Nearly Christmas. . .

Here it is, nearly Christmas, and I'm two months and three continents behind in updating the blog.  Sometimes life comes at you so fast that there isn't time to write about it, and I confess that I'm still mentally processing our recent travels.  So I will be updating--with photos and all--the blog about our trips to China, Hong Kong and India, and our subsequent return to the United States, but I can't promise that it will happen before Christmas.  I'll do what I can. . .  Meanwhile, happy holidays to all.

PM at DPS

Beth and Katy's school, Douglas Park School, was visited last week by John Key, New Zealand’s Prime Minister.  Apparently a little six-year-old boy had written to him that he wanted to meet him, so when Mr. Key planned a trip to the Wairarapa, he included the boy’s school.   

I wanted to go to the school and see the PM for myself and hear what he had to say to the children, so I checked with the office to get permission to be there.  They said that is wasn’t being widely publicized, but that it would be okay for me to go, camera and all.  I arrived at the school about twenty minutes before he was scheduled to speak to the children and dutifully went to the office to sign in.  Not necessary, I was told—I could just go and be seated in the hall.  I was surprised there by what I did not see: no security forces, no bomb-sniffing dogs, no sharp shooters on the roof.  I wasn’t challenged by anyone.  Nobody looked to see if the bag I carried really contained a camera, or whether I belonged there.

Soon the children entered the hall with their teachers.  The youngest entered first and sat in neat rows near the stage.  As always with Kiwi kids, many were barefooted (this never fails to strike me as odd though I see it every day, even in the coldest of weather).  The year 5-6 classes, Katy and Beth’s level, entered last and sat at the back, still in neat rows.  The children practiced standing and sitting peacefully, and it seemed that all were on the edges of their seats (though actually on the floor) to see their Prime Minister.  Heads kept turning toward the back to see whether he had arrived, and try as they might, the children just couldn’t stay focused on the songs they were being led to sing while waiting.

When Mr. Key finally entered the hall, he was flanked by the student councilors and by Mr. Brown, the school’s principal.  Only two bodyguards entered the hall, but they seemed quite different from the Secret Service agents I have seen protecting our President.  Yes, they still had a headphone spiraling into one ear and a microphone on their lapels, but they seemed lower-key (really, no pun intended).  As with all DPS assemblies, the student councilors officiated.  They welcomed the PM to their school and invited him to the microphone to speak.  The students were well-behaved and listened, although the microphone (which had been tested moments before his arrival) refused to work.  After his brief address—much to be said for a politician knowing his audience—all the students sang for him, and a group of students performed a haka.

The youngster who had invited Mr. Key had an audience with him in the staff room; apparently the six-year-old told him that some day he wanted to become PM.  At the risk of embarrassing Beth and Katy, I stuck around and talked with one of his staff (bodyguard?  Secret Service?) who were ready to drive him to his next appointment.  Only two cars awaited him—a BMW sedan and a Toyota SUV.  Silver, by the way.  I’ve seen many Presidential motorcades:  far more than two vehicles, and they usually fly two American flags on each front bumper.  These cars had no such banners.  The staffer who spoke with me was relaxed and friendly as we compared the way it’s done here versus the high security in the United States.  He said that the only thing that had happened to the PM is that protestors grabbed at him and were arrested.   

After a short while, Mr. Key emerged from the office building and was immediately surrounded by students asking for his autograph.  I haven’t seen so many autograph hounds since Ozzie Smith stood around signing baseball hats at Busch Stadium.  Kids were handing him notebooks, backpacks, rugby balls and scooters to sign.  One child asked him to sign her wheelchair, and he smiled, squatted next to her, and asked where she wanted his signature.  He drew a line at shoes, however, and I can’t say that I blame him.  Katy and Beth were each pleased to get a signature.  Again I was struck by the nearness of New Zealand’s head of state to the people; (OK, any purists reading this, I realize that the Queen of England is the head of state in NZ, but come on, that’s only for show).   America’s leaders are “of the people,” but there is sadly a glass (bulletproof) wall between the elected and their constituents.  Reminded by his staff that he needed to get to Featherston to his next obligation, Mr. Key (almost reluctantly) got into his car and left.

I later asked whether Mr. Key had been flown by helicopter back to Wellington.  No, I was told, he had flown into the Wairarapa due to a tight schedule (and of course, critics found fault for this), but he would be driven back over the Rimutaka—construction delays and all.  Whether you like or dislike his politics--I have no true opinion--you have to admire the way Mr. Key interacted with these young people.  It was a day none of them will soon forget.

Skiing with the Unitarians of Auckland

Over the September 9th weekend we joined the Unitarians of Auckland for a ski weekend at Mount Ruapehu.  Having visited the Unitarian Church both times we were in Auckland, I had met several friendly and outgoing people there, immediately making me feel at ease.  Katy attended with me during the most recent visit, and she enjoyed meeting the young people during the religious education hour.  So when they mentioned that there was a ski trip planned for September, I enthusiastically agreed that we be included.

