I taught my son how to bushwhack at a rest stop while driving along the east coast of the South Island towards Kaikoura.
It was bittersweet to leave the charming little town of Nelson, but we were motivated to get to Kaikoura, New Zealand’s hamlet for whales, dolphins and heaps of birds. A few minutes prior to arrival, Chase and I pulled off at a small rest stop and wandered down to the beach. A stretch of heavy brush with no pathway in sight didn’t stop this four year-old who was keen to use the sand toys that I purchased three stops ago. Chase saw that beach and was prepared to do whatever it took to shovel some sand and rake some shells.
Without words, I made my way towards what seemed like the least dense of beach brush and started making steps that he could follow. “Mama, where ahr you going?” The ‘R’ sound in his words was slowly coming together, my boy no longer a toddler speaking baby talk.
“We’re bushwhacking, babe! Follow me, I’ll make a pathway that you can follow so that the branches don’t hit your face.”
Quietly making our way, Chase talked about all the branches on his legs, a small thorn that grabbed onto his sleeve without launching tears. A few steps ahead would be our break, where rocky sand met the brush and our legs would be free. The sound of the waves crashing was our only soundtrack, the parked car and the rest stop silently shoehorned into the canyon behind us. A Maori statue stood at the end of the beach, one of several that we discovered along the coastal highway. We started making our way to have a look at the plaque at its base.
The sun was bright, the breeze strong on our faces, our sights filled with cliffs, shells, rocks perfect for climbing. I looked around, proud and grateful to have this moment for us, for making this moment happen. We were in New Zealand. Exhale.
That night, we completed a ritual that we’d come to establish at the end of every travel day: what was our favorite part of the day? Our happy part? Our hard part? I wanted to hear all the good and all the bad. We had seen giant Albatross quibble for chicken livers on the back of a boat tour that took us into the bay. We had encountered a seal colony at the end of the main street of town, one coming quite close to Chase. We had a sunset walk along the water collecting shells. We ordered Thai takeout and found a picnic table right on the shore in this one-block town. I had forgotten to collect cutlery and napkins, so we crossed the street to the one hotel on the block and asked if we might purchase these things. A silver-haired older man kindly obliged, offering actual cutlery (no plastic) and paper napkins. We wandered back to the table, now on the clock to eat dinner so that we could return the forks at the hotel before it closed at 7 PM. I loved that we were in a town where the front desk of a hotel closes at 7 PM.
My happy part was bushwhacking with my son, having a small adventure for a few minutes while taking a break from sitting in the car. Chase’s happy part? He declined the Thai food and instead munched away on an unmonitored number of balsamic vinegar-flavored rice cakes. “My happy part are these rice cakes!” He was serious. He pointed out all the shapes his bites were making from these round, semi-tasteless discs. “Mama, this kinda looks like a house!” “Mama, this one looks like a snowmobile.”
I smiled, grateful for his joy.