Fencibles

Cool farmhouse near Matamata

A vote was taken, and the children chose these favorite pizzas:

*Cheese and shrimp

*Three Cheese New York (this is so large that you must fold it over sideways and eat it from the point)

*BBQ chicken with cheese in the crust (lucky coincidence!)

*Gluten Free Pepperoni and cheese

(*and one more, only I've forgotten it.)

I am so sorry no photos of the pizzas and children were taken.

Before eating pizza, the whole 10 of us visited Howick's Historical Village, a village that depicts how life was lived in New Zealand in the mid-1800s. A historical and very clever Kiwi told me that ships were once used to transport convicts from England to serve prison time in either New Zealand or Australia (a debatable practice). When that stopped happening, they used the ships to transport military retirees to New Zealand as 'Fencibles' to help defend the territory. (Get it? Fencibles?) 

When the settlers wanted more land than they had been given, the indigenous Maori peoples were so nice that they just gave their land up to them. (Oh. The historical and very clever Kiwi said it was actually settled by war, during which pretty much nobody was nice).

The houses we saw in the village today had been moved to this spot in the 70's and 80's from several miles away. It wasn't as dramatic as moving a house would be today because they had no electricity and no plumbing to mess with. Still, it was a labor of love setting out the homes, the church, the post office, the government building, the laundry, and everything that needed to be placed inside of each. The pictures we looked at showed brightly smiling workmen having what appeared to be the time of their lives. 

All of this might sound a bit dry and historical if not for the four children dashing with excitement from place to place. Every little bit or piece was looked at and exclaimed over: the ancient furniture, the clothing that might just fit someone their own size, an old fashioned laundry process complete with a lady in a cap and apron from the 1800s, helping children wash, rinse, and hang out the family's clothing. 

Especially interesting was the way the women did their ironing. They put something hot inside the iron to make the flat surface hot enough to de-wrinkle their shirts, kitchen towels and even the sheets! We wondered if perhaps they might put boiling water inside the iron. Or maybe they placed hot coals in there, to produce the same effect. One of our young mothers went in and asked the colonial lady, who told us it is the hot coals that go inside! We were SHOCKED because of the possibility that coal dust might creep out and onto the white shirt, and then somebody's husband might get cross...

(and the matter might actually be settled by war, during which pretty much nobody would be nice).

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Extra info about the Historical Village:

"European settlement began in 1847 when three companies of the Royal New Zealand Fencibles were assigned to a defence post. They were retired soldiers enlisted to serve for seven years in exchange for a cottage and an acre of land. Howick was the largest of the Fencible settlements, with 804 people in three companies in 1848. All Saints (Anglican) Church was built in 1847 and is Auckland’s oldest church. After the 1860s New Zealand wars, cropping became the main activity, with wheat and oats the major exports."

https://nzhistory.govt.nz/keyword/howick#:~:text=Howick%20was%20the%20largest%20of,and%20oats%20the%20major%20exports.

Nightly New Zealand News

 Sunrise yesterday at the farmhouse B and B

You almost can't go wrong in a place like this, because everywhere you turn there will be beauty. Usually I listen to audio as I walk hours and hours every day, but because my surroundings are so distracting, I have forgotten all that. 

For instance, the spot upon which I have chosen to write to you is on a cliff overlooking the South Pacific Ocean, with lawns, and trees, and flowers, and a path of steps down to the beach that was once a piece of cake to descend. But of course things have changed in 50 years and when I tried the path the other day... it wasn't pretty.

Overlooking the South Pacific from the cliff

The beach at the bottom

Inside, as I write, are my kind and loving host and hostess, watching their nightly fill of New Zealand news. I can barely hear it where I sit, but it is fascinating. There is something about weather, something about sports, maybe the occasional Australian shark attack, and then the gradual swing toward politics. 

It is amazing how similar this all is to where I come from, if you take the trouble to find news coverage in a house devoid of cable. There are streaming services for this but they aren't fascinating. As a result, I am (usually) the most ignorant American in the room if the talk turns political.

