A Nod to Mom and a Few Other Things

Although most of the people reading this probably didn't know her, my Mom, Doris Emerson (she-hated-her-middle name) Laing, moved on to wherever it is that people move on to, early in the morning, October 22nd. Given that she was 93, it's not like it was unexpected, but there was no prior indication that it was going to happen just then. She walked to the bathroom in the middle of the night, sat down on a cabinet and never got up. Of course, at age 93, every day could be considered a bonus, or from another perspective, another day of marking time.

As far as anyone could tell, her memory, at least of the past 50-or-so-years was gone, but she had related to me several times that she had just had lunch or gone shopping with her mother or her sister, both of whom were long passed. For all I know, in her mind she may have been younger, living a pretty normal, active life…just one that wasn’t too obvious to any around her. Still, it’s sad, and despite her age, a shock, but maybe a bit of a blessing. Rest in peace, Mom.

Meanwhile, back in New Zealand, Chris and I just returned from our big World Music Choir Concert in Nelson (our nearest big town). I’ve mentioned in previous posts that we’re in a local choir that sings music in languages no one understands, with words we can’t pronounce…we just try to do it in the same way, right or wrong. Our group of 25 singers was one of 5 choirs to perform. We did a few songs as a combined choirof 115 people plus 6 songs of our own. If you’re curious, and have $20 NZD’s to spare, the CD will be available in a week or so. If you can’t get it from Amazon, we’ll try to round up a copy for you. Actually, if you’re on the US Dollar, that’s an excellent price considering the exchange rate is really good right now ($.55 USD = $1 NZD). Or get two or more, they make great Christmas gifts.

The performance went quite well. The venue, a large cathedral (see photos) was sold out, and I judged the audience response to be a bit more enthusiastic than straight pity applause. Actually, they stood up at the end, but I wasn’t sure if it was a standing ovation, or if they were just in a hurry to leave.

I’ll attach a couple recent photos of my veggie garden so you can see that I’m at least doing something constructive. We’re getting a good mix of sun and rain, so the plants are going nuts. Unfortunately, so too are the leaf-eating caterpillars, which are actually baby, white moths. I just inspected every leaf of every brassica plant (cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower and kohlrabi) and gleefully mashed the ones I found into a green paste. I’m trying to figure out how to mount a dead one as a warning to others. A skull on a stick would be ideal, but I don’t think they have skulls…and hanging would be difficult as they don’t have necks. In the meantime, I’m sprinkling them with some (yes, organic) powder and have a net over them to keep the nasty parent-moths out. And…my first broccoli is ready to eat, so I think that means I am winning.

I did have two tragedies the same day, last week. My first 5 strawberries, which were about ready to eat, were swiped by some pesky blackbirds, and something sheared off an incredibly productive cucumber plant right at ground level. Oooo, was I bummed. In an act of random retribution, I ran over a blackbird with my car the other day.

In case you don’t know, this is my first real garden, and if you haven’t done it yourself, you should also know it’s a bit addictive once you commit to it. I find myself at gatherings talking insect control and the relative merits of cow manure vs. seaweed as fertilizer. If I were still in Homer, I expect Rosemary Fitzpatrick and I would be hanging out.

I am actually working, yes, for money…doing (surprise, surprise) carpentry. I’m doing an addition to a cottage at a retreat compound, and this is the first time I’ve been a hammer-for-hire for many years. I’m regressing in so many ways, it’s frightening. I just hope the diapers and crying jags don’t come on too quickly. The grounds of this place could be a set for a movie; large limestone outcroppings, manicured lawns and lots of fruit trees. You can see it by Googling Golden Bay Retreat New Zealand.

Chris has a new interest/activity. She’s taking a Waka Ama class. Waka’s are Maori outrigger canoes which are very stable to one side and terribly tippy to the other. Each boat has six paddlers using canoe-type paddles. Her last class was spent learning to right an overturned boat. Fortunately, the weather is warming. From the class she could graduate to a membership in the “club”, which competes with other NZ clubs in races. I'll try to get a photo to attach to my next posting. She definitely looks the part in her new paddling togs. Of course, the first rule of any sport is, "Look good."

