Te Koha

There is a room. In the room our beds. Our belongings. A fluorescent light found only in Elementary schools and basement workshops illuminate the whitewashed plaster. An old monitor accompanied by keyboard. Microwave door ajar, set to high, five minutes. A coat rack, with a rifle case. A rifle in the case. A rifle in case Micah gets sassy.

Nelson Airport

Nelson airport is small, n security, and a roaring cafe. Small Turbo props await through the morning mist. The sea lays before us. I was going to say something stupid. Something negative. But I gave it a day. I have noticed Karma has followed us. Whenever something negative I have done, it has come back to haunt us. Karma has followed us, and until now, I thought little of it. However, this day I am a firm believer in Karma. If I have done wrong, wrong will most certainly befall me. If I think love, love has been thought on me. Unless those are not smiles but smirks people shoot in my direction.

We Leave Nelson

Well, it has happened. We have to come home in Mid June. However, you don't need to stop watching and following the blog. We still have three new, unique, and enriching places left to go. Three weeks. Pictures like Kelsey has never shot before. Writing like... well, writing. I do what I can.

Nelson

A market in Nelson differs from Golden Bay. Not homogeneous, either in stalls or in wanderers. The musicians still fill the corners, and they are equally happy, yet the finesse we hear here betters. A vendor over zealously petitions Kelsey to try on a wool cap, and says I don't need it as I am woolly enough already. Funny, but I am the hat person and Kels is not, so sorry Jamie, I was going to get you one, but, well, they weren't so great, or at least cool enough to tempt a woman with hands tucked behind her back imploring us, er, Kelsey to " yes dearie, try one, try my precious, they are so nice, so sweet, yes dearie..." followed by a cackle. We grimaced and departed quickly.
So yes, we are in Nelson wwoofing on a property situated, wait, guess, on a large hill or small mountain. We sleep in a caravan, and drink stevia tea which grows on the property. So good. So sweet.

Goodbye, goodnight

We prepare now to leave Golden Bay. Over the weekend, we partook in a celebration. Throughout the evening, we spoke with locals, transplants, hippies. They spoke a recurring mantra: we love it here not for one aspect, but many. We hitched from Takaka with an US expat couple. They did not follow jobs, they enjoyed the quality of life and community, and the job followed. The are now designing sustainable housing and communities. Everyday is the same, the sun shines, it grows hot, and then clear nights. At the party, a roaring fire (by permit) incited howling, dancing, singing. They leave stressful jobs, home countries, or feel the demand to return home, rich and poor alike, meld, find the life, find the community they love, for which the have searched. A light dust covers their eyes, not just from the drought and dust. We will shake the dust from our shoes, clothes, and shake the ennui from our eyes.

Verbosity

A something occurred today which provoked a thought: we are all subject to our own grandeur. One measures importance by one's own importance, or perceived importance to others.
We are leaving golden bay in a week. We will be traveling to Nelson for a week, then to Levin, then to Gisborne.

Figs

Figs, not dates (too cold and wet for dates), which the hosts, thus us as well do not dry. I have been spending my moments off putting bags over exposed fig bunches to protect them from the birds. It is funny to see these birds inspecting every fig on the tree. They peck and prod, chirp, poop, then jump to the next branch, and repeat. Eventually they, locate a ripe one, and begin to peck vigorously, wherein I come running out yelling, they scatter, allowing easy collection of the slightly damaged, but ripe fig. Needless to say, I cannot guard the figs when working in the mornings, thus the bags. SO think of this as you sit down to eat your dinner on Thursday, it will be Friday morning for me, and I will be eating figs.
Kelsey can find her own.

Kelsey did find...

She has found the luxury of chestnuts. Late at night, we boil them while eating dinner. The alarm sounds, we cease the silly romantics of staring deep into each others eyes under the falling twilight, and lose ourselves in the warm, sweet floury insides.

