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There is something particularly attractive about roads to nowhere and the people that live there. The countryside around Honikiwi is little different from that at Tihiroa and yet it is so much more peaceful, distant as it is from the main highway and the lumbering trucks and mindless traffic. The road is under repair. It is a road to nowhere of any great significance and yet two large road rollers, a grader and water bowser are busy widening and maintaining the road. It seems to me as if road maintenance is a very positive method of providing employment and self-worth in the remoter areas of the country where employment opportunities are so limited. More a social service than an economic necessity perhaps but as far as Sas and I are concerned long may it continue. The men and women on the road do a great job, come summer sun or winter snow, and the money goes into areas and to people that really benefit, who really deserve. A little further on the Honikiwi Memorial Hall looked lonely with only a resting petrol tanker driver to keep it company.
A small graveyard sits on a hill close by to Honikiwi guarded by a solitary turkey. It is a sacred place to the Kites, Prestons and the others who lie there.
A memorial catches my attention and reads:
'In loving memory of my darling. Did you ever know that you're our hero. You're everything in life our boys to be. If we can fly higher than an eagle you are the wind beneath our wings. Fly, fly high against the wind beneath our wings.'
And a poet once spoke in Honikiwi and still speaks to the hills, valleys and streams. What greater tribute can a beloved husband and father be given?
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