Tourist season is just kicking off, with more and more rental vans driving through the neighborhood. Paddy (Abby’s boyfriend) Kinney and his brother Matt are currently traveling somewhere in NZ in a van they bought. Since cars are one thing that’s relatively cheap here, it’s a pretty common thing to do if one has a month or more to drive around. Even if you take a loss on the price of the car, it’s still cheaper than renting for a month. With all the travelers in NZ, you can buy an outfitted van for $2500 to $3500…complete with bedding, cooking gear, cell phone; the works. Here's a photo of one I found online and the description of the accessories.

"Has a double bed sized platform in the back with single mattress (can supply double mattress at your expense), lots of room underneath for storage. comes with gas stove, pots, pans, plates, cups, chairs, solar shower, water containers, cutlery, Pillows, blankets, sheets and more!"

Both Ian and Abby show up the 2^nd week of December. They’ll join Paddy and Matt then head up to Golden Bay for an exciting visit with the older-yet-wiser set. I’ve been saving up several tidbits of parental wisdom to pass on to them, which I expect they'll remember as the highlight of their trip.

In the meanwhile, Larry and Barbara Holman will arrive just about the same time. All should be here for winter solstice and Christmas. Ahh, Christmas in shorts and sandals (“jandles,” here). For some reason, even in NZ, Santa still has the traditional suit and hat with fur trim, and they play I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas and Winter Wonderland in the stores & TV ads. And most TV ads manage, somehow, to incorporate snow in their pitch. I'm not sure if this says something about New Zealanders or American consumer influence on the rest of the world. But at least in Takaka, mob tramplings of employees are rare.

Although we haven’t had any long-term adventures lately, we've had some little ones. We took one, wind-tossed kayak trip with our 80 year old neighbor Pat a couple weeks ago, and I went on a scalloping trip with another neighbor. There are productive scallop beds just a 10 minute row from our beach…the limit is 50 each. Not your jumbo Alaska two-bites-per-scallop size, but very tasty.

Yesterday, we took a drive up to the north tip of the South Island to a beach called Wharariki. It's a pleasant walk through sheep paddocks and over fences to a pretty spectacular place with cool rock formations, seals and large sand dunes, which in combination with 60

MPH winds, pretty much removed the stratum corneum (look it up) from our exposed legs and arms. Cheaper than the peels (I think that's what they're called) that people (mostly women people) pay for, I suppose. Came home with a good deal of sand packed in our ears.

Today is a warm up round for the annual Paton’s Rock Invitational Golf Tournament up at Pat and Fran’s 9-holer in preparation for the real thing on December 6th. The longest hole is about 60 feet and played with 60 year old, wood-shaft putters. I’m giddy with anticipation, yet quiet nervous, hoping that I don’t drink too much beer to affect my game.

October is Spring, Here

A couple of the many trees in bloom in our yard

Warning! This blog entry may contain inappropriate political commentary totally unrelated to our being in NZ. Sorry, but I’ve just gotta vent to some Americans about some of the stuff that’s going on in this bizarre presidential campaign. My compulsion may be a result of one or more of these things: 1) My not having a job where I can ramble-on to sympathetic co-workers, 2) My being in a foreign country where people would rather be out checking their possum traps, or 3) Because I pass most my daytime hours speaking only to my imaginary friend.

The people in NZ do present quite a contrast to your typical American in that most have a pretty good grasp of US politics and economics. For comparison sake: How many of you can name the political honcho of Canada? President or Prime Minister? Man or woman? Mexican President's name? Prime Minister of New Zealand? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Americans have to be the most national-centric people in all of history. And, no, I’m no exception. I'm thinking we should all be boning up on our Chinese and Indian politics…maybe learning the languages, too. May need them all too soon.

Kiwi’s typically know stuff about the US that we would have no idea about their country, which is no doubt because their economic fate is so tied to ours. (FYI, the entire country of NZ has basically the same population as Kentucky.) The US housing market tanks, so does theirs. The stock market crashes, so does theirs, and so on. The opposite is certainly not true. It’s no wonder they have a vested interest.

