Aqua.

I break my silence with something that I wrote a few months ago. What you see below is a portion of a talk that I gave for my school's chapel, which took place on February 29 of this year. I gave it with my friend Adam and one of our mutual professors/mentors, Aron. We were talking about living in an odd in-between place, and the different ways this manifests itself in each of our lives. It made sense to talk about it then, because we were going through the waiting in-betweenness of lent, and because it fell on leap day, an odd, in-between day in and of itself. This is the portion I wrote about myself and my own experiences, partly in an effort to communicate them with other people, and partly to try to sort through them myself. I'm still sorting through all of this, but I thought, before I move on to talking about other kinds of aftermath, I should begin again with this. I hope it doesn't seem too disjointed, it was part of something bigger at the time, and in many ways, is still. So without further ado...

It’s hard to be here, because I wish I were there.Those of you who have talked to me for more than thirty seconds in the past few weeks already know: I lived in New Zealand last semester. It was a beautiful coastal town on the South Island of the country called Kaikoura, bounded on one side by a range of low peaks, and on the other by the Pacific Ocean. I spent my mornings learning about, among other things, two of my favorites, namely, ecology and environmental literature; spent my afternoons biking somewhere between forest and sea or sliding into tide pools; and my evenings watching the sun set behind the mountains and making up constellations for the unfamiliar stars of the southern hemisphere. I lived intentionally, with 19 other students, in an old convent in the foothills of Mt. Fyffe. I embedded myself into the culture as much as I could, and was gradually all but adopted by a local family in town. I lived in New Zealand last semester. In some ways I am there still.

Someone pointed out to me a few days ago that in all my writing about my time in New Zealand, I always called the convent home. Never once did I qualify it – home for now, home away from home, New Zealand home. It was simply home. From the very beginning. I tried to fit myself into the life there and found that I had a place. Coming back was a bit of a shock, as you can well imagine. Physically, I adjusted quickly enough, despite the drastic time change, but in other ways, I don’t know that I ever will. I had never been homesick before I came back from New Zealand. Now it seems difficult to stop feeling that way.  “This slight momentary affliction is preparing us for a weight of glory beyond all measure. . . . We look not at what can be seen but at what cannot be seen.”

I want to be there, but it’s good to be here. New Zealand was an incredibly formative place. But it was not my first, nor my only formative place. The time that I had in New Zealand was only possible because of the three years I first spent here at Trinity. I came to college fresh out of what can most kindly be described as an intensely bitter experience of high school, and if my focus and perspective and individualism had not been shifted by the community at Trinity, I would have arrived in Kaikoura completely unprepared for what I found. Trinity was the first place in which I felt truly engaged. I could explore. I was, and am, challenged to have the courage to change my mind. I found myself intellectually intimidated by people, and loving it. Trinity is the first place that I remember that doesn’t just feel like a jumping off point on the way to something else. I knew it almost as soon as I arrived: this is where I fit. Even in the inevitable shifting of a college campus, I found a sense of permanence here. I found somewhere I didn’t want to leave. Is it odd, then, that even as I stand before you I am plotting my return to New Zealand? That even as I revel in my final semester here, I long to take up my place in that far green country? “Whether we are at home or away, we make it our aim to please the Lord.”

Somehow, I'm already there, even while I'm here. I am at Trinity, and I love being here. But I also wish I were there, and I know I can’t stay away. So for now, I am somewhere in between.  I’m constantly reminded of something C.S. Lewis wrote at me once, that my memories and impressions after an event continue to add to it, and I will only know its full character as I lie down to die. Lately I’ve been suspecting that it works the other way also. That the anticipation of an experience or act is just as much a part of it as the thing itself. Maybe the joy that I have in remembering New Zealand is also a pointer forward, toward something else, something more complete. Something new. So for now I can live with this tension as intention, this joyful longing as faithful expectation. “If anyone is in Christ -- new creation! . . . Everything has already become new!”  

Slate.

