Here in New Zealand our summers are characterised by the red blooms of our native pohutukawa trees, the seas that surround us, the lakes and mountains, hills and pastoral dales that we set out to enjoy during our holiday time.
I consider myself very lucky because I can walk to our local beach, and, within 5 minutes, I'm in the water, and there is nothing like a swim in the sea to refresh body and mind, plus cool you off on a hot day.
My younger years were spent at Murray's Bay on Auckland's North Shore. The beach was just along the road and down the hill, and yet we often took off as a family to have a week or so at a different beach. Most of these trips involved twisty gravel roads that made Mom car sick as Dad revelled in his joy of driving fast along them, swinging the car round blind corners, throwing my sister and I about in the back seat, pummeled by holiday supplies like toilet paper, loaves of bread and the occasional bottle of Coke. Finally reaching our destination, dust-choked and Mom white-faced, my sister and I would set out to explore our new territory.
One summer when I was in my teens, Mom, my sister and I set off for Whananaki in northern New Zealand. Back then, Whananaki was not as populated as it is now, a beautiful pristine place of secluded beaches, brilliant clear water and rock pools full of colourful sea life. My sister's friend had the use of an encampment on private land so we enjoyed an idyllic time staying in an old caravan on site and a large tent.
The journey there was one along dirt and gravel roads (now paved!) and we made it in one of Dad's old bombs that he had semi-restored, some kind of old sky-blue two-door Peugeot with a column gear shift that had to be held in place as one drove, particularly in lower gear.
We soon discovered that there was a hole in the passenger floorboard and pretty soon the car was filled with floating dust. Mom was driving, peering through the billowing dust inside at the road ahead, a scarf tied around her nose and mouth. The only thing I could find to help me breathe was someone's old bra lying under the seat (interesting ...) so I wrapped this around my face as best I could.
We drove fast to get there before we all choked to death, finally arriving in a billowing cloud outside the small general store where we planned to pick up some supplies. Mom slid to a halt, the people in the store were startled, I threw open the front passenger door to climb out and it fell off its hinges, thudding into the dirt with a heavy thump. We crawled out, Mom with her bright red scarf still over her face, my sister with a yellow T-shirt wound around her head, and me with a pink bra fastened over my mouth.
We did get our supplies and we did make it to the camp. A kind man in the shop - once he'd gotten over his fright over a band of potential robbers screaming up outside - helped us lift the door into place and tie it onto the car.
Those were the days.