But New Zealanders are polite enough as to not offer a negative opinion about anything U.S. without first having some clue as to the views of the person they’re speaking with. Only when they confirm they have a sympathetic ear do they ask the rhetorical question(s), “Sarah Palin?” What's with the Americans? Do they really want a president who doesn’t read a newspaper, and who can’t answer a question about any significant national issue without a beauty-queen-contestant smirk on her face and a stack of note cards in her hand (wink, wink)? (OK, so those are my question, not “theirs”.) Most are scratching their heads over her selection, though. Is she ever going to hold a press conference?

I could go on and on with the details of the things that are scaring the bejesus out of me, and indeed I do go on and on reading lots of stuff on the internet and watching these debates looking for some glimmer of hope that even if the McCain/Palin team won this election, that things might at least be a step up from the Bush fiasco. So far, no luck on that.

Tom and some of his tasty friends haaaaaaaving dinner

Here in the Southern Hemisphere, it’s spring. Every tree and bush is in bloom and there are baby lambs and calves everywhere…well, at least in lots of places, and it’s hard to imagine these little cuties as next week’s leg of lamb or veal cutlet.

And spring means that it’s garden time. Not that it’s EVER been garden time for me. Yes, I have tilled lots of chicken crap into a patch of Alaskan dirt fantasizing that maybe I or Chris would drop in a few seeds and see the process through all the way into the freezer or canning jar. All we ever successfully raised was a few bags of spuds, but probably only because you can pretty much plant ‘em and come back a few months later and dig ‘em up...no maintenance required. Of course, if there was a commercial market for chickweed, we’d be like, totally, on Easy Street.

A couple of Tom's gardens (yes, I know they look a bit pathetic right now)

So this year, given a new-found bit of time--and a new climate--on my hands, I made my first steps toward agrarian independence…that is if one can be even close to independent in 100 square feet. I’ve got all your basic stuff that anyone, so inclined, could grow outdoors in Alaska plus others they couldn’t…corn, lots of tomatoes, cukes, zucchini and a smattering of herbs. I’ve borrowed 3 gardening-in-NZ books from a friendly native and have added a few gardening terms to my vocabulary…"brassica," for one…look it up. And I may have gone a bit overboard on the tomatoes, which I attribute to the chronic shortage of the Solonaceae family in Alaska.

I’ve decided to name my grub patch the Susan Arndt Memorial Garden in honor of my model gardener. Maybe some of her gardening talent and addiction will rub off on me. In Alaska, we didn’t have to grow anything; we could just raid her garden.

Susan: Garden Queen

After reading all the gardening books, I’m kind of worried about all the things that can thwart my efforts such as bugs, birds, diseases, too much or too little water or soil-chemical imbalances. So after tilling in some bone meal, some horse crap and seaweed, I just hover over the new plants waiting for holes to start appearing in leaves or for them to turn yellow. Needless to say, weeds get yanked the minute they break the surface. A few months ago, Chris planted a few broccoli plants and within weeks, the leaves looked like grandma’s doilies. I’m hoping to avoid this kind of thing, but despite my organic bent, I can empathize with those who adopt the Shock and Awe theory of gardening.

In the past couple weeks, we’ve done a bit of hiking on both ends of the Abel-Tasman Track. The A-T is a national park, the border of which is about 15 minutes from our house. We’re fairly close to the northern end of the track and about 1 ½ hours drive from the south end. The entire track is about a 4 day walk and we’ve only made it about an hour into either end. Still lots to see.

Beaches at North and South ends of Abel-Tasman Track

About 2 minutes from Takaka, there’s a place called Labyrinth Rocks, which is a very accessible example of a limestone deposit where erosion has caused some pretty interesting shapes and forms. I’m attaching a couple photos of the place. So many examples of this geology are so inaccessible or overgrown the you’d never see them, but it happens that a retired geologist had made it his mission to keep this one accessible to the public for many years, but now has untreatable cancer and has given it up. Although it’s technically a park, there is no official person, group or money to maintain it, so a group of local greenies is organizing to take over the weeding and trail maintenance. Did I mention that things grow really fast, here?

