The New World by Spencer Anderson
The sun shown down on the New World. A man sat on a bench just outside the doorway. His boots were old, same with his hat. Its brim, once neatly curved in a smooth and symmetrical arc, now waved around his head as if possessed by two conflicting waves of energy. He sat cross-legged, in the fashion of a thinker, and for the way his eyes gave analysis to the unfolding scene, he could have been a fine one.
The doors to the New World swung open, and a man lumbered out. By the look of him, he appeared to have been making an important delivery. His forehead glistened in the sun, and globules of sweat were apparent there and on his temples. His eyes squinted against the brightness and also against what must have been a stressful thought. He wore shorts well above his knees, and near to their ends dangled his fingers, clenching into fists one moment, extending to their full length in the opposite tension that followed. He stomped over to a long, white van, threw open the door, and climbed in. Seconds later the engine roared and American music, cerca 1984, could be heard pooring out of the open windows. He pulled out into the flow of traffic, and in a moment was gone.
The man in the old boots and hat peered up into the bright white light of the sun. The sky was deep blue behind the radiance, and a few clouds hung in the air, as if permanent fixtures on a painted backdrop. However, below things were as impermanent as rapids in a stream. A flock of birds took flight from a tree beside the New World. They dipped and dove as one body, like a school of fish, as they climbed over the hill and out of site. The doors to the New World swung wide once more, and a man walked out twirling his keys around his index finger while whistling a tune that sounded strangely similar to the song of the birds that had only recently departed. He wore a grizzled beard, maybe 3 days grown, and his cheek bones sat high about his sunken cheeks, and though his eye sockets were deep, they held alert eyes that reflected the sun like the ocean beyond the hill. One might have thought, were he standing still, that he was terminally ill, for his arms and legs were nowhere to be seen beneath his baggy jumper and jeans, but the movement of his walk epitomized a man of perfect health. Indeed, he was a man of contradiction, a mere skeleton walking the earth as if his bones carried the flesh of a voyageur. The spring in his step carried him through the parking lot and out of site.
Alone again, the man in the old boots and hat watched the cars whiz by on the busy street. The grinding of a skateboard was heard making its way down the hill on the sidewalk. It neared the hedge that surrounded the parking lot belonging to the New World. Above the hedge a head floated along, covered in hair that burned red under the white light of the sun. In between the strands, a freckled face peered peacefully out at the world through jade-colored eyes. Soon the head floated beyond the hedge and into the entrance to the parking lot of the New World, and a body appeared. It swayed in the wind, interfacing the peaceful gaze of the head with the violent grinding of the skateboard below. It leaned slightly in the direction of the New World, and soon the entire entity was careening toward the entrance. The man in the old boots and hat had watched the entire maneuver and was inspired by the grace of this figure, until he noticed the small step just before the entrance to the New World. He uncrossed his legs, straightened his back, and placed both hands on their corresponding knees as he drew in a breath that would shout his warning, but he was too late, and he knew it. The breath was exhaled as a sigh of relief while the skateboard was flicked up into the air by a toe and caught by a hand, just before the step into the New World. The doors flew open, and the daredevil disappeared inside.
"Phew!" said the old-booted man to himself. He reckoned that boy was headed for a fall, but he kept the opinion to himself. He figured falling was an inevitable consequence of riding a skateboard, so his prediction was blatantly obvious, plus, there was nobody else around. Realizing this, he settled into the scene once more, the sun had risen a bit, and soon it would reach its zenith in the sky above. The clouds were clearly shrinking as they burned away in the soon-to-be afternoon heat. It was a serendipitous serenity that descended then onto that bench beside the New World, and it was, as such moments tend to be, short lived, for the long, white van had returned in a fury.
It roared into the parking lot at an odd angle and rocked and rattled as a rear wheel bounced over the edge of the curb. Loud dissonant chords poured out of the open windows and above them a voice screamed lyrics about having a hard time. The van leaned on two wheels as it squeezed into a parking slot and screeched to a halt. The engine stopped, the music died, and the stressed delivery man in the short shorts appeared once more. In his lumbering way, he made his way to the back of the van and threw open the double doors to reveal a pink box lying on the black floor. It was made of thin cardboard, and the man at the bench with the old boots could see that there was a window of clear plastic that covered the contents. The delivery man picked it up, passing it from hand to hand as he closed one door and then the other. After this he turned, clutching the precious box with both hands and made his way toward the entrance to the New World.
