I observe the world from an unusual perspective. The land I live in, New Zealand, is so small and insignificant that it’s often omitted from global maps. It’s surrounded by sea, a long way from anywhere. And within that land, I live in a village containing just thirty-four souls – five of whom are part of our family. It’s described, rightly, as being in the middle of nowhere. And it may even be in the middle of that.
Sometimes nowhere seems to be a good place to reside. It’s far enough away from cities with their light pollution that we’re able to see the magnificence of the night sky. The water from our local spring is as pure as any I’ve ever enjoyed. The dome over our head is vast and wide, with the landscape stretching from horizon to horizon – an ever changing roof that is evocative and inspirational.
Our little town is on the edge of the world in every sense. And from this isolated perspective, we often look at the mainstream of global activity and shake our heads. It seems some sort of madness has infected the world. Greed and avarice have become virtues rather than vices. We seem to be intent on trashing our planet for the sake of making another dollar.
Of late my wife and I have needed to spend time in some of our bigger cities. It’s salutary to observe the culture that persists there. Ordinary conversations seem to be driven by personal agendas rather than friendship. Many people are in a hurry to achieve and get somewhere – perhaps to the grave. I try not to stand in their way.
The companion of my disquiet is a sense of powerlessness. When I was younger I had a sense of hope that an ordinary person could work for change. But that has eroded over the years. Now it seems that a form of social Darwinism has corrupted the soul of humanity, and we see our fellow citizens as competitors rather than neighbours. What can one person do?
* * *
In the face of such despair, my wife and I tour a visiting friend around the magnificent landscape that surrounds us. On a whim, we head down a gravel road toward Cambrians – a tiny settlement of 13 houses. At the end of the track is a sign which declares ‘Here’ in one direction and ‘There’ in the other. We opt for Here.
It’s the first day of Spring. The sky is a Tibetan blue, the sun flooding the world with tentative warmth. We drive past a traditional mud brick cottage and park beside a gate. We get out and walk among the trees – most of which have yet to show any signs of the nascent life contained in their plump buds. Tracks lead across the property, allowing us to wander through a magic patchwork of bulbs. There are snowdrops, bluebells, daffodils.
We find ourselves beside a gurgling stream, overhung with sheltering trees. Even down here, alongside the river, bulbs are everywhere. Climbing the bank, the land opens out onto a serene pond, which fat and happy ducks make the most of. A sign greets us:
‘Welcome to Cambrians Commons, feel free to wander’.
We’re delighted to do so.
Another mud brick cottage awaits us. This one has a rough table and some chairs in front of it. We sit for a while, feeling the sun bleaching the winter’s sorrow from our bones. There’s no need to speak. Eventually we’re approached by a man with wild white hair and beard, wearing a felted cap on his head. He introduces himself as Bob, the owner of the property.
He sits with us, and asks each of us what our story is. He wants to know what we do, who we are, and why we’ve come here. Bob engages us in a gentle and unhurried way, with nothing on his mind except talking to some strangers. We fill in the gaps, and talk about a few mutual friends from the local area.
Then Bob shares a little of his own life. His early days as a teacher and a hippie, some failed relationships, and his move to the deep south of New Zealand. There were early struggles to feed and look after his children after he purchased the current thirty-acre property many years ago. It was bare farmland. As we look around the edenic gardens we’re sitting in, we understand that this is all the work of his hands and heart.
He’s planted the trees and the flowers, and shaped the land with a gentle vision and love. He’s been pretty much self-sufficient all that time, though confesses that life was easier because the government provided various benefits for him. “That’s what I love about this country,” he says. “We understand that we need to look after each other at times in life, and it enables us to live together.”
He can’t understand why many governments are so afraid of socialism. His response has been to make his small corner of the world into a Common, where people can come and go and enjoy the beauty without charge. You can see the generosity of his heart in his eyes. Before we know it, more than an hour has passed with this wonderful conversation. Our souls are singing.
He sends us on our way with a gift to us of bulbs. Rosemary had wondered how he got the money for the thousands of flowers that surround us. “Oh, I don’t buy them,” he smiles. “I simply split them up each year, and nature does the rest.” Nature, and the love and work of a quiet man who simply hopes to make the world a better place.
Up in the rafters of his cottage, we were surprised to find Bob’s coffin built and waiting. The end of it bears the legend ‘He was nowt but friendly’. Underneath is a sign bearing a limerick.
This coffin was made with much levity
Its owner desires longevity
but regardless of health
irrespective of wealth
Don’t stuff around with negativity
* * *
I left Bob’s Common full of hope and gratitude. The life’s mission of one man had created beauty and refuge, freely available to all who might want to enjoy it. This was a small act of resistance in a confusing and contentious world. One person, living on the edge, bearing generosity and love.
I was reminded of the value that each of us can contribute through our own small work in a remote corner of the world. And I considered again the concept of the Commons; that whatever the powers that be may say or do, we’re all in this together. If we are to retain our humanity and live peaceably on the earth, it will be through sharing our love and endurance.
Last week I planted some more trees on our property. With luck, they will outlive me. Sometimes all you can do is make a small investment in the future of the planet, and hope that others will be around to appreciate it. The view from the edge is wide and long, and I’m grateful for it.
Mike Riddell is a Kiwi writer.