A couple rock formations in Labryinth Park, including the secret elephant burying grounds

I think I should wrap this up. I would describe the Hui (pronounced; Hooey) that Chris attended, but since I don’t know anything about it, will leave it to her to explain in a separate post. All I can say is that it is a Maori traditional gathering and she was thrilled to have gone. Watch for updates.

Tom & Chris Go To America

Did I mention earlier that we were planning to make a trip to the US? If not, we were, and we did. Now, after being gone for 5 weeks, we’re back into our basic New Zealand routine which goes something like this. Chris gets up in the morning and goes to work…I don’t. Next day, do the same thing. In between, there may be some meals, some fun, some personal paperwork-business or chores, a bit of socializing or our one regular activity…Wednesday night choir practice (more on that later).

The trip to the States went off without any hitches that were significant enough to remember. There were 2 weeks in Homer with a 1 day stopover in Anchorage to see our friends the Holmans, by way of S.F. to see our friends Rusty and Dia, and 2 weeks in Portland, including a couple days at the Oregon Coast for a wedding (more on that later, too). I’ll try to be brief on the particulars of the trip since this is supposed to be a blog about our lives in New Zealand and not just your typical self-promoting, narcissistic drivel found pretty much everywhere on the internet these days…well, OK, it’s a bit of that too.

In Homer, we have to good fortune to have enough friends off which to sponge, that we didn’t have to spend a single night in a paid accommodation or buy a meal. Naturally, my mind went right to thinking how to turn this into a viable, long-term retirement program.

Until we arrived, Alaska had experienced one of the crappiest summers in recorded history, or so our whiny friends made it sound. Their first, and possibly their only 5 nice days, with temperatures topping out at a steamy 60 degrees, occurred were while we were there. Luckily, four of those days were while we were staying at the Burgesses cabin on Hesketh Island with a variety of friends. We only spent enough time at our house to mow the shaggy lawn and fix a leaking toilet. Other than that, we didn’t camp there and there and suffered no real pangs of nostalgia.

In Oregon, weather was at the other end of the spectrum, with temps up to 104 degrees. Fortunately, we were staying in the 5 star home of Chris’s brother & SIL, Dan & Malin (who happened to be on the East Coast all the time we were in Oregon), which had everything except mints on our pillows (hint, for next time, Malin)…air conditioning, a pool and gourmet kitchen (though we did have to stoop to doing our own cooking). Chris’ mom, who was recovering from a broken pelvis, stayed there with us until even she got tired of us and wanted to go back to her own house.

The main reason for the timing of our trip to Oregon was for the wedding of good friends (and surrogate children) Aasta, who we’ve known since diaperhood, and Stefan, who we’ve know since he started grazing in our refrigerator a few years ago. Since I was the official, wedding official (I expect there’s a more appropriate word for this duty), I pretty much had to be there. It was a smallish

affair…about 30 friends and family…held between beach sand dunes in Manzanita on a foggy, but thermally comfortable day. Afterward, we retired to a rented house to overindulge in food and drink and present the newlyweds with a knockout, custom quilt coordinated by Chris and Abby, with squares made by a dozen-or-so close friends, assembled by Homer friend Gail, and “quilted” by a pro who had a fantastic eye for detail. The newlyweds agreed to keep it.

OK, now we’re back in New Zealand, where the weather had turned from winter to spring while we were gone. Not that winter in New Zealand was especially painful, mind you. I’d expect blank stares if I asked for a snow shovel, and I’ve never heard mention of parkas, snow pacs, blizzards, drifts or wind chill factor. Flowers continue to bloom right through it all, though the grass only need mowing once a month rather than once a week,

like now. Lots of trees are in bloom now, and flowers are coming up all over the place. Gardens are going in and the nectar-eating Tui’s (birds) are going nuts in our neighborhood. I wish I knew a way to attach an audio clip of them to this blog (of course, there’s a way, I just don’t know it). They sound pretty exotic.