Totally Localized Easter

A public mass in the town park, and a market of, stating "Totally Local" products at the primary school. A bumper sticker reading "I think, therefore I am single" in a grove where we met the goose, completely interested in my apple, wagging its tail as it begged. After the core was finished, the goose finished with us, and us with it. Sunday bests of attire suitable enough to risk stains from ice cream or iced coffees in the park, or chocolate cakes and waffle treats at the school. We think this appropriately describes this Bay. Oh, and no howling, but plenty of acoustic music at both locations, though the padre was amplified.

Alternative Bay is more like it...

An' let them howl at the moon. A mystical wheel, fire as the axle, people chanting and playing drums, all variables in an equinox equation. Squash and sweet corn and pumpkins.

First, Tiggy has moved into our bed, or at least until Kelsey kicks her out in the middle of the night. Or until somebody moves. Or if she just decides upon it. She is very peculiar. Hell, she is 15, and has always spent the night in the cold. I say reason 'nuff.
Secondly, there is a good story. Lance bought mussels for dinner. he went on to explain how they are cooked and eaten. "Very Sexual." They must be wooed, buttered up, maybe a little wine, and then add some heat, steam them up, and they open themselves right up. Inside, well, you know, there they are. Sometimes with crabs. Usually, you just pick them out. Pull out the tongue, too tough to be tasty, and the unnecessary grassy hairs, and a delectable meal awaits.

Thoughts with tea

Fall sunsets in New Zealand. Pink and the palest blue. Brushed on a canvass so thin, one can see the tears the mountains make. Then, it all turns orange, and fades. This month has existed as thick and vanishing as quickly, as the mist over the ocean. Very clean. We cannot begin to describe it past our daily pain or pleasure, and, frankly, the mixed signals we receive. There has been the three tireds. First, from boredom. We are all well acquainted with that. Second, from travel, taking hours, if not all day, and not any farther than grand Rapids to Detroit, but through landscapes varying by the half hour. Frankly, a lot with which one has to cope, interpret, and, for poor carsick Kelsey, survive. Finally, from day long labor. Not as hard as the aforementioned three, as sore backs ease better than disgruntled minds, or the realization it is not the light casting shadows, but bruises mottling our legs. So as the orange fades, we open our books, drink our tea, feeling contented we need not escape, but only face tomorrow. At least I do.

Today We Build Callouses

life in Golden Bay is fine. we work in the morning, Kelsey weeds anything and everything. then harvests zucchini. makes lunch. cleans lunch. everyone else stinks of sweat. tiggy is the main source of delight. Though Emerson is more personable, Tiggy shares the cabin with us. We call her, she responds, then walks away. She sleeps under the curtains, and raps on the door, signaling her desire, in or out, middle of the night, or early morning, Micah gets up: "Mrmph,hey Tiggy." "Meeeeow."
Our cabin, named "the Penthouse" is rustic. Wood and big windows, it was the original building on the site. Outside, a fully sustainable vegetable garden awaits us every morning. So do multiple acres of gorse and trees! We dine with the season, so now that means carrots,aubergines, green peppers, tomatoes, beets, sweet corn, green beans, pears, a few strawberries, apples, and, of course, avocado. Our hosts, Chris and Sylvia are on their way to commercial avocado growing. Though in its infancy, there is a steady supply of soft and buttery green for our bread, or salads, or guacamole. Or desert. But for the real treat, Kels and I go for a little liquid golden. Four fully buzzing hives just produced this years vintage, a whopping 320 kilos, flavored from the nectar of all of the citrus trees, apple trees, clover,and the highly coveted Manuka blossoms. This stuff is killer. Chris, Kelsey and I decanted the whole lot into 1, 2, and 5 kilo containers for sale, under safety of closed doors and window. If a bee found the source, they would flock to recapture their plundered reserves. Fortunately, we can savor the spoonful with our green tea for tea break, with musli in the morning, or just straight in the mouth.
However it does come with a price. While raking the grass under the avocado trees, a bee took a malicious interest in me. I followed Chris' advice, and took off. Lost a pair of gloves, but escaped with my life. We all steer clear of the bees and their "highways" as they flock under the heat of the day.
Out side of that, it is up and down the steep slopes for our labor. Time to hit the sack, we are getting up by 7:30, and out to the fields by 8:30. In store for tomorrow, pushing a wood chipper up a steep incline to chew all the treluscerns, a legume, we cut today. Plus moving a huge gum tree for fire wood.