Now that I have been back in the States for slightly over a month, I decided I am as qualified as I will ever be to reflect a little. Bear with me, the transition is still in progress and may, I hope and fear, never end. But more on that in a moment.

I arrived in San Francisco approximately nine hours before I left Auckland, and altogether, December 9 was 43 hours long for me. I was a bit (read: extremely) tired, but jazzed to get back to Chicago and see Jonny. Even though he was flying Auckland to LA, we were both going to O'Hare, you see, so we'd arranged to meet up for a few hours while we waited for people to come and get us. The problem was, as I was sitting on my plane set for Chi-town, seat belted, safety briefed, upright, an announcement came that the plane was unfit to fly, and that we would all have to get off and book other flights. Seriously? Long story short, three hours later I was on a different plane to Chicago, which provided about ten minutes to see Jonny. Lame. Nevertheless, I arrived and he was there to give me a hug and help me get my bags and chat for the short while until his father arrived and he went off to find him. And then, a miracle happened. They came striding up to me, both tall and thin and with exactly the same jawline, and invited me out for breakfast. Because that's what you do at the end of a 43 hour day in which you've been awake for 41 of them. The other part of the miracle was that my ride hadn't left yet, so I could just call and cancel that, and accept said invitation without the slightest twinge of guilt. So I did get to see and hang out with Jonny after all. And there were chocolate chip pancakes involved. And his dad turned out to be the perfect first person to talk to about New Zealand. I'm sure it was the result of having been asked all the wrong questions so many times, but he knew exactly what to ask us about our semester. I don't remember how long we were there, eating far too much food, chatting with the waitress, sipping more or less caffeinated drinks, and telling stories, but I loved every second of it. And then they took me home. Well, back to Trinity at least. And Jonny got to meet a few of my friends, and I got to be weirded out at the sight of him, not at the Convent, but on campus. My campus. I think that was one of the most valuable things about that encounter. I think it was really good for me, psychologically, to see someone from CCSP outside of the program itself. To let the fact sink in that these incredible people exist here in the States too, and that goodbye need not be forever.

Since then, I have been transitioning back in some ways, and holding on to others. After the first week I stopped going to the wrong side of the car to get in, and it took only slightly longer to start looking to the left first when I am about to cross the street. But I still eat with my fork upside down in my left hand so that I can pile things onto the back of it with my knife. It took my body a little while to get used to the food here (though since I got home instead of school it's been a lot better) and a long while to get back on anything close to a good sleeping schedule. I'm excited to go back to school for my last semester, but of course, I miss CCSP terribly.

Some days are better than others, but there is never a day in which I don't think about The Old Convent and everything I did there. About the people that I met, both American and Kiwi, and that amazing little town called Kaikoura. About the mountains and the ocean and New Zealand in general. We tried to talk about parts of this process during our last week there, but I don't think that it's entirely possible to prepare for not living in an intentional community while you're still living in one. And I admit, there are times when I feel desperately alone. There is another feeling though, that is almost always stronger than all the others regarding NZ. It is the feeling of being unfinished. I spent three and a half months having all of these experiences, and some part of me refused to accept that it is over. At first I looked for a way to convince myself that it is indeed over, so that the feeling would stop and I could begin to have some kind of closure. But the longer it persists, the more I am coming to realize that the feeling probably shouldn't go. I am not who I was when I left, so why should I feel exactly the same? Why should I act the same or make the same choices I would have? Going back to the way things were before CCSP doesn't make sense at all for the very good reason that they aren't the way they were before. They will never again be that way, and I'm glad of it. I still do need some closure, but I think that will come the more I think and talk and write about it. And I know now that I will go back there, sooner rather than later. I don't know exactly when or how, but it would be impossible to stay away. I have been infected with a disease that is physically imperceptible, psychologically obvious, and more chronic than most: a deep love for Aotearoa, the Land of the Long White Cloud, New Zealand.

Cobalt.

We just got back from our trip to the west coast of the South Island a few days ago. It was completely amazing, as things usually are here, but it's nice to be back home after living out of a backpack for ten days.

