"...We crunched up a drive with grass growing down the middle of the track, through a wisteria-choked gate, and into a gravel yard bounded by cute but shabby buildings. As soon as we staggered out of the cars we were greeted, not only by two little dogs, but also by a sense of serenity and gentle calm. Alex, the owner, came out of the cottage in traditional Northland winter farmer’s garb of shorts, teeshirt and gumboots. He welcomed us and we started to wander round the farm, he and Rolf chatting amiably, the dogs zooming around the paddocks in some kind of “find the smelly cow pat” game and we, lagging a few steps behind and grinning uncontrollably.
“Whatever you do, don’t make it too obvious if we do want to buy this place” I cautioned my foolishly beaming wife. “I have no idea how we could manage twenty two acres, and we don’t know much about gardening, never mind farming” I added, before I noticed that I too was smiling like an eighties dance badge (the yellow smiley face.) Back in the real world, and five steps ahead of us, Rolf and Alex were discussing things like the cost of fencing, what building repairs might be needed, and how well the ground had coped with the recent heavy rainfall. So prosaic. It took us about forty minutes to wander around the property and get back to the house. It took us about a thousandth of that time to fall in love with it. We had conveniently inserted ourselves into the picture, with dogs running around, cattle in the paddocks, and the huge and graceful oak tree dappling the shade for a garden picnic. And before we’d even seen inside the house, it had to be ours..."