The man on the bench had come to the conclusion that a box of the sort that was coming toward him could only hold pastries, but he could not be sure of the type without closer inspection. He wondered if he would be able to see as the delivery man passed, and straightened his posture to give himself best chances at a good angle to see through the plastic window. The deliverer approached with long powerful strides, firmly gripping the box at waist level. His teeth were clenched in an expression of determination, his beady eyes fixed on the doors to the New World. As he passed, the old booted man squinted to concentrate his vision on the plastic window, but as it went by he realized his angle had only been perfect to see the bright white reflection of the sun on its glossy surface. The doors to the new world shut once more, swallowing up the delivery man and his box.
All was relatively quiet once more. The sun shone down on the wavy cowboy hat which was protecting the eyes that were noticing that the clouds had completely burned away. "I suppose its about time I left too," thought the man with the old boots. He was about to put them both to the asphalt and be on his way when he saw the skinny man with the springy step returning from across the parking lot. From a distance the figure looked like an empty pair of jeans and a jumper somehow blown together in the wind in the motions of a walking body. On top of all this, however, was the head of high cheek bones over sunken cheeks and the sunken eyes that only appeared as the man drew nearer.
He was crossing the last bit of the parking lot when the doors to the New World opened and the delivery man lumbered out. His demeanor had changed significantly. The beads of sweat on his forehead were no more, and the bright sunlight did not seem to be intruding on his mellow, contented gaze. His left hand dangled at his side, relaxed and carefree. His right hand held an enormous cream puff, half eaten, and was heading towards his mouth. It would have been two bites, maybe three, for most people, but the delivery man wanted to make quick work of it. He folded the pastry in such a way that it fit in his mouth like a right-fitting puzzle piece and gobbled it down, licking the excess cream from his dirty fingers. He passed the intense eyes of the skeletal man with a smile and a nod and climbed into this van, fiddling with his keys.
The man with the old boots and cowboy hat had watched the whole thing intently and as the skinny man came even with him, their eyes met. He did not stop his energetic gate, but he shook his head with a wry smile of entertained frustration. "Fattening! Very fattening!," he exclaimed. His head continued to shake as the doors to the New World swung open and closed around him.
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Port Ligar
I've spent the past couple of weeks in an area of New Zealand called Marlborough Sounds. It is an area on the Northern tip of the South island of NZ where fingers of land haphazardly reach out for the open ocean beyond. At the far end of one of these fingers, sheltered by a curl at the tip from the windy ocean beyond, is a farm called Port Ligar. Roughly 1200 sheep, 200 cattle, and thousands of green lipped muscles call this place home. It was settled by the Shand family about 100 years ago and is in their hands to this day.
I got a ride in a few weeks ago. It was a 3 hour drive from where I was picked up, and it grew darker and darker as we drove through the setting sun, and this combined with an the ever detiorating condition of the road made me wonder where we were heading. The lined asfault surface turned to a simple, narrow assfualt, then to smooth dirt, then to heavily rutted dirt. after we had been bouncing along for a while, we came upon a truck stalled on the road. in the pitch dark all i could see in our headlights were the road, a steep cliff on the right heading upwards, and a black abyss to the left heading down toward what I presumed was the ocean. We stopped and learn the truck had stalled. The driver had been out hunting wild hogs, something which is a popular passtime in the area. Between four of us, we were able to turn their truck around on the narrow road, so it was facing downhill, and from there a pushstart was no problem. With the road clear, we finally made it to Port Ligar.
It wasn't until the next morning that I was able to see clearly where I had arrived. Steep, grean hills covered with sheep jutted out of a turquoise ocean where hundereds of egg shapped bouyes held up heavy ropes filled with growing muscles. Everyday started with some good, old fashioned poridge prepared by the head farmer, Tim. After that it was either out to the hills or out to the waves. If we were going to the hills, we climbed into a farm truck with nearly 300 kilometers under its belt. The first time I saw it I thought it was simply a rusting pile of junk waiting in the shed to be hauled out and turned into scrap metal, but then tim started it up. It had one headlight, no door on the driver's side, no windshield (or any other windows to speak of), and the wooden planks the made up the back bead looked as though they had been replaced a few times and could use another makeover. It was like a lot of things on the property. It ran though, and that was all that mattered. On our way to the sheep on the top of the hill we would check possum traps as we passed by. Some days there would be as many as 20 possums trapped for there fur which is actually worth more than sheep's wool by weight. It was a bit difficult to get used to seeing these furry creaters put to death by a quick clubbing, but I suppose it was the most efficient way. When we got to the top of the hills the sun was usually shining brihgtly and sometimes the wiind was blowing heavily. We would chase sheep into greener pastures or build fences to keep them in the right ones. My fondest memory is climbing over a ridge on one of the more beauitiful days and being met by the eyes of 600 sheep stairing strait at me while the ocean and outlying islands glistened behind them. I think they could have trampled me easily given their shear numbers, but they are timid creatures, and it only takes one to control the lot. It helps to have a few dogs along though as well and it was fun to hear the shepherds calling out various whistles and commands to their dogs as they did more efficiently what a human being would otherwise do in herding the flock. Cattle were also a part of our herding routine. One memory from that was coralling a bull which had jumped a fence on one cold, windy, and rainy day on top of the hill. It was a highland bull with massive horns and long, shaggy hair. It had gone to some effort jumping the fence and avoiding the dogs just before we finally drove it into the appropriate pasture it paused for a moment, standing in the pooring rain, steam shooting out of its nostrels into the cold, damp air while water dripped from its fur and globs of drool fells from its mouth. "Old Wooly" they called him.