I finally got to see the temperate rainforests that were a big reason I wanted to come to New Zealand in the first place, and I have to say, they are weird. Weird in a good way, but so strange. In the pacific northwest, the temperate rainforests are made up mostly of conifers. Things like Sitka spruces and westen hemlocks and douglas firs. But in NZ, they don't have real conifers like that. What they do have are podocarps, these crazy ancient kinds of tree that have evolved all kinds of ways to avoid being eaten by moa. Not that they run into that problem often anymore. They also have palm trees. In a temperate rainforest. They are nikau palms, the furthest south any palm tree grow, and they make the forests look tropical. You can look at a forest on the Olympic peninsula of Washington and see immediately that it is probably a bit cold there. But if you looked at a forest in Paparoa New Zealand, you would think it was tropical. They are so sneaky. And even when you get out of the range of the palm trees further south, there are still fern trees that most people think are palms anyway.

As we headed back in an easterly direction, we stopped and spent a few days at Cass Field Station and did research projects for our Terrestrial Ecology class. My group and I studied the epiphyte communities in an older beech forest and a younger beech forest and looked at the differences. For the record, epiphytes are plants that grow entirely on other plants, and in a beech forest, those are probably mosses, lichens, and ferns. There may be nothing harder to do in all of ecology than identify species of moss and lichen. But we had fun and most of the time we had great weather. Even the sandflies weren't that bad, and at the end of the day we got to trudge back to find the amazingness of Emma's cooking. Not a bad place for field work, I'd say.

Another thing we got to see was on the way home. You know that scene in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe at the end, when there is that epic battle between the White Witch and all of her minions, and Peter and Aslan and their whole army? And there are all those oddly shaped boulders surrounding a grassy field? Well, I've been there. It's a place called Castle Hill, and it's smack in the middle of the South Island. We turned off onto a random little gravel road and then walked for about fifteen minutes, and suddenly, we were in Narnia. I've climbed over all of those rocks, pretended to be a Narnian archer on some of them, and helped to film our own version of the epic charge. It was on our last day, as we were driving home, and it was a great way to end that trip. I've always wanted to go to Narnia.

Even though we're in New Zealand, we are a bunch of Americans, and we wanted a Thanksgiving. So Thursday afternoon, Emma and Sam whipped up a feast that was at least mostly like a Thanksgiving day meal. Most of the necessary parts were there, except we had chicken instead of turkey (no one really eats turkey in New Zealand, I'm not really sure why), but it felt really odd. And we had to go to class afterward, instead of going on a walk, or shooting things in the backyard, or playing a ton of games. It was good, but it didn't feel that much like an actual Thanksgiving day. Ah well. I guess I really don't know where I'll be next year for Thanksgiving either.

Last night we turned in our papers and gave our presentations for Terrestrial Ecology, so we are officially finished with our classes now. We still have to write one final, comprehensive paper, but that's it. And then we're done. Then we go home. I don't think I'm prepared for this. Where on earth have the last three months gone? I'm excited to see everyone back home, but I think it's going to be something of a shock to my system. For example, to publish this post, I biked for fifteen minutes into town to use the internet at a cafe, and I haven't turned on my cell phone for three months. Another example: Kaitlyn H.'s parents came to visit New Zealand, and as we were meeting them and talking to them for the first time, they mentioned something about an ostrich statue outside their hotel. Ostrich? No way. Moa. We hear about moa all the time. Everywhere you look there is a monument to them, a fossil of one, a plant that is specifically designed to withstand their attack. They have shaped this country in many and powerful ways, and none of us could ever mistake one for anything else. But Kaitlyn's parents didn't have any idea what one was. Weird.

