Pohukatawa in bloom: Christmas draws near in New Zealand
My sixty-third Christmas approaches. The pohukatawa tree, affectionately known as the New Zealand Christmas tree, blooms on the shores of North Island, and summer approaches.
For several years now I have attempted to find my way through the coming weeks without negative feelings of frustration and irritation at what this festival appears to have become.
I love to spend special moments with those special to me, and I love to help to create such moments. But as each year passes, feeling part of the general so-called celebration of Christmas becomes more of a challenge. I wonder how alone I am in this sentiment.
Is it the inevitable consequence of divided or separated families, (after all, many aspects of the celebration of this Christian festival originate in the home)? Or is it just as hard to let go as is it to accept what feels like an inflicted sense of jollity and excessive consumerism?
I have tried in the last year to remain in touch with the majority of my friends and family. But there will be many who have received my thoughts and not my words. I hope I will find the time to write more than ‘Happy Christmas’ to these folk. However, if you are reading this and you know we have lost touch and would like to re-establish our link, then please email and let me know how and where you are.
Everything changes, nothing is permanent.
Some may have the strength to face this truth alone, some may have a faith which supports them. Almost all will recognise the value of trusted friends or family in facing such realities. If the celebration of Christmas helps to reinforce this, then perhaps we can hope to be a richer society.
I am clearly not a natural weblogger. I had started an entry about a month ago. It was then raining every day and feeling damp and cold. We are now well and truly into Spring. Day temperatures are in the late teens, and when the sun is out and high in the sky there is real warmth. The natural world is bursting forth, lambs and calves are in the fileds, the trees all in blossom and suburbia droning with lawnmowers.
We have begun our annual family birthday season, Rupert spends a couple of weeks in the UK on aviation business in October, Isobel starts primary school in just over a week's time, Jeff has a trip to the States late October, Lucy busy with concerts and recordings for the Graduate choir, I have my usual mixed bag of yoga teach, dance, sing, garden, read, walk, make food and lie on the floor plenty in between.
NZ moving into election mode for November 8th, so plenty of homework needed in that area, if I am to use my vote with any wisdom. This definitely is not England, but Parliament is frighteningly just the same apart from proportional representation.
Off to clean windows. Sunshine is great. It would be nice to let it through!
For some of us the dark evenings and cold frosty mornings of winter still conjure thoughts of mince pies, log fires and Christmas. Given the number of immigrants from the northern hemisphere in New Zealand, it is hardly surprising that at this time of the year midwinter feasts abound, and that Auckland’s Graduate Choir, (of which daughter Lucy is a member) recently presented a programme entitled Mid –winter Christmas Recital. This was made all the more authentic by being sung in a chapel modelled on that of many a private school in the UK, and sung on a particularly cold and draughty evening. Well worth listening to, and the CD will be out later in the year. From the sublime to........., well, their next date is to sing the national anthems at All Blacks/ Australia match.
Isobel and Spike have been reading about snow and longing to experience it. The North Island of NZ has two possibilities; the Tongariro National Park, just 3 to 4 hours from here, and Mount Taranaki, (Mt.Egmont) a bit further south. The rest of North Island barely knows what snow is.
So off we set on a glorious clear and cold Sunday morning, stopping at Taupo town for coffee and arriving at Tokaanu on the southern shores of Lake Taupo to stay in the Tokaanu Lodge Motel for a couple of nights. Monday saw us in the local ski hire shop, togging up the children in snow boots, goggles and mitts before we drove up from the steaming thermal springs to the snow clad Ruapehu and Ngauruhoe mountains. Barely able to move for all the layers of clothing, Isobel was pretty much in awe, taking refuge in icicle lollies.
She soon abandoned the uncertainty of tobogganing for such delights, whilst Spike whizzed down the kiddies’ slopes a few more times... and so did mum and dad. Grandpa needed a few more navigational lessons and grandma, well....!
