Under the trees, the world was green and quiet and clean-smelling. About forty metres away, the Waimoana glittered past. The riverbed boulders shimmered in the sun; a swallow flicked above them, doing wing-stands while it chased insects. Sometimes, living in our valley is just magic. Mum and I smiled at each other.

‘I’ll help you pick,’ I told her.

‘All right, love. Be careful.’ I reckon people say ‘Be careful’ to me about fifty times a day.

‘Quardle-aardle-oodle!’ someone else went. I started to go ‘Eh?’, then realised it was the magpies telling one another that strange creatures with no wings were nearby.

Mum began reaching for the pears. I did the same, went ‘Aw, yuk!’ as I saw the caterpillar holes. ‘Good for you,’ Mum laughed. ‘Full of protein.’

She stretched up towards a higher branch, and the silver bracelet around her wrist shone. Nana Beth passed it on to her a long while ago, and Mum gives it to me every time I’m going in for treatment. It’s one of our family treasures, just like the little greenstone bat that her Maori friends Marika and Marama share between them.

We moved on towards another tree. A couple of magpies sat on a poplar branch a few metres away, watching us. ‘Hi,’ I went. ‘Oodle-aardle,’ they went. One of them took off; shot into the leaves somewhere ahead.

The pears were higher on the next tree. ‘I’ll drop them down to you,’ Mum said, and began climbing. ‘I can do—’ I started. She interrupted. ‘I know you can, but you won’t.’ I pushed my bottom lip out and pretended to sulk. My mother laughed. ‘Careful. The wind might change, and then your face will be stuck like that.’ Weird!

Thop! A pear landed on the grass. Thup! A second landed in my hands. Dop! A third landed on my head. ‘Beware of Mad Mothers!’ I yelled. Mum got the giggles, and had to hold onto the trunk.

Another half-dozen pears. We had a pretty good load; the bag was half-full by now. Mum clambered back down. ‘One more tree,’ she said.

The one ahead was thick and bushy. A clump of leaves and twigs was caught on a branch partway up.

Flap-Flap-Flap! The second magpie rose from the poplar, flashed around the tree my mother was heading for. ‘Get lost!’ I told it. I won’t repeat what it told me.

Mum disappeared up into the branches. She’s pretty fit for a … a mother. More pears began dropping into the grass. I stayed out of the road, just in case another one bounced off my skull. ‘There’s heaps up here,’ Mum called down. ‘We’ll have stewed pears and pear salad and pear sandwiches and pear-burgers!’