Another thing: I'm going to have to go back to living away from both mountains and the ocean. New Zealand is not a wide country, and most of its people live on the coasts. So all of the places I've been here, have had both mountains, and bordered a large body of water. Kaikoura, Christchurch, Dunedin, Invercargill, Wellington, Paparoa, Bruce Bay, Oban, Mason Bay, Nelson, Picton - they're all on the coast. And even though Queenstown is in the interior, it's next to such a huge lake that it has beaches anyway. When we stayed at Cass for four days this week, it was the longest I've gone in three months without seeing the ocean. And it was weird. The United States is quite a wide country. It's going to be an adjustment.

But there are good things too, about coming home. I miss my family and everyone at Trinity quite a lot whenever I actually stop to think about it. And since our return is drawing closer, I've been thinking about it more often lately. And I'm glad that I'm going to be in the country for Ashley and Eric's wedding in January, and that I'll be home for Christmas, even if Kate won't be there this year. And it's not as thought this is the only time I'll actually be in New Zealand. I will absolutely be back. But enough of that talk, I still have two more weeks in this amazing place! It is pretty much summer now, the snow is gone from the mountains, and the sea sparkles in the sunlight pretty much every day. It is the season for slacklining in the back yard, eating breakfast on the back deck, camping on the beach, and Christmas music! Wrap your head around that one. We still can't.

Indigo.

You may now call me Jennie: finder of kiwis, grower of moss, climber of mountains, playmate of dolphins.

Many things have happened since last I frequented this place, and for that, I apologize. My life here has been full and rich and good and busy and amazing.

Let’s backtrack for a moment: Spring Break. It was in fact a spring break, after all. It’s spring here, and it’s even finally started to act like it. I wore shorts the other day. In November. It was weird. Anyway, spring break took a lot of people a lot of places, but it took me on an epic and partially solo journey across various southern latitudes. Also odd: going south means getting colder. It still is hard to grasp sometimes. The plan was to head down to Christchurch on Saturday afternoon with Kristen and Halle, spend the night there, and then leave them to catch a bus to Invercargill on Sunday, getting there in time to watch the rugby world cup final that night. From there I would ferry to Stewart Island, and my one true goal of the week, namely, the Stewart Island Brown Kiwi. Later I was to join up with Gabe, Chimene, Jonny, Moe, and Darin in Queenstown, tourist ourselves around for a little while, and then head back to Christchurch and home. I initially was a little disappointed that I couldn’t convince anyone to come with me to Stewart Island, but I was determined to go and determined to see kiwis in the wild, so I shouldered my pack and stepped onto a bus, preparing myself for what I thought was going to be a solitary few days. How very wrong I was. In Christchurch I met Steven, Holly, and Steve. In Invercargill I met Daniel, Jason, and George. On the ferry I met Fiona and Kent. In Oban I met Camilla. In Golden Bay I met Thilo. And on the way from Invercargill to Queenstown I met Jim. And that’s not including the two hunters I met at Mason Bay who told me their names so quickly and in such thick accents and in such high winds that the best I can guess at one of them is Liam.

