THIS IS A STORY ABOUT FRIENDSHIP
Making a new friend in the second half of life is an occasional gift. By midlife we mostly have our oldest, dearest friendships in the bag; the steady, back-pocket, speed-dial type of chums.
Old friends are perennial. Old mates know you the best, like no one else does. They have seen all of your dark corners and are not afraid; witnessed you at your best and your worst; celebrated your triumphs while holding your feet to the ground; they call your bullshit with love; they hold you close from afar and they pick up all your calls – or at least call back soon enough. These friendships are grounding, they pick up where they left off, need little maintenance, and should be cherished.
But I have a new friend. Her name is Jan, and she is halfway family. Her father, Lindo Ferguson, an ophthalmologist, and my grandfather, Victor Heywood, a sheep farmer, were fishing friends. Of course, I have a romantic notion of their conversations. I imagine a quiet and careful connection, riffing about their families, farming and the state of the nation. Jan’s and my friendship has also been forged while baiting lines and hauling in snapper, and we think Vic and Lindo would have approved.
Jan is a gentle soul with a sparkle about her. She has been kind to me beyond measure and we have gotten to know one another by talking while fishing. The bedrock of our friendship has been our conversations composed equally of talking and listening. I have heard her story, she has heard mine, both of which contained a healthy obsession with the mountains in our early chapters.
Although we have snow in common, we are the inverse of one another in many ways. Jan does one thing at a time, she is a single-tasker; I do four things at once, I am a faulty-tasker. She moves through life at an unhurried tempo I have rarely known; I move at an ungodly rate, yet we both get things done in our own ways. Our influence on each other to slow down, or speed up, as it may be, is a lovely upshot of our relationship.
Jan has offered me her ear, posing gentle guidance that is not that of a mother, not quite sisterly, but borne of nothing but care for me. Sitting at her kitchen counter, leisurely making a cup of tea, slicing slabs off homemade fruitcake, she has listened. Jan has helped me to unravel the past few years, plan for the future and slow the hell down. It is profound to feel this seen. She is present, intentional, generous and kind; I am grateful for this unconditional kinship. As Simon Sinek says: good friends make us better people.
Jan never lets me leave empty handed. A bushel of avocados, a freshly filleted snapper, a slice of the aforementioned cake tucked under my arm, my calm reset and peace restored. Jan is both my balm and my ballast. We go out for dinner often, enjoying a meal all the way to indulgent desserts. I attended a locals’ dinner party as Jan’s plus one, and I teased her afterwards about her bold and unnecessarily strident announcement, “This is Jo, she’s my friend!!” Clearly we both cherish this friendship.
Jan is a historian. She is the kaitiaki of Butler Point Whaling Museum, Historic Home and Gardens. She has dedicated her life to sustaining her parents’ legacy, to safeguard and share this special place. The property presents the rich history of New Zealand's 19th-century whaling industry. William Butler was an early European settler, a whaler and trader who established Butler Point as a base for his whaling operations and local industry. Today Jan and her team offer guests guided tours to explore the life and challenges of whalers, and gain a deeper appreciation for this chapter of New Zealand’s maritime heritage.
The best friends are those who strive to deeply understand who you are. In 1970 my Grandpa Vic was having a beer in the Wellsford pub and overheard that Butler Point in Mangonui was for sale. Vic understood Lindo’s deep affinity for heritage buildings and stories. They got in the car, headed north to view the property, and the Ferguson family became the proud owners of 50 acres of rich New Zealand heritage. Like Jan, good friends listen carefully, they hold space, they shape and validate who you are, and often steer you towards your next chapter. Turns out you can choose your family; this is Jan and she is whānau.
"Family isn't always blood, it's the people in your life who want you in theirs: the ones who accept you for who you are, the ones who would do anything to see you smile and who love you no matter what.” Maya Angelou
