Woof Woof

We've been on the Normanvale Dairy farm for the last 3 days. It's our first foray into the world of WWOOFing. 

The farm is situated in the idyllic Hakataramea valley near the small town of Kurow. Golden hills roll on and into snow capped mountains in the distance, sheep and cows graze on hillsides and white and red farm houses dot the valley. Next to the valley is the Waitaki River which is home to fly fishing and water skiing and glows a bright teal color. 

The patriarch of the farm is 38-year-old Andy who is a 6th generation farmer and whose family has lived in the same house since they built it in the 1920's. Andy's wife is Liz, a radio host personality from Christchurch turned farm wife who balances between cosmopolitan and rugged quite easily. 

They are a young beautiful family with 3 children ages 6, 4, and 2 and a cat named Mouse. I feel like Mike Birbiglia would find that amusing.  

We are here on the farm, which is east of the Southern Alps, because the forecast for all towns and trails near the Alps or to the west of them is "gale force winds and rain" for 8 days - and we thought that sounded like a miserable way to spend backpacking.  We had some grand plans to move from our 3 intoxicating days drinking wine and eating cheese in Blenheim to St. Arnaud or the west coast to begin multiple 4- and 5-day backpacking trips. But the forecast deterred us. Snow over mountain passes and high water levels in the glacially fed rivers seemed too risky. We have a bad track record with river crossings anyway.  

So we took a chance with this family and are here for the week helping them out with odds and ends around the house and with their kids. It's like part time gardening and part time au pairing. 

Our living quarters are the old "shearers quarters". When the farm used to be a more prolific sheep farm, the family would hire part time laborers to come help shear the flock and they would all bunk up in the shearers quarters during the season. The quarters are an 11 room dormitory built in 1939. We have a kitchen, living room, bathroom, laundry and 6 bedrooms all to ourselves. 

We spend the day weeding or spraying thistle with an arguably dangerous toxin, picking fruit and gathering chicken eggs and then in the evening drinking wine and beer with Liz and Andy and talking about child rearing, world politics and Triumph the insult dog. 

It's the first time I've not felt like a tourist. It's such a comfortable and warm feeling. 

I thought I had his epiphany weeks ago but then thought it was just "me getting used to travel" but now since I'm having it again, I think it may be closer to a truth I'm learning about myself (though I bet my mom could have told you this 25 years ago).  I really like having a home. 

I like having a place that feels like mine. That I know personally and can claim. That has friends and work and a way for me to weave into its web. I like having a known bed every night (because with different beds insomniac Taryn can go 4-5 days with no sleep before she breaks down and cries because there are too many flies near her). 

I admire and idolize the wild traveler. And I kind of hoped maybe that dirtbag wanderlust was me before our trip. Before our trip I dreamed about the traveler who is gone on their aimless or dangerous journey for months or years and had stories to tell but I'm realizing that it doesn't fit me all that well. I think I'm a lot more plain than I thought I could be. 

I still know that I enjoy nature. And solitude. And new experiences. But I think that I like them more when there is a plan or purpose and  idea attached to it. 

We were driving from a small town called Reefton towards Christchurch and stopped really aimlessly in three or four towns and never knew if we would stay or go and through this I had this urge to stay put. To pick a place and know it. But every town was just a 30 minute stop before we pushed on with no plan and no end point. I really didn't like that. And it brought out a grouchy irritable side in me. 

Since we've been on this farm, even though our tasks are so remedial and at times I'm wondering why they've asked us to stay, I feel like a happier person and am a better wife and partner because I feel better about my lot. 

I have a theory about my own happiness and community and partnership and being alone with Bill in a van ... but I suppose I'll write about that next time. 

Wellington Harbor. The San Francisco of the Southern Hemisphere.

via Instagram http://ift.tt/2iGT5MO

Random Acts

We did it again. We left the goddamn headlights on. Merrily we parrused the Rugby Museum in Palmerston North and then tawdled down the street to sip afternoon tea at a cafe while The Ark was dwindling in power. I think we were feeling overly giddy after having picked up some American hitch hikers and made a good connection. Maybe even over confident since twice earlier in the day we had neurotically double checked that the head lights were in fact not on - and twice we were right: they were not on. 

