blogging torpor

Kia ora,

So you will note that my last post was dated September 2006 - and of course now it is April 2009. Do not fear, I hadn't abandoned the blog, I was merely swept into another branch of that river that is my life, which sent me downstream, whirling through eddies, resting in backwaters, and enjoying the cool and pleasant place that is my country. that's right, for the last two years, I have travelled the length and breadth of Aotearoa, filming a little wildlife series, called "Meet the Locals". And what an adventure it has been. Two years of my life, travelling, meeting wonderful people, seeing incredible places, and learning every day about our precious native wildlife, and the perils it faces. I can't possibly sum up that experience in my first rusty attempt to hit the keys again, but you can have a look for yourself here and maybe enjoy some of the places I have experienced.

http://www.doc.govt.nz/locals

Essentially, having the opportunity to research, write and present Meet the Locals meant that I was plucked from behind my desk, and dropped into a world outside that I knew was there, but never truly experienced, sucked up the air, spent time being in the environment, and now, I'm really not sure how I'm going to quietly shuffle back behind a desk.

Don't get me wrong, the MTL experience was far from serene. It involved a whirlwind tour, averaging shooting two stories a day (sometimes three, and on our busiest day, five!), and literally running from one location to the next. So in some ways I have been incredibly lucky to be able lift the lid on wonderful nature initiatives happening from Kaitaia to Stewart Island and everywhere in between, but always in such a quick bite, it was a wrench to leave each place and always left us wanting more time. The flipside of that is that I now have a huge list of places I must go back and visit properly, and an even longer list of places I know I will in all likelihood never experience again.

Anyway, I am sure I will eventually be able to comb out the tangled thoughts that are knotted up in my head, and write clear and bright stories of many of my experiences 'on the road'. For now though, this is a re-introduction, a courtesy call, an "I'm still here".

I had been filled with horror of giving up my transient lifestyle spent face to face with kiwi, kakapo, weta, geckos, kauri trees and kokako. The idea of spending two years in a well-established routine of half-packed bags by the bed ready to go, of early starts, and long hours in a four-wheel drive with the MTL crew, who have by now become my whanau - and to give it all up for a desk in an airconditioned open-plan office has been slightly repugnant to me. I needed something to remind me I was still free. That I could continue my adventures, Meet the Locals or no Meet the Locals... and I found it.

While idly flicking through Trademe items late last Wednesday night, I came across a campervan. I'd always toyed with the thought of having a van, throwing the dog in it (and the bloke!), and heading off somewhere. I guess it harks back to my childhood, year after year spent camping in the wee pop-top caravan with my family - holidays that I suspect forged the love for nature that burns so brightly inside me. I had for nostalgic reasons, been looking at the very same model of pop-top caravan, perhaps in an attempt to recapture those wonderful summers. But for practical reasons, the idea of having to tow a caravan didn't really appeal. It was then that I saw it. The PERFECT vehicle.


It was a 1996 Nissan Camper, and had obviously spent a lot of time on the road. It had a bed that folded into seats and a table, a wee sink and cupboards and plenty of storage. But that wasn't what sold me. When you see it, you'll know why.

So. that's Morrison, my new Van. The bloke went halvies with me, which was an extraordinarily brave move for him, given that he is usually far more cautious than to throw money at a clapped out campervan. However, he admitted to me that he'd always wanted a campervan, and given our professions (he raises native birds for a living), he had to agree that this vehicle was 'meant to be'.

Negotiations took places fairly rapidly. The vendors had already promised the van to another buyer, but with some canny bartering (let's just say I will never be a business leader!), we made it to the top of the pile. The next hurdle? Morrison was located in New Plymouth. By now it was Thursday, and the next day would be Good Friday. "Brilliant," I said "I've never been to Taranaki". In fact, it had always irked me that while Meet the Locals did to take me to every region in the country, we had never made it out to Taranaki, and I had never experienced the shadow of Mt Taranaki. So, before we knew it, the tickets were booked and we were flying to New Plymouth first thing on Saturday morning. Very spontaneous for a pair who tend to like to have things planned out for them!

We waited patiently at the New Plymouth airport, and while I experienced a mild panic "How will we know who they are?", and was gently reminded by Zooman that we could hardly miss a van with that paint job, we saw it roll into the carpark.

