Should a circumstance arise when Giselle and Graham must leave the farm for a day or longer, I have the pleasure of caring for and spending quality time with the Marama animals (excluding the sheep and cattle in the paddocks, of course), which are all lovely non-humanoids. This means

Missy (house cow)

Mick (Missy’s calf)

Spot (female lamb in middle)

Sherlock (male lamb, whom I named)

Watson (youngest male lamb, whom I also named)

Rose (herding dog)

Kuna (Rose’s puppy)

Hatch (huntaway dog)

Ted (Graham’s mate)

Bentley (rooster) and his Ladies (hens; there are actually 16 now)

Clyde (female house cat)

Tiger (Clyde’s kitten)

Wizard (male house cat)

…and I rehearse our harmony together; and boy, our songs are long because of the schedule they require. This is how they are composed (original instructions from Giselle):

8 am – 1. Feed lambs; take their bedding out of their drum to hang out to dry on fence; check they have water.
2. Milk Missy; fill her water bucket up.
3. Let dogs out; put Kuna & Rose together with their chains, then onto dog lead which is hanging on kennel; fill up their water bowls (nearest door); use small shovel hanging up beside water tap to clean out any mess the dogs have made.
4. Fill cat bowls once inside.
5. Then walk all the dogs to the top of the hill (airstrip)! If hot weather, on the way back, there is a round water trough on the left hand side on flat piece of road near the horses; let them all drink and swim if they want to! Walk for an hour; they need it! Once back, tie the dogs up under the large tree if dry or in garage if wet; give them a bone or pig’s ear to chew on; Kuna can have milk or eggs or something! Make sure they can access water to drink and let off every two hours for break/toilet.

Have a cold drink, cup of coffee, play with the lambs!

Lunchtime – say 1:00 pm? 1. Let chickens out; put some food scraps into their netted outdoor area; collect eggs for house.
2. Collect our mail & newspapers from the letterbox; feel free to read the newspapers!
3. Take dogs for a wander but away from Missy!
4. Feed lambs their mid-day meal. 🙂

Around 4:00 pm – Take dogs for another long walk.

Around 5:00 pm – Milk Missy.

Around 7:00 pm – 1. Put chickens to bed!
2. Put dogs into their kennels with fresh water, some dog roll [say 3-4 inches wide] and biscuits [4-6 each]; take care to keep well away from Missy!
3. Ted gets fed once they are all done; he can have some milk, meat scraps or egg and some dog biscuits from jar in pantry (looks like dog food).
4. Feed lambs last time.
5. Fill cat bowls for night.

Needless to say, there may not be other people staying in my cottage at the moment, but I am definitely not alone or hardly ever catch a stroke of boredom. The animals keep me on my toes!

Some even come to visit.

 

“Our task must be to free ourselves... by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature and its beauty.”  ~Albert Einstein

Jet lag took the best out of me and woke my body after the noon hours had begun. Graham, Giselle and I drove through the dark from Dunedin to Waipahi the previous night, so I had no clue what to expect once the bedroom curtains were pulled.

The sun kissed green paddocks where sheep and cattle grazed. Trees danced with the wind. Dogs barked. Engines of four-wheelers and tractors roared. Human voices and clinging pots and pans filled the hollow space of the stairwell. Commotion was all around, yet they managed to be equally congruent and cordial. To give you an idea of the scenery I’ve described, please enjoy the following views.

Photo: Marama’s airstrip, looking southeast

Photo: Marama’s airstrip, looking east

You’d suppose I wouldn’t have been as eager as I was since I come from a state with a long agricultural history, but to sugarcoat the level of my enthusiasm would certainly be deceitful. This was a real, honest to god working farm, right before my own eyes. And because I had zero previous experience, I needed a new pair of boots, a new mind, a new everything, really.

Though instead of getting right to the labor, Giselle and I took things slowly. I was fitted into a warm jacket and hat to wear. Giselle then showed me the property, explained what had to be done on a daily basis and introduced me to all the animals, among others. When we came to one of their big, black and white house cows, Missy had created a spot under a tree and continued circulating until a perfect boundary of dirt formed beneath her hooves. It was explained to me that she was pregnant and as a part of the process, she had specifically chosen this area for the delivery. Her calf was due at any second.

I’d never witnessed the birth of anything before, so I approached the happening with caution. Stories of women having children generally grossed me out, so I sort of anticipated quite a messy process here. But to my astonishment, Missy was right on cue. I watched as her water broke and how quickly she spun her large body around and ate it up in order to keep the area clean; how the baby cow gradually pushed out from behind and came tumbling down; how mamma removed its membrane so no suffocation could occur. The entire ordeal was done with such grace, courage and intuition that I almost believed a part of me had abandon its old self and embraced a new one – that by the start of Mick’s life, coincidently on my first official day at Marama, it was also an invitation for me too.

Then, two short days later, Graham and Giselle bought me these…

 Photo: Pair of gum boots

Consider my initiation complete.

 

“Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear.”  ~Ambrose Redmoon

We know the saying, and for me, it rings true. Folks, I’m definitely not in Kansas anymore.