So after our enlightening museum visit and relaxing tea time there we were, once again, in a deserted museum parking lot with a dead battery.  

We popped the hood (textbook move 101for silently looking helpless) and I went off to find the nearest gas station while Bill stood by the popped hood using his best charades moves to get passers by to guess "Jumper Cables!"

At the gas station I met the clerk, an Indian immigrant to New Zealand who had lived in Auckland for a few years but who had only been in Palmerston for 2 days. He sold me cables (that's right, it took us 3 dead batteries before we finally splurged on our own cables) and then asked if he could give me a ride back to our car to jump it. Um YES PLEASE! 

When we arrived, Bill was chatting with a young couple in their car. They had noticed the helplessness red flags and stopped. They didn't have cables but her dad, who lived near by, and was happy to drop whatever he was doing to help, did. 

Just as the Indian had successfully jumped The Ark, the dad pulled up. 

Despite not being needed at all, he not only offered to give us his own jumper cables but then happily remarked that it was no trouble at all and he'd do it again. "God has a way," he said.  Indeed. 

The Indian was about to leave and I told him thank you thank you and best wishes in this new city and that I'm sure it would all work out. He blinked a few times and sincerely remarked "thank you, I really needed to hear that."  Sobering. 

Driving away from the scene where 4 perfect strangers had combined powers to ensure we helpless tourists safely made our way, I reflected on all the tiny ways that the "travelers mindset" creates an openness for random acts of kindness and connection. 

When we meet people on the trail or spend one night in a campsite or a few hours at a shared attraction or even just twenty minutes chatting there is a remarkable level of tacit trust built in that allows for seamless phone number exchanges and possible friendships. Being a traveler - with no real place to be and with the established agenda of trying and doing new things - makes the instigation of human connection so much easier and frequent. 

It's a brainless act to stop and pick up hitch hikers with backpacks on. These (too numerous to count) people who help us with directions or give us the books that they are no longer using are practicing random acts of kindness that snowball. Traveling can also be a selfish agenda. We are takers and pleasure seekers for the pure and simple reason that we believe we deserve a good time. So these random acts make the travel feel less selfish. It's an easy mindset to fall into and one that is so easily translated into "real life". 

I worry about the selfishness of travel at times but then and again I am aware of the lessons that travel can teach you and I'm grateful for the reminder that small acts can be so meaningful for the faith in humanity. I just hope we stop leaving the goddamn headlights on. At least now we have our own jumper cables. And we're really good at charades. 

West side of Taranaki. In the subsequent 4 days we got to see the South, east and north sides too.

via Instagram http://ift.tt/2ji6Emw

The Forever Argument

We read a book by Dr. John Gottman a few years back about relationship improvement. There was a concept he discusses wherein there are multiple argument types and there are different ways to a solution for each. I'm paraphrasing here but basically there are short-term problems. Like "what will we eat for dinner?" Or "who will take Toby to the vet tomorrow?" There's a finite solution and you must reach the answer quickly. Then it passes. Second, there are intermediate problems. Like "how will we save for our vacation or retirement?"  These problems take longer- weeks to years - but again there is a finite solution and eventually the dilemma resolves itself. Then finally there are the Forever problems - ones that resurface over and over and don't really have a solution. Problems like "you sometimes order me around and it belittles me" or "you don't seem to notice the details and that bothers me". Basically the idiosyncrasies of individuals that are not deal breakers. 

Now statistically speaking, if you are awake and around the same person for 16-18 hours per day the odds that they will chance a snarky comment or offending tone increase greatly. Such is the situation with Bill and I and the van. 

Day 8 or 9 in the van (and about day 30 or so of our total trip) and we required a few days of "real talk".  

