AH! I leave New Zealand in 8 days!! I can't believe it! Then I head to the Cook Islands, then LA, then NC! All things to look forward to. Currently, I am at Gilly and Greg's for one final week of wwoofing and Shine Family Friendship before I head out. After Dad left I spent a week at Carolyn's with a couple of logging days in there, then a week with Maggie and Tim Riggins (all we did was watch the first season of Friday Night Lights on repeat), and now a week with Gilly and Greg. It's great to be here. Ron is doing very well. Yesterday he and I worked on a fence because that's all we ever do together and ate cup-o-soups in his bus. Next week he is going to take me on a trip in his bus!! That is going to rock. His six-months-left-to-live-is-up on September 4th, the day Mags and I head to the Cooks, and he said he is going to have a big party. He'll wave bye to us on the plane, but he says he'll be drunk. Good on him. Also, if he makes it until the 4th, he owes his nephew 50 bucks because they made a bet about his survival. I wish I'd thought to make a bet, because of course Ron is going to live on. I mean, it's Ron.
It's lambing season, so every drive means lamb watching and oh.my.god they are the cutest babies in all the land. One of Gilly's lambs got its tail bitten off by its mom. No joke. When I was at Carolyn's I spent a day hunting with Katy (from logging) and her brother (who is a logger and sheep farmer) and her cousin (who is very sweet.) We went to visit his sheep in the afternoon and check for new lambs and I was out of control, just pointing out every lamb we passed as if each one were a surprise. Everyone was rolling their eyes, and then I posed the question, "how do you do anything other than sit here watching the lambs?!" They gave each other sidelong looks and said it was abundantly clear that I'd never actually taken part in the lambing process. Then I remembered Jodi telling me about pulling off a lamb's leg once when trying to help with a birth gone terribly wrong. I'll stick to going all mushy-hearted from a far.
Oh, I may have forgotten to mention that at this point my plan is to spend a few weeks at home and then....head back to New Zealand and work logging for the next year or so. Surprise!!
I'll explain later.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
I have been remiss in my storysharing. Here is the first half’s other half:
IX. One day dad and I were in a lovely little clearing overlooking Lake Tawawera. We were the only people around, just looking at lake and woods. Anytime we are exploring wilderness of any sort, one of Dad's favorite things to do is daydream about the Maori chieftains who have passed this way before us. Equally thrilling for him is the thought of Captain Cook. "Ah, now this is just what Captain Cook saw," he sighs every time our line of vision is clear of anything built since the Industrial Revolution. So while sitting in this particular spot he gave his usual Maori/Cook thoughts before surprising me with, "Just think how many princesses have sat in this very spot." "Excuse me?" "Princesses." "Princesses? ....Dad the number of princesses who have sat right here is definitely zero." "Nope. Definitely princesses." "Nope." "That's exactly what Meta would say, 'what are you talking about princesses, how weird are you?'" "Yeah, she would be right. That's what I say, too.... What would Katherine say?" (long pause, quiet response with the tone of a begrudging child) "....princesses." So I ask you, Katherine, what truly say you?
X. We spent one night as the lone occupants of a hostel in a quiet inlet in Anakiwa, in the Marlborough Sounds. At night we played chess and then walked down a track that starts in the driveway of the hostel and carries on for 30 kms through the Sounds. We went in search of glowworms and sure enough, when we got to the bridge over the first creek, the banks lit up around us. I can't imagine that glowworms could ever cease to amaze me. I don't want to give the wrong impression about them. They don't glow bright and large like fireflies. They don't blink on and off; they wouldn't light up a room. They simply shine like pin pricks of light through blankets of total darkness. They shine exactly like the stars. Dad swears they mirror constellations, but I think that is his yearning for pure romance talking. We saw them at our hostel last night as well and he swore that he could see Scorpio in the sky above us and along the bank beside us. I can't say I saw it, though what I did see was no less impressive. We've seen them in daylight and it looks like a single drop of dew hanging from a thread akin to spider's silk. I need to re-watch that Planet Earth episode about them to understand how they work. The day after the glowworms we took the hostel's kayaks around the Sounds, which are always so still and gentle that I'm fooled into thinking it must be a lake, then surprised to find star fish, mussels, and other salty sea friends. Later that day we hiked to a water fall that we agreed stretched our expectations of the word "waterfall." But after adjusting to our new definition we both found it beautiful. It was like a lace curtain of water. The water was dripping down a giant rock wall covered in ferns and moss, and though it was never more than a drip, it happened constantly and from so many angles, making so many soft, watery sounds. The falling water mimicked the strands of glowworms we discovered under the mossy overhangs, so I'm certain that this place is nothing short of magical at night. I don't want to keep bringing up Avatar, but seriously, y'all. It's the closest description I can use to make you understand.
