Of Cheese Rolls and Driftwood Fences

Some fences are made of driftwood. Others are made of good intentions.

My gully project got an unexpected boost of energy from the most unlikely source this weekend. Think Van Gogh with native bush as his canvas; all vision, chaos, and compostable charm.

If you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to have your world upended in 48 hours, let me introduce you to my little brother. He’s younger than me by a couple of years, but somehow I’ve spent my entire life trailing in his wake like a stray sock in a tumble dryer.

This weekend, he blew in from the Big Smoke of Auckland, stylish, caffeinated, and now officially diagnosed with adult ADHD.

Which, I have to say, explains a lot.

His childhood restlessness, the constant moving, the fire lighting, and the way he used to dismantle his toys before I’d even figured out the instructions. Turns out, it wasn’t just “high energy.”

It was… something.

Anyway, from the minute his plane landed in Hokitika it was nonstop action. We didn’t stop. I mean, I was ready for a visit, but this? This was a full-body experience.

First, a casual cycle ride on the West Coast Wilderness Trail. Well, he was casual. I was one gear-change away from cardiac arrest while he cheerfully pointed out landscapes and chatted at double speed.

We were back home just long enough to catch our breath before launching into a full-scale South Island cheese roll cook-off. All because he once had “the best cheese roll of his life” at Stumpers in Hokitika and decided my kitchen was now the MasterChef arena.

He’d brought special cheese. Special bread.

I stood there blinking at my packet of Pam’s Tasty Cheddar, feeling like a right amateur.

Then we were off to the beach for pounamu hunting (apparently no visit to the West Coast is complete without channeling your inner prospector). We met a local carver who shared incredible stories about this treasured stone’s history, and for a brief moment, it looked like my brother might actually sit still.

Wrong.

Ten minutes later, he was pacing the beach with laser focus, plotting how he was going to “do something” with whatever we found (spoiler: we found a lot of quartz and one suspiciously greenish pebble).

Back home again, and god help us, he clapped eyes on my Guinea Pig/Gully Project. Or, as I like to call it, my Personal Lesson in Humility and Logistics.

Trying to harness some of his energy, I showed him my rough plan, a bit of 2x4, some plastic netting, and a dream of creating a sustainable, free-range oasis where Galloway and his pals can thrive without being picked off by weka.

That lit him up like a Christmas tree.

Suddenly he’s waving his arms around, muttering about “natural materials” and “design cohesion” and before I knew it, we were at the tip head beach, cramming driftwood into the van like we were building a raft to escape a desert island.

Three van loads later, our lawn looked like a lumberyard for pirates, and my little bro was off, lashing branches together, creating what I can only describe as an avant-garde driftwood fence.

My hubby, the Good Rooster, ever the pragmatist, stood there with a tight smile, eyeing the gaps and muttering something about “guinea pig jailbreaks.”

I was grinning from ear to ear. My bucket was full.

What made me so happy wasn’t just the cheese rolls or the chaos. It was the fact that all caution (and plan) got thrown out the window. For weeks, the Good Rooster had been trying to keep me from going rogue again. But to be honest, no one can say no to my little brother. He was a cyclone in Allbirds from the minute he arrived to the moment he left.

Later on the Sunday night, I went out to feed the guinea pigs.

Galloway was on the wrong side of the fence. He had the good grace to look vaguely guilty before slipping back through a gap big enough for a chihuahua. So yes, there’s definitely more work needed. But for the first time, the gully doesn’t feel like an insurmountable mess. I can almost visualise what it will look like next summer.

But… and here's the kicker: watching my brother bounce from one idea to another all weekend… all that high energy and vision, I realised this is exactly what the Good Rooster puts up with from me. All my tangents and half finished projects, seeing it from the outside was extremely humbling.

So, yes, it was a weekend to remember. Loads of laughs, a revived sense of purpose on the fully project, and a slightly clearer view of myself.

The fence? Wonky. Escapable

The guinea pigs? Perplexed.

The vision? Real.

Would I let my brother run a project again.

Never.

Rosie x

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