Floods and Things

We are now officially into the autumn season, which brings some rain and cooler temperatures. In fact, we have been utilizing our “log-burner” most nights the last couple weeks, and even had a fluke, one-time, night frost a couple weeks ago. Despite the fairly mild temperatures, it takes a log or two every night to make up for the lousy (or lack of) insulation, inefficient windows and doors and total lack of central heating. The owner of our little house tells us that the walls are insulated with R-3 batts. What they refer to as insulation in the floor is actually a single layer of foil attached to the underside of the sub-floor. That’s it. These were government standards 10 years ago. I do hope they’ve stepped it up a notch since then.

I have a confession. Father, I knowingly and willfully ate farmed salmon. I can only hope my Alaskan friends can see it in their hearts to forgive me (and Chris, too). I suppose if I were truly honest with myself, I’d go and rip the “Fiends don’t let friends eat farmed fish,” bumper sticker off my guitar case, but I think I’ll leave it as a reminder of what a bad person I am. We actually did this thing at the invitation of some neighbors, at an end-of-season feed at the salmon farm (See photo); one consolation being that it’s a landlocked facility where there seems to be little danger of escapees contaminating the wild stock as there is in the ocean-based farms. I hereby verify that the taste and texture bears not a whole lot of resemblance to the real thing, though in their defense, they do look like fish.

Speaking of foods…I’ve been doing more than my fair share to support the NZ fruit industry, but as we get closer to winter, the goods are harder to come by, at least at the roadside stands. Peaches, apricots, berries, plums, tomatoes and nashees are gone; oranges, grapefruit and grapes are on their way out; pears, apples and feijoas and are peaked, and kiwifruit are coming on. I’ve been trying to do my ten servings a day, but it’s getting harder. Looks like I’ll be on a kiwifruit-heavy diet for a while. (FYI, they don’t call the fruit “kiwi’s…those are the people.) Of course, there are always the Ecuadorian bananas, Hawaiian pineapples and other imports at our not-so-super-market, but I haven’t caved to that. Just got some grim news from a local, organic farmer; next year is forecast to be a lousy year for avocados…30% of this year’s crop. Not much else to do but try to eat all of next year’s allotment this year.

While eating lunch on the deck the other day, and when I wasn’t looking, a bee dove into my juice glass for a dip. When I took a sip, it was hard not to notice a chunky thing squirming in my mouth. Unfortunately, I was slower spitting him out than he was inserting his stinger into my tongue. I debated heading for the ER, just in case my tongue should swell up and choke me to death, but didn’t. It did go away, but not before swelling into a grape-sized lump, mid-tongue. It was over in a couple hours…enough time for me to take in the lesson of not drinking before looking.

And then there’s the flood. Monday before last, it started raining around noon. It was not your ordinary rain, this was RAIN…13 inches in 9 hours. It was so loud in the house it pretty much brought conversation to a halt. All the while, I’m just thinking on the bright side, that our water tank will at least get topped off. About 9PM, we hear a crash so I looked out the back door to see what it might have been and before I confirmed that it was our firewood pile having fallen over, I see chunks of firewood, various pieces of lumber and a gas can floating through the carport and across the lawn. I don’t get any photos because it all happened after dark, certainly the most disconcerting time for such a thing to happen.

At that point, there was about 3 inches of water flowing through the carport, so I decided to move the car to higher ground. I donned the swim trunks and sandals and moved the car up a nearby hill. During this process of driving and wading through the neighborhood I could see that the creek that normally flows innocuously along our property boundary was way over it’s bank, 18” over the road at the end of our driveway, and our land was now part of the creek bed, with water flowing under and around the house…about 2 feet on one side…enough to completely immerse the lawnmower, which is stored under the house. (The accompanying photo of the creek is its normal level. This particular night, it was about 18" deep where I was standing when I took this photo.) Lots of firewood floated away, most of which I managed to salvage from the yard and the woods across the road the next morning. Just as quickly as the water rose, it fell. In about 20 minutes, it went from 2 feet of water at the deepest point in the yard, to just soggy grass.