But my host and hostess don't mind this. They think of other people before themselves, and behave accordingly. When I came last week for this visit, they moved out of their cottage bedroom and gave it to me. They are staying in the nearby dorm and in this and a few thousand other ways, have made me feel as if I am on Cloud Nine. That is the grace of God being shared out from an endless Source, and I am inundated with it.

It will soon be time for us to say goodbye, and me to climb into another plane. We will visit the Howick Historical Village tomorrow, and then have pizza to celebrate the beginning of a new school season. These grandchildren have been off for the month of January so parents are switching gears, and children are beginning to look thoughtful. I wonder what kinds of pizza these wonderful young people like? I must ask! What if it's BBQ Chicken and Ham with Pineapple? That would be a fun coincidence. 

And it's terribly important that I get this right..

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Shenanigans on the dining room floor,

at Home

One House In Matamata

A house in Matamata

One of the reasons I wanted to show you Matamata is this house, above. While my host was playing golf yesterday, I strolled the neighborhoods and scoped out the cool houses I walked past. This wasn't even the prettiest house. There were many just as nice, and some prettier. But something touched me about the splendid way the town had been planned - large yards, front and back, houses wide apart, split streets with green grass and trees in between, tons of room for kids to ride bikes and play 'kick the can' on a summer's eve (no, I don't know if they play kick the can), and cute main streets filled with entertainment cafes and shops. There must have been some pretty special Town Planners involved back when Matamata was developed. They were brilliant!

As I walked that morning, I set to wondering how to get to the places I needed to be, without a car. Reasons for NOT renting a car had out-weighed the reasons FOR it, although some gentle Kiwis thought this idea strange. I'm inclined to agree with them, now. My hostess, after all, rescued me in her 'flash' car after eating myself silly at the Hobbit Luncheon (new word alert: flash is a Kiwi word meaning 'fancy'). Just about everything at my airbnb - including the cat - is 'flash':

The flash cat

*Her husband Greg drove me to Matamata and back on Saturday

*The iSite manager (Tourist Information) arranged a cab to take me to Matamata Sunday morning to catch the bus to Auckland

*my hostess did something else entirely kind and voluntarily (and I am not going to say what), saving my bacon

*getting from downtown Auckland to the Ferry,

*getting from the Ferry to Half Moon Bay,

*from Half Moon Bay to Bleakhouse Road, and Fowey.

I never did find the Ferry, or Half Moon Bay. It was raining sideways and my phone was almost dead, and when a man said there is NO FERRY TODAY and that I should get a bus to Panmure and then another bus to Howick, I freaked and dialed Uber. I kid you not, people, the driver appeared in 15 SECONDS, opened his window, called my name, and said - "GET IN". 

I did.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Another house in Matamata

P.S.: Definition for Matamata:

"A grotesque South American freshwater turtle that has a broad flat head and neck with irregular projections of skin resembling waterweed." (Google)

"Matamata means headland." (Google)

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A Hobbit Along The Way (day two)

 The Mill at Hobbiton

(This is the only photo I was able to import today, so I have no photos of Matamata)

Greetings from Matamata!

After the first week of rekindling old memories and sharing new ones, I went off on my own simply to enjoy this pretty little town whose major industry seems to be a series of movies. Everything about Lord Of The Rings (and The Hobbit) makes this place hum. 

I haven't described for you yet the all-you-can-eat-hobbit-luncheon-buffet. To begin with, it was almost grossly huge, and the guides encouraged us to eat AS MUCH AS WE WANTED. I noticed that the men (and I) had generous portions on our very large plates, and their wives (and not I) were more delicate in their choices. The following items were on two large and groaning hobbit tables:

Ginger beer, sweet potatoes, carrots, turnips, Middle Earth Stew, green salad with a tasty dressing, roasted potatoes, creamy macaroni salad, freshly baked breads, grilled chicken legs, and roast beef. For dessert there was a separate table groaning with a variety of cakes - chocolate (best taste of the day), white cake, lemon cake with cream cheese frosting (did hobbits even use cream cheese?), apple crumble with heavy cream, and dessert squares one could eat with one's hands. After all this gluttony, our group was ushered out post haste because the next group was ready for their gluttony.