The muscel farms were interesting as well. They are basically long, fibrous ropes dangling into the ocean from large boueys set in roles. It reminded me of growing plants in a field in many ways. The lines are seeded with young muscles which may take a few years to mature. Unfortunately, unwanted specieis of muscles alos make the ropes their home and these need to be cleaned off before they take up too much of the valuable food from the ocean. Also, it is difficult to predict the weight of the lines, so additional floats need to be attached as the growing progresses. These were mainly our jobs out in the muscle boat, but there was some fun to be had as well. We went out fishing a few times. The waters there are rich in blue cod, snapper, and many other fish that make for good eating. One day heading out in the late morning for some fishing. We had caught enough before mid-day for "a feed" as they say here, so we fired up the onboard stove and fried up some of the freshest fish I have ever eaten. After lunch we continued on with our fishing and cuaght heaps more for our dinner that night. Fishing was alos possible from the shore and there were a few nights when we decided it woudl be easiest to cast out for our dinner. I had no problem eating the fresh cod as much as possible and there was plenty of wildlife to see in the ocean besides that. Many birds make there homes on the rocky cliffs, including some penguins. There are also a few seals around and of course the life under the water. One day I was out fishing with a fellow from the farm. He saw pointed out an octopus in the water beside us. I was amazed simply by that proximity when he reached in and grabbed the octopus by its head and lifted it out of the water as it's legs waved around in the air. It was probably about 3 feet across. "We'll use one of the legs for bait," he said, "it will grow back in time." After this proclaimation he proceded to unsheath his knife and cut off on of the octopuses legs before heaving it back into the sea. The legs continued to move and suck for some time after being removed from the body. It turned out to be very effective bait.
So thsoe are the highlights of Port Ligar. I could tell much more I am sure, but it is late and I am ready for some rest. Port Ligar was a memorable time, but life on the farm is hard work, and I am ready to go back to "fluffing around" as Tim would say. It was hard work that was well worth it, that is for sure. A genuine New Zealand farming experience, which is exactly what I was hoping to get out here eventually. Pictures to follow....
I got a ride in a few weeks ago. It was a 3 hour drive from where I was picked up, and it grew darker and darker as we drove through the setting sun, and this combined with an the ever detiorating condition of the road made me wonder where we were heading. The lined asfault surface turned to a simple, narrow assfualt, then to smooth dirt, then to heavily rutted dirt. after we had been bouncing along for a while, we came upon a truck stalled on the road. in the pitch dark all i could see in our headlights were the road, a steep cliff on the right heading upwards, and a black abyss to the left heading down toward what I presumed was the ocean. We stopped and learn the truck had stalled. The driver had been out hunting wild hogs, something which is a popular passtime in the area. Between four of us, we were able to turn their truck around on the narrow road, so it was facing downhill, and from there a pushstart was no problem. With the road clear, we finally made it to Port Ligar.