We seemed to be the only ones who had even considered bringing a picnic, which we stoically ate little lower down the mountain outside theChateau Tongariro, (how British!) before indulging in a classic snowball fight.
Like most hostelries in the area, the Tokaanu Lodge has its own thermal pools. This time it was grandma who had proved the most adventurous in the hot pool, enthusiastically joined by Isobel and Spike, and only once it had been tested out, then by mum and grandpa as well. (photos censored!)
Lake Taupo was looking at its splendid best on Tuesday. We enjoyed the beach, throwing pumice rocks to float in the waters, looked at perfect backdrop of the snow-clad mountains, as we took coffee in lake side restaurant, then headed off to Rotorua. We stopped on the way to wonder at the boiling mud pools, then treated the children to swings, slides and train rides on the edge of Lake Rotorua.
Back home in Hamilton, the temperature was still below zero at night, but Wednesday was a winter warmer, so it had to be spent on the beach at Raglan
Whilst Iso established her creative corner with sand, shells and grasses,
Spike ventured as far as he dared along the beach, making tracks with his boots as he went.
And so, to use the forbidden cliche, they all returned home, tired, but happy. The End
Time to write, but about what, I know not. We are now into our third year in New Zealand. Sunday 1st June marked the first day of winter; yesterday, 2nd June was Queen’s birthday. (I believe originally King’s, i.e. her father’s, birthday) and a public holiday. Today was warm and sunny between the hours of 10am and 3pm, as have been most days of late, though the nights have been somewhat nippy. There are those for whom T-shirts and shorts, even bare feet, are still the norm, we sit stoically in cafes with the doors and windows open, and even those fortunate to have and be able to afford good heating at home, still appear to be in denial that this part of New Zealand actually ‘does’ winter. I confess to becoming a little weary of the layers on and off game, especially as getting rid of your thermal undies in the middle of the day can be tricky. Still, there’s no way certain of my joints are going to accept being cold, so better put up and shut up, and get the layers sorted!
We took the opportunity to travel to the Eastern Bay of Plenty at the weekend, and found yet more glorious beaches, bush, rivers and hills. This is one of the most remote parts of the North Island, its people are some of the first to see the sun each day. The first Maori canoes landed here, and it seems that this is one area where contemporary Maori still follow a more traditional pattern of life with more ease than perhaps elsewhere. Lots of research needed here on my part into the impact of the Waitangi Treaty.
The tentacles of our consumer society are reaching rapidly over New Zealand. Is this what catching up with the rest of the world means? One of the country’s potential charms for me was that it was considered 20 years behind. If this is what produced people with ingenuity, creativity, a Kiwi-can-do attitude, and a more laisser-faire attitude with regards to image, then please don’t catch up, or at least try to do it slowly and avoid some of the traps, which manifest elsewhere in the world. Perhaps New Zealand is far enough away to keep a semblance of originality and uniqueness. At least there is still plenty of untamed land here, nature is clearly powerful, potentially violent and in control, all of which may help to keep our human greed a little more in perspective.
The drought is over. It has rained...and rained. Everything is green again, though, with the dramatic change in the weather, Nature sadly took her toll with some tragic accidents on the island.
Felicity braved rough seas to visit White Island, the active volcano off the east coast. On a calmer day Jeff got us ALL kayaking down the Waikato River. Between storms, Felicity and I visited one of my favourite spots in the Coromandel, the sanctuary at Mana Retreat House.
Rupert did a fantastic performance of Karl Jenkins The Armed Man at the Founders Theater here in Hamilton.
The refugee family I am helping arrived from Colombia, via Ecuador. Home was set up for them from scratch in less than 24 hours. (no key available until 3pm the afternoon before arrival!)
Our feijoa tree is dropping fruit in abundance.
Lucy now a member of a great choir in Auckland, The Graduate Choir. Felicity off exploring South Island. Isobel about to start dance classes, and Spike starting afternoon kindy next week.
Community garden going well, as is yoga teaching. Also enjoying international folk dancing.