AAGH! A week without a home

Nelson was a beautiful city, where
we had Turkish dinner with a
German who we met outside of the
hostel, which, along with all
other hostels, was completely
booked full. The next day felt
lovely, and we relaxed in the park
all day before catching the bus to
Takaka ( pronounced with all long
a's in Maori fashion). We slept
in our tent because those dumb
hippies double booked us at the
"barefoot hostel."
The next day we met with our
upcoming host family, dropped off
most of our gear and headed to the
Abel Tasmen trail for a week of
roughing it. I never really got
the appeal, only so much eight foot
high scrubby trees, and scrub land
one can handle. Really, truly,
was not a beautiful place. "It,"
also, rained everyday and I said
everyday, "I flippin' (except the
other, better, word) hate this
country." But the world has a way
of compensating: I found a copy of
The Godfather and read it in three
days. I also asked the park
ranger about the upcoming forecast
and she replied "It will rain
lightly for a while, then clear
up, nothing you can't handle." It
rained all Wednesday night, and
sprinkled in the morning. As we
put up the tent, it began to mist,
then rain. As we started to trek
out, it poured. I continued my
mantra, and added a few unsavory
comments about any possible
meeting with the aforementioned
park ranger. When we arrived at
the mouth of the walk, Wanui,
Kelsey called our host family,
tearie eyed, "we are completely
rained out, how can we get to
Pohara?" "Walk to the Tui
commune, and hitch a ride out."
At that moment, an RV began to
pull out of the parking lot. I
walked over, and begged for mercy.
They obliged. Once inside their
RV, we noticed something was
amiss. It was a couple, middle
aged and quiet. They drove us into
the hills, curving back and forth.
They stopped the RV on an
isolated dirt road, and turned to
us, shivering from the rain and
cold, and the gaunt man asked us
"Do you like games." The partner
hissed with delight. The night
consisted of wire clothes hangers.
The morning, clam chowder. In
the afternoon, they left us alone
for more "good juice," which I
only assume meant orange juice, to
help with our immune system. I
gnawed off what remained of my
left hand, and crawled to Kelsey,
who lay motionless, yet breathing.
I, too weak to carry her and not
finding the keys to her
imprisonment, the RV nor the
chains, fled madly through the
bush. By night fall, i had found,
help, yet the search for Kelsey
turned fruitless!
No i am kidding, they were
Canadians! Who loved their deli
meats! (that story was for all
those parents out there!)
we were dropped off in Pohara,
found lodging at the Backpackers
accommodation, and proceeded to hang
and dry all of our belongings.
And what do ya know, the rain
stops, the sun comes out, and we
take a romantic walk on the
expansive beach. The next three
days consisted of the same, except
our clothes smelled like mildew.
The beach at Pohara undergoes an
epic transformation at the tides.
from a small beach, to a huge
beach, where one can walk out and
pick oysters for dinner.
Delicious, this coming from one
whom particularly does not like
seafood.
finally, Takaka is filled with
hippies. white hippies with dread
locks. Hippies smelling worse
than we did without clean clothes,
thus smelling like a week of
camping and mildew. Hippies
everywhere, and driving
everywhere. can't afford shirts
or bras, yet drive their camper
vans and hippie mobiles across town
and back, with laptops better than
outs, and constantly texting
between drum circles or
dingereedo-ing! Apparently, they
also howl, and the Tui communities
hold seminars on how to make
Yurts. AAGH!
Then we meet up with Chris and
Sylvia, our hosts.

