggled.
But I had never spent that long 7,000 miles from home, and I missed my life there, my home, my family and friends, and the familiarity of my many decades in California.
Field of Sunflowers in Golden Bay, New Zealand
During those fifteen years of zigzagging across the planet and shifting hemispheres, we slipped from middle age to senior status and wanted to simplify our lives. Owning and maintaining a large property 7,000 miles away felt like too much. So, two years ago, we sold our spacious and beautiful property in Golden Bay, at the north end of the South Island, packed up our personal belongings and stored them in a twenty-foot container, to be dealt with later.
Our recent trip was to complete what was left of a life of 25 years, for him and 15 years, for me in our home there.
We had sold our property furnished but we needed to face the container filled with all the carefully labeled boxes of bedding, plates, cookery, glassware–the myriad details that made our house a home.
We were leaving behind a life there, completing an era, but opening the possibility of returning without the upkeep and responsibility of a home and of the contents of said home.
We unloaded the container into a friend’s empty house that he was remodeling, then invited everyone we knew to come over.
During five days of chaotic boxes spilling out and being sorted through, we gave it all away.
Neither my husband nor I felt sad, but rather happy and a bit giddy as we found the right fit for each special treasure, or in some cases, boxes of treasures.
One friend loved the crystal glasses I had scouted out in ‘opportunity shops’ (thrift stores) during my stays. She also loved all our plates and silverware. All got packed up and carted out to her car.
Another friend snapped up the brand new fluffy white towels we had purchased for ‘staging’ our home. She had frequent guests and never enough towels.
The house owner’s four young children scampered through, and small treasures found homes with them. The stuffed Koala bear I had bought in honor of my Australian mother, an apron I had sewn that could be tied up to fit an eight-year-old, sparkly nail polish (that I made sure they asked their mother about), pillows and comforters that found their way to the children’s beds. Their mother appreciated the extra towels and bedding for their family of six.
Eight-Year-Old Ila with Her New Treasures, an Apron and a Koala Bear
The sewing machine that I had inherited from my mother-in-law ended up with a friend whose five-year-old granddaughter had just discovered sewing. She had shared with me that when she took her granddaughter fabric shopping at the giant Spotlight store in Nelson, the little girl thought she was in a Lolly shop, (candy store). A box of fabric went along with them, and they were thrilled.
Our give-away took place over seven days, and then we planned to reward ourselves with a several week ‘holiday’ to relax, bike and swim in the small village of Mapua, near Nelson.
Beach Art in Mapua, New Zealand
We spent a week biking and swimming as planned, enjoying coffee and goodies at our favorite bakery, savoring the amazing chocolate mousse at the Apple Shed restaurant at the wharf, visiting with friends, satisfied that all was going as planned.
Chocolate Mousse at the Apple Shed Restaurant, Mapua Wharf
That’s when life throws you a curve ball, just to remind you that you are not in charge. After a night of uncomfortable pains in my abdomen, we headed for the Urgent Care in Nelson, where I found myself admitted to the hospital for an appendectomy the next morning. This event was not on the itinerary.
Caring nurses and knowledgeable and professional doctors, from all over the world, many of them women, kept me informed each step of the way. I navigated to the communal shower, located down the hall. At bedtime, things became dark and quiet, (unlike hospitals in the US that buzz with activity all night), and I slept, uninterrupted.
The tea trolley rattled past mid-morning and mid-afternoon, and a smiling volunteer offered tea, coffee, Milo (a chocolate drink) and biscuits, (cookies). A tiny reminder that I was in a Commonwealth country with deep ties to England.
I had not been a patient in a hospital for many decades, since the birth of my last child, though I had accompanied my husband a few times in the US. There, the first step was always an interrogation about insurance cards and payment.
Because of my Australian citizenship and 18 months in New Zealand during COVID, I have permanent residency in New Zealand and was already in their computer when I checked into the hospital. They never mentioned payment, at the beginning, middle or end. Not even once.
I had a week to rest before the long journey home and felt grateful that this surprise ended up fitting into our schedule, even though unplanned. Just no more biking and swimming, during this trip, however.
We had sold our car to a dealership in Nelson and on our last day, they drove us to the airport. Another tie cut loose and floating away up over the sea as we walked into the terminal.
On the flight home to San Francisco on Air New Zealand, I upgraded to a ‘sky couch’, three seats that made into a bed and I slept most of the twelve-hour flight back. Lovely.
We don’t know what our future holds in our relationship with the two small islands at the edge of the world. But it will be a fresh start, a ‘holiday’ without cares and responsibilities.
We are excited to discover just what the future holds.
Sunset at Mapua Wharf
©Diane Covington-Carter 2024
All photos by Diane Covington-Carter