After Glenn finished his workday at 4:00 Friday, we left Masterton and drove up to the Tongariro National Park.  The park consists of three volcanoes: Mount Ruapehu, which includes two ski fields, Mount Ngauruhoe, which looks like a textbook volcano, and Mount Tongariro, whose multiple eruptions have given an irregular shape.  All three are considered active volcanoes, with the most recent activity of Mount Ruapehu happening in 1996 (while skiers were on the mountain).  This made for a bit of excitement, and I was eager to be able to tell the tale of our grand adventure of skiing a volcano. 

We arrived at about 9:30, and with the excitement of meeting other kids, Katy and Beth found it difficult to settle into their bunks.  Finally, they fell asleep around midnight, only to be awakened an hour or so later by a loud siren.  The alternating pitch sounded like a flood warning siren in Tulsa, and we all had the same thought: volcanic eruption.  Yikes!  There we were, camped out on the side of a volcano, and we hadn't read the emergency plan to know what to do.  After scrambling to read the emergency placards posted in the lodge, we realized that the siren was a fire alarm calling the volunteer firefighters to report for duty.  Whew!

Skiing Mount Ruapehu that day was like skiing Red River in late March--the snow was the consistency of mashed potatoes--the instant kind.  We couldn't control our turns, and the slushy, wet snow was just no good.  Glenn and Katy skied one run while Beth and I skied another; after several falls on his run, Glenn was done for the day, and while I hadn't fallen, I was fighting the snow too much to have much fun.  The girls agreed that we call it a day after just the one run--but, by golly, we have now skied a volcano!  After lunch Katy and I used our lift tickets to ride up the mountain again--this time in snowboots rather than skis.  I wouldn't have taken my camera up while on skis, for if I had fallen, the camera would have been soaked in the wet snow, but going up on foot made a quick photo shoot possible.  All was well until I tried to get on the lift going downhill--I disgraced myself by falling and having to have the lift stopped while I rolled out of the way of the chair, totally drenching myself in the slush and worse yet, falling on my camera.  Fortunately, it only sustained a small nick in the housing and I merely bruised my hand (and my ego). 

We rewarded ourselves for our skiing efforts by going to the Chateau Tongariro for high tea.  They have a lovely grand piano in the lounge area, and they were kind enough to allow Beth to practice there.  The chateau also has huge picture windows that look out at the three volcanoes, so I wasn't surprised when Glenn said that he wanted to stay there and read his book while the girls and I drove out to the thermal pools for a swim.

On our way to the thermal pools, we took a brief detour so that the girls could gather up some pumice stones from the shores of Lake Taupo.  This lake is actually the largest volcano of all: its eruption some 26,500 years ago formed a caldera, collapsing several hundred square kilometers of land that later filled with freshwater to form the lake.  The thermal pools are part of the same geological feature, as they are created by vents that are formed via the Wellington Fault.  We enjoyed using a small private thermal pool, but the girls were dismayed by the warnings posted inside the room to avoid putting one's head under the water to prevent the amoeba that can cause meningitis from entering our noses.  Eeew!  But the public pool was chlorinated, and we found that several of our group were already there, so we all enjoyed a relaxing time in the big pool.

Saturday evening we enjoyed a meal with the group back at the lodge.  How refreshing it was to be among a group of like-minded folks!  The girls enjoyed the other young people and seemed completely comfortable and natural with them, as if they had known each other for years.  I wasn't surprised when Beth whispered to me, "Mom, I LIKE it here!  I mean, I like all these people!"  "Nice" is such a bland adjective, but the people in the group really were nice, and being with them made me feel a little less homesick.  It's ironic, I suppose, that in an entry about the Unitarian ski weekend I don't have any photos of the people, but when we were at the lodge I was having such a good time, I didn't remember to get out my camera.

If Saturday's skiing was poor, Sunday's conditions were absolute rubbish: rain and wind.  We had to drive up to the top to check with customer service for a glove Glenn had lost the day before.  A surprising number of souls were braving the conditions to ski or board, but I noticed that the wind was whipping their snowsuits into concave shapes.  Glenn witnessed a ski being skittered across the parking lot by the unrelenting wind, so we were all glad that we had other plans for the day.

We spent nearly two hours at the Whakapapa Visitors' Centre, where the girls each interviewed a park ranger for the reports they will be writing about New Zealand.  I was proud of the way each girl asked questions and recorded answers, taking the assignment quite seriously and wanting to learn about their topics (volcanoes and avalanches).  The ranger went out of her way to be helpful and gave the girls excellent resources to conduct further research.  She was complimentary of them, too, and impressed by their curiosity and maturity. 