As I mentioned earlier, our one regular activity is singing in a “World Music” choir. I’d heard the term World Music before, usually thrown around by the new-agey, granola set, and figured it must have something to do with anti-globalization or stamping out poverty in Africa, but as it turns out, at least in our choir, it refers to pretty much any song with words you can’t understand. Right now, we’re working on such ditties as Shir Same-Ach, Ovdovjala Lisich Kata, Es Fuhrt Uber Den Main, and Nada te Turbe. Even if they mean something like Kill Your Neighbors or Eat Your Babies, they all sound nice in four part harmony.

Chris is reveling in her new-found techno expertise. She’s had an I-pod for a few years, but it was loaded with music by others and she’d grown tired of all the latin and hip-hop tunes that the others had chosen for her. So she bit the bullet and suffered the slings and arrows of having to remove and replace lots of music with stuff more to her liking, and even discovered that you don’t have to play the songs in the same order each time you turn it on. That explains why she thought there were only 20-or-so songs in the thing. She even added our world music songs so she can practice her soprano part while walking on the beach. I imagine people who see her think she’s either pretty happy or kind of wacky.

There used to be a saying something like, “Never trust anyone over 30.” I recently learned not to trust anyone under 50. We had some new friends, Peter and Nicky, over for dinner the other night; Peter is probably in his mid-40’s, but looks suspiciously fit. It so happens he’s a member of a newly formed mountain bike club and invited me to go on a ride with the group the next day on the Rameka Track. He indicated it was an easy ride, mostly downhill, and if he could do it, I certainly could.

I should have known when I showed up at the meeting place the next morning that I’d been misled, if not outright deceived. Out of the 12 riders, nearly all had mud-encrusted, full suspension bikes, clip-in pedals and tight, black bike shorts. Two had miniature video cameras attached to their helmets. I had the only shiny bike, and not having had any time to prepare, showed up with one flat tire and one, low on air with no air pump or extra tube. Not an auspicious start with my new group of “mates”. One of the under-30 guys gave me a new tube and even replaced it for me, then we hopped in cars to drive 40 miles to the start of the ride.

I sat in the back seat with the next oldest guy besides myself who was about my height, but I couldn’t help but notice, had thighs about the size of my waist but all his other visible parts were height-appropriate. The youngest rider was about 13 and skinny, so I figured I’d stick with him. What Peter had neglected to mention was that the first 12 miles, from where we parked to where the actual single-track mountain bike trail began, were totally uphill…not a flat spot to be seen. For me, on my best day, that would have been a full-day outing, so by the time we got to the trail, I was already whupped. Fortunately for my pride, the 13 year old had to stop and walk the last couple hundred meters to the top, so when we caught up with the group, I could pretend like I was looking after him.

The entire day consisted of me catching up with the waiting group, and soon I realized they weren’t stopping to rest, they were stopping to discuss CPR methods and where to land a helicopter in case they had to med-evac me. It reminded me of taking a walk with a group of puppies. I’d huff my way to the waiting group only to find that some of them were killing time by climbing up the steepest banks they could find and jumping whatever rocks or cliffs that would allow them some air time. Other times they’d be riding back and forth across particularly rocky streams to see who could do it the fastest without falling…all the time waiting for me to catch up. It turned out, too, that the 13 year old only had a problem with climbing…on the muddy, rocky, root-strewn trail, he was a maniac like all the others. None of them witnessed my multiple spills including a couple over the handlebars.

After the first 20 miles, we came the downhill Peter had alluded to. It was a 4-wheel drive, dirt and gravel thing (calling it a road would be giving it too much credit), which I figured we’d all coast down while chatting about stuff and checking out the scenic view. Hah! These guys weren’t content to just cruise downhill; they’d pedal furiously except at sharp corners that required one foot dragging on the ground to maintain balance. I’d call it a nail-biter, except that if I’d even attempted to move a hand to bite a nail, I’d surely be dead.