Other than having to disassemble the lawnmower motor to dry it out, and water getting into the gas and oil cans there was no real damage; just another adventure at Patons Rock. The next morning, of course, all the neighbors were out surveying the damage and talking about how this has never happened and lying about how deep the water was at their house. Anyway, I managed to make three new “friends,” which more accurately translates to “I know their names.”

I’ve finally worked up the courage to ride the highways on my bike and in the past couple weeks have done my two lifetime bests for distance. To save embarrassment, I won’t say how long (or short) they actually were, but it’s nice to be able to talk about distances in kilometers rather than miles...it adds nearly 40%.

And on the subject of metric conversions, we are paying $1.94 per liter for petrol, which doesn’t sound too bad until you do the math. Since there’s 3.785 liters in a US gallon, it comes out to $7.34 per gallon, so let’s not be hearing any whining about you having to pay $3.70. Needless to say, there are very few Hummers or Suburbans in NZ….like none! Our Subaru is pretty much a mid-sized car here.

And speaking of conservation, the Golden Bay Dump, which they call the Refuse/Recycling Center, or something similar, is a thing to behold. No, really! Entering the grounds is like entering an adventure ride in Disney World . You drive up this gentle hill on a curving road. On both sides of the road are stone outcroppings that look truly fake, with exotic vegetation and beautiful flowers growing out of the crevices (see the 2 photos). Since most flowers have died off for the season, you’ll have to imagine them. The facility itself is incredibly organized into tidy piles of like materials with places for every kind of recyclable material. Since most people around here compost all their organics, there is very, very little actual garbage (rubbish, here) that makes it to the dump that can't be recycled. The cool thing is that the dump has its own “Shop,” (store). The staff scavenges anything that may be of any use to anyone, clean it up a little, and sell it in the shop to offset the price of operating the place. No prices are marked; you just ask the shopkeeper, Hitha (spelled Heather) or just make her an offer. None are refused. If you want her to keep an eye out for anything in particular, she’ll write it down and give you a call when one comes in. (Hitha and her husband have two old Studebakers. See my last post.) Exciting, eh?

Our last two evenings have been a study in contrasts. Sunday evening was the annual Harvest Feast, put on by the organization, HANDS (How About a Non Dollar System), which is a conceptually, neat system of buying and selling goods and services using vouchers as opposed to Kiwi dollars. The members-attendees were heavily dreadlocked, dashiki’d, barefoot, vegetarian, spiritual-seeking, yurt-dwelling, artistic, immigrant greenies; all very nice, thoughtful, friendly saviors of the earth and advocates of a sustainable economy and planet. It was great…good vegetarian, low-salt, fat-free, home-grown food, herbal tea, music and conversation. I'm still telling myself, “I thought we left Homer?”

Then Monday was Eucher night at the East Takaka hall, a slightly musty smelling, 100 year-old renovated, one room schoolhouse (see photo), to which we were invited by our septuagenarian neighbors, whom we’ve gotten to know quite well, lately (plus their 2 grown children and 3 teenaged grandchildren who are visiting for the school holiday). Oh, Eucher is a card game. The attendees there were heavily short haired, conservatively dressed, long-time residents, well-shod, well-adjusted, happy, smiling, meat-eating, paint-by-the numbers, retired Kiwi farmers. I’d guess the average age, even taking into account five teenagers, was still my age or worse. After 2 hours of highly competitive card-playing, we stayed seated for tea and tiny, crustless sandwiches (with meat, of course) and desserts of various kinds (heavy with real sugar and butter, of course), yum. I was the only one of the 40 people who had coffee (instant, of course) instead of tea. Your choices of tea; with milk or without? Winners for the evening took home bags of feijoas and walnuts and free admission to next week’s Eucher night.

I’m still looking for the venue where these groups come together.

