Buying firewood is a sin

June 27, 2010
Gumboots at the back door

Gumboots and firewood

Podcast available.

Back in March, just as the fall weather was setting in, Rick and I were talking with our neighbors at a dinner party about getting firewood for the coming winter.

When you heat your home with a woodburner, getting wood in for the winter becomes an annual event, like the changing of the leaves and the onset of shorter, cooler days. Rick and I have been living in the country for over 3 years, and every year we’ve picked up the phone to have firewood delivered.

When I admitted to this, I received some strange looks from around the table that night. I didn’t understand. Had I said something wrong?

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The U.N. Committee on Home Decorating

January 30, 2010
The wall

The wall

We were at John and Aussie Bronwyn’s for dinner with the rest of the neighbors when Rick first announced our intentions.

“We’re going to tear down the wall,” he said.

Suddenly the room fell silent. Forks were held frozen in mid-air. Mouths full of food had stopped chewing.

This was less than a year after we’d arrived here in Martinborough, and we didn’t yet understand that our house had come with an advisory committee.

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Kiwi country Thanksgiving

December 5, 2009
Roast turkey

Our roast turkey

Rick called me at work on Thursday morning in a panic.

“Did you see the weather forecast for Saturday?” he said. “It’s horrible. Rain all day. Should we cancel Thanksgiving?”

For most people, the idea of canceling Thanksgiving on account of a little bit of rain would seem a ridiculous idea, but they’ve never been to one of our Thanksgiving parties.

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Yurts and magic underwear

October 3, 2009

Podcast available.

Daisies in the garden

Daisies in the garden

Nothing is normal at our house. Even a simple dinner party comes alive with bizarre and friendly characters.

The reason for our most recent dinner party was simple. The neighborhood was crawling with Americans.

I was pulling out the wine glasses when our neighbors John and Aussie Brownyn arrived that night. John has taught me how to prune vines and Aussie Bronwyn taught me how to kill a chicken. I have a lot of respect and admiration for them both.

That week they had an American staying with them, and so did Rick and I. It was a great excuse to get everyone together. It doesn’t take much around here.

Our American, TJ, was setting the table. John and Aussie Bronwyn’s American, Lily, was walking in just behind them.

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Last of the Horse Paddock Pinot

July 18, 2009

John from down the road walked in and set an unlabelled bottle of red wine on our kitchen counter. That was the first time I saw that wine.

Glass of red

It was two years ago, at a dinner party Rick and I were throwing for our neighbors.

“This is a special wine,” John said. “You can’t buy it anywhere.”

Something about the unlabeled bottle seemed vaguely illicit, as though a dodgy liquor store owner had started whispering to me about his secret stash.

I suppose I hadn’t seen a full, unlabeled bottle of wine since I was a boy, when we lived in Minnesota and my dad decided it would be a good idea to make ‘dandelion wine’ in the basement. It must have been horrible wine, since I only remember picking the dandelions for it once. I don’t think he ever repeated the experiment.

I eyed John and his unlabelled bottle suspiciously. “What kind of wine is it?”

“Good wine,” he said, and then told me the story of where it came from.

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The gay Americans meet the neighbors

May 23, 2009

Podcast available.

House and the footbridge to the top paddock

House and the footbridge to the top paddock

A group of six of our city friends helped us move out to the country. That was back in October 2006. It was a beautiful day, and it felt like a party.

Nobody wanted to drive a rented truck over the treacherous Rimutaka Hill Road, so Rick and I hired movers to move our big things like the bed, sofa, washer and dryer. The rest of our stuff we piled into everyone’s cars and drove over the Hill together, convoy style.

Our city friends were all people we’d met since arriving in New Zealand two years before. They were an odd mix perhaps, but went together well – Kiwis and Brits, straight and gay, Quakers and not religious at all. To them we were the gay Americans from Tokyo, city boys through and through. What were we doing, they wondered, moving out to 20 acres in the country?

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