A few weeks back, one of the Rotarians, Allan Richardson, invited Eddy and me to come out to Wanaka to experience the Agricultural and Pastoral Show of Otago, which he claimed was probably the biggest A&P show in the country. Last weekend, we were finally able to go. On the drive to Wanaka, he told us about the geology of the region, the history of the gold rush, the intricacies of wine growing, and of course, the story of Shrek the Sheep. Shrek evaded mustering and shearing for several years, and was incredibly woolly when they found him. The local elementary school wrote stories about him, and now he has become an international sheep sensation.
We spent the night in a sleepout at Allan’s wife’s mother’s vacation home, then got up bright and early ready for a day at the A&P. Unfortunately, since Dunedin is cold and rainy pretty much all the time now, I assumed it would be the same in Wanaka. When I came into the main house, my hosts laughed at my jeans and sweatshirt and told me to go put on shorts and my togs. After figuring out what exactly my togs were (my bathing suit), I then had to admit that I had brought neither. Another oops. Apparently I would not make a very good boyscout.
After I had changed into the most suitable clothes I could muster, we piled into the car and drove to the show. After parking under a tree in a field, and leaving the back of the van open so their dog, a purebred Weimaraner, wouldn’t overheat. No one seemed particularly worried about theft, and they told us to go our own way. So we did. And my own way was straight to the livestock section, pausing only momentarily to gaze longingly at the merino clothes, selling for $100+ for a small shirt.
Once in the livestock section, I was reminded vividly of 4-H, and my days at the Clark County Fair. The horses stood in open paddocks, the cows smelled bad, and the sheep stood panting in the late morning sunshine. And then, nestled between the tractor displays, I saw them. The alpacas. I dragged Eddy into the fiber tent, explaining to him the intricacies of crimp and luster and handle. Then, we ran to the show ring, where juvenile fawn females were being shown. As I explained to Eddy the importance of good conformation and the pitfalls of an animal down on their pasterns, one of the breeders overheard me. Instead of berating me for criticizing her animals, however, she asked me if I had shown before. I told her I used to train alpacas for 4-H, and she practically stuffed a leadrope into my hand. Handlers, it seems, are a rare commodity at A&P shows, and owners who do well enough to have multiple animals entered in the championship rounds often need to show multiple animals at a time. So, I met Alyssa the alpaca, and we entered the show ring with heads held high. Standing in the show ring, my lead line held in a perfect J, toes towards the animal, I couldn’t help but grin at the judge. I wasn’t wearing black and white, my parents weren’t watching from the sidelines, and Alyssa, not Fabio was at the end of the line. But as the judge paced back and forth, examining fleeces and conformation, I realized that I was finally home.
After the show, Eddy and I wandered off to eat sausages and watch the Jack Russell Terrier race. While watching the terriers yip themselves into a frenzy, then chase wildly after a rabbit roped to a horse, was fun, the best part was watching the owners try to catch the terriers after the race. I never knew that anything with such little legs could run so fast.
Once the terriers had been cleared from the center field, it was time for the the Grand Parade, a procession of the champion cows, sheep, horses and, of course, alpacas. Once again, a leadrope was stuffed into my hand, and I led Alyssa, now bedecked with her championship ribbon, into the central ring. Unfortunately, New Zealand alpacas don’t have the benefits of 4-H training, so halfway around the ring, Alyssa decided it was time to sit down. It took 3 full grown men, plus me, to carry her, still cushed, back to her pen. I guess I am my Daddy’s daughter after all.
The day after the fair was spent at the lake. Allan’s family drove us around in their boat (complete with Weimarana), and attempted to teach me to water ski. Alas, I am still a failure in this respect, but I blame it on the glacial waters and the very large holes in my wetsuit. Boating, waterskiing, laying in the sun on a rocky beach that only the locals knew about…it was a pretty tough gig. We had actually been to Wanaka once before, but only Eddy and I, but since we knew nothing of the area, spent most of our time driving trying to find the things that looked vaguely interesting on brochures. Going with Allan and his family was incredible, because it let us experience Wanaka the way Kiwis experience it. And the Kiwis have got it right. I have said it before and I’ll say it again: if it’s not about what you know, but who you know, then Rotarians are certainly the right people to know!
No comments:
Post a Comment