The bell rings at 9:45. We all troop into the break room for “smoko,” or morning tea. The bell rings again at 10:00, and we tip the dregs out of our tea cups and troop back to work. It’s a factory. A plant factory. The surprising part is that I like it.

There are some idyllic bays tucked into notches around the Banks Peninsula. Winter is loosening its grip, so couple weeks ago we stayed at the Okains Bay campground, with tent sites tucked under those big pine trees just behind the beach.

Our friends Emma and Ian plus their three kids joined us for Saturday. If Sand + Water = Kid Happiness, then fresh Mussels + Beer = Adult Happiness.

Sand+Water+Dead Fish=Intense Happiness. We found this kahawai fish in one of the tidal pools, recently dead for no apparent reason. We were tempted to try eating it….but declined when we contemplated the various pathogens that might cause a fish to die at sea (actually, we have no idea about the pathogens, just aware that what we don’t know fills volumes). Then we saw a dolphin in the bay, and wondered if it got whacked by the dolphin, then lost in the waves. The diggers and trucks were immediately abandoned by the children. The fish was smacked, whacked, buried, disinterred, swung in graceful arcs, dropped from the overhanging rocks, and eventually detailed and descaled. Talk about cheap amusement.

You couldn’t tell Naomi that the rocks were too high for her–her chubby little fingers found the hand holds and her toes scrabbled up behind.

Aw, mommy-baby photo op.

The sand at Okain’s Bay is perfect for sculpting, smooth and wet and dense, and strong enough for a seat.  

Some people are mesmerized by waves, languidly watching them for hours. I personally don’t find them so calming, but I did stop to admire the sun’s glare on the overlapping edges as they chuckled in to shore. I wonder if the waves feel a bit redundant, always doing and re-doing the same rote task, like endlessly tidying the sheets of sand only to have critters muck them up again with foot prints.

It’s finally spring, and it seems to have finally warmed up. My sincerest condolences to our northern hemisphere family and friends who are entering the Dark Days of Winter just as we’re chortling about spring. You’ll get your own cackles come June, when we’re shivering and you’re beginning to tan.
We got up to Christchurch’s central park (Hagley) one day last week to oogle the blossoms. Milo stopped to admire this flower bed–“You do want to take a picture, don’t you Mom?” Of course I do. Kudos to the gardener who dreamed up the kaleidoscope combination of red polyanthus, pink bellis, orange poppies, yellow wall flower, and bright blue forget-me-nots.

We zipped through the extensive daffodil plantings under the tall oaks and petted the furry ranunculus blossoms in the alpine garden before Milo announced the inevitable: “Mom, I’m hungry!” Of course you are. Never mind that breakfast was a scant hour ago. The feeding doesn’t seem to parse out into simple meals, but instead morphs into a continuous bonanza of cheese, grapes, peanutbutter-and-jelly, and banana. You’d think they’d get tired of the old stand-bys, but they don’t seem to. After our food we wandered over to this climbable magnolia to put it through its paces.

Aptly named “Kaka beak,” these red flowers are a New Zealand special. I couldn’t drum up much interest in these pendulous beauties among the little people, unfortunately.

A log full of bugs was much more interesting. I get it. I find the quick sunlight exposure and the frantic scuttle for the safety of the dark a pretty good show myself.

Naomi, true to her sweet nurturing nature, was most interested in the “babies.” I’m not sure how exactly she logic-ed the worm-like beetle larvae as cute, but she pointed enthusiastically as they made their escape. “BayBies!”

Sunday morning we took the whole clan to the “Arboria,” an inflatable walk-through art exhibit that uses different colors and thicknesses of plastic + sunlight to generate amazing displays of colors and patterns inside. It’s in Christchurch’s Cathedral square, where 5 years after the quakes the cathedral still stands in limbo, open to the elements and a prime pigeon roost. But see that crane int he background? LOTS of new building going on as well.

We did, eventually, make it to the front of the line.  We went through an air lock, and Milo enters a different world….

It looks a little sinister in this view, especially with Jeremiah’s menacing figure guarding the doorway.  Actually, that wasn’t a doorway, just a colored panel that was hot from the sun hitting it, and Jeremiah’s soaking up the warmth.  

But this view looks like a fairy palace, hobbit-style with the round passageways.

Amazing, the crew stayed still long enough to capture a non-blurry photo.  Milo, Chloe, Amelie, and Ella.

The lacy shadow on the roof is cast by the chalice sculpture that stands outside in Cathedral Square.

gazing….

gaping….

…at the mesmerizing kaleidoscope of patterns.

You pass the lamp post, then you enter the land of Spare Oom. That’s where the Eels live. Though not the shrieking variety…

We thought we had three eels living in our front stream.  A big one, a medium one, and a little one (quickly dubbed “daddy,” “mommy” and “baby” by our friends, a family of 3 girls).  That’s what we thought until we brought the ham out…now we know there are actually more than we can count.  We’ve tried them on salami and tahr, but ham seems to be the favorite so far.  Eels are my kind of pets–feed them when you want to, don’t when you don’t want to, and no further ownership duties. I guess they may lack a little in the Warm and Fuzzy department….

That black slithery shadow is one of the larger eels. I looked up their life cycles, and they’re the reverse of salmon. Adults live in fresh water streams for their whole long lives (like 50+ years), then when they’re ready to mate they go back to the ocean, to some deep trench near Tonga (no one really knows), where they lay their eggs. Their tiny babies drift back to the New Zealand coast on ocean currents, and some small percentage makes it into the streams to grow to a size that can terrorize ducklings. Doesn’t make you want to dabble your toes in our stream, now does it?

Milo’s room

Naomi’s room

Parents’ room

Front hallway (here’s where Milo gets a piece of the action)

Living room

Kitchen

It’s funny what accumulates in your pockets during a move. American quarters have no value here. That button goes to Milo’s jacket, but I’ll probably never get around to sewing it back on. It’s unlikely I’ll need that irrigation nozzle. And I haven’t seen the toy man that flipper fits on for weeks.  Still couldn’t throw any of it away.

At the end of the afternoon Naomi awoke from her nap and they both wanted to go outside and stamp in the puddles. They came back 20 minutes later soggy, cold, and happy.

This is the primary reason we moved to the new house. Milo spent 30 minutes whacking these logs, admiring the purple inner bark as he was pulverizing it. He would really go to town with a hatchet, but I hate to think what else would surely get chopped.