By this time I felt it was time to go to the airbnb, which is a one mile walk. I set out like any take-charge American walker, totally unaware of the effect I was having on the tour guides. They finally appointed one of themselves the task of approaching me.

"I'm sorry Ma'am, but we don't allow anyone on the road.. It is too dangerous, and anyway, you can't."

I was nonplussed and without words. In all the thousands of miles I have walked since 2011, not one person has suggested that I couldn't. I felt sorry for her though, because really, she was right. And not happy to have been forced into the bad cop role. 

"What should I do?" I asked.

"Where is your car?" she asked.

"I don't have a car," I said. 

"What about trying an Uber?" she whispered, because everyone up there knows that not one Uber driver has ever showed their face at the Hobbit Film Set Tour. But I said I would try. I also messaged my airbnb hostess that I would be a little later because I was walking down. Somehow she was able to get in her car and appear at the Film Set Tour in a matter of moments. She opened her window, called out my name, and said "GET IN".

This lady has turned out to be the most generous, sweet, and kind airbnb hostess. She has given me wonderful food and anything a traveler could possibly want. I can't go deeply into it right now because this blog post is already too long, and I am too sleepy. But I have to tell you this: her husband drove me to Matamata and back today so I could wander the streets and get my mileage in while he played golf. Then, they invited me for dinner at their house next door.

Dear Readers, New Zealand and its people are lovely. You really should come, and see. You will be made the most generous welcome, and, once you get the hang of their accent, they are extremely funny.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

P.S. These are the items my hostess provided me with:

a half gallon of whole milk, home made blueberry coffee cake, yogurt, honey, jam, orange juice, fresh butter, tangelo marmalade, apricot jam, bread, bottled water, bananas, apricots, plums, bean bag coffee, tea bags, raw sugar, corn flakes, granola, weetabix, salted peanuts, salt and pepper, a HAIR DRYER, hair spray, bath robes, and all sorts of soaps just in case someone didn’t bring theirs. 

A Hobbit Along The Way

 

You cannot step foot in New Zealand without thinking about 'those' movies. Everything around you shouts out 'those' movies names. Which movies? Well, they are the movies that make you think about New Zealand, the lush green landscapes and stark blue skies and shockingly white mountains. Oh yes, and the pure, clean rivers, streams and lakes. I can only be referring to the unforgettable, unbelievably astonishingly fabulous Lord Of The Rings. We have now been thinking non stop about them for two straight days.

Maybe you remember that I re-visited New Zealand 20 years ago to travel and sing and look at anything remotely related to Lord Of The Rings, taking my sister with me. The locals seemed in a perpetual yawn whenever we asked them, wide eyed, about LOTR. Even in Hobbiton, three battered looking hobbit holes were just about the whole of the display. 

And then there came The Hobbit, with its sky high budget and over-the-top creativity. The film sets were fantastic, colorful, and precisely created the way they had been for LOTR, only this time no hideous rule about demolishing it all at the end. There are now 44 beautiful hobbit holes and a lake, with cute passages along which Gandalf and Frodo rode in their cart, and the Party tree with its May Pole and the spot where Pippin and Merry set off all the fireworks. All in all, it is a hobbit village fit for (very small) kings (and queens).

Yesterday we visited their Hobbiton-Movie-Set-Tour. When we climbed aboard the shiny new bus and settled into our plush new seats, the first thing we heard was the MUSIC of Lord Of The Rings. Nothing can draw you in like that. It was a real "You had me with hello" moment. I was so impressed and drawn in that I came back and did the whole thing all over again today, with an important addition: I went to their Hobbiton-Movie-Set-Tour-And-Meal-Combo! 