Excited, we strode over to meet the couple who were selling it (who were lovely, and the woman in particular was very attached to it and gave it a cuddle before they left), and took possession. Then the shock set in. What had we done!? We'd bought an old, well-travelled van, sight unseen, on the word of the previous owners. What if it didn't get back to Auckland!? Sitting up in Morrison, the reality of the beautiful van of our dreams set in. According to Andrew it was a bit of a 'brick' to drive, and the seats could really do with re-upholstering. The beautiful artwork, had taken plenty of hits presumably on gravel roads, and the tyres could do with filling.

Still, it was our van. Our key to freedom, our source of adventure. I blithely settled into getting to know Morrison, warts and all, while Zooman took a more apprehensive approach, assuring me that it would just take him a bit of time to 'bond' with Morrison.


A quick trip to New Plymouth, refuelled with a late eggy breakfast and freshly squeezed orange juice, we took advantage of the Easter Sales, and after a speedy shop at Kathmandu and Briscoes, we had Morrison decked out in camping finery, and we were both feeling better and excited about what this van might have to offer us.




Late in the afternoon we headed South of New Plymouth, to find a campspot at Oakura Beach... No need to ring ahead, we thought we'd chance it, and see how we got on. After all, if we didn't find a campground, we would simply sleep in the van, no issue there! As we left the sunny seaside town of New Plymouth, we glanced up and saw the iconic peak of Taranaki piercing the low cloud. What a wonderful sight. No wonder people love living in New Plymouth.

Oakura beach was beautiful, and as luck would have it, a campsite was available, one on the corner of the campground, so that we had a whole site to ourselves, i.e. no neighbours. Brilliant!

We rested in the van for a while, both a little exhausted from our early start, and perhaps from the apprehension of what we had taken on, and listened to the birds. As is my tradition, a nearby piwakawaka (NZ fantail), flitted over to see our van, sat on an unfurling koru of a punga that shaded Morrison, piped a few high-pitched chirps, and headed off, satisfied with what i was currently up to. I have always felt that the tiny but forthright little birds are my kaitiaki, and I am constantly amazed at the times and places they show up. More on that another day i think.

A walk on the beach past the surfers, and watching the 'fingers of god' stretching from the clouds down to the gently rolling surf did us good, and worked up enough of a hunger for us to enjoy a pizza and chips and a couple of speights on the beach for dinner. A perfect evening meal for the day we had shared.

Off back to Morrison, and we snuggled down into the new flannel sheets, drew our duvet over the top of us, and were very soon asleep. (we had some concern about a party of teenagers who were having a 'right old time' over the hedge from us, but true to teenager form, they had drunk themselves silly by seven o'clock and not a peep was heard from 8.30pm). A morepork called above us, and a late night pukeko gave the odd screech.

The next day we woke happy and excited (and to be honest, a little sore, the foam squabs are not the most comfortable for sleeping on!). However, we brushed the numb hips aside, and made plans for our trip home. Freshly showered and teeth brushed, the 'bedroom' converted back into a 'lounge', we made our way North, through New Plymouth, past the Mokau River, and through the Awakino Gorge. All of it was beautiful, and I was thoroughly enjoying breathing in a part of the country I had not experienced before. Zooman however, used to fast cars, was not enjoying Morrison's reluctance to go uphill. I noticed that he was leaning forward as we shook and shuddered our way up hills as if somehow that might help provide momentum for Morrison. Downhill and on the flat, Morrison happily zipped along (if by zipping you mean just under 100km/hr!), and we made our way towards Otorahanga to visit the Kiwi House there - talk about a busman's holiday!

After visiting Otorohanga (packed with a plethora of native birds and wildlife, the highlight of which was watching a female great-spotted kiwi at feeding time!), we meandered home, and made it to Auckland with only a slow leak in one back tyre to complain about.

Happy times were had by all, even zooman was making future plans for Morrison, and we truly look forward to our next adventure.

The Little Things...

You know, that fantastic trio that made up the fondly-missed Trinity Roots were on to something.

It really is the Little Things. I spent a gorgeous few minutes out in my backyard the other day, and founda whole bunch of treasures... of course little taonga like this are always there, but as we get older, do we just forget how to see them?

This odd looking little pod, really had me stumped.

There were a lot of them, dotted along the branches of one of the trees in our backyard. At first, they looked like growths on the branch, almost some kind of tree-tumour, but closer inspection revealed them to be a tightly-woven cocoon of some sort. This one was hollow, with a neat little circular opening at the top. It seemed to be made up of some kind of fibrous adhesive that had dried in the sun, and I could not for the life of me figure out what it was!