Ferry Trip: People

The ferry pulls out of the docks, and two women separately walk to the railing, and start snapping pictures of Wellington. Being my cynical self, I whisper to Kelsey "The truly good photo would be of six-seven people taking pictures of the city, with the city in the background, so people can see it and say, of what are all these people taking pictures, have they never before seen a city landscape? Sure enough, people begin to flock to the railing, pulling out Nikons and small pocket digital cameras alike. As more and more gather, my smile widens eventually to a laugh. Kelsey does not want to take the picture, but soon enough the spectacle is too great, even for her modesty, and she hands the camera to me, then takes it back and snaps the photo quickly. I continue to smirk at the spectators, and they look at me.

Good on ya, Maureen!

Wonderfull Windy Welly again. Pulled ivy, spread sheep pellets under tengello trees. Wow, the food is ready, good on ya Maureen!
Wind on the water straits this afternoon, let us hope we don't loose our cookies.

The Wairapa: Martinborough

Imagine a location where the 90’s still live strong. Pearl Jam, Nirvana and old Green Day dominate the airwaves. Some of the best kiwi albums are of ska influence. Currently we’re staying with a young couple both heavily invested in wine.
Lance, our boss, runs a few small plots of land for his vineyard, which is currently expanding outside our door to house all aspects of the wine making process (we’re living right in the vineyard). Cambridge Road Winery is an organic and biodynamically crafted wine.
Bridie (Micah calls her Birdie) manages Martinborough’s Wine Centre (pronounced center). After many evenings drinking many bottles of wine and a tasting at the Centre with her guiding us, we know she knows her wines quite well.
Young Aston- years two and a quarter- pretty as pumpkin pie, is just now getting comfortable with Micah. They watch Dora the Explorer together. They both smiled and held hands.
The vineyard on which we are staying has 25 rows of Pinot Noir and ten of Syrah. It lies flat over an ancient river bed (free flowing soil). This is truly WWOOFing as we wake up each morning and begin the day with coffee (although not up to Micah’s standards) or tea, toast and maybe eggs, if Lance remembers to bring them. We tried Vegemite this morning. It’s repulsive (Micah says, and I quote “It’s God-awful disgusting”). Image salty fish oil butter, although it’s made mostly of yeast. The Kiwi’s love it!
After we choked down our breakfast, Vegemite and all, out to the vines for pruning, leafing and sore backs from sunburn or from being bent over the Syrah hanging about 20cm off the ground.
We love it here.
The food isn’t better, and is often late to be delivered (especially today= Kelsey is furious), and no stunning cliff drops to the ocean, though the mountains make an astounding backdrop to this pastoral wine town (all of the vineyards were sheep farms/vegetable gardens at one time), this week and a half has vanished under clear blue skies.
Here, they seem more welcoming to strangers, and say wonderful things about Australia, and Australians. Great waves for surfing, good wines for quaffing, and sensational sights for viewing. Last weekend was the Martinborough Fair, bringing vendors with shirts, lemon cordial, driftwood art, but no belts! Made from local Bull Skins!, to town, and town swelled and hummed for a full twelve hours before the crowds abdicated the town back to the villagers. The librarians agreed, saying it was good to be busy. They smile as they watch us posting on our blog.