I actually survived although my butt still hurts as do many other parts. My new mates were very nice afterward and told me I’d done pretty well and they’d see me on the next ride. I’m not so sure, but memories do fade more quickly than they used to.

I'm attaching another photo that has nothing in particular to do with anything... evidence that steam power is making a comeback...at least in our neighborhood.

Cows in Raincoats

Warning! This entry could be too long for even our mothers to read. Either I’m remembering more than in past months or maybe we’re actually doing more than before, or more likely, I don’t have anything better to do.

Many of you have probably done your ’07 taxes so this heads-up is too late for this year, but for future filings, it may behoove you to know that if you are physically out of the country on April 15^th, you are eligible for an automatic 2 month extension to not only file, but to pay. This sounds like an extraordinarily big loophole for the IRS to leave open, but unless I didn’t read or understand enough of the fine print, it sounds like an annual spring trip to Canada or Mexico might be the way to go. This knowledge could be a boon to chronic procrastinators such as me but, of course, I probably wouldn’t get around to buying a ticket until fall. Anyway, for those who were out of the US on April 15^th , the deadline is June 17^th , which is tomorrow (though I probably won’t get this blog written and posted until next week…or maybe the week after).

The other night we heard this heavy breathing/moaning which Chris insisted was coming from under the house, so instead of just enjoying it, she sent her husband into the darkness with his AA flashlight. Turns out, the sound was actually coming from high up in a tree next to the house from something with two exceptionally reflective, orange eyes. When Chris described the sound to some locals, they all nodded knowingly and said, “mmmm, possum.” (Kiwi's say "mmmm" a lot.) We’ve heard the sound a few times now, but since it's always after dark, I haven’t been able to get a photo (except smashed ones on the road), so I’m including one of a hedgehog (pic), which, of course, looks nothing like a possum, but it’s one of the few wild mammals we ever see here. They are quite groovy looking animals, much like a cross between a porcupine and a rugby ball with feet.

Although there aren’t many wild mammals in NZ, there are an abundance of cows in our neighborhood. Every once in a while, a small fleet of 4-wheelers comes zooming down our road, closing all the driveway gates, followed closely by a running herd of cows (pic). I haven’t figured out where they’re going, or why. It does look extremely uncomfortable, as their udders are usually quite full and swinging wildly from side to side (imagine trying to run with a large water balloon hanging between your legs). I’m trying to figure out how capitalize by turning it into a local, more sedate version of the Running of the Bulls that would cater to the older set. The first few cows are usually running full tilt while the last ones have to be prodded to even move, so, depending on where one chose to jump into the herd, it could be done at either a jogging or a walking pace and would not appear to as dangerous as Spain's version.

On the subject of cows, I’m including a photo of cows in raincoats (pic). We haven’t figured out yet whether this was some non-waterproof breed of bovines or if the farmer just thought they would be easier to spot out in the pasture with the blue and orange drapery. The only other viable theory was that they were polo cows wearing their team jerseys, in which case, we must have passed by at half-time.

Homer folks probably know or remember Jan Schofield (now Eaton). She’s been living at the south end of the South Island for some years and has just moved to a beautiful, rural river valley about 1½ hours from us. We spent a couple days at her house in late May with her, a dog and 3 horses (pics). Unfortunately, when we were there, her husband Barry was back down south picking up some of the stuff which had been left behind, which, among other things is a very cool 2-place ultralight plane he’s been building over the past some years and is now airworthy. I’m looking forward to a flight. Jan’s still limping; recovering from a broken hip a few months ago, but still has the energy of four normal people.

We took a short hike up a river with Jan, past a lot of stoat traps (pic). Stoats (mustela erminea) are one of the members of the family mustalidae, (what else?), consisting of weasels, ferrets and ermine. These things are the number one bird predator in NZ…killing about 60% of the baby kiwis, which overall have about a 5% survival rate. If you’ve never seen a stoat, here’s a picture of one in its favored condition (pic).