At the Races

Sometimes I feel like I have fallen down the rabbit hole and come out as a character in a movie. I am myself but either in a different time, or place, or life status. I think that’s because some of what am experiencing I’ve only been exposed to in movies such as in hearing some of the accents, and seeing some of the sports that are common here such as cricket, squash, bowls, and rugby. Now I know we have some of these things in the US but just not where I’ve been. This last week I was fortunate to be sent by Te Whare Mahana to Auckland to attend the Tenth Annual Gathering of mental health professionals treating personality disorders. It was held at Ellersbie Race Course (for horses). I have never been to the races or even seen a horse race course. This is a huge piece of real estate in the middle of Auckland that has a well groomed grass track for the best thoroughbred horses to race their little hearts around. It is so big that a golf course sits dwarfed in the middle of it. Along one side of the track is the grandstand with a four story building through which you enter which is quite posh. When the races are not underway they rent the glass walled rooms overlooking the track for conferences such as ours. It was a lovely, peaceful setting in which to hold the conference. We took our catered lunches out into the fresh air and sat in the boxed seating areas with me pretending to be in a white flowing dress and large showy hat politely sizing up the horses and sipping tea with a touch if cream in it and discussing this and that with my colleagues. The fact that I continue to be surrounded by accents from around the English speaking world added to my surrealistic feeling.

I’ve had some other reminders that I’m “not in Kansas any more” when I’ve found myself realizing that what I think I heard was different that what others understood. One fine day at work, as the night staff was filling in the oncoming day shift about the status of the residents’ wellness, she mentioned taking away a residents “sleepers” as a safety precaution. Everyone else in the room quietly nodded in agreement while in my head I pictured a pair of pink bunny slippers and wondered “what the heck can a person do to cause self harm with slippers.” When the discussion was over, my curiosity compelled me to ask the questions which brought uproarious laughter from my colleagues. “no, no, not ‘slippers’… ‘sleepers’, you know, sleep medications.” Once again, I am reminded not to make assumptions that I know what I think I know, no matter how small.

For now, as they say here, "G'Day"

Chris

Chris' Working Life

What’s happened to Chris, you might ask, after my name dropped off the blog authorship line many weeks ago? Well, I thought I’d better give you a picture of how I spend my workdays each Monday through Friday from 8:30-4:30.

Six weeks into my new job and I am still greatly enjoying my new position as DBT Program Specialist. Today a new organizational chart was introduced to clarify for myself and everyone else what exactly I can do in that role. The organization of Te Whare Mahana has grown by leaps and bounds in the last few years and because of growing pains and normal staff turn over they have been chronically understaffed for quite some time up until just today when we are finally fully staffed again. Thus, the new kid on the block has looked pretty attractive for filling in all sorts of gaps, any of which I am happy to do, but all of which I cannot. So as it seems now, I sit on the management team, oversee the residential treatment team, do program development, see a couple of clients as their individual therapist, provide clinical supervision to staff, provide DBT orientation training, provide emergency consultation back up to the house staff one weekend a month, am the external liaison with related health care professionals, coordinate discharge planning, and participate in applicant selection and intake (a process which is pretty thorough). I sit in on hours and hours of meetings every week as information is communicated up and down the organizational chart in a pretty egalitarian system.

My co-workers are very compassionate, and dedicated souls who really take DBT to heart at their various levels of interaction and understanding. The organization is well run by a board committed to their mission and values and regularly reviewed strategic plan. TWM is managed by a very competent woman who has been doing so for the last 12 years. We have a fabulous clinical director whose clinical insight I greatly respect. This program is regarded as one of, if not the, best treatment program for people experiencing personality disorders in the country. Because they are committed to excellence they invest in training the staff and have brought high level DBT trainers from the States to keep the staff tooled up for their jobs. In fact they are sponsoring bringing Robin McCann, one of the top 5 DBT trainers in the US over here in late May for a six month period to live in Golden Bay and provide training around the country while here. That means that our staff will have maximum exposure to her expertise which I am really excited about.