XI. Dad and I did the beginning of the Heaphy track, which wanders through rainforest and past remote beaches, hugging coastline only accessible by foot or wing. We'd been walking in silence for a long while when Dad stopped in his tracks and said only this, "Life: a tiny island in an infinite ocean of death." Thank you, Dad, for always keeping it real. The day he presents his glass as half full is the day I'll start to worry. That is when I know something has gone horribly wrong.
XII. Did I forget to say that I took my first ever flight in a glider?! It was way awesome. Dad really wanted me to and I felt unsure about whether it was something that I could enjoy without feeling freaked out. Turns out, it was. It was on an area of plains in the North Island, and from up in the air I could see both coasts of the island and each of their oceans. I could see volcanoes in the distance, one of which looked like a model volcano, so perfectly round at the base and rising to a sharp point at the summit. It must have been God's blue ribbon science fair project one year. I was flying in the front seat with the instructor, Roger, sitting behind me. He was an older guy with a glider addiction who spends his time teaching lessons and gliding about. He was a great teacher and by the end of the time he was letting me completely fly the plane. It was terrifying and thrilling. Roger stayed remarkably calm as he watched me maneuver the plane in the direction of the airport. I only began to question his judgment when it came time to land the plane and he continued instructing me, rather than taking over control. I sort of figured he was probably really controlling it and I was like the kid in the shopping cart car pretending to drive while the parent holds that plastic handle on the back. But as we crept up on the runway he said calmly, but firmly, “ok, you are flying this plane, now stay steady...” That dude actually let me land the plane. Seemed kind of rough to me, but he said it was a pretty solid landing. It was such a cool experience, I can see how people (with heaps of spare cash floating about) might make a habit of it.
XIII. One day we chased a small dot on our map labeled, “limestone arches.” After an hour of winding gravel road
s we arrived at a parking lot and proceeded on our hike to the arches. The hike was just gorgeous. I’m always amazed by the presence of rainforest in cool climes, no matter how much I know it will be there. Like many of the hikes we’ve taken on the South Island, this one was drenched in moss. It looked like maybe God threw up moss all over the entire forest, leaving the trees laden with green drapery and mysterious mossy lumps. Then Dr. Seuss and James Cameron went there together on vay-cay and found the inspiration for their tales. Every inch is green and lush, including the stones that appear to be a mound of green rock, until you follow a chain leading you down a hole and come out at the arches, where you find big limestone caverns that open along a crystal clear river. Per usual, Dad and I were the only people there. Winter rocks.
14 (I have a very limited knowledge of roman numerals). One of the other people in our hostel room here, in Milford Sound, is the world’s most excitable man, Alisdair. He is incredibly nice, as anyone would be with that kind of zeal for every element of their life. Last night he nearly jumped out of his skin telling Dad and I to be sure to check out the “glowworm grotto” and this morning he referred to the hike we were taking as a “green goblin land.” Last night he was already asleep with the lights out by the time dad and I got back to the room. When we walked in he immediately awoke with a flurry of apologies and turned on his own personal light so that we could find our things. This morning he was so excited to tell Dad and I about his car’s dead battery that he pulled us over to his car and dug out the receipt for the battery so that we too could share in the silliness of defunct new batteries. Our last morning in Fiordland we took a hike with him and after we’d said our goodbyes Dad and I drove away and after minutes of silence Dad just said, “He could be an Avatar.“ Ha. You know, like an alien trying to fit-in in a human suit. He has a great point. Alisdair’s disposition is peculiar enough that it could be the result of studying a text book about human behavior. Memorizing definitions of concepts like, “kind,“ “friendly,“ “polite,“ “cheerful.“ But those definitions generally unfold differently in practice. His infinite capacity for enthusiasm is truly remarkable, and though at first it left me a bit frightened, I’m beginning to appreciate the sheer volume of energy required to maintain such zest.
XV (right?). Dad has taken to reading me passages from his book about Zen Buddhism while I drive. I can’t say I’ve had an overwhelmingly positive response. I make few comments, with the mind that one can’t force those deep, meaning-of-life conversations on people. It has to flow. Instead, I make snide remarks about the golden nature of silence while he continues reading. The first time it happened, I expected darkness to provide the silence I sought, but he pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket and kept going. He also read a poem aloud to me, which I’ve written the first two stanzas of below, but please excuse any alterations to the format, as I can‘t make it work on my blog. It just so happens that I was already well familiar with this poem because it spent my childhood hanging on the wall beside Dad's bed, so it's possible I read it thousands of times as I learned to read and later to attempted to decipher the pieces of Dad pasted on every wall. It is by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, so you can look it up if you’d like to see the rest.