After we left the Tongariro area, we drove through the Taranaki region to New Plymouth, where the American rugby team was playing Ireland in the World Cup.  Having no understanding of or interest in rugby, we explored the Pukekura Park's "Light the Night" tour.  Next day, we visited Cape Egmont, the first shores of New Zealand spotted by Europeans in 1642.  When Abel Tasman saw the land, he had no idea that there was a volcano nearby because it was enshrouded by clouds.  We, too, failed to see Mount Egmont by day, though its silhouette was faintly discernable at night.  Nonetheless, the area is dramatic, rugged, and beautiful, even in the misty rain that followed us much of the day.

A welcome respite from the rain was at the Waitomo Caves, famous for the New Zealand glowworms that live there.  These tiny, mosquito-like insects trap their prey through bioluminescent mucus that hangs from the cave ceiling like tiny straws.  In the dark, the tiny lights resembled distant stars, and we could almost see constellations as our boat floated silently beneath them. 

On our drive back to Masterton we had to detour due to a rock slide on the main highway, but the detour took us directly through the wind farm of Te Apiti.  These massive windmills appear to march in formation over the hillsides, but it is only up close that we could truly appreciate their colossal size.  Standing over 70 meters tall, each windmill produces enough electricity to power nearly 1,000 homes.  Nearer to home we passed through Eketahuna, where the large concrete kiwi was draped in a black cloak to honor New Zealand's beloved All Blacks rugby team.  These folks in New Zealand take their rugby seriously!

Our trip was only three days, but it had taken us from the peak of a volcano to deep underground caves, along historic coastline and across scenic mountains.  Evidence of powerful natural forces was everywhere, from dramatic plate tectonics, to energetic ocean waves, to billowing winds.  Once again, we had discovered only a portion of the diversity that makes up this land of New Zealand.
 

Keeping a Tradition

It’s Labor Day weekend in the United States, and today I am reminded of a particular Labor Day many years ago.  Labor Day in Tulsa in my childhood years meant one thing: the Great Raft Race, a race down the Arkansas River by amateurs on homemade rafts.  We’d go down to the river in Sand Springs to the launch site, because that’s where all the action was.  In the early days, people didn’t know much about building rafts; they just threw together something that looked as if it would float, rigged up some means of propulsion, and into the water they went.  A quarter or so of the rafts never made it out of the launching area, as they either sank under the weight of crew and “beverages,” or they broke apart as soon as the current hit them.  I recall one raft in particular, made of Styrofoam and old bicycle parts.  Half the crew sat on the bicycles and peddled like mad to turn the paddlewheel while the other half waited in reserve.  They pitched the craft just fine, but the crew were disorganized and started peddling around in circles.  Within minutes, the raft broke apart, right down the middle; that is, the crew who were peddling were suddenly without their relief crew, and the rest just smiled and waved as the current took them downriver, because they were the half with all the beer. 

But it is another Labor Day I recall just now.  Of all those years KRMG radio sponsored the Great Raft Race, one truth remained: there was always a 50/50 chance of rain on Labor Day.  One first Monday of September I awoke earliest in my house and sleepily got out of bed, then was puzzled and confused when my feet touched the floor with a “splosh.”  Walking into the hallway, both feet were submerged in about an inch of water.  After I sounded the alarm, I spent the day with my parents and brothers mopping up water from our downstairs bedrooms.  When friends called and invited us to go with them to the lake, we had to decline, and avoid mentioning that we were sopping up our own lake just then.  The water, we discovered, had seeped in around the stemwall of the house during heavy showers, creating a waterfall inside one bedroom wall.  When my father figured out the problem he was able to seal around the outside leak, but we were never supposed to tell anyone about it, lest it harm the value of the house, I suppose. 

Today is Father’s Day in New Zealand, and we seem far, far away from an end-of-summer holiday, though it is becoming more spring-like here.  After sharing gifts and a nice breakfast with their dad, Katy and Beth were enjoying some computer time.  I started a bath for Katy while Glenn read one of the books he had received from the girls.  Then I started doing a bit of research for the girls about Girl Scout badges they may be on their way toward earning.  I guess I skipped the one about “Water Fun.” I had no idea that anything was wrong until Katy finished her computer time and went to her room, suddenly announcing, “Houston, we have a problem.”  Confused, I looked up from the Girl Scout book to see her sploshing in an inch of water down the hallway.  Yikes!  Confused at first, I thought the toilet was overflowing, until I heard the sound of the still-running bath water.  The girls and Glenn were quick to help grab towels and the mop; Beth pulled the plug on the tub, and Katy helped mop—until the girls discovered how fun it was to slide down their very own indoor water slide.  We built dams out of towels to minimized the water seeping into the carpeted areas (fortunately the hallway is tile), and began pushing the water toward the outside door.  As I was using my feet to scoot the towel across the floor (a technique I learned from my mom during that Labor Day of long ago), it hit me: another Labor Day, another flood. 