So we have the same recurring "forever problems" that we've always had. That I can have harsh start ups or can be aggressive or sound as if I'm ordering Bill around. And that Bill appears in his own head and seems to forget or ignore me. We have fortunately, though, up until now, had a glorious honeymoon period lasting from about 2014-2016 where these Forever problems didn't really plague us. We were generally satisfied in all aspects of life and thus the triviality of scattered aloofness or harshness went ignored under the overarching umbrella of happiness. 

I should note as well that travel, though novel and exciting, also breeds a new kind of uncertainty and ambiguity that throws your years of relationship practice aside. The same domestic rules don't apply. I find that I have a sense of "relearning" to be Bill's partner in each of our new settings. 

So with the insecurities of unknown, the role reversals I spoke of earlier and the statistical probability that ill-perceived comments will arise more often we have had to address our "forever arguements" again. 

We did that yesterday and today. 

We hiked the Tongariro Alpine Crossing on January 8.  January 7th was blue skies and visibility for miles. January 8th was not. Fortunately we brought plenty of warm weather gear (but not gloves. Why not gloves?! They were in the car. We never bring gloves) but the weather was still pretty brutal. The Crossing is a ridiculously popular trip for tourists. I've heard estimates from 1000 to 5000 tourists complete the Crossing each day. The Crossing is not technically challenging. The path is so well maintained and wide. Even in horrible weather we completed the 18.9km track in 5 hours when the typical recommended time is 6hrs 30 min. It should be incredibly beautiful with views of Mt. Doom and Mt. Ruapehu when the skies are clear. Views of glacial green lakes and a Martian landscape carved by millions of years of volcanic activity. We didn't see much of that but we should have. On a particularly precarious part of the trail - about 10 feet wide with steep drop offs into volcanic craters on either side and sideways wind blowing at 50mph and visibility at about 10 feet - I felt (reasonably, in my opinion) scared. Oh I forgot to mention that the day before some local hikers told us that a tourist had been blown off the trail by strong winds just a few days prior and had to be rescued by helicopter. During that particular section, I picked up my pace in order to more quickly get to the north side of the mountain where we'd be protected from the wind. Bill on the other hand (kind of not surprisingly really if you consider he had a blast camping in Vermont huts in January in -10 degree weather) was strolling along, hands in pockets, taking it all in with a smile.  

"Come on!" I urged when he got 30 paces or so behind me and could hardly see him. 

"What?" He said. 

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Okay then how come you're going so slowly?"

That was it. Our forever argument.  I was freezing and scared and wanted Bill to pay more attention to my fear and help me through the scary part and Bill didn't see my fear at all and wanted to enjoy the hike and couldn't understand why I was so pushy and adamant about his pace. So we talked about that. And the rest of our forever argument and the many ways it resurfaces for 2 days. 

Tonight, we both agree that in marriage there is only constant practice and that our relationship will always change and evolve. We acknowledge that part of this trip was to know each other better and that though messy at times it's a positive thing that we are continuing to work out kinks in our interactions. 

Tonight we feel satisfied again but no doubt this van had more in store for us. 

Ark Down

Even though Kiwis are speaking English, there are times when the country-bumpkin-type folk are speaking in such a colloquial jargon-y tongue and with such speed that really they may as well be speaking Vietnamese. 

Today: Day 10 of Ark ownership.  We have suffered our first accident. 

We decided to take the scenic way called fittingly "The Forgotten Highway" - aka Highway 43. 

There was a sign for a turn off down a dirt road that said Ghost Town and much like the girl in the Death Cab For Cutie song, I may be young but I only like old things, so we turned left to see the old town. 

Turns out it really was a ghost town. Like all the buildings have since been razed and the only remnants were some rusty irons and vices housed in a plexiglass diorama labeled "Museum".  

Disappointed, we turned around to get back to the highway only to come across an over zealous campervan with a trailer who forced us to veer into the ditch on the left hand side. The ditch was soggy and muddy so we were basically stuck. Don't worry it was a very small ditch. And no one got hurt. And it wasn't even a big deal. But a little dramatization never hurt anyone. Except Greg Mortinson. And James Frey. But just them. 