The manager of Chris’s agency (along with her husband) moonlights as an olive farmer about 30 minutes from here (turn left just past the cows in raincoats). We’ve gone up there a couple times to help with the harvest (pics), the last time to finish off the last few trees, eat, drink and be merry with everyone else who had helped with the picking. They also have an oil press, so we dipped bread in olive oil that was just minutes out of the press…this is your gourmet stuff. The lower branches of the tree are picked by hand while the ones out of reach are picked by a contraption with several rotating fingers. All the olives go right on the ground which is covered by fine mesh netting so they can be gathered up easily. You can see the netting and electric finger picker in the photos.

If anyone reading this is under 56 (maximum age to immigrate) and wants to move to NZ and make a bundle, have I got a business idea for you! Let me preface this by making it clear that NZ does actually have a winter…not an especially harsh one, mind you…but frequently below freezing at nights and even some snow further south; I’d say temperatures are comparable to Northern California. But, for some reason, they haven’t caught on to energy efficiency in houses. Only the newest houses might have anything resembling central heat, and even most the newer are only insulated to bare-minimum national standards, which for framed houses are R2.0 in walls, R3.3 in roofs and R1.3 in floors. They don’t seem to have the hang of going beyond what the government tells them is OK. Most houses built before the late ‘70’s have nothing…they just try to overpower the cold with some strategically placed, small portable electric heaters or a wood stove. To my mind; the whole country is asleep at the wheel (in this department, anyway). Here are some business opportunities: 1) Retrofit older houses with insulation, windows/doors and weatherstripping…most are not insulated and have single pane windows; 2) Build new energy efficient houses; or 3) Consult with builders, architects or the government. If any of you actually do such a thing, I will expect some kind of finders fee or kickback.

My own time is filling up, whether its projects around the house such as building a firewood storage shed (pic), or with jobs for others. (The shed, as is pretty apparent from the photo, is built out of 100% scavenged materials.) This week, I’m starting on a set of kitchen cabinets for a neighbor who is converting a bus to a full-time-live-in motor home. All these things require a bit of ingenuity given my lack of tools, but I’m making do. Next is a set of 5 benches for a yurt at the agency where Chris works. If I’m lucky, the projects will at least pay for my new-used table saw and a couple carpenters pencils.

This kind of work isn’t exactly the kind of thing I was imagining would be filling my time in NZ, but is certainly the path of least resistance for me as it seems that people all over the world need people to do their handiwork. In the words of the immortal Red Green, “If the women don’t find you handsome, they should at least find you handy.”

We’re still taking side trips…mostly on weekends, and often with others. We just got back from an overnight stay at a cabin in nearby Kahurangi National Park with a group of friends, celebrating the Winter Solstice with food, improvised plays, songs, dances and yes, a few nips of local wine. We can be in either one of two national parks in about 20 minutes from our house.

This week, Chris is off to Hamilton on the North Island to help lead a training session for some others in the same line of psycho-work. She may have more to offer on this, later. She's also managed to squeeze in some Buddhist meditation, a felting workshop and now we're both in a world music choir.

Whew, that’s plenty, or maybe more than enough for now.

Owls and Barflies

First, understand that “(pic)” or “(pics)” in the text indicates there is a photo(s) related to the subject. This is the lazy way out of not having to figure out how to add captions to them.

OK, here’s my next installment….and I’ve gotta write fast…big night tonight…dominoes with our 80 year old neighbors. Actually, they both turn 80 this week and we were privileged to be invited to their joint birthday and 52^nd wedding anniversary party last week. This should give you some insight into the edgy nature of our social life.

