The Snowman

The Snowman

The Snowman was restless -and tired. Christmas had been and gone, with all the activity and drama that goes with it. The Family upon whose front lawn he resided, had shrieked with excitement when the first snow fell - busily piling up snow to make a portly body, topped with a smaller but rather irregularly shaped head decorated with two small potatoes for eyes, a carrot nose, and a strip of cucumber for his mouth. This was quite an extravagance considering the price of cucumbers at this time of year. To complete his look was a Trilby hat and a knitted scarf.

However, this was not the end of it. Once constructed, the Snowman was used as a target for snowball-throwing, a form of fun for which The Family seemed to have endless fascination and energy. This had gone on for days, and while tolerating it as a necessary part of the festive season, he was as over it as you could be. Fortunately, so was The Family who were now recovering from a hectic Christmas filled with an onslaught of relations, over-excited children, and probably too much alcohol. 

At last, they had left him to his own devices and he was free to start planning his annual holiday. In the past he had been to some exotic places - the winter market in Leipzig, to Norway to see the Northern Lights, and perhaps his favourite trip, sleigh-riding behind a reindeer in Lapland. This year, however, he could not get excited about anything. “The Northern Hemisphere’s just not doing it for me “ he sighed. “I need a change from all this snow. I need a change of scenery, a new adventure”

His potato eyes lit up as an idea formulated. “I know - a trip to the Southern Hemisphere might be the answer. That last issue of Conde Nast listed New Zealand as the hot new destination. Right, that's it, that’s where I'm going.”.

Logistics were everything. He gathered three of his friends, arranged with Air New Zealand to turn down the plane's thermostat, and hired a refrigerated bus to travel around in. Having changed his mind several times regarding his travel wardrobe, he finally retained the Trilby hat but discarded the knitted woollen scarf. The travellers were ready to go.

The novelty of being in a different part of the world sustained their enthusiasm for some time. However, after a while, they realized that they had not fully appreciated the limitations of travelling in a warm hemisphere. They had to stay in the refrigerated bus, while out the window, they could see the yachts sailing on the Waitemata Harbour in Auckland and the rolling farmland of the Waikato. They even had a drive-by of Hobbiton. Those little Hobbit houses looked enticing to step inside and explore but they couldn't risk the 26-degree temperatures.

 By the time they got to Rotorua, the temptation to get out of the truck and wander through the thermal wonderland of Whakarewarewa was so great that the Snowman had to forcibly stop one of his companions from making a run to the ticket office. 

To allow everyone to restore their mental health, they spent a few days at Mt Cook, camped out on the mountain. Feeling refreshed, they continued on their way, enjoying the views around the South Island tourist spots until it was time to catch the ferry at Picton, and head north for the return trip to Auckland.

The Snowman had fulfilled his ambition to do something completely different but he had a nagging regret that he had not experienced all that New Zealand had to offer. This may have resulted from viewing the countryside through the thickened windows of the refrigerated bus - a vicarious way to experience a country by anyone's standards. He had kept his companions safe and intact, albeit having to resort to strong words and even the occasional strong-arm tactic. As they headed for the last destination before heading to Auckland airport, his sense of frustration grew.

The Coromandel Peninsula was a paradise. The troop of snowmen was treated to a spectacular view (through the windows of the refrigerated bus) of white beaches, pohutukawa trees growing down to the turquoise water, and even the occasional pod of dolphins dipping and diving within easy view of the road. It was idyllic; it was another world. The bus pulled into the carpark of Hot Water Beach. People armed with buckets and spades dug in the sand right by the shore and with squeals of delight lowered themselves into the hot water that filled the hole. 

The sight of so many people enjoying the sun, the water, and especially the hot pools was too much for the Snowman. Flinging open the door of the refrigerated bus, he was hit with the balmy air of a New Zealand summer. He raced down to the edge of the water, grabbed a spade lying on the sand, and with an impressive burst of energy, started digging. He could feel himself perspiring with the effort but the hole was gradually filling up. With a cry of anticipation, he flung himself into the hot water and sank up to his neck. The wave of pleasure he felt as the water engulfed him was unlike anything he had experienced. He suspected it was the end for him but he revelled in the ecstasy of the one, gloriously authentic experience of the whole trip.

This had all happened so quickly that his companions had not been able to stop him. They could only watch from the safety of the refrigerated bus as he dug a hole for himself and climbed in it. They watched in horror as he slowly disappeared from view. 

Later in the evening, after the tide had gone out, a family of beachgoers wandering along the beach, noticed some objects lying in one of the pools. Upon inspection, they were surprised to find two cooked potatoes, a cooked carrot, a Trilby hat, and even more perplexingly, a soggy slice of cucumber in the shape of a smile. The children laughed delightedly and started to build a Sandman. When the body and head were finished, they put the potatoes on for the eyes, the carrot for the nose, and some leftover cucumber from their picnic basket for a mouth. It was almost dark when the family finally went home. The Sandman sighed blissfully, his cucumber mouth curved into a smile, the potato eyes closed contentedly as the Trilby hat slipped slowly over them. He fell asleep smelling the sea air and listening to the sound of the waves lapping in the distance. 

He awoke abruptly to the sensation of something swirling around his feet. Peering out from under his Trilby hat he could see tiny waves advancing and retreating, each time a little closer to him. With a start, he realized that the tide had turned and each wash of water, albeit gentle, was causing him to sink further into the beach. 

However, he was not concerned. Unbeknown to his travelling companions, the Snowman had planned from the very beginning of their trip to find a place where he could finally retire. He had been a snowman, reinvented as a sandman and now it looked as if he might end his days lying flat on the beach in this idyllic spot forever. As the last of his body melted into the sand, the final thing he saw was a seagull swooping down to scoop up his potato eyes and carrot nose. “No matter, “ he thought, I don’t need them anymore”.  

He sighed deeply and settled down for a long sleep, his Trilby floating in a gentle pool of water. He had found the perfect retirement home, peaceful, warm, and by the sea, and he was happy to stay.