K Gurunathan picks a fig in his garden.
It's a sunny Saturday morning with a crisp cool breeze.
Sitting on the deck, I can see Claire tending to the fig tree.
With the recent rain, the fruits have swelled.
It's a battle now.
A gang of waxeyes have discovered the ripening tear-drop sacs of sugar.
So have the usual blackbirds that hang around the garden.
They have started to rip into the fruit.
The waxeyes have the habit of pre-testing the fruits leaving many pock-marked before they are fully ripe.
We have joined the battle for our share, using small plastic bags and clothes pegs to protect each fruit.
The tree is too big to net so these winged hungry demons can have their way with the fruits on the higher branches.
The tedious work is worth the effort.
Fully ripe, with their ends starting to burst and ooze sweet nectar, fresh figs are a distant experience from the dried figs your buy from the shops.
This garden battle with the birds is, despite the annoyance, an experience that feeds the soul.
These hungry feathered demons and us have shared a common experience of wanting the fruit of an abundant fig tree.
I write this in the middle of the three-day Easter.
This middle day experience is, of course, the time of darkness before the resurrection of hope.
In the context of the coronavirus, the Easter message is a clear one for me.
You sacrifice your individual rights and freedoms for the common good.
Despite the self sacrifice - or because of this self sacrifice - you are still a shareholder in the benefits of the common good.
This is what the protocols around isolation aims to accomplish.
By keeping safe within your bubble you save lives.
Both your own and the lives of others.
I find what's happening to the psyche of the whole country to be really fascinating - we are urged to isolate ourselves by doing this together - we are together by isolating ourselves.
And, we are doing it well enough to hopefully break the back of the virus.
But the message does not seem to reach everyone.
A significant minority flout the isolation protocols.
I still carry in my mind the image of the trail biker last week, traveling at speed along a Raumati footpath, nearly bowling over a couple of pedestrians and running over their old dog.
Selfish individual interest.
Not only breaking local bylaws but putting lives at stake.
A serious accident would have necessitated the attendance of first responders, endangering more lives.
After running over the poor dog, he fell off, scrambled up and bolted the scene.
The reckless and cruel scene was phone-videoed and later uploaded on Facebook with a call to the public to help identify this community Idiot.
I labelled this and the fellow idiots hooning at Maungakotukutuku Valley and Waikanae Estuary Scientific Reserve 'community idiots' to highlight that these idiots 'belong' to our communities.
There is a need to take collective ownership of their behaviour to impress on them that their Individual recklessness puts our communities at risk.
That we back our police to act on these breaches.
I'm glad that the police have been given extra powers under the declaration of a national emergency to do their job.
And it is a tough job.
Early on, as the Covid 19 virus warning messages were being ramped up, a senior police officer reminded me of the vulnerability of frontline police to the spitting they encounter in carrying out their duties.
Now, given the virus, the spitting is being used as a weapon against the police, said the officer.
And we have recently seen a number of such incidents unfold.
Sitting under the Saturday morning sun, the battle against these ignorant idiots seem a million miles away.
But I know it's only a window of brief respite as the daily 1pm direct telecast from the Beehive press conference will come.
And we will hear the data on the number of people infected, the hope the death tally remains contained and that curve continues to flatten, followed by my regular 1.30pm briefing from our local controller.
Even as Claire takes a break and I ready to go into battle, the fluffy gang of waxeyes have returned only to be scattered by a fat wood pigeon landing heavily on the top branches.
Life goes on regardless.