Most of the water is cleaned up now; the towels are in the washing machine; and the doors and windows are open to air out the house.  The only permanent damage is a library book that was on the floor, which we’ll have to replace.   I sent Glenn and the girls into town so that I could finish up alone—sometimes many hands just get in the way—and as I look at it, I realize that I have, inadvertently, kept the tradition alive, though it’s a tradition more honored in the breach than in the keeping.  Think I’d rather be watching a raft race.  Then again, maybe I'll just go and take a bath...

Queenstown Trip

In July, the schools closed for the two-week winter interterm holiday, so we set out for a vacation in Queenstown, South Island.  Glenn would attend a medical conference on “Wilderness Medicine”—pity they have to schedule these medical conferences in such a location as the best ski area in all New Zealand. 

A week or so before, Queenstown had had a fresh snowfall, so we were treated to lovely views of the mountains as we flew in.  Another family on our flight were also planning a ski vacation there, and we visited pleasantly about the pros and cons of each of the three nearest ski areas.  The next day, Glenn attended his conference and the girls and I set off for a day of skiing at Coronet Peak.  Nearing the mountain, we pulled off the road to install the required tire chains, when I looked up and realized that the car behind us held the family from the airplane the night before.  They correctly read my puzzled expression at the tire chains, so together we got both cars outfitted.  Skiing that day was wonderful; it was delightful to see the girls swooshing down the slopes again, and it felt magical to be back on skis after missing ski season in the Northern Hemisphere.

While Glenn was at the conference, he sat next to an American doctor, Pete, who introduced himself as being from Stillwater, Oklahoma.  And the small world quickly shrank even further when I met his wife Kelly, who had, it turned out, attended Oklahoma State University at the same time I did and had roomed in the same dorm with a friend I knew from Sand Springs.  I’m sure we must have met in their dorm room more than once.  Such a small world!  They have daughters near Katy and Beth’s age, so all four girls and both moms skied together the following day while the two dads continued their conference. 

Kelly suggested we take a trip to Arrowtown, a gold-mining town near Queenstown, so all six of us piled into their van and drove there to see the Chinese mining settlement and the quaint shops lining the main street of Arrowtown.  Most of our time, though, was spent at the museum in town.  They were hosting an Anne Frank exhibit, and we must have read every placard and taken in every photograph. 

Once Glenn and Pete had completed the conference, they were ready to hit the slopes, so we had some family days at Coronet Peak, the Remarkables, and Cardrona.  The ski areas in the Southern Alps are quite different from those in Colorado or Quebec, as the slopes are completely devoid of trees.  Thus, the local scenery isn’t as spectacular, but visibility is fantastic and one can view distant mountains while skiing.  Another difference, I thought, was the level of difficulty.  Slopes marked as blue (intermediate) seemed fairly green (easy) to me, and none of the blue or black (expert) slopes had moguls.  Most of the runs are quite short, which means more trips up the ski lift, more time waiting in the lift lines.  We managed to ski enough days to satisfy all of us for now, though, and after all, in a few months we’ll be back in the Northern Hemisphere in time for more skiing!

Queenstown is a city apart from other New Zealand cities in that it is totally a tourist town.  The main hub is a small, 12-block area or so filled with ski shops, Internet cafes, restaurants, and adventure shops—places where one can arrange skydiving, parasailing, hot air ballooning, and bungee jumping.  In fact, it was not far from Queenstown that bungee jumping was invented by some crazy Kiwi who thought up the process of tying a stretchy rope to his ankles and hurling himself off a bridge.  Not for me!  But the town is perfectly situated among snow-capped mountains and glassy-clear Lake Wakatipu—gorgeous in every direction.  It has a lovely little harbor from which tour boats take riders on excursions across the lake, as well as some of those adventure-seekers who’d rather see the sights from a parachute attached to a fast-moving boat.  There’s a small steamship, the TSS Earnslaw, which circles the lake several times per day, and some children’s parks along the waterfront.  Quite a lovely little ski town.

The highlight of the South Island trip for me was the day we took a tour to Milford Sound.  We decided to schedule a package tour with a bus out to the Sound and a boat ride across it, rather than driving our rental car.  The bus picked us up early—6:45 a.m.—from Queenstown for the four-hour drive.  Along the way, the driver gave us informative commentary regarding the Maori legends about the formation of Lake Wakatipu, the geography of Fiordland, and other points of interest.  As we rode along NZ Highway 94, he explained how the area is prone to avalanches (comforting thought), and described the construction of the Homer Tunnel that pierces the Main Divide between Te Anau and Milford Sound. 

