First published in the Ipswich Local News January 11, 2024.
In the summer of 2005 a new mom and fairly new writer, emailed Dan MacAlpine, editor of The Beverly Citizen, about running an eight part series featuring a local family moving to Australia for the winter, with a side jaunt to New Zealand. It would chronicle life down under.
When she returned, Dan said, “Why don’t you keep writing?”
So I did.
And now, 19 years later, I’ve come full circle as our family just spent two weeks in New Zealand. We didn’t go to Australia, but we did check in on many southern hemisphere favorites including, but not limited to, ways you can die, the saner pace of life, and my favorite topic: screens.
I also brought questions. Was hiking with one toddler in the land of sheep and hobbits easier than two older teenaged daughters? Who would need naps this time? Was I still the only Tolkien fan? How many pictures could we force our college-aged daughter to re-create?
Beyond trips down memory lane, the prevailing theme of New Zealand is: don’t be dumb. If the sign says it’s a steep cliff, it is and you could fall off. If the white water rafting guide says, ‘If you can’t swim, don’t do this,’ he means you could drown.
There is no ‘abundance of caution’ down there, there is just common sense and an awareness that people die doing dumb things. You can be one of them or not. Your choice.
Our choices included zip lining, white water rafting, steep hikes, planes, boats of all sizes, river wading, a muddy attempt at gold panning, and for my husband and oldest daughter, sky diving. (I don’t want to talk about that choice.)
While I managed to not fall out of plane, I did feel a new appreciate for what lies beneath, namely icebergs. Anyone who’s seen Titanic gets it; icebergs are dangerous.
But it’s a whole different deal to be in a small rubber boat on an opaque lake (visibility is zero due to glacial dust called ‘rock flour’) when an iceberg redistributes its weight and flips.
Our guide brought us to a ‘small’ iceberg that had just calved that morning from the Tasman Glacier up by Mount Cook.
“This is a new one, so we haven’t had time yet to find out how it’s shaped beneath. Let’s check.”
She took her oar, and started stabbing the chalky, blue water to find the edges of the 90% that we couldn’t see.
‘If we can find a good spot I’ll bring us in close so you can get a handful of ice, ah… here we go.”
She maneuvered our boat in, and we all reached out and touched it, as our younger daughter interrupted. “I think it’s moving!”
“Yes!” She exclaimed. “Look at that, she’s rolling a bit, let’s back up a bit.”
The iceberg began to move faster. Suddenly the water roiled and a giant [boat sized] slab of ice popped to the surface. Where we’d just been.
“Well there you go!” the guide yelled enthusiastically. “See!! We had no idea it was there! You can really get a sense of scale now!”
Indeed.
When not nearly dying, the other constant from 20 years ago was the lovely, less materialistic, less frenzied, pace of life. Whether in a small town shopping center, attending a church service, or talking to a pharmacist, there was a general agreement that no one needed to freak out. It was ok. Whatever it was.
No worries.
Well, except, they still refuse to use screens which I can’t be calm about. I didn’t get it then and I don’t get it now. There were flies, moths, bees, birds and not a few cats, possums and rabbits. All animals with total freedom to enter houses whenever the adventurous spirit of exploration possessed them. I suppose the endless incredible views are best enjoyed without mesh? I’m still not sure.
But I am sure that being that far away, in a culture that is like ours just maybe, still pleasant, with uninhabited spaces, sweeping views, and sheep for all, is a great way to see where you started and how far you’ve come.