It took a month for things to change. On December 31, China told the World Health Organisation about the new disease, meanwhile we celebrated the approaching dawn of 2020.
Well, you did. Some of us were in Whangārei Hospital ED where the walls are made of curtains. That's where I learned that if kidneys are damaged they won't repair themselves - unlike most other parts of us.
"Wow," I said, "that's fascinating," which earned a chuckle from the concealed doctor and patient in the next cubicle.
Then, as we Kiwis relished day one of a fresh and shiny new year, the Wuhan food market, the likely source of the virus, closed. By January 23, the disease had a stranglehold and Wuhan was in lockdown.
While we lolled in intermittent January sun, our Ministry of Health was on the job, keeping tabs on the looming crisis. On January 30, an Air NZ flight left to bring Kiwis in Wuhan back home. The next day, WHO announced a "public health emergency of international concern".
The flight from Wuhan landed in Auckland on Waitangi Day and on February 7 Dr Li Wenliang died from the disease he'd identified. He was 33. Four days later it got an official name, Covid-19.
By then our brows were furrowed but the virus was still a distant threat. My big worry was the garden and house tour in Kaipara. Would the parched gardens last the distance? Would the 700 or so ticket holders be happy? Could our small rural community pull it off?
The tour was a success, but that weekend, February 22 and 23, is significant for other reasons; it was New Zealand's last Covid-19-free weekend, the last weekend in what feels like a lost and innocent age.
The first Kiwi case was identified the following Friday as the farmer and I joined cousins at Waipū Cove. We splashed in the waves, learned we'd lost the art of body surfing, dined at the Pizza Barn and The Cove. It felt like an especially precious gathering.
Very soon the virus bit harder and we learned a new term – self isolation – and about hand sanitiser and hand washing.
By mid March, Covid-19, now dubbed by WHO as a pandemic, had our attention and was changing our behaviour, but still in a light-weight sort of way.
Some large events were cancelled, but not the 99th Kumeu Show. On March 14, my feet hit the floor at 4.30am and within hours a large group of us was managing the gates and ticket sales. This is a vital fundraiser.
Hand sanitiser was prominent. Thousands of people were undeterred by the virus, but it was on their radars – and mine. Interactions were fleeting.
The show just slid in the window. Days later, the Government banned large events.
Covid-19 was running wild in some countries while here in New Zealand almost 3000 people were in self-isolation and about 7000 had emerged from 14 days by themselves in tip top health. Financial markets, though, were sicker than they'd been in years.
Then two strokes of luck on a tiny scale. Last Saturday, dinner for eight to celebrate our garden tour efforts then, after several fails to buy vegetable seedlings, a Monday morning dash to a garden-gate nursery in Ruawai.
Success. By a whisker. It closed the next day.
In a farming magazine, a story told of another event that appeared to have slithered in - the World Hereford Conference in Queenstown. Tickets to the dinner cost $200 and 400 people attended.
How times have changed, I thought. My grandfather had a small hereford stud, but I'm picking world conferences weren't thought of in his day.
Isn't it curious that when a new word or phrase captures your attention it soon pops up in other contexts? The hereford conference did that. Turns out it didn't quite beat Covid-19; in its wake four delegates, including two from New Zealand, tested positive.
Maybe this nightmare will lead to changing values, habits and times. Already, parts of our house are cleaner than they've been in too long. The Farmer's response to any prolonged acts of domesticity on my part is usually, "Have you taken your temperature?"
This now has new connotations. In fact, will things ever be quite the same again? And will that include dating. Who knows?