Fiordland is the most beautiful area we have seen in New Zealand, which itself is no dog.  On the far southwestern corner of the South Island, Fiordland is a huge national park.  Beth described it as a graceful, smooth, flowing landscape, but I find it more dramatic than that.  Mountains jut up into the sky while waterfalls cascade down them at all times of the year.  Birds such as the kea and white crane find homes here, as do dolphins, fur seals, and hundreds of plants found only in this area.  Once we boarded the boat, Katy and I spent most of our time on deck, going back into the cabin only to warm ourselves with hot chocolate.  When the captain spotted a fur seal napping on the rocks, he pulled us along shore to get a better look.  It is a unique habitat, and despite the ecotourism industry, remains pristine due to careful management.  It’s no wonder Rudyard Kipling dubbed Milford Sound “the eighth Wonder of the World.”

Next day back in Queenstown, a light snow was beginning to fall as we finished packing up our car to drive south to Invercargill.  By the time we had driven half an hour out of town, snow had begun to accumulate on the roads; when the car slipped a little on a curve we decided that it was time to put the chains on the tires.  As the snowfall grew heavier, more and more cars were having difficulty, and we saw several accidents.  By the time we hit Kingston, an hour and a half south of Queenstown, we had four or five inches with no sign of it letting up.  Fortunately we arrived in Invercargill without incident, but the road we had just negotiated was closed due to heavy snowfall.  In fact, all the major roads around Invercargill were closed, so we would have to delay our drive along the Catlin Trail. 

Staying in the Victorian Railway Hotel, we were comfortable and warm; the hotel had an extensive DVD library, so we allowed the girls to watch Harry Potter movies all evening and all the next day.  Meanwhile, Glenn and I watched movies in our room while I knitted.  We enjoyed having a “down” day in the middle of our vacation.  We got out of the hotel long enough to fulfill Katy's quest for a Subway sandwich and to see the “World’s Fastest Indian,” an old 1920ish Indian Scout motorcycle ridden by Burt Monroe at Bonneville Flats to set several speed records.  Oddly, the motorcycle is owned now by a local hardware store, as are 20 or so other motorcycles.  We also saw the local museum, which houses a dozen or so tuataras—lizard-like creatures that aren’t lizards at all.  The babies are about the size of my index finger, while the adults are about a foot long. 

The weather cleared beautifully the next day, just in time for our journey along the Catlin Trail, the stretch of road along South Island’s southernmost coast.  Talk about dramatic scenery!  Starting at Waipapa Point, the coastline stretches more than 150 kilometers before turning northward, with waves crashing against steep bluffs and into blowholes.  Waipapa Point had a bit of untouched beach, which Beth and I found to be great for seashell-hunting.  Beth’s sharp eyes found several paua shells, and we ended up with lovely shells and greenstone rocks.  She easily scampered up the steep sand dune that lay between us and our car, but I attempted what I thought looked like firmer ground—until it proved to be wet clay, slick as ice.  My clothes smeared with clay and my treasures all scattered, I awkwardly clambered up, and sweet Beth collected my shells and pebbles again.

Windy and cold, the weather deterred the rest of the family from hiking with me out to Slope Point, the unofficial southernmost tip of the South Island.  But at least it was clear and the roads were completely dry, so the drive was spectacular.  At Curio Bay we arrived at low tide to see the fossilized forest: trees turned to rock within only a matter of months back in the Jurassic Period.  Most of the trees were prone, but some vertical stumps were also visible, and Glenn was amazed at the detailed preservation of features in a 60-million-year-old artifact.  Curio Bay is habitat to the rarest penguin in the world, the Yellow-Eyed Penguin, so we returned there at dusk to watch the adult penguins come ashore.  We had been warned that we would be lucky to see any of these creatures, so we were amazed to see more than a dozen.  By sitting or standing perfectly still, we could be very near them; one approached Katy by about ten meters, and another came even nearer to Beth and Glenn.  As the penguins swam ashore, they would hop out of the water and perform an elaborate grooming ritual at the water’s edge.  Then they would call to their young in the bush behind us, and then take their time making their way across the beach.  Each bird took more than half an hour to waddle from the water to its nest.  Sitting on the boulders made our backsides ache with cold, but we stayed until it was too dark to see any longer, and I was relieved that I had attached a tiny flashlight to my camera case so that we could pick our way back over the rocks to our car.

Our lodging overnight along the Catlin Trail was, ahem, rustic.  It was a farmhouse, and it had all the basic necessities—running water, lights, beds—but it was c-o-l-d.  The beds had heat blankets, so we found it difficult next morning to get out of the beds and put our feet on the cold, bare floors.  Besides, it had begun to rain, making us glad that we’d seen the most beautiful part of the coastline the day before.  We stayed in the area long enough to drive out to a llama farm so that I could get some llama wool for spinning, and then we headed to Dunedin.  What a different sort of lodging greeted us there!  We stayed at a lovely Victorian-era bed and breakfast where we were warmly greeted and cared for.  Walking into the B&B, we all gave a satisfied "Aaaah."  The rooms were lovely, cozy, and warm, and our hostess made us a superb breakfast.  She even did our laundry! 

