First Impressions of a New Zealand Farm

January 15, 2007, (Edited and Rewritten January 19, 2007)

The reality can never be as great as the fantasy but on first glance this has come close. On the west side of the north island developers have not yet moved in and the area remains much unchanged from when the settlers began changing the landscape years ago. Where once stood great kauri trees, -as slow growing as the great redwood back home-, now show rolling pasture lands. These trees with their very straight trunks were widely used in construction. Used for building homes and boats as well as in carvings their numbers have decreased rapidly since Europeans first settled. The farmers and ranchers of the area struggle to make a balance between maintaining their land for their livelihood and working to restore its original and natural state.

Tucked far from the road the home of squatters Emily, Bogey, Finn and Lilly is a compound of idyllic child rearing quality. Wild grasses mowed short make up the lawn and play areas. A stream that empties into a nearby inlet runs alongside the home. There are chickens and ducks and as nature would have it, ducklings. The garden, though without order, is tidy and full of things for the children to eat and learn about. Finn knows why weeds need to be pulled and talks about composting as others his age would speak of bicycle rides and train sets. As the tides move in and out a deep inlet grows and shrinks along side their property. This is their seaside home; a far cry from what was expected, but perfect in its own way.

The next morning Spoon and I head out to the pier just down the driveway and pull a couple of kayaks into the water. It is a clumsy caper as we try to board from a too high pier and/or a too steep bank. The muddy bank alternates between suctioning my Rainbow sandal and slicking the surface so that I make splits trying to keep out of the outgoing tide. Spoon takes a different approach. His kayak half-in-half-out of the water he gets in and scoots the vessel the distance. Afloat we take off in opposite directions. I head upstream. The banks curve and narrow then widen again. The water, a murky brown, hides the bottom from sight. Once, long ago, these waters were the blue of the bay. Now years of deforestation has caused silt and mud to slowly move in and fill in many of these inlets and much of the harbor bottom.

Their property acts a grazing land for about two-dozen head of cattle. They roam freely about the hills held in by a couple of strings of electric wire. Held taut by post spaced far apart they are an effective form of containment if not as a physical barrier then a mental one. Closer to the home a bit of rope keeps an obviously pregnant heifer and aging gelding out of the garden. There seems to be, though, a Houdini amongst these docile and seemingly mindless creatures.

The tide bends around another curve and close to the bank and red and white cow is standing stalk still staring at me. It seems she is not in the confines of the electric fence. I paddled near for a closer look and in doing so effectively herder her back up and over the electric fence. Something makes me think it is not so electric. A few days later I will find the same cow up to her nose in the garden. Just as gracefully as she leapt the fence she will step over the rope holding back the heifer and gelding. I worry for her safety for she ventures from the herd in her out of pasture experiences.

I seem to be alone in my concerns, alone in any of my concerns for that matter. Last evening a fellow wwoofer practiced Poi or fire dancing. Finn joined in with the fun as well. It was then I heard the first rule of the house. “Don’t bring your smoldering fire stick into the house.” It came out more as a comment than a scolding. With out a pause Emily rushed Finn outside and relit the six year-old’s fire stick. Twice as long as he is tall Fynn swung it effortlessly about his head upon a raised bit of earth in the shape of a circle. I was later to learn that he was born on that earth, in a teepee. Boggy set about building the home shortly after. Funny how a newborn can speed things up.



“Emily!” Lilly cries out from the porch outside their home. The porch, of good size is covered with an old sail and vigorous grape vines cling to the supporting poles. Heavy bunches of green, taut grapes hang down like dried herbs from rafters. Lilly plays in the shade of the sail and vines with Little Wing, the most recent addition to the family. From the sandbox a tall and lanky cat doesn’t seem to paying the duckling much mind, but when he licks his lips I wonder if it is hunger or coincidence. “Emily we need a bath!” Lilly is eager for her mother’s help for she wants to share a tub with Little Wing. Emily wastes not time coming to her youngest one’s aid for she is eager to get her into a bath. Already naked from the waste down the four year-old has spent her days getting as dirty as possible. Remnants from a honey jar raid have attracted dirt, leaves and bees.