Excerpt from a letter to Mom:

I've been out in the cherry orchard.

The folks in charge of the orchard are Roger and Robin Marshall. They are very decent, organized, competent, easygoing, and all-around nice people. (They also run a B&B, in case anybody want s a quiet place to stay in NZ, off the beaten track; their gardens are gorgeous in a tidy, blooms-spilling-over way, a treat for those who appreciate such things.)

I'm feeling optimistic about this job: I have a contract, Roger seems keen to treat his workers decently, with rates slightly above market. While I'm already fairly certain that being a fruit-picker is NOT my next calling, I'm still enjoying the getting-into-shape process, and the changes of weather and hand-eye-balance coordination that come with being on a ladder and working with growing things.

Oddly, after a day's work outdoors, I feel like running around. I darted to the post office in time to mail off my contribution to the Ritter Christmas draw, and then scampered to the library to start on e-mail. When it closed, I considered calling it a night and making better acquaintence with the others staying at the backpackers, but I was able to locate both a late-hours kiosk and a cafe that would provide the $2 coins required to operate it.

("Late" in rural NZ means open until 8pm on a weeknight; weekends, anytime after noon Saturday is pretty much up to to the business, with Sunday open hours being a rarity largely restricted to Auckland and large chain-owned businesses. Kiwis don't seem keen on working late, or maybe it's the general labor shortage: many of them seem to run side businesses in the evenings, such as a start-up farm or home business. I find the restricted business hours relaxing, now that I've started to get the hang of it: just don't expect to get much done after hours.)

If I were a Kiwi, this would be my time to hang out with "mates," family, or my own personal hobbies. Since I'm a drifter, I haven't got a regular set of people to hang with. I think I'll go to the "old-time dance" Christmas party this Saturday; while it's generally a much older set, I find the dances very enjoyable, and the company low-pressure. Finding younger companions outside of a bar or backpackers is a bit tricky. (There's something I'm drawn to in people who are settled, who have chosen their place and established themselves among their kith and kin. Meeting fellow travellers can be exciting, but when I'm too long among them, I miss the sense of place I get from people who actually live here.)

The lady who runs this Internet stop has kindly loaned me a few minutes to wrap up, as my last coin has just expired.

Drifting last thought ...
The light here is "white," and I have been trying to remember what I am contrasting this with. I think Oregon's lihgt is also white, but falls on darker trees and soil. So our horizon is bluer, compared to here.
What color is the light elsewhere?