Dunedin’s downtown streets are shaped in an octagonal pattern, with concentric octagons rippling out from its center.  Its most famous building is its railroad station, but sadly, only one scenic railway uses the station: one departure per day.  Dunedin is also home to the Cadbury chocolate factory, and it happened that we were there during the annual chocolate festival.  There were all sorts of activities throughout week, but we were content with a tour of the factory, especially as our guide handed out samples quite liberally and we all had our fill.  During the tour, we watched in amazement as a full ton of liquid chocolate plummeted down the inside of the silo.  The children were also allowed to dip their fingers into a vat of chocolate (eew!) that was being carted down the hallway.  Well, at least they weren't allowed to double-dip.  The chocolate festival culminates with the Jaffa race on Friday, so we stuck around town long enough to witness 50,000 Jaffa candies being rolled down Baldwin Street, supposedly the steepest street in the world.  Before the race, tickets with unique numbers are sold to benefit local charities, and the candies are individually numbered.  The first five candies to enter the chute are the winners, with prizes awarded to the holders of those tickets.  This year there were two races; first with red candies and then with purple.  We had tickets for the purple race, so we had to wait and watch as the street sweepers cleaned up all the red candies that hadn’t made it so that the purple race could begin.  I felt a little silly, but there I was yelling, “Go, 957930!” at a swarm of tiny purple dots in the distance.  Alas, the $1000 in groceries and $1000 in petrol went to someone else, and we left Dunedin defeated. 

As we made our way back to Queenstown, we detoured a bit to see the Moeraki Boulders, which we had missed seeing when we were near there last December.  The boulders look like huge marbles strewn along the coastline, with some as large as ten feet in diameter.  Then it was on toward Queenstown via Wanaka so that we could visit Puzzling World, an attraction with a maze, gravity-defying rooms, and lots of puzzles and brain-teasers.  Between Wanaka and Queenstown we briefly spotted the Kawarau Bridge, home of New Zealand bungee jumping.  We resisted the urge to stop.  We did, however, take the gondola to the top of the mountains above Queenstown for a lovely dinner at the Skyline Restaurant.  Looking over the city and mountains just at sunset, it was a beautiful final evening on the South Island. 

Having booked the final flight of the day out of Queenstown, we had plenty of time to return our rental car and check in our baggage; the girls did that day’s math lesson (Glenn and I require them to do half a Saxon Math lesson every day, even on vacation), and we had a snack.  But when our airplane arrived from its previous flight, the staff were in a rush to get us on the plane so that the plane could depart as quickly as possible.  Asking whether bad weather was expected, Glenn was told that by regulation, the plane had to leave by 5:42 p.m. to avoid flying over the mountains at dusk.  We made it; we took off at 5:36.  Whew!   

Remembering My Grandmother

My grandmother was a Shoebox Baby.  Born June 16, 1907—104 years ago today—in Oklahoma Territory, she and her identical twin sister are said to have weighed less than five pounds, combined.  The conditions being rustic and medical facilities nonexistent, the twins were swaddled, put into a shoebox, and placed in the oven so that the pilot light could keep them warm.  I was told years ago that a wet nurse was hired—a Negro woman who suckled them and nourished their fragile little lives.  Velva, my grandmother, and her twin sister Velma came into this world with only a fraction of a chance of surviving, but survive they did, as both lived into their nineties.

I had heard stories of my grandmother’s birth when I was a child, but it never occurred to me that my Nonnie and Auntie Velma must have been born prematurely.  Given that a wet nurse was hired, their mother must not have been well after the delivery—or at least was not robust enough to nurse both babies. 

It didn’t occur to me until the birth of my own “shoebox babies,” born 94 years and six days later.  At 2 pounds, 0.8 ounce and 2 pounds, 14 ounces, Elizabeth and Katherine’s combined weight was a bit less than five pounds, and their “shoebox” was a high-tech incubator at Saint Francis Hospital.  Although born eleven weeks early, they had over a 95% chance of survival and a reasonable chance of having no long-term ill effects from their early arrival.  The first couple of weeks we waited to see. . .

Nonnie and Auntie Velma were devoted to each other, and they both loved music.  In fact, every photograph of my grandmother that I can recall is either of Velva and Velma together, or of Velva with a musical instrument.  My grandmother’s most cherished instrument was her mandolin, but she had a baby grand piano, two saxophones, an accordion, a banjo or two, several guitars, an African kalimba, and an old Victrola.  Everywhere in her house there was music.  Auntie Velma was much the same; I recall her excitedly trying to teach me about the “circle of fifth,” showing me a dial I didn’t understand at the time and hoping to convey her love of music to me.  This love of music lasted throughout their lifetimes; even when Nonnie had forgotten most of the details of her life, when Alzheimer’s disease had robbed her of her precious memories, she still responded to the music that had filled her life. 

