Deb and Fred : Whanganui : Introduction

Arrived back here in Wanganui (click here to read previous post), late in the morning and after greeting my new hosts Deb and Fred, was put to work chopping wood.



I'm beginning to enjoy chopping wood. Bit like what I imagine cutting diamonds is like. One needs to be sensitive to the grain of the material.

Strike at the right point, and the wood flies apart in two sections. Get it wrong and it's a world of pain, splitting down a chunk of log working with wedges and the mallet.

Sometimes the centre of the block is twisted by knots and it resists the pressure of axe, hammer, and wedge to pry it apart, so man is forced to throw some hydrocarbons at the problem.

It's easier to believe in the omnipotence of the human species when weilding the flat blade of a chainsaw, invisible teeth chewing through a section of timber, grain twisted like frozen cigarette smoke.

The wood I’m sectioning is from a heritage plum tree, and has a red heart. The chunky sawdust piling up on the path looks like shredded flesh

The tree had been rooted in the soil since the Second World War. It's branches had continued to blossomed and bore fruit.

The tree was accidentally cut down. Council sponsored contractors were supposed to visit the neighbours property and cut down a plum tree there.


The home I’m staying in is a small wooden house, sitting high up on the bank of the Wanganui river.

The building has a rambling, multi angled feeling of something that has been clipped and honed over many years.

Originally a crumbling derelict with wooden piles so rotton it had begun to droop into the river.

Deb and Fred bought the place back in the seventies and have been renovating it for years.

I finished off the day turning compost. The dark clumps streaming away in the afternoon chill as i fork material from bin to bin lots of worms wriggling around in the muck.