The residents come to stay at TWM for up to a year and participate in daily skills training modules, and community groups that focus on processing issues of daily living while using the DBT skills. When someone is immersed in the DBT method of therapy it is amazing to witness the change that can occur in their lives. Every meeting, whether it is for residents or staff, begins with mindfulness practice, respectfully led by any member of the group. People take this seriously and come prepared to lead or participate fully in each group and/or meeting. I am learning a lot.

In addition to the residential treatment program, TWM also has an employment program that focuses on both training folks for work and in giving them real work opportunities matching their areas of interest while being mentored and supported, kind of like an employment incubator. The team leader is extraordinary in his vision and skills at empowerment. The third branch of TWM is called Outreach. It provides 24 hour crisis services to the community at large and offers some outpatient rehab services as well. I feel lucky to be working with such a great group of people in such a beautiful setting.

The residential program is situated in a large house that used to be a convent. It has heavy wooden doors and floors, and a stone patio/entry looking out to the front at a large lawn with gardens surrounding. There are gardens and fruit trees in the back yard and several small associated buildings on the same property which house the administrative staff, my office and the group rooms. We are just completing the construction of a yurt in the backyard to become another group meeting/educational classroom. My tiny little office has large picture windows on two sides framed by grapevines and looking out to a large pasture. The pastoral setting is very private and soothing. The grounds are situated right in town on the main street, directly next door to the police station which has proved handy at times when staff have been dealing with some extreme behaviors. However, many people don’t even know we exist because the front is so lush with vegetation on the street side they can’t see what’s behind. We are within walking distance of the doctors offices which is also handy at times when we need to have a resident seen for the results of self harm or to be evaluated for a hospitalization. TWM also owns and manages a fourplex of apartments, one of which we keep accessible for visiting family members of the residents, and for occasional respite purposes.

TWM is unique in the country as it is a NGO (non-government organization) doing the work normally operated by the District Health Board. Many years ago TWM was begun with volunteers who simply wanted to care for their community members at home with compassion. It has been effective in developing from this heartfelt start. There is a small hospital of sorts in the Bay for emergency care primarily I think, but if someone needs psychiatric care they are transported “over the hill” to Nelson, a drive of about 1-1/2 hours. This Hill, which I scoffed at before arriving here thinking “it’s just a hill for crying out loud”, actually made me carsick because it is steep and has more curves than a roller coaster (over 360 curves in a 45 minute drive over the pass), and it is the reason Golden Bay is not more populated. The Hill keeps the idea of long distance commuting to Nelson out of most people’s minds. The Bay is, however, where everybody and their mother come to spend the weekend or a holiday as it is beautiful and the weather is fine.

It’s been interesting that more than once when a stranger asks me what brought me to New Zealand and I explain I am here to do mental health work, they have personally welcomed me to the country and thanked me for offering my skills to their countrymen and women. People seem to take the issues of health care for one another personally. So, to make this long story shorter, I am feeling appreciated, supported and like I can make a difference here, all of which is very satisfying. And it doesn’t hurt that Tom and I can walk on the beach in front of our rented “bach” every night wearing sandals.

Old Friends and Studebakers

With Easter weekend at hand, I even had the car started as Chris coiled the hose after dousing the new plants before taking off for 4 days to the West Coast, and a guy in full bicycle regalia comes cruising down the road, looking up our driveway. It seemed he had found what he was looking for because he makes a sharp left turn and made right for me and stops his bike 2 feet in front of us. So, I’m looking at him with a, “May I help you…do I know you?” look on my face, while he’s straddling the bike shifting his shit-eating, grinning glance between Chris and me, clearly enjoying our senior moment. Remember, he’s got not only reflective, wrap-around shades but the helmet and the whole deal. After a few seconds, he says, “Marty…Marty Leichtung.” Holy crap, talk about out of context. Of course it was Marty, but 10,000 miles from home. After several seconds of, “…what?, oh my god, how did you find us?” and such expressions of confusion and lack of anything coherent to say, we shut off the car and had him in for coffee. (For our non-Alaska friends, Marty & Barb are Homer friends.)

