In Other News, I Bought a Mandolin

My eyelids dragged shut, my legs creaked at me, and my brain simply drifted back into the fog of sleep as I regained consciousness this morning. Waking up was a slow process and I found myself starting to slip into some odd sort of funk. “I should be doing something. Maybe I should go on a hike since the weather is nice. Perhaps I am silly for not starting on something sooner.”

Finally I shook my head of the silliness and reminded myself I walked really freaking far yesterday. I trailblazed to a crater very few people see and managed to be back on time to do a shift as receptionist.

“Just get yourself out of bed, Abiel. You can do this.”

I was able to make a good breakfast and go on an outing with two lovely friends. “When in doubt, go out” is some of the best advice I received before I left. Today it proved true.

Come afternoon, I wandered to the tiny house of one of my favorite people.

“Hey! Look what I got! A mandolin. It was only $50 and it’s helping me figure out the violin too.”

I fell in love with the little instrument he showed me. It’s deep, dreamlike color, uneven brush strokes, pearly silver pegs, and the elegant hardware.

“A year from now, we’ll all be gone,
All our friends will move away.
And they’re going to better places,
But our friends will be gone away.”

My heart nearly skipped a beat with happiness as he began to sing “Rivers and Roads” by The Head and the Heart. The little mandolin rang and I let my voice join their song.

For the next hour or so, I plopped on the carpet and learned chords until my fingers were indented by the strings.

“So what would you suggest I look for if I were to buy my own mandolin?”

“Well. You know what?…one second.” I watched as he scrolled through his phone for a moment. “So I would ultimately like a mandolin that I can plug into an amp and I have a bid on one right now. If you like, you can buy that one off me.”

Holy shit. Really?!

So uh. I am now traveling with a mandolin.

And I could not be happier about it.

I’m working on learning to play “Rivers and Roads” and “What Do You Do with a Drunken Sailor” because what’s life without variety?

Thankfully I was taught the latter song and told to wing the strumming pattern for the former. (“It gives it more soul.”)

Multiple hours later, I was still curled up with my new instrument and my friend had made a rack for all of his other instruments.

Oh. He plays the didgeridoo. Coolest freaking instrument ever and it sounds otherworldly beautiful.

“By the time I get to America, you can come with me and we’ll go play our mandolins at some music sessions.”

That’ll be f*cking awesome.

Superfluously So

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I am exactly one week away from having been in New Zealand for three months. As is typical with such things, it feels much longer and much shorter than the time it has been.

Before I left, my mom told me that the first three months is where you sit there going “What the hell am I doing?”

She was right. As usual.

About two weeks ago, I felt myself settle. Things aren’t feeling quite so urgent. My ideas and plans are stretching themselves to fit into the flow I have created around me. My overarching state of mind is no longer bent on relating my present to the past, but on deciding how I could associate it with my future.

The other day, someone asked me about my plans after New Zealand. I was rattling off four or five ideas I had, when my coworker informed me of a totally new option in a place I had been considering. “That is also something I might do.”

As one of my favorite people here has been telling me “You have time.”

I’m finally getting myself to believe it.

Some days it feels like I tumble head over heels into all the possibilities or places I create in my mind. I lay on my bed and curl up with a pillow, doing exactly nothing, thinking about how I could be learning to do this or that or walking here or practicing this. My mind propels me as I lean against it, wondering if perhaps I’m alright without all this ambitious desire to be, in some cases, superfluously multifaceted.

You know all in all I just get to laugh. I have time. I have the moment. I have a sometimes ridiculously poetic brain, framing my experiences in words that sound nice when typed out.

And I get to make more cookies this afternoon! Gingerbread. It’s my Christmas contribution for the summer.

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Welcome to National Park
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I love watching the trains go by.
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Mt. Ruapehu looks different in every photo I take as the lighting shifts, the snow melts, and my perspective is altered.
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If rainbows mean promise, than I am promised beautiful things. If the end of the rainbow means gold, than National Park is the perfect pot of gold. If rainbows mean gay as frick, than I have some really awesome people to meet. 
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Bush walks and flower crowns
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An unedited photo of a fern. The fern is the unofficial national symbol of New Zealand, and for good reason as the tree ferns can be several meters tall and make up a good portion of the local foliage.
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Icy blue in boiling temperatures
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A cave harboring heated water at the bottom
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Geothermal places

 

 

Necessarily Normal

This is for all of those lovely individuals born into the female expectations of the world, especially those I have had the pleasure of knowing at ERCLC.