Part II: 11.5 + hour Busride

The flight from LA was wretched. The bus trip from Auckland to Wellington was wonderful. If one only could see it: Mountains, half covered with pines, the other barren, ridged, covered (in most spots) with sheep. Volcanic activity creates such spectacular vistas completely unique, completely different from subduction of tectonic plates. The mountains themselves spit up from the ground to pointed steep peaks, seemingly high, though in fact large hills. First, Kelsey shot no pictures. Neither did I shoot, as it would have proved too awkward, unless followers wanted shots of crummy rest/truck stops where the bus stopped. Secondly, Kelsey slept a lot, but was saddened to see, when lucid (yuk yuk), clear cut forest. Yet I pointed out the pines victimized, once out of the way, made room for the palms, ferns, other native flora, left untouched, to regenerate the forest. At least this is my hope, though, NZ being populated by humans, the regeneration will most likely not occur. Again saddened, Kelsey was happy to see all the sheep, goats, horses, and cows (dairy and beef) mulling in the fields together, sheep and cow alike, chewing on the sod between each others’ legs, until I elucidated upon the seclusion of the lambs in their own enclosures, away from the other woolly herds. Regrettable yes, but interesting: we saw the herds. I witnessed only a few, smaller corn fields (easily under ten) and maybe two or three smaller yet soybean fields. The animals were allowed to graze out upon the fields, instead of corralled, eating the grains grown instead of the grazing grasses. Maybe it is easier to keep them penned instead of rotating, inject drugs into their flesh instead of inserting fence pole into the earth. Unfortunate to sound negative, but I guess just look at the lipids floating in the frying pan, the opaque napkins in one’s hand, the thick line of fat surrounding our hearts, not allowing us to feel badly these animals do not feel the sun on their bodies nor the grass under their hooves, and when they are to say as Kelsey said (when at the café stop with accompanying sheep and chooks):
They [the sheep] are panting. When I have sheep they’ll have a ton of open grass and big trees to rest under. (ed. note, hanging prepositions aside…)
As we cut through jagged mountain carves, to steep crevasses cut by rushing rivers, and back up to see a lake expansive as sea, then up, up, up, up, and steeply back down, I care not how slowly we travel. I ponder first why are there all these TAB signs, man I hope TAB is beer over here (ed. Note: it is a betting location, i.e. horse racing, rugby, etc., located in bars or their own facilities, as far as I have noticed). It was cheap in a filled double-decker, mayhaps because it is slower.
Cheers!
Much love,
Micah, with lots ‘o’ help from his lovely assistant

Part I: Waiheke Island

This shall be short. I really do not consider the experience WWOOFing, though it felt enriching. I could hear myself saying “I can be painting in Michigan and be paid.” Kels loved the food. Really loved the food, especially the homegrown honey (really really really LOVED THE BEES). Although, she’s happy to go a little while without porridge for breakfast. The views were spectacular, though traversing through traversing through the North Island, I got the impression everywhere will present the same aspect. The host family was very warm, and extremely accommodating, though, we got bit to pieces in the caravan. SPIDERS!

directions

Hey all. We are getting used to the blog, and how the postings work. For now, we can post pictures on the bottom of the page, so there they will stay!
Cheers!

Waiheke, Trip Post #1

January 20. Day 2.
Waiheke Island: mid tourist season. This means lots of Australians, and, from what I gather, they are assholes. Akin to Michiganders’ view of Ohioans. First, a view while scaling down the cliff in Onetangi on our way to the water. We sat amongst the rocks and watched the surf roll in, splash, then gurgle back out to sea. High, hot sun burnt our winter skin. Next, a picture of a palm plant growing in a nook of a deciduous tree while walking in the tree and bird reserve.
Kevin, the real estate agent, mentions rural Queensland, a “bushtown,” where we must go. He says go during winter, it’s too hot now, like fifty, and will be more like 25, and there will be work. He gives us a name, and contact info. Though he has tattoos up his arm, he’s known for his genuine honesty, and we are happy to see him come again with pats on the back, and hugs for Kelsey.

Alive, for now, and well in Waiheke Island. Internet spotty, so pictures will be coming soon.

I was playing pool with a friend for the last time. As the evening concluded, and we left, a stun gun was pulled on one of our compatriots, with whom the villain had never interacted.
A stun gun.
As we head out, I hope to bring you more than pictures of us frolicking in picturesque landscapes, and with posts reading: "Here we are in this great national forests, that had these great waterfalls, and we had so much fun. Does your life seem really unfulfilled right now. hehehehe-hahahaha."
Well, expect the last part. Lots of the last part.