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!

Kelly.

Ok, so just to clarify, I have not fallen off of the world. It's a legitimate fear down here on the bottom of it, but apparently gravity is still doing its job. The real explanation for why I've been such a terrible blogger is slightly longer and less exciting.

I went to Nelson Lakes National Park last weekend with a few friends (Amy, Darin, Jonny, and Kaitlyn) and the whole time Jonny was filming us and what we saw at various significant points. Then when we got back we all recorded some commentary recapping everything we had done and seen and he put it all together into the world's coolest documentary ever. All that was missing was Sir David Attenborough's inspiring tones. But even without them, it was quite the smashing cinematographic tale. And so I was going to put that up here for your viewing pleasure, because it is awesome and also because I lazily didn't feel like telling the entire story again. But then I realized that my blog does not like trying to contain thirty minute videos and can't really handle it without my doing something that would require some sort of basic technical knowledge. And between the two, I'd rather be lazy about technology than storytelling. So here we go!

Some highlights:

Just as we started walking from the carpark (note the correct kiwi term!) to the trailhead, it started to flurry! It was hardly anything, and obviously nothing stuck, and it lasted about three minutes and then the sun came out, but it still counts! It snowed while I was tramping in NZ! Then we came to this dock from which we had an amazing view of the mountains all around Lake Rotoiti, and Darin realized that he had seen it before in one of those default wallpapers that computers come with. We didn't really believe him, but he took a picture and we put them side by side when we got back, and sure enough - it was exactly the same. There was more snow in ours, but it was taken from that very dock. Cool.

Anyway, once we actually started tramping (hiking to those not fluent in kiwi) we stopped almost immediately to taste all of the trees along the trail. Yes, you read correctly. Here in this wonderful country, there are these crazy wasps that live just under the bark of certain trees (where we were tramping, beech trees) and they suck out the juicy, sugary phloem. Then, the digested sugary stuff has to go somewhere, so they essentially squirt it out the other end and it collects in these tiny droplets on the ends of little strings on the bark. Isn't nature fun? Anyway, then, a bee or bird or uninhibited college student comes along and collects the little droplets to snack on! It is so sweet and syrupy and you only get a tiny amount at a time, so it sort of reminded me of honeysuckle. Also, if bees are the ones to collect it, they can make honey out of it, and it turns into a thick dark kind of honey that's lovely on english muffins. For the record.

Moving on, we got about halfway around the lake that day and stayed in our very first (hopefully of many) NZ huts, Lakehead Hut. It was quite cozy with a wood stove and four other people to talk to while we made dinner and ate it by candlelight. Never in my whole life have I seen as many stars as were shining that night. It was absolutely freezing outside, and it made the air so clear. I'm trying to learn some southern hemisphere constellations, but until such time as we know the real ones, Jonny and I made some up. So now there is a mythical tortoise that rides the milky way.

The next morning everything was covered in a sparkly layer of frost, and we cut across about eight small rivers (one deep enough for us to shed our shoes and roll up our pants to cross) to take a "shortcut" to the next hut: the aptly named Coldwater Hut. Then we dumped all but our lunch and cameras and headed off to the swing bridge. Ok, I admit it, I had my New Zealand forest guide with me as well. Don't make fun. It's really cool. And so was the swing bridge! We played on it for a long time, and then found the tree roots that the hobbits hid under when they were trying to escape the black riders. That's another thing that is so fun about tramping in this place. We know that nothing was filmed in this particular spot, but that doesn't stop anyone from pointing out probable locations every two minutes. So fun.

That night we were all tucked away in our sleeping bags by about 6:30 when the sun went down, but we stayed up talking for a long time after that. We talked about first memories, important and shaping events in our lives, and the best superpowers. So all the important stuff. The next morning we got up in time to be off by the time it started getting light. We made it to Whiskey Falls a little before 7:30 and climbed up all of the freezing and slippery rocks toward the top. Kaitlyn and I climbed the whole way up to stand next to the pool of water at its base and got completely drenched from the spray. The wind that a 40m waterfall generates is also incredible. We had to be careful that our feet were firmly on those hazardous stones so we weren't knocked backward. When we climbed back down, we hung out for a while to take pictures and dry out a little, and just at that moment the sun's first light crept over the tops of the eastern mountains and *poof* turned us all to stone! (Guess that movie.) Ok, not really, but it did light up the entire crown of the forest, and the top of the falls itself with this incredible golden light. What a way to spend a Sunday morning. So we sang some songs and continued on our way.

We stopped to eat small mountains of fish and chips and ice cream on the way home, and stopped again to chase some waves and watch a baby sea lion do the same, but other than that, the way back was fairly uneventful. It was a completely smashing trip. Except for one thing.

Low Lights:

Sand flies. If you do not know what a sand fly is, consider yourself lucky. Very lucky. Mosquitoes don't really bother me, and even if I do get bites, they aren't that bad. Sand flies are different. They have a special taste for ankles. My ankles. I had 24 sand fly bites on my ankles. I actually woke up the night that we got back because they itched so badly. They hurt they itched so badly. Ick. But they are mostly better now, and were seriously the only downside to a really amazing weekend. So thanks Amy, Darin, Jonny, and Kaitlyn! And if you made it to the end of this post, thank you too.

Lime.

Written on Wednesday, the 31st of August, 2011.

I can’t seem to make myself believe that it’s winter. Probably because the native trees all still have their leaves, and it’s been about 20 degrees C most days that we’ve been here and there has only been one cloudy day so far. It feels like mid Autumn. There are some signs that Spring is on its way: some of the trees have started blooming in the backyard, and we’re supposed to have a cold and wet snap this weekend. But overall, my northern hemisphere mind cannot reconcile the fact that I have somehow skipped over six months of weather. It is truly odd. I can’t imagine the transition that lies in wait for me at the end of this semester. Jet lagged and seasonally confused? I’ll probably get off the plane in long underwear and a sundress.

Emerald.

Written on Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Tonight we talked about our hopes and fears and expectations for this semester. I realized that one thing I am absolutely expecting to do is a bit strange. I expect to cry. Apart from all of the other things that I think will happen, in my classes and on field trips and hikes and in relationships, I expect to cry. I know it sounds odd, but that is my natural reaction to most really intense emotions. It’s as if my body can’t actually contain any more of whatever it’s feeling, so it slides down my cheeks in little salty drops. I’ve never been exceptionally fond of this quality of mine, and at times I’ve really hated it, but it is not really for me to choose, and most of the time I just accept it as something that will probably always be there. Confession of the day: during the lighting of the beacons scene of Return of the King, when the amazing music is playing and you just see fire after fire being lit on these incredibly beautiful mountaintops, I cry every time. Seriously. Every time. So I expect I will cry when I hit a homesick week and start missing things and people in the States. But I’ll also cry when I have to leave these wonderful people in this wonderful place, both of which I’ve already grown extremely attached to. I’ll probably cry when I look at broken environments, and ones that have been torn apart by invasives, but also when I am on the tops mountains and it is so beautiful that it hurts. I guess what I’m really saying is that I expect this semester to bring out extremes. New Zealand is a land of extremes in many other ways, and I don’t see myself being an exception. And yet: I’m so excited for it.