So no time for proper blogging right now. Not the way to do it, I know...sorry, Pete!
Before man arrived on these islands, there were massive trees and birds, and little else. Apparently the land was more heard than seen on approaching. With man came rats, possums, and other predators. We also cut down a LOT of trees. Result...more silence, less song. On places such as Tiritiri island, (less than an hour by ferry from Auckland's central business district) DOC, the Department of Conservation, along with volunteers, have replanted, got rid of predators, and reintroduced native birds.
Felicity and I visited on one of those sparkly sun-kissed days when the islands and bays around Auckland can only delight. When we give back to nature, she certainly gives back in abundance. To sit in the bush surrounded by the joyous calls of bellbirds defies description. A similar experience in slightly more luscious and dense bush was to be had two days later on another DOC reserve, the Tawharanui Peninsula, near Warkworth, just north of Auckland.
We may not have the spectacular scenery of South Island but we sure got plenty of gems near by.
A brief explanation of the current pictures on flickr.
New Zealand lost its passenger railway system a while ago. Steam enthusiasts would have been delighted to see that on this last Sunday the simple carriages,which still transport passengers once a day on the remaining line between Auckland and Wellington, (taking most of the day to do so), were being pulled by a magnificent steam engine rather than the usual diesel. Although a good train service throughout the country would be wonderful, I cannot help hoping that , as it rapidly catches up the pace and style of the other so-called developed countries, New Zealand will still be able to keep a few such eccentric images as this one.
Earlier on Sunday morning, I was at one of my favourite places in Hamilton, the weekly farmers market, doing one of my favourite things, which is to buy fresh produce grown or baked within a few kilometres of here and mostly picked or made the day before. The people who sell it are really engaged with what they sell, and they really engage with the people who buy it , and it tastes good too! What more could a human body ask for, other than perhaps to be able to pick it direct from one's own land.
The reason for travelling to Auckland on Sunday was to meet Felicity, staying with us for a month and getting to know a bit of NZ. She got the first real rain we have had for months, but on her birthday today the sun shone and we were back on the beach and in the sea. What a treat!
We are now just into our third year 'down-under' and are still being thrown by the seasons. It has certainly been summer in the past few months; so little rain since October, (much to the dairy farmers' distress); but thoughts of Easter bunnies, chicks and daffodils, as some leaves begin to dry and turn on the trees; this is incongruous to the northern hemisphere mind.
On the other hand, acclimatising is going well. Rupert is beginning to wear shorts almost as often as a real Kiwi. Will his knees be ready for winter, we ask? He's making his presence felt on the music scene, and now has his own website
With a son fast becoming Birmingham's independent weblogger extraordinair , and a daughter nagging me to return to the weblog and upload more photos on flickr, here I am tapping again.
So, what am I up to after two years in New Zealand? Well, I certainly no longer live to work, and I am not sure that I work to live either. Maybe I am becoming practised in the art of simply being, a somewhat bold, and, on reflection, naive title I gave to a yoga workshop in Winchester a few years ago. Naive, in that I am now just beginning to understand what it might mean. And just as I think I've got it, it vanishes.
Indulging in shoulds and should nots, labelling as retired, semi-retired, part-time, responding to personal or the imagined expectations of others: all of this brings frustrations, doubts, disappointment. 'You are the world' is the title of a liitle book of talks by J Krishnamurti,. It lies on the yoga room floor and occasionally is opened at random. I like that title and I like his face on the cover. Anything I experience is only as I choose to perceive it. That's why some days I know I am exactly where I am supposed to be, (or, more simply, where I really am) and other days the inventive mind asks its relentless questions.
For INFORMATION on YOGA CLASSES in HAMILTON, click here
We made it...seven adults, an inordinate amount of bedding, boxes of food, bags of pressies, and anything else deemed useful!
The campsite, though on the beach, was part of a holiday park and had facilities including loos, showers, fridges, kiddies pay areas etc, so it was tolerance, not toughness, which was to be the key to survival.
