Yesterday (Sunday) was one of those days. We awoke to a calm morning, with a few powdery white bits of fluffy clouds above, not a sign of high winds, tropical storms or torrential downpours as most of the top part of our Island had been receiving in the previous 24 hours.
During general conversation over coffee on the patio outside the conservatory, amid what appeared to be an invasion of those little white butterflies (those cute ones which insist on laying their nasty little eggs everywhere), there were casual remarks about the weather, including this one:
“Doesn’t this feel exactly like Mauritius? I could live with this, as long as I could wear a T-shirt and shorts – not dress up to go to work…” That was at about 10:30 am.
By lunch-time there was an ever-so-slight breeze, pleasant but not enough to mask the obvious fact that the temperature had risen quite a bit, and then some more. Thinking back, I recall that no-one actually used the words, but it had turned quite hot and summery. This persisted through most of the remainder of Sunday, with the grey colour of the increasing bank of clouds deepening to what I’d call a Light Admiralty Grey 697. The gentle breeze continued to come and go at times.
We watched the News at Six, and I was not surprised to hear Jim the forecaster, in his summary of the day’s conditions, report that the highest recorded temperature for March had been recorded on Sunday in Paraparaumu (our nearest large-ish town) about 10 km away. The temperature had been 30ºC!
How conditions changed, as dark set in.
Lusi showed what she was made of: wind and rain. Fortunately, she was kind to us on the Kapiti coast and our treatment was but a fraction of what the Northerners had experienced. In contrast to the previous night, which had been bathed in brilliant white moonlight, Sunday night was fully overcast and everything outside was painted in a dark shade of black. Very dark shade.
The trees behaved like a crowd of people with Afro’s having wild hair-drying sessions, in sudden gusts, frequently continuously for some time. The sound of doors slamming was an indication that we should check all the windows and make sure that all the hatches were battened down. Now and then wind-driven rain pelted down against the window panes. It was still dark outside. Very dark.
This morning in the calm after the storm, so to speak, I strolled around the garden inspecting for any nasty damage.
(Above): Thankfully, no damage worth noting at all, simply evidence that Lusi had produced wind gusty and strong enough to dislodge many (autumn) leaves and a few branches.
(Above) Next to Goat-Hill, overlooked by the towering pines, the ground is quite matted with a new layer of brown pine needles, like dirty dandruff from a huge hairy head above.
(Above): More evidence of the wind. A large number of little green chestnut “hedgehogs” lay strewn across the lawn.
(Above): Even though the peach harvest has never looked promising, one of the trees shed some fruit during the night. Less food for the birds.
Later, on a stroll down the road, we encountered the Kents Road bridge, we encounter a veritable carpet of pine needles.
(Above): A large branch from a tree on one of neighbour Shane’s paddocks lies across the fence into the road at the intersection of Ngatiawa and Kents Road.
(Above): Lusi’s litter strewn across the shoulder of Ngatiawa Road.
Finally, the end results of Lusi’s contribution to our drinking water supply? 29mm measured between 7:00pm Sunday evening and 7:00am Monday morning. This translates into an inflow of approximately 8,700 litres – not overly indulgent, but fairly generous for this time of the year, for which we are grateful. I took a dip of the tank, and the rod shows a reserve of 14,720 litres . Taking into account our water saving measures, this means about 25 to 30 days supply.
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