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don’t mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don’t sing all the time.
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn’t half so bad
if it isn’t you
You get the just. I do not like this poem. If I were to re-write it, say as an exercise in one of Katherine’s creative writing workshops, this would be my version:
“The world is a beautiful place to be born into.”
I know that it’s easy for me to say. My world is extraordinarily beautiful and privileged. But I’ve experienced (or maybe I can only say witnessed?) the flip side of my life. The side where people don’t have enough food or adequate housing, or they live life under the burden of sickness. People I love have experienced an undue share of sorrow. But these people are some of the most joyful I’ve encountered. They sing, laugh, and share. They remain capable of gratitude despite all odds. They smile constantly, flashing their white teeth as beacons of strength in situations when weakness would be a suitable response by anyone’s standards. I cannot interpret this as anything short of beautiful.
IX. One day dad and I were in a lovely little clearing overlooking Lake Tawawera. We were the only people around, just looking at lake and woods. Anytime we are exploring wilderness of any sort, one of Dad's favorite things to do is daydream about the Maori chieftains who have passed this way before us. Equally thrilling for him is the thought of Captain Cook. "Ah, now this is just what Captain Cook saw," he sighs every time our line of vision is clear of anything built since the Industrial Revolution. So while sitting in this particular spot he gave his usual Maori/Cook thoughts before surprising me with, "Just think how many princesses have sat in this very spot." "Excuse me?" "Princesses." "Princesses? ....Dad the number of princesses who have sat right here is definitely zero." "Nope. Definitely princesses." "Nope." "That's exactly what Meta would say, 'what are you talking about princesses, how weird are you?'" "Yeah, she would be right. That's what I say, too.... What would Katherine say?" (long pause, quiet response with the tone of a begrudging child) "....princesses." So I ask you, Katherine, what truly say you?
X. We spent one night as the lone occupants of a hostel in a quiet inlet in Anakiwa, in the Marlborough Sounds. At night we played chess and then walked down a track that starts in the driveway of the hostel and carries on for 30 kms through the Sounds. We went in search of glowworms and sure enough, when we got to the bridge over the first creek, the banks lit up around us. I can't imagine that glowworms could ever cease to amaze me. I don't want to give the wrong impression about them. They don't glow bright and large like fireflies. They don't blink on and off; they wouldn't light up a room. They simply shine like pin pricks of light through blankets of total darkness. They shine exactly like the stars. Dad swears they mirror constellations, but I think that is his yearning for pure romance talking. We saw them at our hostel last night as well and he swore that he could see Scorpio in the sky above us and along the bank beside us. I can't say I saw it, though what I did see was no less impressive. We've seen them in daylight and it looks like a single drop of dew hanging from a thread akin to spider's silk. I need to re-watch that Planet Earth episode about them to understand how they work. The day after the glowworms we took the hostel's kayaks around the Sounds, which are always so still and gentle that I'm fooled into thinking it must be a lake, then surprised to find star fish, mussels, and other salty sea friends. Later that day we hiked to a water fall that we agreed stretched our expectations of the word "waterfall." But after adjusting to our new definition we both found it beautiful. It was like a lace curtain of water. The water was dripping down a giant rock wall covered in ferns and moss, and though it was never more than a drip, it happened constantly and from so many angles, making so many soft, watery sounds. The falling water mimicked the strands of glowworms we discovered under the mossy overhangs, so I'm certain that this place is nothing short of magical at night. I don't want to keep bringing up Avatar, but seriously, y'all. It's the closest description I can use to make you understand.
XI. Dad and I did the beginning of the Heaphy track, which wanders through rainforest and past remote beaches, hugging coastline only accessible by foot or wing. We'd been walking in silence for a long while when Dad stopped in his tracks and said only this, "Life: a tiny island in an infinite ocean of death." Thank you, Dad, for always keeping it real. The day he presents his glass as half full is the day I'll start to worry. That is when I know something has gone horribly wrong.
XII. Did I forget to say that I took my first ever flight in a glider?! It was way awesome. Dad really wanted me to and I felt unsure about whether it was something that I could enjoy without feeling freaked out. Turns out, it was. It was on an area of plains in the North Island, and from up in the air I could see both coasts of the island and each of their oceans. I could see volcanoes in the distance, one of which looked like a model volcano, so perfectly round at the base and rising to a sharp point at the summit. It must have been God's blue ribbon science fair project one year. I was flying in the front seat with the instructor, Roger, sitting behind me. He was an older guy with a glider addiction who spends his time teaching lessons and gliding about. He was a great teacher and by the end of the time he was letting me completely fly the plane. It was terrifying and thrilling. Roger stayed remarkably calm as he watched me maneuver the plane in the direction of the airport. I only began to question his judgment when it came time to land the plane and he continued instructing me, rather than taking over control. I sort of figured he was probably really controlling it and I was like the kid in the shopping cart car pretending to drive while the parent holds that plastic handle on the back. But as we crept up on the runway he said calmly, but firmly, “ok, you are flying this plane, now stay steady...” That dude actually let me land the plane. Seemed kind of rough to me, but he said it was a pretty solid landing. It was such a cool experience, I can see how people (with heaps of spare cash floating about) might make a habit of it.