Moving on, Stewart Island was well worth all the trouble I went through to get there. Everyone always says that New Zealand is as close as you can get to an alien world without actually leaving the planet, and it’s not too difficult to see that when you walk into any given forest on the two main islands. But sometimes they look a little normal; there are species that have been introduced that you could find back in the States or in Europe, and if you’re not paying attention, you can forget in what an amazing place you are. Stewart Island isn’t like that. It is a much smaller island off the southern coast of the South Island, so pretty far down there, and it’s been largely left untouched. Actually, 85% of the island is one huge national park (Rakiura) and with good reason. If you want to see kiwis in the wild, Stewart Island is where you go. They have more kiwis than people there, as there is only one real settlement, a tiny little town called Oban. So that’s where I went. When one is tramping across Stewart Island, it is impossible to forget where you are. It doesn’t look anything like any forest I’ve ever seen. Sloping mountains covered by dense native bush. Manuka groves that creak in the wind. Mist descending into valleys and making its way down to the ocean. It was so amazingly different. Other. Weird. Beautiful. But weirder still is what lives there. I was sort of incidentally tramping with Thilo, a German man who’s been living in Aukland for the past few years and who also wanted to see the kiwis (he called them kivis!) so after we arrived at the hut in Mason Bay, we took our headlamps and headed out around sunset to see if we could spot one. The weather was not ideal. There had been winds of 180km an hour earlier, and it was still pretty intense when we went out. It made it hard to hear subtle sounds, but this was one of our only shots, so we went on. We finally got to this old abandoned airstrip near an historic homestead a few km out and stopped; something had rustled the tussocks of grass off to my right. I pointed into the bushes where I thought it had come from and Thilo nodded. This was it. Suddenly, from out of the grasses on my left popped one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen. Apteryx australis lawryi. The Stewart Island Brown Kiwi. She stretched up to her full height (including beak I’d say half a metre), looked around, darted off a short way, and proceeded to forage for bugs in the ground as if we weren’t there. They have terrible eyesight, maybe she legitimately didn’t see us. Either way, she didn’t mind us being there, so we gave her a respectful few distance and followed. It was completely indescribable, but I will try anyway. It was amazing and beautiful and adorable and crazy and alien and fuzzy and beyond odd.  The thing that struck me most, the thing I hadn’t been expecting, was the way she moved. If she was taking a few steps, she would move sort of the way you would expect an emu or cassowary to walk, but there was no head bobbing at all. But then, if she needed to go farther, or wanted to go faster, the kiwi would run – I can think of no other way to describe it – like a dinosaur. She had this peculiar loping stride that shifted her weight back and forth with each step, making her look like nothing so much as a tiny, cute, feathered velociraptor. It was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen. And I was so thankful to be there to see it.

On a much less epic note, one of the things that takes up my time here at the Old Convent is the garden that I have taken under my care. I’ve wanted a moss garden for quite a while, and this is finally my chance to have one. There is a sheltered place amid some fern trees and native shade grasses that I have selected as my location, and so the process of taking out unwanted plants, figuring out weed control, and placing river rocks has begun. The whole thing has sort of been an experiment in whether or not I can figure out what I’m doing, but this is a nice safe place in which to do those sorts of things, and so far so good. I’m hoping to get the rest of the rocks in by the end of this week so that I can plant over the weekend. But why moss, you ask? I’m honestly not sure. I just love the stuff. I love it when it grows in deep green carpets a few inches thick on a forest floor, when it covers every available surface at the base of a waterfall, and when it sits on fallen logs in sunlit clearings. Moss is an unassuming plant, it doesn’t flower, it can’t even reproduce without a flow of water, and I think these things make me love it more. It’s an underdog, and a survivor. It waits quietly in the background in most places until you stumble into a temperate rainforest or something and suddenly it commands your attention by hanging in huge beautiful tapestries from the limbs of towering trees.

Ok, lets take a break for a second. Still with me? Feel free to get up and get a snack or a drink or something. I realize this is getting out of hand. But wait! There’s more.

In other news, my friend Kaitlyn and I climbed a mountain last weekend. Mt Fyffe presides endlessly over the Old Convent and this semester we have watched it though every kind of weather. We have seen it sparkling under new snow, crowned with dark clouds, glowing under full moons, and standing tall as mist wraps around its base. It has been an ever present part of my view of the convent, but it was not until last weekend that Kaitlyn and I set out to conquer it. Others from our group have made the trek, but this was the first weekend that both of us had free of rugby, spring break, and other plans. And I’m so glad it was. We were hiking in the most amazing tramping weather the world has ever seen. It was perfect. It was sunny and bright, but not too hot, and the only clouds were little high cirrus ones. We got up to the hut right around tea time, where we claimed bunks and listened to other trampers chatting in French to each other. Then, the next morning, we woke two hours before dawn and hiked the rest of the way to the summit to watch the sunrise. So worth it. We were tramping above the treeline, far away from any lights, underneath a perfectly clear sky of stars. The Kaikoura peninsula was lit up in outline, and it twinkled in the wind. And the sunrise itself was phenomenal. I love watching for the glow of especially bright vermillion that lets you know where on the horizon the sun will come. Then the slightest sliver of it appears, and you have to look away almost immediately, it’s so bright. In minutes it’s already up and climbing, and turning the snow on the mountains pink and orange. We live two and a half hours north of Christchurch by car, but we could see it from the top of Mt. Fyffe, it was so clear. And slightly west of that, we could see the snow-capped peaks of the Southern Alps stretching down the country. It was incredible.

