The Barefoot Butler
Bendemeer, the stomping grounds of the Barefoot Butler I vividly remember Heather, the spunky little British girl, turning around and asking me, “Where the hell are we going?” I didn’t know. I had an address for 55 Lake Haynes Rd, New Zealand scribbled in my notebook. I had assured Heather and her friend Jenny that it wouldn’t be too hard to find. They were on the whirlwind New Zealand vacation of a lifetime. I was a bum, hitching a ride from Wanaka to my next workstay, smelling like I hadn’t showered in a week, because I hadn’t. Like most folks I hitched rides with, they insisted on taking me to the front door so I didn’t have to find another ride. Two minutes in a car often saved two hours of walking. We turned onto a steep gravel road and bounced our way into the hills. The driveway split and we took the right turn, coming to a locked gate. Back we went to the left and after about a mile, the rutted road popped us out in a luscious, manicured garden. A stately stone