Because Kansas doesn’t have cinnamon-coated mountains (and some with frosting on top) nor river water so dark green the hunter himself couldn’t recognize; or the colors of the Maori; or pastures that seem to forever roll into infinity. Kansas can’t compare to the Kiwi phrase “Kia ora”. Nay, Kansas isn’t Colorado with a wrap-around beach.

After approximately 21 hours served at 30,000 feet, I woke to calm morning light pouring through the oval windows of an international aircraft. It was 10:00 pm on Sunday, September 25th as I set off from LAX and now Tuesday the 27th approaching 9:00 am. September 26, 2011 will evermore be recorded in human history as a day I never lived. The pilot announced we were starting our descent into Auckland and right there, among other passengers of multiple nationalities, I wept. A concerned flight attendant ran over, “Honey, everything alright?” And looking back to her with a grin which stretched from ear to ear, “Happiest moment of my life.”

Waiting for the boarding call to Christchurch

I had two more short flights, to Christchurch and then to Dunedin in the South Island, before I officially arrived to meet my host family. Graham found me soon after I claimed my luggage by a curious twist in his head and asked hesitantly, “Stephanie?”

Many of the farmer profiles I knew in the States, particularly Tennessee, tended to be men and women who wore frayed overalls with gloves in their back pockets, work boots, flannels that rolled up to their elbows and hats that always shaded their faces – even on public outings. But if I placed this expectation on them, it was a misguided mistake. He had on a sleek collar shirt with slim black pants and dress shoes. And Giselle, whom we caught up with later, was clothed in a blue-white dress with sleeves and dark boots; she got in the backseat of the truck, placed her hand on my shoulder and said, “Hello, Stef. How are you?” Once all together, my first impressions were they are a couple constantly on the move and didn’t tarry about breaking the ice with newcomers. I was immediately asked essential questions about myself: what I studied, where I was from, my hobbies, familiarity with farming/gardening, how the journey was, etc. This did not exclude more serious inquiry as well, like health problems, nature vs. nurture and other general conversation on subjects that are normally deemed sensitive at the dinner table.

We laughed and ate and spoke to each other without fear or judgment. It was as if the two of them simply had not known there existed a definition like stranger, as if they were champions at creating a tension-free environment for anyone willing to enter it. Their friendly gestures and admirable hospitality briefly tricked me into believing I was back in the Deep South, and the only evidence lacking was the accents. Because from minute one to the moment I fell into one of the farmhouse beds exhausted from travel, which they graciously allowed me to use for the first night, I could not help but already feel most at home.

So then again, maybe in that sense, I hadn’t really left Kansas at all.

 

“See the world/ Find an old-fashioned girl/ And when all has been said and done/ It’s the things that are given, not won/ Are the things you want.” ~Gomez

No one prepares you for this. Cramming your self-acclaimed and equally materialistic identity into two bags – one to be checked and the other to carry-on; to be so overwhelmed with excitement and anxiety that rest and nutrition are simply the furthest values from your mind; and gazing into the faces of your beloved and attempt at convincing them that despite the distance, you’ll manage and promise never to forget them.

Instead, most of us were taught how to brush our teeth, eat essential fruits and veggies, say our bedtime prayers and recite the infamous lines of the Preamble… We memorized multiplication tables and various biblical verses… We said please and thank you and ma’am and sir and tried not to ease drop simply because it was none of our business… We held the door open for strangers and shared our crayons with classmates. We even appreciated our siblings most of the time.

Let’s face it though. These were easy.

Not one soul mentioned to me what it would be like to leave the only world you ever knew of behind. Yet in a matter of hours, I will board the first of many planes set to depart out of Nashville and eventually be bound for the real Middle Earth, a place we call New Zealand. I feel like a young member of a tribe whose about to go on his solo hunt – that if successful, would become a direct rite of passage into his manhood. Or a soldier, fresh out of boot camp, parting for a tour on foreign soil. It’s a kind of sweet liberation and novel terror to experience the moment when you realize your childhood protectors will be half way around the globe. When you realize you are, in fact, on your own. And say to yourself “this is it” and “there’s no turning back now”.

Yes, the dangers are clear and very authentic. My project for the next three months is fair game for failure, emergencies, and health challenges which can only be imagined at this point. And the more I sit still, the more likely I will become psychologically vulnerable about the animosity of uncertainty.

But the only threshold, reasoning and purpose preventing me from dashing back through the Music City terminal and out the sliding doors, however, is to know what awaits me at the other side of the Pacific Ocean: 3,000 acres of natural paradise and an organic farming family who was more than willing to open up their home to me. Such great persuasion could never be produced by fear’s fiercest smite.

So I’ll swallow the knot in my throat and revere the mystery of ambiguity. I’ll endure the eighteen hour time difference and contrary seasonal period. I’ll rummage with a bow and an arrow. I’ll fly the flag from my shoulders. For this is the narrow way I have chosen to undertake, the way of freedom, how I will be present in my own skin. Hands, be untied; hot diggity dog, here I go, go, go!

 

“As I’m leaving/ A change comes on my eyes/ These streets persuaded me/ With mumbles, strange goodbyes. Through the water/ Through the ring/ To the soul of everything/ I throw my heart out/ On the stones/ And I’m almost gone.” ~David Gray