And as if that wasn’t enough, that was only the beginning of the week. Tuesday was another mind-blowing experience. We went swimming with Dusky Dolphins, some of the most social and acrobatic dolphins in existence. I was a little nervous going in, honestly. I didn’t have much experience diving in the ocean in goodness know how deep of water and with decidedly huge shapes swimming around me. I’ve never really been fond of the idea of most things in the water with me, and even aquaria can seem a bit like haunted houses at times. So it was with a twinge of trepidation that I found myself sitting on the back of a boat in a full wetsuit, hanging my flippered feet off the edge and adjusting my mask, waiting for the ok from the captain to plunge. There were dolphins surfacing less than twenty feet from us, but as I slid into the water, I realized that they were so much closer. They were twenty feet away, yes, but they were also ten, and three, and fifty, and beneath me, and all around me. And it was incredible. To hold the dolphins’ attention, we were told we could dive down, swim in circles, or make sounds to them. I tried all three for good measure, but I didn’t really need any of them. We were engulfed in the midst of a pod of 300 individuals. It was fun to try them though, so I sang them the national anthem of New Zealand in Maori, locked eyes with them, and swam in circles with them. And that was the amazing part: I swam in circles with them. We would circle each other for a few seconds and then I’d switch partners or directions, both of which seemed to amuse them to no end. And they were so much better at it than I was. I found myself hoping they have the chance to see humans out of water at some point, so that they know that we aren’t all just slightly awkward collections of clumsy angles swathed in black material. It was odd to feel embarrassed in front of them, but that’s sort of what it was. I was the awkward kid on the playground who tries hard but isn’t really any good at the games. And that was one of the things that was so wonderful about it. I love feeling put in my place by things in the natural world. I think that’s why people love to climb to the tops of mountains; everyone secretly likes to be completely dumbfounded by God’s amazing creation. 

And that is all for now. I'm headed off to the west coast this morning to go tramping around some temperate rainforests, and I won't be back until Thanksgivingish. Talk to you lovely people then!

Pine.

It is now a little over a week since we returned from our inaptly named Wellington trip. I say inapt because we were actually staying in Lower Hutt (which is right next to Wellington, and almost like a section of it, but technically not the same city) in a Marae that was also a church. I know, I was confused too. This is the trip that is to replace the Samoa trip from here on out, and I actually think it’s a good change. So much of what we talk about here is settling down in one area so that we can become involved in the community as a part of it, and whisking us off to Samoa three weeks into the program sort of counteracted some of that. Lower Hutt is a lot closer to home, but is still large enough that we can talk about government structures and community partnerships. The week as a whole felt a little scattered, but those parts will begin to be sorted in the essays that we’re all writing for our Sustainable Community Development class, and in between there were some completely amazing times.

For the record, the national museum of New Zealand is extremely cool. And I’m not just saying that because I’ve been conditioned over the course of my life to have a very high museum tolerance. It is one of the most interactive I’ve ever been in, and it covers every single area of New Zealand culture and land. Which means that a lot of it is completely heartbreaking. There was a dimly lit room with dozens of birds that used to live here, but have died out because of hunting and invasive species and such. All their respective calls were sounding; it was incredibly surreal. One thing that I love about New Zealand bird guides: all of the recently extinct species are still listed with pictures and call descriptions and habits – everything you would need to identify them. That way, if they’re wrong and there is actually a small population of them out there somewhere, people will be able to identify them, and pass that information on to the people who can do something about it. I wish we were that hopeful with all our recently extinct animals. Then again, I hold onto the belief that the Tasmanian tigers are still out there. So maybe my opinion is biased.