It wasn't until the next morning that I was able to see clearly where I had arrived. Steep, grean hills covered with sheep jutted out of a turquoise ocean where hundereds of egg shapped bouyes held up heavy ropes filled with growing muscles. Everyday started with some good, old fashioned poridge prepared by the head farmer, Tim. After that it was either out to the hills or out to the waves. If we were going to the hills, we climbed into a farm truck with nearly 300 kilometers under its belt. The first time I saw it I thought it was simply a rusting pile of junk waiting in the shed to be hauled out and turned into scrap metal, but then tim started it up. It had one headlight, no door on the driver's side, no windshield (or any other windows to speak of), and the wooden planks the made up the back bead looked as though they had been replaced a few times and could use another makeover. It was like a lot of things on the property. It ran though, and that was all that mattered. On our way to the sheep on the top of the hill we would check possum traps as we passed by. Some days there would be as many as 20 possums trapped for there fur which is actually worth more than sheep's wool by weight. It was a bit difficult to get used to seeing these furry creaters put to death by a quick clubbing, but I suppose it was the most efficient way. When we got to the top of the hills the sun was usually shining brihgtly and sometimes the wiind was blowing heavily. We would chase sheep into greener pastures or build fences to keep them in the right ones. My fondest memory is climbing over a ridge on one of the more beauitiful days and being met by the eyes of 600 sheep stairing strait at me while the ocean and outlying islands glistened behind them. I think they could have trampled me easily given their shear numbers, but they are timid creatures, and it only takes one to control the lot. It helps to have a few dogs along though as well and it was fun to hear the shepherds calling out various whistles and commands to their dogs as they did more efficiently what a human being would otherwise do in herding the flock. Cattle were also a part of our herding routine. One memory from that was coralling a bull which had jumped a fence on one cold, windy, and rainy day on top of the hill. It was a highland bull with massive horns and long, shaggy hair. It had gone to some effort jumping the fence and avoiding the dogs just before we finally drove it into the appropriate pasture it paused for a moment, standing in the pooring rain, steam shooting out of its nostrels into the cold, damp air while water dripped from its fur and globs of drool fells from its mouth. "Old Wooly" they called him.
The muscel farms were interesting as well. They are basically long, fibrous ropes dangling into the ocean from large boueys set in roles. It reminded me of growing plants in a field in many ways. The lines are seeded with young muscles which may take a few years to mature. Unfortunately, unwanted specieis of muscles alos make the ropes their home and these need to be cleaned off before they take up too much of the valuable food from the ocean. Also, it is difficult to predict the weight of the lines, so additional floats need to be attached as the growing progresses. These were mainly our jobs out in the muscle boat, but there was some fun to be had as well. We went out fishing a few times. The waters there are rich in blue cod, snapper, and many other fish that make for good eating. One day heading out in the late morning for some fishing. We had caught enough before mid-day for "a feed" as they say here, so we fired up the onboard stove and fried up some of the freshest fish I have ever eaten. After lunch we continued on with our fishing and cuaght heaps more for our dinner that night. Fishing was alos possible from the shore and there were a few nights when we decided it woudl be easiest to cast out for our dinner. I had no problem eating the fresh cod as much as possible and there was plenty of wildlife to see in the ocean besides that. Many birds make there homes on the rocky cliffs, including some penguins. There are also a few seals around and of course the life under the water. One day I was out fishing with a fellow from the farm. He saw pointed out an octopus in the water beside us. I was amazed simply by that proximity when he reached in and grabbed the octopus by its head and lifted it out of the water as it's legs waved around in the air. It was probably about 3 feet across. "We'll use one of the legs for bait," he said, "it will grow back in time." After this proclaimation he proceded to unsheath his knife and cut off on of the octopuses legs before heaving it back into the sea. The legs continued to move and suck for some time after being removed from the body. It turned out to be very effective bait.
So thsoe are the highlights of Port Ligar. I could tell much more I am sure, but it is late and I am ready for some rest. Port Ligar was a memorable time, but life on the farm is hard work, and I am ready to go back to "fluffing around" as Tim would say. It was hard work that was well worth it, that is for sure. A genuine New Zealand farming experience, which is exactly what I was hoping to get out here eventually. Pictures to follow....
Sunday, March 27, 2011
A little about Nelson
I've been in Nelson almost a week now, and it mostly has been a pretty uneventful yet very relaxing time. It could only be the weather that's been happening this week, but I've felt an obvious increase in warmth compared to the Southern reaches of the island (Nelson is on the Northern coast). Everyday except today has been sunny and warm, and now even though the clouds have opened up, there is no trace of chill in the air.
I spent the first couple of days here relaxing in the hostel and doing a bit of busking. The hostel I have stayed in is really nice compared to other ones I've visited. It feels like a small home. There is free internet, fresh baked bread, fruit, and hot drinks, and the staff keeps things super clean and friendly. My USA birth date was on Thursday here (march 24), but after thinking about it, I realized my New Zealand date of birth was actually the 25th, so I decided to do a little celebrating both nights. On Thursday I bought a large bottle of Australian beer and some icecream treats to share around the hostel. It was good to do a little something special. Friday is BBQ night here, so I figure I would get a nice steak, and celebrate again with a tasty, protein-packed meal. I did that, but after it was over a couple of the girls staying here also surprised me with a chocolate cake! It was the closest I have come to a surprise party, and it was good to do the customary wishing and blowing out of the candles. Otherwise, I may not have truly felt a year older.
