Dunedin is a parkland paradise, writes Peter Matheson.
Astonishing the variety and winsomeness of Dunedin's parks.
Phenomenal is the only word for it. Each of us will have our favourites, but for a wee-boukit city we do incredibly well.
You have to start with the venerable Botanic Garden.
Having worked for more than a decade at Knox College, I thought I knew everything there was to know about it, but every time you visit there's a new revelation.
At this time of year the tangled, voluptuous beauty of the rhododendron dell draws one in, draws out the oohs and ahs at the colours, the burgeoning ranks of blossoms, the familiar absurdity of such delicate beauty emerging from knotty, stubborn wood.
The top half of the Gardens is hard to beat, with its mix of chaotic native bush and elegant, enticing spaces to sit and dream.
All these intimate nooks and crannies.
The aviary, seemingly always building up its exotic display, the skyscraping trees, the gradual descent to sun-soaked terracing, rock gardens, the flatlands for roses and ducks and children, herbs and perennials, and more breathtakingly beautiful trees.
Unbelievable the wealth we're offered at the Botanics.
Makes even ratepaying seem worthwhile.
Up the Valley to Bethunes Gully, stretching up towards Mt Cargill.
A real gully, living up to its name.
I counted 14 cars there the other day, mainly dog walkers, parents and kids, but some old stagers like myself.
Memories of teenage crayfish hunts (can that be right?), the maudlin balance of grassland and bush, myriad bellbird and tui calls, then moving up into the pines, the successive layers of ferns and undergrowth and those great swaying arrows to heaven.
Happily, you leave yourself behind.
Another favourite of mine, full of memories, the archers' paradise at Chingford Park, with its distinctive architecture, massive macrocarpas, and the largely unexplored woodland walks, just rejigged, and of course Lindsay Creek gurgling its way down to the harbour.
In a sense, of course, the whole inner city is parkland with the Town Belt reminding us just how magnificent fuchsias can be, how full of foresight our forebears.
(I can't possibly mention all the parks, many of which creep out of the Town Belt) Woodhaugh Gardens, though, at the fag end of George St, is the preferred haunt of picnickers and packs of mini-humans hurtling down the flying fox.
Terror and joy!
Its real charm, though, is the swamp forest, transporting one into a quieter, hidden world, and over the years gardeners have cunningly created spaces of intimacy at Woodhaugh, genial clumps of magic.
No wonder the early education folk gravitate here with their little ones, spending whole days here.
So many contrasts, the towering forest giants, the gentle open spaces.
That creek again.
Most astonishing, perhaps because so new to me, are the woodland gardens alongside the Kaikorai Stream.
The tarn with its ducks.
A messy swampland transformed into a delightful meandering walkway.
Largely unsung the endless hours of voluntary work, week after week, of a tiny team which has planted literally thousands of native trees here, dug the plots, designed and tended the communal garden, knocked the shade-houses into shape.
It is such a healing place. When one despairs of the stupidity in high places about climate change, you can come here and catch the vision of a greener future.
Relax into hopefulness ... I've only begun, I know, said nary a word about Ross Creek, Glenfalloch, or Tunnel Beach (been there of late?), but already the miraculous wealth of our wee city's parklands is obvious.
How on earth have we deserved it all?
Maybe time to say a few ''thank yous'', scatter some tin medals around.
• Peter Matheson is a Dunedin resident.