He and Barbara are traveling around NZ in a rented motorhome with their middle daughter Ellen and her husband and, of course, whenever they stop for much more than fuel, Marty hops on his bike for a few K’s (that’s kilometers). He’d ridden the 15 miles from their campground to our house on the off-chance we’d be around, knowing we were in NZ but had only managed to get our address, not our phone number. Unfortunately, we already had our Easter weekend trip planned and had reservations at “backpackers” for the next 3 nights, so were committed to going ahead with it, but not before stopping by the “caravan park” where they were staying and had a good chat with them all.

This trip was the 1^st chance we’d had to get very far away from Takaka, so decided to go west to see the other coast. We only had one particular site in mind…Punakakai…where there is a local geological feature they call Pancake Rocks (see photos). Other than that, the trip was pretty much planned using darts and a map. The west coast of NZ is known for its rain, rugged coastline and the independent streak of its residents. One sign outside Westport said, “Want England, visit Christchurch. Want New Zealand, visit Westport.”

As I guess should be expect from an older car, the Subaru developed a growl in the rear end, which was diagnosed as a wheel bearing being returned to dust, so we decided to abort some of the side trips and go for the most direct way home. Short story: we made it, got the car fixed back in Takaka, increasing our vehicle investment to $2900.

I have to digress here and define “Backpacker.” These are low budget accommodations, much like we would define hostels in the US, except they are virtually everywhere, unlike hostels in the US which are actually nowhere. We’ve stayed in several and found them all to be (usually) comfortable, clean and cheap….cheap, meaning $12-24 USD’s per person. Backpackers on Easter weekend were quite full, a last-of-summer fling for Kiwis…much like Labor Day in the US. We couldn’t get a private room in Punakakai, so we ended up in a dorm-type room with 4 roomies. Being the social sorts, we hung out a fair bit with a couple of our new mates, 2, 20-ish guys, one from Belgium and one from Germany. As fate would have it, one was Tommie, the other was Christian. This made it possible for both of us to remember their names for more than 5 seconds. The weather was a mix of sun, clouds and rain, but comfortable temps, though.

One of of the stops was the town of Greymouth, which coincidentally is at the mouth of the Grey River. And talk about coincidences, when wandering through this mostly deserted town (it was Easter, after all), we stumbled on a huge gathering of old Studebakers. I’m including a couple photos, which I expect you’ll want to print out for yourself. I think Chris was pretty stoked by the whole experience, but managed to keep it to herself. I was pretty psyched too, not only as an appreciator of old cars, but as a former owner of a ’47 Studebaker. (Both Chris and our kids are pretty sure I have owned one of every kind of car, having grown a bit weary of hearing various versions of me saying, “Look, a ’32 Plymouth coupe. I used to have one of those.”

Wouldn’t you know my one regret related to this trip also had to do with a car? While we were wandering around in Westport, we saw a beautiful, 1960’s, bright orange Morris Mini, which I’m sure you all will recognize as the forerunner of the new, copycat, Mini-Cooper. Morris’ are the real deal, and this one was a bargain, but before I was able to talk myself into it, we were gone and I hadn’t written down the contact phone. Sigh! The photo is a reminder for the Mini-deprived reading this.

Being Easter, the only thing open in Greymouth, strangely enough, was a jade shop. Another coincidence! It was Chris’ birthday and she had decided (long ago, apparently) that she would get a piece of jade jewelry while in NZ, which she did. It’s green. She browsed, I drank coffee. (See photo. The jade, not me drinking.)

Last stop on the trip was the Old Nurses Home in Reefton. The ONH is now a backpacker and Reefton is a place not many Kiwis can even find on a map. It’s a place that sometime in the 1800’s was expected to grow into a major hub because of the gold and coal, which explains why there was a nurses home for 50 nurses in a town which is now, maybe, 500. It never developed into a center of any kind, but there’s lots of good fishing, kayaking and exploring to do in the area, none of which we did. This particular night the Home was inhabited by a couple old Alaskans and 50 old fly fishermen and spouses. After several bottles of wine, a few of them had to be carried up to their rooms…the fishermen, not the Alaskans.