Elisabeth Easther talks to Amy Hodgkinson from NZ Māori Tourism.
I grew up in Hawke's Bay on an orchard, the eldest of four. Working in the orchard from an early age, we were known as The Kids Under The Tree. Sitting out under the big old oak tree, selling nectarines, plums and apricots — 3kg bucket for $8, it was the best summer job. Because four kids was a handful, for some holidays one parent would take two kids and the other parent the other two kids. I should've realised that was a sign divorce wasn't far away. Going to Noosa on the Sunshine Coast with Dad and James, I loved supermarket shopping with Dad because he had no idea what to get and would just buy junk food.
In the holidays, we used to visit a cousin's farm in Taihape. We'd travel over the Gentle Annie, and stop at a ford to have a picnic, based on a tradition that began when Mum was little.
One Christmas Eve, travelling with her brothers and parents, Granddad knocked a hole in the petrol tank and someone told him to just drive like the clappers. They made it just past the ford when the car ran out of petrol. Granddad went to get help and, because the car was full of mince pies, presents and togs, everyone else swam in the river and ate mince pies and Mum thought it was awesome, so she wanted to pass those memories on to us.
When I was 14, our family went to Europe for a year, back when Air New Zealand offered "Buy 1 Get 1 Free" in Business Class. So all six of us flew Business Class to Australia, Singapore, the UK, France, Spain and Hawaii. I'm sure this horrified some of the other business travellers, although it spoiled me too: now I know what it's like to turn left rather than right when going on a plane.