A quick trip inside to check on the internet revealed the mystery. This of course is the empty cocoon of the emperor gum moth, an Aussie that found its way to NZ in the 1920s. With a wingspan of 14cm, the moth emerges from its cocoon by gnawing a tiny trapdoor for it to push its way through. Apparently the sound of the insect chomping its way out has been likened to rats gnawing on wood. Very impressive!


As I ambled around the backyard, soaking up the first signs of warmth from the sun's rays this spring, I kept happening upon clues and signs of my nature treasure hunt. Despite having spent the day before mowing the lawns, and chucking a tennis ball for my exuberant dog, i hadn't actually noticed the fragile beauty of the kowhai blooms in full flower. The boughs of the kowhai tree seem to sigh under the weight of its saffron cloak. Up close, the perfect bells of the kowhai toll silently in the breeze, the stigma forming a natural clapper.

It really had been a gusty, blustery afternoon, and I was searching for stray pegs when I came across my next treasure... a perfectly round bird's nest, lying among the leaf litter, below a small tree. I was a little distressed to see it strewn on terra firma, and I was quickly able to find where it had been rather unceremoniously biffed from its previous residence in the fork of a small sapling. While i was busying myself with trying to affix the nest back in place, and hoping that its tenants might return, a flash of blue at my feet caught my eye.



Despite the tiny, seemingly insignificant gesture the two broken eggs I found represented, I couldn't help but feel a flicker of despair for the two birds that had just lost their progeny, and perhaps didn't realise it yet. Of course I know that its early in the spring, and there are plenty more ever warming days for the avian ardour to produce still more offspring, but it just seemed a shame. I felt sad at what a waste their days of nest-building and wooing and mating had so far been. As I was bemoaning the lost opportunity, I crouched down and peered closer at the destruction and I was swiftly reminded that left to its own devices, Nature doesn't let anything go to waste. Watching the ants busy themselves in benefiting from the blustery blunder, it didn't seem quite so catastrophic. In the end, the recipients of the sticky yolky manna from heaven were part of the huge cycle of renewal which perpetuates every aspect of the living world. The theme of metamorphosis and rebirth ran through every diminutive natural occurence I stumbled upon that day. My not-so-adventurous little foray into the hidden joys of my own backyard were a sharp reminder to me that I don't need to travel to the far-flung undisturbed oases of wilderness to 'find' nature.

It's here, all around me, all the time. And finding a tiny wilderness in a suburban garden also reminds me to try to act within the bounds of my immediate environment, before working myself into a frenzy about the ills befalling the rest of the world.

Nature's worst enemy - Apathy

Amazingly, the biggest challenge that our planet faces in terms of a sustainable life for all of us, is not one that singles out pollution, global warming, overfishing or any of the other ills of humanity that are currently chipping away at our very life force. Instead, this gargantuan threat is none other than apathy. This disinterested and dimissive view of the world and the life of this very planet (including of our own species), allows those who choose to exploit the resources of the world, to continue to do so unchallenged. The only ones who are seen to challenge apathy are generally termed "radicals", "hippies" or "left wingers". the kind of people that the ordinary every day working man or woman wouldn't generally associate with. so we don't. and tree by tree, fish by fish, molecule by molecule the world gets smaller and the human population grows larger.

What has really stunned me this week is the overwhelming outpouring of grief following the tragic death of the mad-cap wildlife warrior, Steve Irwin. This man, love or hate his style, with his nasal crowing of "Crikey", whilst he sat atop any unfortunate creature who'd blundered into his path, at least inspired a generation that animals and wildlife should be looked after. His clear and unwavering passion for the conservation of all creatures great and small influenced many a kid or family who spent their Sunday evenings glued to his (mis)adventures. And since his death, the public from Australia, NZ and beyond has spewed forth a powerful outpouring of grief. Massive piles of flowers and his trademark khaki shirts adorn the outside of his home and conservation park, Australia Zoo. why, even in the Lower Hutt shopping mall here in NZ, a child's ride-on Steve Irwin amusement ride (you know, the kind you put a dollar in and it lurches about for thirty seconds, traditionally found at the entrance to supermarkets), is draped in farewell cards from young and old. And while part of me is heartened to see that in NZ (and beyond), there is still a spark of passion remaining regarding conservation and those who stand up for it, that resonates within us all, part of me is filled with anger and desperation.

Where are these people when we need them? So far this year, in a six month period, we (us clean n green kiwis), lost a DOZEN of the world's rarest marine mammal, that "panda of the seas", the Hector's Dolphin through setnetting or trawling. Where are they still as yet another female NZ sea lion (yes, that's right, another "rarest species in the world"), drowns in the icy cold dark of a squidboat's fishing net, with one new life ebbing in her womb, and another starveling awaiting a meal that will never come, back on shore.