Here's The Ark in its state of helplessness:

 

The guy who ran us off the road actually returned a few minutes later to check on us. I hate to judge, but I'm like 99% sure he was a rugby player. He had those tiny little shorts that let everyone know all about your thighs and then huge clunky work boots and also he tried to pick up our van. That's how I knew. Sadly, even the best rugby players with the best thighs can't always lift vans out of ditches so he turned around to run back to the ghost town (current population of 9) to ask for help. 

Ten minutes later a pick up truck rolled by. He mumbled something (enter bumpkin-kiwi English) and drove off. I did get the impression he was going to help us so we went ahead and made that assumption. 

Two minutes after that a small sedan slowly rolled by. We informed him that help was on the way and he needn't worry.

Two minutes after that the same pick up came zooming by and this time the right head light was dangling. He pulled up close enough for us to hear him say something like "Wanker crashed into me!" And also to see blood covering his face. There was literally no time for me to even ask if he was okay or anything. He just zoomed off literally leaving us in the dust. That's right, the guy who set off to help us got into a car crash and is now gone. 

Ten more minutes passed and Bill decided he'd walk back to the ghost town of 9 (now 8) to see if someone else had a tow line. Seemed like bloody-face car crash victim was no longer in our artillery of help. And hopefully he was fine. 

I sat in the shade and waited. 

Bill meanwhile had run into the guy in the sedan, his name was Blake, and he was the other car crash victim. "Wanker crashed into me!" was his recollection of the incident as well. He has a grey wife beater on that was ripped from the neck line down to his umbilicus and approximately one thousand tattoos. Also a very nice beard that all Wasatch ski hill men would envy. He kindly picked up Bill (and his wife and daughter who happened to crawl out of the bushes at the right time) and though he only had a 2wd vehicle he was determined to get our van out of the ditch. 

First they called the bloody-face white pick up truck fellow (who's name sounded like "Bruceless" - not a single Bruce to be had by this fellow) to see if he was still planning to assist us. No, he was not, he was home tending to his bloody face. Fine. Understandable. Still a real wanker though.

Next, Blake and Bill went to Grouchy (we don't know his real name but this is how the others describe him and it fits our perception as well). Grouchy was sitting in a 4-wheel drive buggy but averted eye contact and said no he didn't have time to help with our van. 

Blake was a bit incredulous but he knew that Grouchy's daughter also had a 4-wheeler so they left to find her.  Blake pulled up to the neighborhood (a row of 4 houses) and started screaming instructions aloud for all residents to hear. "We need a 4 wheeler to get a van out of the ditch come out and help!" 

Lindsey, the local honey and jam producer, heard the ruckus and came outside. He was peeved that Grouchy hadn't spoken to him in a month ("don't even know what I did!") and that Bruceless had just driven off to take care of his bloody face rather than just give us a tow prior - and so got in the car with Blake to fix our situation. 

The three of them pointed to every single vehicle in the city. "How about that one?" "Nah, its 2 wheel drive too." Until they just decided to utilize their shabby 2wd vehicle because it was the best they could do. 

Meanwhile, Grouchy must have been curious because he rolled up to me standing alone by the car. He asked if I could drive it and then gave brusque instructions to put on my hazards and put it in reverse and do as I say. I did and we got the van out with a chain and his 4wd buggy. He directed me to get off the road and when I told him I needed to turn around to find my husband he said something like "No you don't. You pull out the road and wait. He's coming." I did as I was told. 

Five minutes later Bill, Blake and Lindsey pull up. They can't believe Grouchy helped me out because just 20 minutes prior he had explicitly stated he would not be helping. They can't stand the guy. What a piece of work. Never understand him. Bruceless too. Must be hard to be in a bickering match with 15% of your town. 

They wish us luck and see us off. 

We didn't see any ghosts or ghost town but I'm not terribly broken up about that. 

My one regret is that we didn't buy any honey from Lindsey. 

Bill's spirit in the glow worm caves.

via Instagram http://ift.tt/2iZrBPY