After my days a relaxing, I decided to do a hike around Nelson. It is a very sprawling city as the real estate along the coast is in high demand. I walked one day along the shoreline to the beach and watched the ocean freighters coming and going out in the bay. After the beach I walked through the surrounding neighborhoods up to the highest point in the city which made for a gorgeous view of the bay on one side and the city with its surrounding hills on the other. From there I made my way down to the city center feeling like I had made a pretty good tour. Yesterday, I went to the market with some folks from the hostel. I bought some socks and an excellent spicy German sausage complete with saurkraut and mustard. I also bought some sweet corn that was top notch and dirt cheap (tis the season), and some multicolored bell peppers that made for a good snack.
Afterward the market, I was doing a bit of busking without much luck, when a group of kids from Australia walked over. One of them said he played a bit of violin as he dropped a five into the case. He asked if he could play a few jams, so I tuned it to standard and handed it over. I think he played 5 or 6 tunes, a mixture of Irish and classical stuff. I had no idea my cheap violin could sound like that. I've met other people who say they play, so I oblige, and they play a few notes without any rhythm, hand the fiddle back, and say they can't remember anything without their music. It was good to meet someone who can play some beautiful stuff from memory. My favorite tune he played was the song from the movie Titanic that the band plays as the ship is sinking. It was great. Plus, he made a bit of money and refused to take it with him when he left. A class act indeed.
I was hoping it would be good weather today because technically I should leave the hostel before the afternoon, but it continues to rain. Hopefully I do not overstay my welcome. I was a good guest for five nights, I suppose I deserve a little added hospitality. Sometime after 4pm I am to be picked up by my WWOOF hosts on their way to Marlborough Sounds. They are on their return trip from Christchurch. It has been good to not have any commitments for a while, but I am ready to get back into the working world, the WWOOF working world at least.
I spent the first couple of days here relaxing in the hostel and doing a bit of busking. The hostel I have stayed in is really nice compared to other ones I've visited. It feels like a small home. There is free internet, fresh baked bread, fruit, and hot drinks, and the staff keeps things super clean and friendly. My USA birth date was on Thursday here (march 24), but after thinking about it, I realized my New Zealand date of birth was actually the 25th, so I decided to do a little celebrating both nights. On Thursday I bought a large bottle of Australian beer and some icecream treats to share around the hostel. It was good to do a little something special. Friday is BBQ night here, so I figure I would get a nice steak, and celebrate again with a tasty, protein-packed meal. I did that, but after it was over a couple of the girls staying here also surprised me with a chocolate cake! It was the closest I have come to a surprise party, and it was good to do the customary wishing and blowing out of the candles. Otherwise, I may not have truly felt a year older.
After my days a relaxing, I decided to do a hike around Nelson. It is a very sprawling city as the real estate along the coast is in high demand. I walked one day along the shoreline to the beach and watched the ocean freighters coming and going out in the bay. After the beach I walked through the surrounding neighborhoods up to the highest point in the city which made for a gorgeous view of the bay on one side and the city with its surrounding hills on the other. From there I made my way down to the city center feeling like I had made a pretty good tour. Yesterday, I went to the market with some folks from the hostel. I bought some socks and an excellent spicy German sausage complete with saurkraut and mustard. I also bought some sweet corn that was top notch and dirt cheap (tis the season), and some multicolored bell peppers that made for a good snack.
Afterward the market, I was doing a bit of busking without much luck, when a group of kids from Australia walked over. One of them said he played a bit of violin as he dropped a five into the case. He asked if he could play a few jams, so I tuned it to standard and handed it over. I think he played 5 or 6 tunes, a mixture of Irish and classical stuff. I had no idea my cheap violin could sound like that. I've met other people who say they play, so I oblige, and they play a few notes without any rhythm, hand the fiddle back, and say they can't remember anything without their music. It was good to meet someone who can play some beautiful stuff from memory. My favorite tune he played was the song from the movie Titanic that the band plays as the ship is sinking. It was great. Plus, he made a bit of money and refused to take it with him when he left. A class act indeed.
I was hoping it would be good weather today because technically I should leave the hostel before the afternoon, but it continues to rain. Hopefully I do not overstay my welcome. I was a good guest for five nights, I suppose I deserve a little added hospitality. Sometime after 4pm I am to be picked up by my WWOOF hosts on their way to Marlborough Sounds. They are on their return trip from Christchurch. It has been good to not have any commitments for a while, but I am ready to get back into the working world, the WWOOF working world at least.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
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