Why NZ do we cry "tragedy" at the loss of our wildlife icon, the very special Sir Peter Blake, as he is gunned down doing what he loved and believed in, showing the world the crucial nature of life on earth, yet so few of us bother to do him the honour of carrying on the path he forged?

This country needs conservation crusaders, we need to shed our winter coats of indifference, and forge ahead so that our children will thank us for it. The road ahead requires practical, forward thinking champions for conservation, and not those who will isolate the masses for fear of association with rabid left-wing agendas. Mainstreaming the importance of conservation, and its connection to us in all we do, is the only way we can cut out the apathetic tumour, and provide our world with a sustainable chance. Any takers?

A blog by any other name...

ok, here i am. Launched phalanges-first into the published (?) online written world of that crazy ole' devil called The Internet. It feels a bit like moving into a new house, the fresh clean lines surrounding me, with no clutter, as i stand slightly awestruck in the doorway. But if i didn't start today, this little blog might slowly fade into invisibility. If i feed it regularly, much like the frightening "Audrey II" in the Little Shop of Horrors, i might provide it enough nourishment for it to grow and fluorish... i'll stop at letting it turn into a terrifying triffid-like monster i think. for now.

So, the purpose of today's foray, aside from psyching myself into the world of writing online, is to explain the title. "Spelling it Nature" speaks volumes to me, but to the casual observer probably just looks like another crappy attempt by some quasi-intellectual webwriter to maintain a cryptic yet catchy web handle. And you may well be right. But let me explain anyway.

The phrase fragment (Word would have asked me to "consider revising" by now), is a play on my favourite quote. That of course is Frank Lloyd Wright's simple yet brilliant assertion that "I believe in God, only i spell it Nature".

This nine-word sentence very neatly and economically sums up the way I have lived my life. I have never "found" religion, although i do recall briefly yearning to become a Christian when i was 13 because my best friend was and her other (in hindsight, rather green-eyed) friend declared one day that her mother said i was an atheist and must therefore hate my friend. I also dabble with Buddhist principles (read: i have read the Dalai Lama's "Freedom in Exile" and own some mala prayer beads). I don't like to think that i dabble in Buddhism because it's trendy for celebrities... and if that were the case i'd be wearing a red yarn bracelet. I like it because it's kind to animals. however, even that is completely anthropocentric when you think hard about it. "I'd better not swat that fly, it might be Uncle Roy".

Nature however has ALWAYS been a holy place for me. I am the girl that is late to work, because i stopped at my front door to watch a wasp warming itself up for the day on the red bricks of my house. i will stand outside in the rain to watch our resident kereru pair gorging themselves on fruits from the exotic tree on the front lawn. It continues to inspire me on a daily basis, and after year's of flitting like a fantail between meditation evenings and eastern philosophy texts, i realised it had been the fire in my soul all along!

I'll close soon (to coin a term from my lovely Nana D), but first, i'm going to really put myself "out there" (or is that "in there"? - what would John Lennon say) and publish the only poem i've ever written. It's perhaps a little "twee" (my work colleague thinks some of my writing is twee - i'm inclined to agree, but I won't change my style). It pretty much sums up the reason for the name of this blog, helps to describe what truly energises and fulfils me. Please understand there are plenty of other tangents and issues i want to bang on about, but i wanted to really introduce myself, so that you may gain a sense of who i am and what drives me. So anyway, who knows where this little tinkling of the ivories will take me (us), but for now, kia ora, and i look forward to setting off on this little journey.

Nature is the passion that rules my world,
I've found answers from god as a frond unfurled,
In front of me,
I sit, cramped haunches, staring for eternity
At this simple form, as it grows, I see it holds the key
Nestled in the deep, damp rich soil that permeates,
I meditate, contemplate, and wonder why I can't relate.
I don't go to church, know a psalm, can't sing a hymn,
I haven't read the Koran, and I can't say I've ever been
To a temple or a mosque and "found God" in what I heard
Yet my mind finds nirvana in the call of a bird,
Above me it trills, its endless warblings melodic,
Not chaotic, it replaces this disharmony that spun throughout my head.
If I couldn't lose myself in nature, then my soul would be dead.
Dried, crisp and brittle like a fallen leaf.
The life all around us fills me with relief,
Soothes all stings, takes away all pain,
I seek solace in the bush again and again.