Auntie Velma died at the age of 92, and my grandmother Velva died a year later.  They were strong women—surviving their tenuous birth in Oklahoma Territory, spending part of their childhood on an Oklahoma oil field, each raising two children and each outliving her husband by many years.  As I was told nearly a century later by a nurse in the neonatal intensive care unit, preemies who survive tend to be very strong-willed individuals, and these two women definitely had a strong life force. 

After two weeks in the NICU, Beth reached up to her face, grasped her feeding tube and air tube with her tiny hand, yanked, and extubated herself.  When I held her an hour or so later, the nurses explained how they had scrambled to re-intubate her.  Feeling as if a tremendous weight of worry had been lifted, I looked down at my child through teary eyes and whispered, “You’re going to be fine, I know now.  You’re a scrapper.”  Thinking of her great-grandmother, I added, “You’re made of strong stuff.”

Nonnie and Auntie Velma would have loved knowing Katy and Beth.  Not only are they twins, but they share a love of music, too.  Velva and Velma would have delighted in attending Katy’s violin concert this afternoon and seeing Katy and Beth play a duet—Katy on violin and Beth on piano.  I can almost see them now, smiling, clapping, and tapping their feet. 

I thank you, my wonderful shoebox grandmother, for your gifts—passed through my mother, through me, and to my daughters--of strength and music.  Happy birthday, Nonnie.   

Our Trip to Auckland and the Northern Lands

The first weekend of June—and more specifically, Monday, June 6—in New Zealand celebrates the Queen’s birthday.  Not that she was born near June 6, or even in June.  I’m told that her actual birthday is in April.  At any rate, the Queen’s birthday is celebrated this weekend, and accordingly, Monday is a holiday.  When the June schedule for the hospital was posted, Glenn spotted that he had not only a three-day weekend, but by taking only one day of vacation, he had six days in a row off work.  So we planned a short trip to Auckland and the Northland area of New Zealand.

On our first full day in the area, Thursday, we drove north of Auckland to the Waitangi Treaty Grounds, site of the signing of the treaty between Maori chiefs and representatives of the English Crown.  We had seen the actual document in the Archive Building in Wellington, but seeing the historic site where the document was signed made it come alive for us.  Several Maori guides explained the importance of the treaty to us, and how it still affects relationships between the Maori people and Kiwis of European descent.

All four of us were wowed by the cultural presentation as our Maori guides taught us about a bit of their culture through song, the haka, a poi dance, and a game of pukana.  The songs spoke of their love of nature and their ancestors, and were accompanied by a guitar.  The haka is always energetic and involves slapping of the knees and strong facial expressions.  Although I had thought that the haka was always a war dance, I learned that it also could be danced by both men and woman as a welcome to distinguished guests.  As they sang and chanted, they invoked the spirits or memories of all our ancestors, honoring the interconnectedness of us all.  Poi dancing, once used exclusively by men to train for warfare, is now done primarily by women.  The poi is a small sack on a bit of rope; dancers have one in each hand.  The poi are swung to and fro, requiring agility and timing to manipulate them throughout the dance.  Then the audience was invited to participate in a game of pukana, which means “very expressive face.”  As the game begins, one player is “it” and gestures to any other player by pointing both arms, widening the eyes, either sticking out the tongue (men) or dropping the jaw (women), all while yelling “pukana!”  As soon as the next person is tagged, he or she must pass the gesture to another player.  The object is to be as expressive as possible with one’s face—and by doing so, to break the other players’ concentration. 

Near the water’s edge is a war canoe used for ceremonial purposes that takes over a hundred people to launch—and that’s even with the aid of a rail track!  Some eighty men row it, with up to 55 more sitting inside the oars as passengers.  Intricately carved and decorated, it is a tremendous vessel in more ways than one—it took three kauri trees to build it.  After seeing the canoe, we were invited inside the marae, a Maori meeting house.  Because the marae is sacred, all must remove their shoes before entering.  Inside the marae are carvings representing the many iwi, or tribes, of Maori people from all over New Zealand, and chain designs representing the ancestors.  One carved figure represents the heart of the marae, while the ancestral chains are like its ribs arching up and over the ceiling.  Inside the marae, our guide sang a beautiful song about her ancestors before bidding us all farewell.

As we toured the treaty grounds it drizzled a bit, but we didn’t think much about it until the wind picked up while we drove still farther north.  By the time we reached the Karikari Peninsula, the wind was incredible.  All night the wind howled around our resort, unburdening some of the trees of their bark and weaker limbs.  Power was out for several hours as well.  It rained and drizzled still on Friday, so we decided to take a short drive to Awanui and see what we could find.  North of Awanui we briefly visited Ninety Mile Beach (which is really only 64 miles long).  It’s an unparalleled beach in summer months as the fine sand slopes gently into the water, inviting wave enthusiasts of all sorts.  Late fall, though, found it deserted but for a single fisherman and a lone SUV taking full advantage of the 100-kilometer-per-hour speed limit set on the water’s edge.