You are brilliantly worthy of being yourself in whatever form that may take.

As I find myself surrounded by many different cultures and even more individual ways of seeing life, I am ever more grateful for the community I have had at ERCLC, my old school.

Create. Keep creating. Keep taking the opportunity to learn something new.

And give yourself grace for all those moments where you feel anything but good at what you are doing.

I was recently told that perhaps I am intimidating. I asked why. I’m surrounded by people doing the things that I thought made me intimidating at home. Firefighters, rock climbers, hitchhikers, guides, travellers, multi-talented women and individuals of all sorts of badass kinds.

“Actually I think it’s because of how curious you are.”

I had told this person that pretty much everyone I come in contact with is peppered with questions. Could they teach me? What does this mean? What do they know about the area? How likely is it for me to be able to do this?

ERCLC is a place where that is encouraged. You want to learn how to use a laser cutter? You want to learn about the biology of a horse hoof? You want to learn how to code games, sew, cook, act, run a country, travel the world, fence, or pretty much anything you can think of? We will get you the books, point you in the right direction, find someone who knows, figure it out with you, or answer your questions.

Go for it.

So what happens when you put someone who has lived that for most of their life into a place where asking so incessantly isn’t necessarily normal?

You know I’m still trying to figure it out.

I’ve sat on my bed many afternoons wondering if I’m somehow throwing myself way too far out there. Maybe I ought to back off. Maybe I ought to somehow make myself more manageable. I’m louder, more easily excited, younger, and less experienced than many around me.

I’ve had a lot of “ah crap. Maybe I ought to have kept my mouth shut.”

Oh well.

I’m finding the lovely people who listen to me, but perhaps I am more thankful for those who let me listen to them.

All this to say, if you are brave enough to do anything, start by being brave enough to ask a question. Because I am spending a good portion of my days looking like I don’t know much so that I can learn a heck of a lot more.

For those little girls and individuals in general who are finding themselves caught in an expectant tangle of gender or society expectations, I have some encouragement.

There is nothing more beautiful to a real person than another real person.

I am taking up space. I have shaved sides and blue hair. I am asking questions. I am announcing my presence with echoing barefooted footsteps in the halls. I am laughing loudly, excitedly introducing myself to people, sheepishly running off a longboard when I go too fast, watching people with wide eyes as they tell stories, and happily proclaiming my personal favourite accomplishment of the day.

And it certainly isn’t always accepted or encouraged.

So I’ll keep being myself again tomorrow.

I absolutely love it when you do the same.

Well, Have a Good Life

A Swede, Nederlander, Frenchman, Australian, and American walk into a bar to solve the world’s problems…

Whoever can come up with a punchline wins a high five sent from New Zealand.

Living at a hostel presents a lot of interesting challenges. It is basically one giant sociology experiment.

To be a backpacker means you are alone. You may be constantly surrounded by people. You may be in the middle of nowhere and completely without human contact.

Guess which one often feels the loneliest?

To be a backpacker means you are being shoved in and out of friendships that may span two hours total. Time becomes both everything and nothing in your relationships. You have listened to yourself say where you are from, where you are heading, how long you have been here, what you are doing, and why you’re here over and over. You say goodbye to people by saying “have a nice life,” often certain you will never speak to them again. You are constantly surrounded by the interesting so many degenerate into finding nothing interesting. Life becomes “life” again. Even as they are in amazing places, I have met individuals who somehow manage to sound as though they are in a terribly boring situation.

How you see the world is everything.

So how do you find the people who sound like the start of a bad joke when you go out to eat? How do you find the people to kiss under the stars and talk deep without drink? How do you find the ones who you walk into a conversation with them and think “I am going to make sure our friendship lasts longer than a moment”?

I’m not entirely sure.

But I’m determined to keep making it happen.

This post is dedicated to Stuart, George, Sonja, Viktor, and Pierre. I wish you all the homemade cookies you can find.

Splitting Rhythms

There is something comforting about splitting wood. Your arms swing in rhythm with your shifting feet and the crack of splintering logs shudders down the ax handle.

And then you miss.

The ax head digs itself into the stump used as a prop. Or gouges a small piece out of the flagstone. Or whiffs completely.

