There are rare people who bind rural communities together like glue—those who are always involved in committees, on the sidelines of every rugby match, and at every school fundraiser.

They are the first to help, with no expectation of anything in return.

That was Nick Hamilton, known to all in the Hurunui fondly as “Ham.”

I consider myself lucky to have called Nick and his wife Megan friends.

When I was running drought appeals in 2016, trying to get media coverage for the crisis, Nick was a huge support.

He embodied the very essence of rural spirit—larger than life, with a laugh that seemed to come from deep within and would bounce off the walls.

It was contagious, hearty, and loud.

When he was on your side, it felt like you had a cheerleader in your corner.

Nick was vibrant, funny, critical, opinionated, and brazen.

He was a terrible but enthusiastic singer and an even worse dancer.

Yet, when he was diagnosed with a brain tumour three years ago, it was unfathomable that anything could stop someone so exuberant.

And for a while, nothing did.

When Nick and Megan sold the farm after his diagnosis, he didn’t wallow despite parting with a farm that meant so much to him.

Instead, they embraced life in Christchurch. Nick brought his rural community spirit with him to the city.

Despite undergoing treatment, he quickly joined the neighbourhood watch and, with Megan, helped establish and manage a neighbourhood sharing shed.

Family was everything to Nick.

He was immensely proud of his three children, always putting them first, and Megan was absolutely the love of his life.

One friend described them as a “double act,” and I can’t think of a better description. Their relationship was one of warmth, loyalty, love, banter, and fun.

I always considered them the gold standard of a happy marriage—a true partnership.

I was fortunate to stay in their guest room in Burwood while I searched for my own house in Christchurch.

There were many of us who were welcomed into their home with open arms.

It was a warm, inclusive, and fun household.

Nick often made late-night runs for McFlurries when Megan and I had cravings, and mornings started with a knock on my door for an early walk with the dogs.

When I purchased my house, Nick was there to help from the open homes right through to helping with the paperwork and finance.

Nick was a good friend to so many.

He faced his diagnosis with positivity, courage, and grace.

He set the tone for how we treated him while he was sick and how we remember him now.

He hung up his boots December 5, surrounded by the love of his family.

A person whose spirit was pure sunshine leaves a shadow when they are gone.

But Nick’s light was so bright, his spirit so fiercely vibrant, that it will forever shine in the hearts of all he touched—in the love of his wife and children and in every brick and every bolt of the Omihi Hall.

You can read more about Nick in this issue of Rural Guardian.

By Claire Inkson