Cabin Fever

A reader commented on the fact that I have recently posted a number of previously published works of “fiction” (3, to be precise) and nothing related to current events – was I somehow being prevented from experiencing current stuff to write about, they enquired. No, the answer is negative, but let me explain as follows:

Imagine you were living on Little Diomede, zip code 99762. You would effectively be at one of the last places on earth to “see the New Year in”, meaning that you would be very close to the International Date Line (in fact, about 970 metres east of it) in the middle of the Bering Strait.

(Above): A view of the entire human settlement of Little Diomede village (about 100) with the sea all around, the very steep mountain rising out of the sea, and very little else…

But, desolate as the isolated settlement may be, that’s no big deal for one day of the year, you might think. Until you think of what it might be like on Little Diomede in the middle of winter, such as on New Year’s Eve, for example.

Medically speaking, in my expert opinion, I am not suffering from cabin fever. I am healthy, I am not depressed, I am not indoor-bound, I have been out on foot and by car a number of times this week.

During that time, I found sufficient to keep me occupied during the grey days of this week, and these will be repeated, probably with compound interest and intensity during the looming winter weeks, but I thought (with scientific and psychological interest) of those few dozen people on Little Diomede. If not gainfully employed, what on earth do the Diomedeans with their time?

But it has been raining on and off for most of the week, making a concerted time outdoors not very practical. (I am not sure whether a “concerted” time is practical – I mean ‘a sustained length of time’). Today, that’s all changed and we were greeted to a clear crisp Friday morning, the start of a long weekend this evening with a birthday on Monday, courtesy of Her Royal Highness, our Queen.

(Above): The pines in the distance are outlined against a pure azure sky of the famous wavelength 488 newton-metres variety (blue for the non-scientists), while the tree in foreground is looking sparsely clothed. Today is a pure Kiwi summer morning except for the bite in the air… Excellent fare for a walk in the countryside, something which I will tackle later in the day.

Jade the cat, is lying peacefully sound asleep on top of the water tank in full sunlight for most of the day – no surprises there, mind. Bennie and Sophie the Labrador pair, like living solar panels, are spreading their black plumage so as to collect as much sun-controlled warmth as possible. Later today, they will migrate to the kitchen fireplace to absorb the made-controlled radiant heat from burning log fire.

There are no sounds of traffic or, indeed, any sign that there are any other humans on this planet – much like Little Diomede, I suppose, although that island would be pestered with the incessant sound of the sea and waves crashing against the rocky cliff faces. In the Reikorangi valley we have no such sounds, especially today.

(Above): The last of the stragglers in the potager jardin boutanique rose trellis, although slightly damaged, remain colourful commas in the whimsical autumn paragraph around the house.

(Above): A peaceful scene provided by looking through the pergola through the snake garden beds. Some interesting shades of various green hues.

(Above): With most of the green vegetation having disappeared for the looming winter, one now has a clear view through the secret garden.

(Above): Not all trees can be evergreen. Here we have two naked nudists with skinny arms pointing in all directions standing next to a fully clothed evergreen general. I can look at these nudists for hours and detect all sorts of stories hidden in their patterns.