XIII. One day we chased a small dot on our map labeled, “limestone arches.” After an hour of winding gravel road
s we arrived at a parking lot and proceeded on our hike to the arches. The hike was just gorgeous. I’m always amazed by the presence of rainforest in cool climes, no matter how much I know it will be there. Like many of the hikes we’ve taken on the South Island, this one was drenched in moss. It looked like maybe God threw up moss all over the entire forest, leaving the trees laden with green drapery and mysterious mossy lumps. Then Dr. Seuss and James Cameron went there together on vay-cay and found the inspiration for their tales. Every inch is green and lush, including the stones that appear to be a mound of green rock, until you follow a chain leading you down a hole and come out at the arches, where you find big limestone caverns that open along a crystal clear river. Per usual, Dad and I were the only people there. Winter rocks.14 (I have a very limited knowledge of roman numerals). One of the other people in our hostel room here, in Milford Sound, is the world’s most excitable man, Alisdair. He is incredibly nice, as anyone would be with that kind of zeal for every element of their life. Last night he nearly jumped out of his skin telling Dad and I to be sure to check out the “glowworm grotto” and this morning he referred to the hike we were taking as a “green goblin land.” Last night he was already asleep with the lights out by the time dad and I got back to the room. When we walked in he immediately awoke with a flurry of apologies and turned on his own personal light so that we could find our things. This morning he was so excited to tell Dad and I about his car’s dead battery that he pulled us over to his car and dug out the receipt for the battery so that we too could share in the silliness of defunct new batteries. Our last morning in Fiordland we took a hike with him and after we’d said our goodbyes Dad and I drove away and after minutes of silence Dad just said, “He could be an Avatar.“ Ha. You know, like an alien trying to fit-in in a human suit. He has a great point. Alisdair’s disposition is peculiar enough that it could be the result of studying a text book about human behavior. Memorizing definitions of concepts like, “kind,“ “friendly,“ “polite,“ “cheerful.“ But those definitions generally unfold differently in practice. His infinite capacity for enthusiasm is truly remarkable, and though at first it left me a bit frightened, I’m beginning to appreciate the sheer volume of energy required to maintain such zest.
XV (right?). Dad has taken to reading me passages from his book about Zen Buddhism while I drive. I can’t say I’ve had an overwhelmingly positive response. I make few comments, with the mind that one can’t force those deep, meaning-of-life conversations on people. It has to flow. Instead, I make snide remarks about the golden nature of silence while he continues reading. The first time it happened, I expected darkness to provide the silence I sought, but he pulled a small flashlight out of his pocket and kept going. He also read a poem aloud to me, which I’ve written the first two stanzas of below, but please excuse any alterations to the format, as I can‘t make it work on my blog. It just so happens that I was already well familiar with this poem because it spent my childhood hanging on the wall beside Dad's bed, so it's possible I read it thousands of times as I learned to read and later to attempted to decipher the pieces of Dad pasted on every wall. It is by Lawrence Ferlinghetti, so you can look it up if you’d like to see the rest.
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t mind happiness
not always being
so very much fun
if you don’t mind a touch of hell
now and then
just when everything is fine
because even in heaven
they don’t sing all the time.
The world is a beautiful place
to be born into
if you don’t mind some people dying
all the time
or maybe only starving
some of the time
which isn’t half so bad
if it isn’t you
You get the just. I do not like this poem. If I were to re-write it, say as an exercise in one of Katherine’s creative writing workshops, this would be my version:
“The world is a beautiful place to be born into.”
I know that it’s easy for me to say. My world is extraordinarily beautiful and privileged. But I’ve experienced (or maybe I can only say witnessed?) the flip side of my life. The side where people don’t have enough food or adequate housing, or they live life under the burden of sickness. People I love have experienced an undue share of sorrow. But these people are some of the most joyful I’ve encountered. They sing, laugh, and share. They remain capable of gratitude despite all odds. They smile constantly, flashing their white teeth as beacons of strength in situations when weakness would be a suitable response by anyone’s standards. I cannot interpret this as anything short of beautiful.
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