It was delicious, dear Readers. More than anyone could ever possibly finish, but of course they (and I) tried. And I have smashing pictures of it all, truly I do. But those pictures will not - however hard I try to convince them to - import! (Or is it export?) Well it's one of those two, and they simply will not do it. So for now, you won't be able to see the loveliness.

Maybe you will soon. I hope so.

See you along the way!

the SconeLady

Privileges

 

1972

Arrival at a Capernwray school is something of a Paradigm shift, leaving one slightly off the normal kilter. Ours happened to be in New Zealand, making us a group of very lucky young people. We ate our meals in the Lodge overlooking a massive lawn that ended in a cliff overlooking the Pacific. And then there was the sky. 

We stayed in dorms and attended lectures by gifted Bible teachers, learning things we still have never forgotten. And then, we did "chores". Only they weren't called that, dear Readers. Chores came with a different name, because we were becoming different people and were very slightly off the normal kilter.

They were not chores that we were doing. They were Privileges.

It is a lesson that has lingered - when laundry sits on a couch or dishes rest in the sink, I no longer think "chore"; instead, I think "Privilege". And for whom am I doing Privileges? the Giver of grace and peace. Do we always feel that working the mundane is a privilege? Probably not. But there is a choice there, too, and I am still, daily, making it.

2024

Every day here at the Lodge (now called 'Fowey Lodge') I wander a few feet from my cottage doorstep (for no one lives in the Lodge, now; it is, sadly, to be sold) and stand there. A new Paradigm may be on the horizon. But for the rest of my final week here, I shall wander the halls and gardens of the empty Fowey, remembering precisely the spots where significant things happened, in 1972; the places where significant people, including me, were being changed from the Old to the New, becoming very slightly off the normal kilter.

See you along the Way!

the SconeLady

Pilgrimage

September 1972

I was 21 and packing a large but lightweight bag which would carry everything I might need for a year 'Down Under'. New Zealand was on my horizon, with lovely Capernwray Lodge ready to welcome me.

My mother sat next to me on the bed, holding a great fat wallet. I eyed it cautiously because it contained money, a passport, important telephone numbers, and the US Embassy's New Zealand address. My mother seemed reluctant to hand it over. I had never traveled outside the country and I think she was entertaining doubts as to whether I would make it back.

"Keep this wallet safe," she was saying, an edge to her voice. "There are unscrupulous people who would like nothing better than to grab it if you leave it laying on a bench."

"Oh mom," I said, appalled. "I would never leave a wallet on a bench!" 

"Mm-hm," she approximately replied.

Fast forward to January, 2024. My mother no longer has to worry about whether I might leave my wallet on a bench.

But as I prepared for this trip, I read about how strict New Zealand is about bringing in fruits, vegetables, or animal products. Nothing like that was in any of my baggage, of course. I would never carry such non-acceptables. But walking toward customs and immigration, I saw signs forbidding these things and felt a twinge of uncertainty. The signs warned of a $400 fine and IMPRISONMENT. What if...  But I was so weary from the flight that I tiptoed through the barrier in a hopeful fear.

Ahead of me, a law enforcement officer appeared with a cute dog that was sniffing everybody's shoes and selves, and then it was sniffing my shoes and my self, and then it put its snout against my arm, in - not exactly a bite, but perhaps a nip. The law enforcement officer said, "Stop," - with an edge to her voice. I did.

She directed me to a designated search area, opened my bags, and let the dog sniff. Its snout came to rest upon a crumpled up paper bag, which I recognized as my TRASH BAG. Oh no! In it was a mandarin peel and empty tomato soup container. 

Have I told you yet how kind the people of New Zealand are? Even their law enforcement officers and dogs? Even that little nip was rather kind. I wanted to pet it, but refrained. And - thank Heavens! - there was no fine, and no imprisonment. As I exited my Uber a half hour later, there stood the Lodge, just exactly the way it had looked 50 years ago, with two wonderful and loving people standing on the porch, smiling, waiting just for me. 

Hugs; laughter; cups of tea. 

Pilgrimage. 

See you along the way!

the SconeLady