In my time here, I have come to discover that there are others who can match my Lord of the Rings fandom. I know, I know, it seems a difficult task, but Kaitlyn and Jonny are as crazed about it as I. So when we found out we were going to be in Wellington (well, Lower Hutt, but close enough) for a week, we considered it negligent not to do at least a little bit of Tolkien tourism. With this in mind, we convinced a group to come to the Weta Cave with us on our day off. For those of you who don’t know, Weta Workshop and Weta Digital are the ones who are responsible for all of the effects in the Lord of the Rings. Every bit of armour and every piece of jewelry, every great hall and every flaming balrog spine was brought to you by their careful hands. The Weta Cave is a mini museum where they have some of the old effects displayed, and that is where we began our pilgrimage. I was crazily excited about it, and with The Actual Lurtz greeting us at the door, it did not disappoint. Next we went back to downtown Wellington, and the three fanatics (plus Darin, who is coming along nicely) hiked up some side streets to Mt. Victoria, where they filmed the hobbits on the outskirts of the shire during the Fellowship. We found the actual places where Frodo yells to get off the road, and the hobbits slide down a hill on their way to mushrooms. There may or may not be a reenactment of the latter somewhere in the depths of Jonny’s or my camera. But I wouldn’t know.

Now about this whole rugby thing:  you’ll all be glad to hear that, though the USA most certainly did not make the quarter finals, Clever and his team kept things relatively respectable. Anyway, when we found out that the USA was going to play Australia in Wellington while we were going to be there, we had to go. We knew they were going to get crushed, but it’s rugby, and we can’t help but love it. The surprising thing was how many US supporters were in the crowd – then we realized that they were all Kiwis who don’t really care who wins as long as it isn’t the Aussies. We made costumes, and painted our faces, and I’ve never felt so patriotic in my life as we stood belting out the national anthem in a stadium where that was a minority skill. The Eagles lost to the Wallabies 67 to 5, as expected, but we still had a fantastic time. Todd Clever did not play that night (sad day) but he was walking around on the sidelines before the match, so we waved and called to him like the adoring fans that we are, and he looked up at us, and waved back! Todd Clever waved at my little group of four American students! It was completely awesome. Rugby is an amazing sport, and if you’re ever at a loss as to what to say to a Kiwi, just mention how sad you are that Dan Carter is out for the rest of the cup because you’re not sure if Colin Slade can take the pressure and we really need Weepu as a halfback, and an instant bond of friendship will form. Go the All Blacks!

Navy

I know that I've been quite out of touch lately. In my defense, I was in Wellington for a week, then came back to my first week of environmental literature, and have been generally writing so much in other capacities that this one is often the one that gets shunted to the side. That and the world cup is going on, so my free time that is also free of rugby is less than usual.

We wrote a lot of poetry this past week, and it was the very first day, as we were just observing and recording, that I realised: an unsettling number of my thoughts about things are just references to other things that I've seen, but most often to what I've read. It was a bit depressing really. But then I remembered that Mumford and Sons' song "Sigh No More" is largely stolen from Much Ado About Nothing, and my professor, Ed Higgins, reminded me that, "Bad poets imitate; good poets steal." So I sat down Monday night and wrote this. I hope you enjoy it, and if you can figure out all of the references without cheating and looking them up, maybe you'll win a prize.

The Plagiarist: An Original Poem

They say it is nothing to worry about

That it is a gift, this tendency of mine to be reminded.

I watch and see only recognizable things.

I listen and hear only familiar sounds.

Everything is a reminder of something else.

Everything is a reference, a quote, an allusion.

They say it is good that I remember the things that I do.

And perhaps they’re right.

Perhaps I should think to barbarically yawp

As each leaf of grass blows in the wind.

Maybe it is right that as I slice bread with a knife,

I remember the crystal goblet and also the wine.

And who wouldn’t recall damned spots as she washes her hands?

But it feels as though I am just one of the thousand

Thousand fruit to touch, to take in hand.

It feels as though there is always a fly buzzing

In the room where I lie down to die.