I could make some grand metaphor about life, but I don’t think I need to. Your arms grow tired as you thrust your energy into chopping what once was living. People sometimes look at me a bit funny when they see a small female figure throwing herself into the reduction of a substance.

I smile back. There is too much that is odd and interesting and beautiful in the world to begrudge anyone the curiosity of something unusual.

(Here are some of the photos from the other day’s hike. The featured photo is one angle of my little home.)

 

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Just beyond those rocks the water drops off into the waterfall shown two photos below.

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They used this pool for Gollum’s fish catching scene.

50 Kilo Ladders

“Damn it. I left my earrings in the pocket of a firefighter.”

My whole world is driven by possibilities. My mind constantly spins with thoughts of “I could do this! Or I could try that! How do I make that happen? Who should I talk to? Oh, I could totally learn about that! I wonder if I can find someone to teach me how to do this.” I constantly seek opportunities to try something new and experience something different.

I came into this year with the goal of volunteering at a fire department at some point during my stay. I found out that Americans can volunteer while I was in Wellington. Once I arrived in National Park Village, I wandered over to the Fire Service to ask if they might allow me to work with them while I am here.

I was met with the disappointing news that I would need to be here for at least a year in order to become a part of the service.

So I settled into my new home, all the while holding in the back of my mind that I was going to find a way to bring them cookies or sweep their floor or something.

Sure enough I found a flyer asking for volunteer firefighters. You could call, which I already had, email, or show up to training.

I showed up to training.

National Park Fire Service holds some of the friendliest, most interesting, badass, strong people you will find. Immediately I was able to talk to them about my situation and despite the fact that I still am unable to join, I am allowed to return to Monday night trainings.

I watched them lift their 50 kilo ladder, don breathing apparatus’, crawl through the local playground, and clean their equipment. They allowed me to put on the BA backpack and follow their route, gave me ginger beer, and provided me with the info I needed to know should I choose to stay a year and be a volunteer firefighter.

I’ve sifted through many career opportunities, picking them up and putting them down like new hats. I get excited about each of them, but my excitement for this one is unlike the others. Fire Service will take me where I want to go, but in the meantime, I will have a community and lifestyle unlike any other.

And thus I will keep attending training and happily accept rides in the engine. My future’s going to work itself out, but it’s nice to know that I can actively seek things to help it along.

Yellow Flower Frames

While gazing out the window on our drive to and from town today, I searched for a way to express just how beautiful the sight before me was. One sentence that came to mind was “I want to wrap my soul around it and give it a bear hug.” I wistfully pondered finding a way to integrate this vista, these mountains, that sky into my being.

My train of thought drifted into wondering why we desire to own what we love. Why do I scramble for a reason why this belongs to me. Why do I crave the right to a private piece of a world that was never meant to be mine? I was meant to be a part of it, stride across the future creating my path, but never lay claim to something that has been here so much longer than me.

I notice myself grasping for justifications of my love for people, locations, hobbies, even fandoms. As if proclaiming my devotion will somehow make it my own.

It doesn’t.

I could understand the desert and its powerful silence through and through and it would not be my own anymore than my neighbor’s home is mine. I could write my mountain devotion in verse after verse and my words would not give me right to its slopes and wisdom. I can mention that one of my closest friends has been a part of my world since I was 13 and our lives will continue to collide for years to come, but that does not give me claim to their life and soul. No significant other will belong to me. No friend will belong to me. No part of this world will belong to me. I simply am here to celebrate or enhance or help or be subject to it.

And if all this is true,

Than I do not belong to the world.

I am my own.

And I will not sell pieces of my being just so that I can say I have purchased a part of someone or something else’s.

(All of the photos are unedited.)

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Thermal pools are a world all their own

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I have people who get as excited as I do about stopping to take pictures of the lookout!
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Honeybee-autiful…eyyyy

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Mt. Tongariro
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Mt. Tongariro and Mt. Ngauruhoe, (Mt. Doom)
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Mt. Ruapehu
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Mt. Tongariro

My Humming Heart

“The previous owner didn’ like backpackers, but we want to make it a place that’s real backpacker friendly. Then we’ll still have the lodge bit an all that, a course. So you’re comin’ in in the middle a this transition. We’re gonna teach you the new system. Much more efficient that way.”

