When we moved over here a month ago, I asked Mom, “Do you think I’ll always think of the East Coast as the most beautiful side, and miss it? Or will I eventually think the West Coast is the most beautiful, and if we move back to Canterbury, I’ll end up missing the West Coast?”
She answered, “I don’t know.”
I think I’ve now found my answer now:
A month into being here, I think I can pretty comfortably say that I’ve fallen in love with West Coast scenery. Before we moved here, I already really enjoyed it—there’s a certain charm to the rugged beauty of this place, but I knew I didn’t like the rain. However, I’m finding I haven’t minded the rain at all (so far, anyway—better wait until I’ve gone through a couple winters to make that an absolute statement!). And we still do get a good amount of sunshine, which is lovely!
But the colors here…I think at this point I’d really miss them if we would go anywhere else. Yesterday afternoon, we as a family had time for a quick walk, and we’ve been wanting to find out exactly where a creek is that we’ve seen signs for.
So we took off to explore for that, and turns out it’s just a 10-15–minute walk away, around the corner, down a hill, and around another corner.
It ended up being a lovely little creek that gushes under a rickety old wooden bridge (rickety, as in when I walked across it, several of the boards were bouncing under my feet!). It also has that special enchanting gurgle as it tumbles over several series of rapids on its way down to join the river.
After exploring the creek, we retraced our steps, crossed the railway line, and headed down another road. We found what we assume is a fishing access road that follows the creek for a ways as it winds out to the riverbed. It wasn’t a very long walk from there to the river.
The scenery along the way, though. Gorgeous. Even though we were less than a mile from town, we were immersed in the country. There were animals, green, green grass, trees galore, the river off in the distance, and the mountains behind that…. Ahh, it did my soul good.
Skirting the gravel piles, we walked down a short four-wheel-drive trail and then headed west along the rocky riverbed. It wasn’t far until we hit the creek again, where it spread out and hurried over rocks and around hillocks of grass and small shrubs to merge with the river that flowed at its toes off to our left.
Then a patch of sand, another bit of rushing water (perhaps a side-channel of the Grey river?), more sand, more rocks, and we hit what appeared to be one of the main channels of the Grey river. That water was moving much faster, and appeared to be just as big if not bigger than the river that flows past our town to the south. It had gouged out a cleft for itself in the rocky riverbed, and formed a swift-moving current through which it ran down to where the two rivers intersected. On either side, for quite a distance, smaller trickles of water fanned out, all heading downstream.
The boys had heaps of fun wading in the rushing water, but the current was strong, so they mostly all stayed together to keep from being washed off their feet!
Then they headed upstream to find driftwood to send down the chute.
It truly was a lovely evening! And although pictures aren’t perfect, and don’t come anywhere near to doing it justice, the memories made will live in our hearts forever.
Thank you, Lord, for my family. For the time we can spend together. For laughter, and a beautiful creation, and most of all, for Your gift of love that we can share with each other.