The town of Awanui boasted a showroom of products made from ancient kauri trees.  These trees lived 45,000 to 50,000 years ago and were incredibly huge.  Over the millennia, they fell into swamps and many were preserved in the swampland.  Live trees cannot be harvested, but the ancient ones (long dead) can be winched up from the swamps and used.  The showroom had a spiral staircase made from part of a trunk—the staircase goes up inside the tree and has room enough for two or three people to walk abreast!  There is a $55,000 sofa made from a single chunk of kauri—large enough for four people.  When I expressed interest in the woodworking and described the kind of work my Uncle Guy does with wood, the clerk offered to show me the workshop in back.  They had a dining table turned entirely from one single piece of wood, several large sculptures, and a single plank of kauri that was at least 13 meters long!  This piece, he said, would become a boardroom table.  I have no idea what that will cost, but if the sofa is any indication, I wouldn’t be surprised if it sells for close to $300,000.

Only about 5% of the original kauri forests still survive, as humans used them for ships, homes, and other needs, then cleared the forests for agriculture.  The remaining trees are now—thankfully—protected and preserved, and national forest land surrounds them.  After seeing the products made from kauri, we were eager to drive through the last vestiges of kauri forests, so we took the long way back to Auckland and meandered through lush forests and verdant mountainsides.  Tane Mahuta, the “Lord of the Forest,” is the most massive of all the kauri trees and reminded me of the Redwood Forest in California.  Similar to the redwoods, these trees are conifers with surprisingly shallow roots, so boardwalks are constructed to protect the trees’ fragile footing. 

Back in Auckland, it was the girls’ turn to decide where we went, and they chose the zoo.  Although the Auckland Zoo is a fine zoo, I found it difficult to avoid comparing it with Steve Irwin’s zoo in Australia, which raised the bar for any zoological park I will ever visit again.  In Auckland we enjoyed viewing giraffes from their eye level, and seeing them interact with zebras and emus within the same enclosure.  The Hippo River was also quite well done, as hippos floated invisibly beneath the surface of the water and surfaced only for a quick breath.  The aviary, too, was wonderful and offered many opportunities for photographing colorful tropical birds.  An apparent local favorite was Janie, the gorilla, who lived in an enclosure that looked a bit like a toddler’s bedroom.  She had books, boxes, and toys, and it was all a disheveled mess.  I watched her pick up and look through several books just as a child might pretend to read.  Visitors walking by called out, “Hello, Janie.” 

Sunday morning Katy and I walked to the Auckland Unitarian Church and attended the service.  Although it is a small congregation, it felt like home.  I loved being able to sing the hymns without looking at the hymnal (same one we use at All Souls), and Katy made friends with several of the young people.  I was impressed to learn that the congregation owns the church building free and clear, and that the entire church is led by laity.  I had thought that they must at least have salaried office staff, but even those functions are filled by volunteers.  And here it stands, over a hundred years old, near the heart of the Central Business District.

In the very heart of the CBD is the iconic Skytower, the tallest man-made structure in the Southern Hemisphere.  It’s visible day or night from most places in and around Auckland, and no trip to New Zealand’s largest city would be complete without going up to the observation deck.  We enjoyed watching from below as other people bungee-jumped from its topmost deck, but we could only appreciate the terror of that sport once we were up in the tower ourselves.  The designers of the Skytower created an elevator that can whisk visitors up to the top in less than a minute, but they fiendishly installed a glass panel in the floor of the elevator car so that one can see the elevator shaft dropping below one’s feet at an alarming rate of speed.  In the main observation deck, one can walk 360 degrees around the tower, but must cross over several similar glass panels in the floor.  Even though there are signs proclaiming that the glass panels are as strong as the concrete floors, I found it nearly impossible to walk across them, and my stomach lurched when Beth and Katy did it.  Never mind reason and logic—it’s a long way down!  But the tower had a beautiful view of the city, and we enjoyed eating dinner at Orbit Restaurant at the top of the tower, revolving as we dined on New Zealand cuisine. 

At nearly 200 meters, Mount Eden gives additional sweeping views of Auckland.  A long-extinct volcano—one of about 50 in the greater Auckland area—Mount Eden has a crater that plunges back toward Earth some 50 meters—one fourth the height of the volcano!  It is thought that most of the volcanoes around Auckland have only erupted once, but they and other suspicious areas are carefully observed and monitored for any future activity.  We noted the trigonometrical station on the peak; throughout New Zealand small survey towers are built on promontories so that each tower can “see” at least two others.  By measuring the movements of the triangulating towers, surveyors can tell just how much the country is shifting.  We had seen models of these towers at Te Papa in Wellington, but it was especially meaningful to see them in actual use.