When I applied to Howard’s Mountain Lodge in National Park, I knew very little about it. The ad didn’t even have the name of the lodge. I had no idea where exactly I was working until I was accepted. I was aware it was in Taupo area, but not where specifically. On top of that, I did not apply for anything else. I sent my resume to only this place, trusting that perhaps it would be the right spot for me.

It is.

Howard’s Mountain Lodge has just shifted owners and it is being moved towards a safe, friendly, efficient environment for families, school groups, and backpackers alike. Basically it is in the process of remaking itself into something better suited to a brighter future.

“National Park needs a heart. These hostels and lodges should all have at least an eight outta ten on their reviews. We’re gonna make this lodge have a heart. You wanna hear a hum when you walk into the lounge. It’s a place to relax and have fun, you know.”

My new little home is gorgeous. I am able to amble National Park’s entire circumference in about three quarters of an hour, less if I am intending to make it back from the store before the rain soaks through my jeans. There is a sizable play structure which I intend to claim as my makeshift jungle gym on dry afternoons. Blue skies gives you the chance to see the stunning peaks of Mt. Ruapehu and Mt. Ngauruhoe. They take my breath away. A nearby hostel has a full on climbing wall, (which kinda boggles my mind considering this town has a population of literally less than two hundred). I am currently working on negotiating a pass that lets me climb frequently. My goal is to be able to climb routes that are at least New Zealand grade twenty before I return to California. Once I figure out hitchhiking, making friends with people who have cars, and the local shuttles, I will have access to a wide range of hikes nestled within the mountain slopes.

To top off these exciting things, my British coworker and I have learnt quite a bit about the lodge’s new booking system by checking in a wide range of delightful guests. As expected, Chewbacca and Han Solo proved a bit of a challenge as we downgraded their rooms, upgraded them, put them in separate bookings, and then sorted out their payments. McGonagall was charged extra for the cat hair, and Merry and Pippin are enjoying their shared dorm room.

Luke Skywalker checks out tomorrow.

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Our hike yesterday left us feeling as though an elf was going to glide past us on the path.
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Seaweed moss (as I have come to call it) is a personal favorite aspect of this area.

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Seaweed moss believes in a diverse community with many shapes and colors. Be more like moss.
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Still working out what this plant is called, but I love it.
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It’s a jungle out there. Cheers.

 

Worth a Thousand Words*

*Supposedly

I walked over 20 kilometers today. For those of you as tired as I am, that is two 10k walks. For those of you who are American that is over 13 miles.

But man, was it worth it.

This is one of the few times where I am going to let the photos speak more than the words, but I joined the Wellington Quaker Walking Group as they tramped up to the top of one of the surrounding hills. I continue to stand by my claim that Wellington is one of the most beautiful places in the world.

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Quaker Walking Group
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Petone Beach
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Well above the aforementioned beach. (Unedited)
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Another reason why I stand by my claim
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The best roads are the ones you cannot see the end of. (Unfiltered)
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My favorite fern
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This bloom is in the orchid family. I absolutely love it. It reminds me of a delicate bird. And my little girl heart is validated by the fact that there is actually a green flower.
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Maori carving has joined my list of favorite art forms
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Blue skies, blue roof, blue wall, blue gate.
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Perhaps my favorite photo of the day. She’s beautiful, isn’t she?

Welcome Friend

It’s a beautiful little space. Not out in the country like the one I have spent all my time in previously, but one that is cared for, full of light, and traditional in a way that feels familiar.

I walked into a room with straight backed chairs arranged in a semi circle of two rows. The little table in the middle had a guest book, two small vases of flowers, and some pamphlets that looked as though they held the thoughts of people who cared. I was instantly aware of the eyes that were assessing me as I entered. Not out of judgement. Most don’t do that in this circle. They were gazes of curiosity. Visitors aren’t terribly common, especially rather young ones with blue hair.

I found an easily available seat, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. I’m home.

I have said it before and I will never hesitate to say it again: the Quakers are some of the most badass, incredible people you will ever meet. They call themselves Friends and are honestly the most apt community to do so. Quaker acceptance, generosity, and desire to change the world radiates through words and smiles, but most importantly it is shown in their actions. The Friends work to change the world, and their efforts are visible.

I had one of the most wonderful mornings with the Wellington Friends. A warm thank you to your meeting for showing me the kindness that would be shown to you at the Visalia Meeting. I am grateful for my new community.

You are all being held in the Light.