The weather was kind; sea breezes to help us raise the tent, and warm sunshine to dry it out after the drenching on Christmas afternoon.
Santa managed to park his sleigh, and even did a turn round the site on Christmas morning.
Bucks Fizz took on new dimensions when served in plastic beakers, and the Christmas Brunch Table certainly deserved a place in Country Life.
Rupert, tutored by Lucy, had his first attempts at kayaking: think he might be sticking to something with an engine, where he doesn't have to get wet as well!
and one of the next generation of surfers christened her new wetsuit.
Special moment for me: sunrise over the bay when most of the others were still sleeping.
All idyllls have their hidden realities, and here's this one's
What, no kitchen sink!
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
This weekend we left the rainstorms of the Waikato and followed the sun over to Hawke's Bay on the east coast, about 4 hours drive from here; this was our first visit to the area.
We enjoyed the art deco architecture of Hastings and Nelson, (rebuilt in the thirties after the earthquake),
did some walking on the peaks, in the bush and on the beach, indulged in Sunday lunch at a winery,
shopped at the local farmers' market,
found a beach to ourselves, despite it being a public holiday,
and on the way back followed a track into the hills for the ultimate picnic spot in a river valley.
And driving through Taupo were offered the perfect view over the lake to the mountains of Ngaruahoe and Ruapehu
I have decided to take time out from writing posts for a while, but hope to add photos regularly on flickr. Anyone wanting to know how we are, just email, and I'll reply
‘One is nearer God’s heart in a garden than any where else on earth’. Patience Strong
There are various ditties, rhymes, melodies, and phrases which unprompted have run in and out of my consciousness over the years. This is one such line.
Although I grew up with very little in the way of a garden, I can remember what we had with a keen intimacy.
The rather scraggy privet hedge behind the bus-stop; perfect for crawling inside of; the sweet hairy gooseberries, creeping through the fence from the neighbour’s plot, the spring-flowering currant and the perfumed jasmine, probably also from next door; the water butt by the back door shrouded by privet, which always needed a good trim; the window box which mother tried to keep full of summer colour; the cherry – did we really grow it from a pip? The swing on the corner of the kitchen, our enthusiasm for which nearly brought the wall down.
The magic of the daphne bush by the never-used front door. How could it produce the sweetest of blossom from the barest of branches, when it was still winter? And the wondrous japonica, with its blood red flowers and strong thorns rambling its way up the side of the house and into the upstairs sitting room window. And under the japonica, masses of fragrant lily-of-the valley.
A feast for the senses: the colour, the taste, and above all the perfume
Around the back was a separate world; somewhat derelict and neglected, nothing much seemed to grow. A rather rusty tanker housed the paraffin sold in the shop, and around the corner was the coal shed, to which delivery men regularly trudged with large lumpy sacks on their backs. I think there was an air-raid shelter around here, which in the post-war years of childhood provided the perfect play-house.
No visit to grandparents was complete without the walk around the garden, blackcurrant bushes at the end of one and raspberry canes in the other.
Leaving home for university marked the temporary end of these more intimate relationships with gardens. It was only when I lived off Ladbroke Grove in London that I began to thirst for green. In the summer we could escape onto a roof and sit in view of the plane trees, and, despite the parks, weekends usually brought a strong pull to leave the concrete jungle.
Then came our first family home in Walton-on-Thames: and there was the garden again, and the shed, and the opportunity to grow things. Singapore was next, where it was too hot, and someone else did the gardening for us. Watching the speed with which things took root and flourished in the tropics was magical.
A small cottage garden in back in England with lots of lovely pots from Singapore to grow things in was followed with the classic long back garden of suburban Croydon. Peter took refuge from suburbia right at the end under the Ash tree, I took refuge in the veggie plot, overrunning it with flatulence-inducing Jerusalem artichokes. Lucy played. Rupert watched and wondered. When the hurricane of 1989 felled the apple tree and destroyed the garden shed, he built a new one.