Actually, the most recent focus of our out-of-the-house social activity has been at a place called the Mussel Inn; a place which by all rights should have gone out of business years ago (read on). It’s about 15 miles from Takaka (pop. +/- 1500), in a very rural setting, surrounded by cow “paddocks.” The building, itself, might seat 30 somewhat comfortably, or accommodate 50 if you don’t mind continual bodily contact with people you don’t know, which is not always a bad thing at my age. Yet, the place thrives. It has a brewery on-site and offers live music 3-4 nites a week, poetry one nite, and a quiz one nite, and has a good menu offering (mussel stew, of course). The music is the feature of the place that’s hard to explain. Being as remote as it is, not only for Golden Bay, but New Zealand as a whole, you’d think they could barely support a jukebox, but they continue to draw an amazing stream of talent. It seems to be on every touring musician's Must-Do list. Just Google “mussel inn new zealand” to check it out. Last weekend, we saw a fingerstyle guitar player, Richard Gilewitz (pic), who was terrific…played Leo Kottke tunes every bit as well as Leo, himself. A couple weeks before, our voice teacher (more, later) debuted her 1^st CD at the Mussel. All this is to rationalize that we’ve come 8000 miles to become common barflies.

Probably my favorite feature of the Mussel Inn is the tree stump that has about 20 cell phones nailed to it (pic). This is a fairly effective way to discourage cell phone use on the premises, a method I personally endorse. Even in podunk Takaka, the young girls walk around with their cell phones on, open, saring at it in their hands. We must end this madness. Next time you feel that someone is in need of some cell phone etiquette lessons, just take the phone and nail it to the nearest post.

Voice lessons, you say? Yes. For lack of much else to do and as a way to entertain ourselves and the oystercatchers (pic) on our evening strolls on the beach, we signed up for a singing class at the local school. It was quite good except for the fact that we not only started mid-term, but with Chris out of town for one class, and my being a little sick for another, we only managed to make it to 3 classes. But, you should know that we both now have terrifically strong, tonally spot-on voices now and are looking at performing as a retirement career. Oh yeah, and another reason to hang out in a bar.

We’ve taken a few local side-trips lately, some involving actual walking and some where our butts never broke contact with the car seat. Two separate trips, both the same weekend, featured Chris defying death by walking across two different swinging foot bridges (pics). As she would want you to understand, people spontaneously fall off these things all the time; that coupled with the fact that these type bridges collapse pretty
regularly, plunging the hapless walkers onto the rocks below. We count ourselves truly lucky to have survived these crossings.

One of these trips entailed a walk up to a scenic falls (pic). The cows that live at the base of the trail (track) must be smarter than most, as they are kept off the trail by a sign instructing them to stop (pic), but they had to use the exclamation point to get their attention, because they're not that smart.

Another trip was a drive that happened to go past a classic country store/post office about 30
miles from us (pics). The woman who runs the store has done it continuously since 1946 and, from all appearances, much of the stock came there when she did. She’s retiring this week. Be sure to read the sign showing the store hours.

We really have met a few people…not like we’re on anyone’s A-list or anything, but one couple who seems to have potential is a nurse who Chris works with and her potter-husband, who’s name happens to be Paul; a seemingly popular name for potters in both hemispheres. We had brunch there a couple weeks ago and checked out Paul’s studio (pics) and got a little nostalgic for our Homer-potter-friend Paul (and his whole family, of course). We’re hoping when our other Paul comes here to visit we can get them together to promote a little inter-cultural potterial exchange.

An unusual thing happened the other night as we were sitting at home…alone, as usual. We heard a thump against the front door and looked out and saw that a small owl had slammed into the glass. I assumed it had broken its neck, but picked it up anyway and brought it inside (pic) as I thought it might make a dandy stir fry. After 5 or 10 minutes of wondering what to do with a mortally wounded owl, he/she began to move a bit, but could only manage to open one eye. Then, when Chris made a little racket, both eyes opened and he/she bolted into the spare bedroom. I had to recapture him/her with a towel to take it outside where it took off like nothing had happened. Not sure if we are eligible for any karma points for that.

If you haven’t heard, we are planning a trip to the US from mid-July to mid-August; 2 weeks in Homer and 2 in Oregon where our other kids, Aasta and Stefan will be married. I will be the priest for the affair. I’m banking on the fact that my Universal Church of the Gospel Ministry pastoral registration is still in effect. It has been pretty much inactive since 1971, but it did cost $3.95 (really!), which, considering inflation would I’m sure would be tens of thousands in today’s dollars.

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