Not in Lake Michigan anymore

February 6, 2010
Stingray

Stingray (image from Wikipedia)

Holly and Mia put their feet in the water and screamed. “Freeeeezing!”

It was hot in the Wairarapa that summer, and we were at a tiny beach along Palliser Bay, not far from Ngawi.

Unlike my most recent drive to the coast, this was a gorgeous day. The sky was perfectly blue, and the heat intense. It didn’t seem like danger could be that close.

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Storm at Palliser Bay

January 23, 2010
Palliser Bay before a storm

Palliser Bay before a storm

Rain had been falling all night and throughout the morning when we climbed into the trusty little Nissan Pulsar.

I threw four pairs of gumboots into the hatchback, started the engine, and headed for the coast.

I crossed my fingers that the road wouldn’t be washed out.

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The gingerbread men

January 2, 2010
Gingerbread men

Our gingerbread persons (click to enlarge)

No matter where I’ve lived in the world, if I couldn’t get back to Michigan for Christmas, then a little bit of my boyhood Michigan Christmas has always come to me – in the form of a box of gingerbread men.

Whether we’ve been living in provincial Japan or crowded Tokyo, central Wellington or out here in our rural paradise of Martinborough, the gingerbread men have always come.

That is, until this year.

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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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Unruly chickens and the substitute teacher

October 24, 2009

I was standing at the kitchen sink and looking out the back window when I first saw our chickens sneaking into the backyard. I froze.

The Forbidden Zone

The Forbidden Zone

They were headed straight for The Forbidden Zone.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that chickens untended get up to no good. Anyone who keeps chickens knows this. Given the chance, they’ll make a bee line towards the most freshly planted, unfenced patch of garden only to begin wreaking havoc with all the wild abandon of drunken sailors in a bar fight.

When we first got our young hens, we kept them in the chicken run for months on end. They were small and there are feral cats and stoats around, so it was for their own good. But when they were big enough to start laying, and when they began laying consistently in the nesting box, Rick and I decided they were old enough to be granted the occasional shore leave.

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Dad never saw this place

September 26, 2009

Over 6 years ago my sister called from Michigan and left me a voice mail message that I’ll never forget. “I have something to tell you,” she said. “I think you know what it is.” She was right.

Foggy morning view of the grove

Foggy morning view of the grove

I knew my dad was dead.

Significant events always come with stories, and when I called my sister back she told me the story of how he died. It was a story I would hear many times over the next several weeks, from several people – where they were, how they found out, how it happened. We turn important stories in our hands, listen to them from every angle in order to grasp their enormity.

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