A temporary sojourn in a Winchester rental was a fallow period, though some plants survived in pots, and cuttings were rooted from an oversized bay tree. And then came 31 North Walls, where a stay of 15 years saw the growth of my first very own garden. There was planning to start with, but over the years spontaneity ruled. Plants were lost, put in all the wrong places, until eventually a sacred space emerged, and each morning began with the stillest and most special part of the day, the walk-around-with-the-first-cup-of-tea-time.
Now here we are in New Zealand, with, rather than a garden, more a space around the house. The previous owners and original planners of the property had chosen lots of pavers, lots of weed-matting and lots of pebbles. It was hard to find any soil at all. But we are getting there. I cannot create a whole garden, but I can create small garden-spaces.
We started by taking out most of the plants which had been dotted around the perimeter fence, and have provided a framework in the different beds with new planting, trying to put in as many natives as possible. At the moment there is a lot of green in different shades; getting in some colour is the next challenge. Seeds are now in seed trays, there are plans for some raised veggie boxes, and a larger project to mask the breeze-block wall which dominates the back area.
And spring is definitely on its way!
I am just three days back in our home in Hamilton. The sun is shining, the air is clear. Do not be deceived; it is winter, and there have already been storms, cold winds and frosts in between the warm spring-like sunshine.
I decide that this afternoon I shall edit my photos from the last ten weeks spent in England and Singapore. I make a spectacular blunder and find myself with just one photograph representing the latter weeks and only a few from the earlier weeks; many of the best are lost. I am particularly frustrated that my two series. Friends with Trees and Bedroom Windows are sadly depleted.
This is all too symbolic.
Being in England and Singapore with no home or base of my own was a very particular experience. If I were asked to write what I did or what I saw in these places, it would not read like a tourist guide. The richness of this time was not in the places, but rather in the warmth, generosity, love and friendship with which I am blessed through friends and family. It was a special gift to receive all this in such abundance over the last two months.
It is a joy to return to Rupert and to the Chilbertos, only one part of me feels a little bereft and empty…just like my photo files!
When I was first launched onto the idea of blogging our move to New Zealand, I was encouraged to write regularly and not to do it in retrospect. Accustomed as I am to ignoring good advice, here I am one month later trying to write about our visit to the South Island at a time when my head is full of final preparations for our visit to the UK in two days time! Hmm..
We shall certainly visit South Island again and are thinking of exploring the north west corner around Nelson. This time we travelled a fair number of kilometres further south and feasted on beautiful mountain scenery, wild coastlnes, and the curious mix of sub-tropical vegetation together with glaciers. Highlights were Rupert flying us through, rather than over, the mountains from Queenstown to Milford Sound, and our walk in Mount Aspiring National Park, led by Jane's brother, Tim.
Since our return there has been a fair amount of nest-building in the new house; curtains, kitchens and garden plants being the main features. The very young have been down from Auckland checking out the granddparent's new pad, and Rupert has returned to the world of music to conduct two concerts with the local Symphony. I've been trying out a small group of singers and have even done some singing practice. Yoga classes are set up to resume in August, and I am much looking forward to teaching a couple of weekends in Winchester in June/July.
We are both curious to experience this return to the mother country and suspect that there will be a mixture of reactions and emotions. I wonder how many times we shall be asked what we think of New Zealand. It is not a question which I answer easily, probably because I am wary of sweeping generalisations, and because I sense how much I still don't know. The longer we stay here the more I recognise different manifestations of familiar human conditions and characteristics. And the more I sense this, the less estranged I feel. This is a country of immigrants, and it would be naive to say that all groups do now, or have ever, accepted each other with complete equanimity
.
After just over a year here, we do not feel integrated into the society, but equally we do not feel excluded. There is lots of space, and I wonder if this impacts both physically and psychologically. If I had to look for a phrase to describe a differnece I feel it would be that here there is 'a greater sense of ease'. Perhaps I shall change my mind in the next couple of months. Who knows?