It feels as though I am only watching a garden bloom from a window,

Seeing bees fumbling the flowers,

Sitting inside, naming the parts of a gun.

I plan on providing a recap of Wellington sometime over the weekend. Stay tuned!

Azure.

It occurs to me that all of you lovely people back home know much more about passing events than about what actually goes on in this semester. Since it is reading week and I have no scheduled classes, I thought it would be a good opportunity to fill things in a little.

I live at The Old Convent. Everyone in Kaikoura knows what you’re talking about if you say that’s where you’re from. It was built in 1911, so this is its hundredth year, and it started out as a convent and was a place for the sisters to live and teach until sometime in the 80s. All the names of the nuns are still on the doors, and I live in Sister Marguerite’s room with Moe. The three guys that are on this semester with all of us females live in the room that the priests would stay in when they came to visit. Since it was improper for the priests to walk past the sisters’ rooms, they have their very own spiral staircase that leads up to their room. I’m a little jealous. The only nun left here is a statue by the name of Agatha who lives in our backyard. She recently got some Moko (Maori facial tattoos) so she’s looking better (and more intimidating than ever.

There are 20 of us total, but we also have small groups of four that we divide up into to do short day trips or talk about how our weeks are going. Every week we are assigned to different jobs, from cleaning up after lunch to taking care of the chickens, and those happen in the small groups too. We also divide into groups and garden twice a week in the morning, which I really love. Even when we’re just pulling weeds, I love the smell of the dark earth, and when I find a patch where I know a worm has been feasting. There is something really satisfying about having to wash a bunch of dirt out from under your fingernails.

Anyway, on weeks when we have class, we have it from 9-12 in the morning and 7:15-9:15 at night. This leaves the afternoons open to do whatever we want or need to. Sometimes it’s homework, or slacklining, baking or reading, but a lot of times it’s biking into town. We all have assigned bikes to ride all semester, and mine is a yellow diamondback named Jeff. We live about 15 minutes away from town by bike. If you’re enjoying the scenery. Which you always should be. The best part is riding back home, because then the mountains are in front.

The landscape here is incredible. We live on Mt. Fyffe road, which runs another couple of km west and smacks into the side of Mount Fyffe himself. Next to him to the south is Mount Snowflake, and his neighbors to the north are Mounts Manakau and Te o Whakere. We live on the flats right before the foothills begin, so I eat breakfast every morning (when it’s clear) watching the mountains be slowly lit by the sun. Kaikoura itself is on the north side of a small peninsula that juts out into the Pacific Ocean with nothing between it and South America. There is another small section of town on the south side called, appropriately, South Bay. The sea floor drops off as quickly as the mountains rise up, so there is very deep water quite close to the shore here. You can even see where it happens because the ocean grows so much darker at that point. That means that juvenile male sperm whales will always have what they need to eat in this location, and you can find them here year round. We also have Dusky dolphins and Hector’s dolphins, along with New Zealand Fur Seals, which you can find lounging around most rocky beaches.

I am busy trying to pass myself off as a kiwi. Ok, not really, but I think it would be really cool to be able to do the accent before I leave, so I’ve been practicing. Kiwi slang is also fun (sweet as!), and learning all the different names they have for things (sprinkles = hundreds and thousands). We also have been embracing the rugby culture. It is New Zealand’s national sport, and they are pretty good at it. They call American football “grid iron” and everyone else’s football “soccer” because rugby is football here. Just about everyone in the convent has been converted into an All Blacks (their national team) fan, and in a matter of days have learned enough about the matches and the players to get seriously emotionally involved. It’s so fun that the world cup is going on while we’re here, and we even get to go see a game next Friday! It’s going to be Australia vs. the U.S., and we are going to be crushed beyond recognition. But that didn’t stop us from making really great outfits to wear to the match. Look for us on tv! Go Eagles!

Speaking of, I’ll be in Wellington all this week, learning about the communities there, so I’ll be fairly unreachable. Love you all!