A bite of New Zealand apples

A Bite of New Zealand Apples

Let me tell you about my latest adventure here on middle earth. It’s not the kind of adventure though that would require me to climb mountains or shoot deerin the wilderness. It’s equally exciting, if I may say so, but something newer and more productive than that. Well, it’s working in an orchard--packing and occasionally, grading apples--for three months. That “adventure” meant many things to me. 

    First, it was a wish of long ago granted. Some years back, it was saturation point for me because of all the pressures and stresses of an overly demanding job--that of editing a weekly women’s magazine. While slaving Friday nights with the rest of the staff (On days nearing holidays, we would stay till the wee hours), to finish our deadline, I would always exclaim, "I wish for my next job to be a manual one! " believing that manual jobs were not at all stressful.
    

    True, people working in the publishing industry thrive on pressure, and beating deadlines has become a way of life. But chasing it has always been physically and mentally exhausting. What made it more unbearablefor me, was the fact that pressure mounted on a weekly basis and yes, it came pouring--from the management, advertisers, printers, marketing, etc.Don’t get me wrong, I loved my previous job and I enjoyed doing it. It was self-fulfilling too, no matter that it was not as financially rewarding as some people thought it was. But the pressure was just too much at times! Given this sad plight, would you not wish for a more relaxed and less mentally draining job?

    Anyway, that job of packing apples was also a humbling experience for me. Perhaps, too confident of what I thought were my tickets to any kind of job (my education and more than 20 years of work experience!), I 

regarded manual work as anything but hard. Well, this work was not at all hard! But that was only after I had committed all the major errors while doing the job and learning it in the process. It was in a way enriching too, in the sense that it exposed me to an entirely different culture of work and the dignity of labor. It was a cent for a cent’s worth of work--no mucking around, no short- changing.

Did I enjoy it? Yes, I did. Was I happy? Indeed, I was. But I must confess, the first few days were a baptism of fire. Day one, I met John Van Vliet, who, together with his wife, Jamiee owns and manage the pack house. Since I was inexperienced, he assigned me and three others to the pre-sorting table. That meant, standing before a conveyor belt that tossed and turned the apples after being washed for us, sorters to see any defective fruit. The job required the clarity of an eagle’s eyes and the swift hands of a magician to quickly spot and grab the rotten and unsuitable apples before they could march any further and reach another area, which was the grading table. For eight and a half hours, I felt like I was mixing mahjong chips non-stop, that at the end of the day, my shoulders were so stiff that moving them was a struggle.
      Day two, I was “promoted” to packing. I was just too glad to accept, relieved that I could at least flex my legs and do other things while packing apples. Problem was, the supervisor who was supposed to show me the ropes, was too busy herself and forgot about me.

    So there I was, standing on my lane waiting for the apples to drop on my table, confident that the job was so simple I could handle it without supervision. Luckily, there was this beautiful lady (a New Zealander of European descent), on the table next to mine, who I found out was hard at hearing and speaking, but caring enough to motion for me to pick up one from the stack of corrugated boxes underneath my table, fold it to make a box and write my name on the bottom right hand side of it. Because she did it partly by sign language and partly with words I could hardly comprehend, I understood only part of what she told me. So I looked around and observed what everybody else was doing--they were grabbing the apples as the fruits were directed to their table, arranging them on a blue paper tray and putting them all inside the box they made. Four trays of apples would fill the box and the fifth empty tray placed upside down would cover the apples and make the box ready for sealing. That was easy! Or so I thought! Until I finished my first box and the cover would not fit! I was on the edge of panicking, because as soon as the blue covering is put on top of the box, the stackers would pick it up and shift it to another machine that would label and seal it. A man named Curly, who was about to lift the box, noticed the cover that wouldn’t fit. I bet he was a bit annoyed that his job was delayed. “You did not stack the trays in their right order,” he told me. I felt embarrassed. Then he proceeded to unpack the box and showed me how the trays should be stacked up inside it--A trays first, B trays next.

     “A trays have three holes on the first row to hold apples, B trays have only two," he further explained. That helped a lot. I did right with my next boxes. I was so engrossed with what I was doing when a New Zealand Maori woman, in her mid 40s, working on the lane fronting mine yelled alluding to me, “Somebody should tell that lady that she should not just stay on her lane! She should be going around helping others, too!” I turned to see her table flooding with apples and she was finding it hard to cope. I did come to help her but she was too angry to stay in the same lane with me, so she left and moved to the next lane leaving me alone to do her job. There was no time to protest. I had to move fast, lest the apples would fall on the ground. That was then when John, the owner of the pack house, noticed what I was doing.
       

     “Hey! You’re not doing it right! You’re supposed to put them on the tray, red side up!” he said in a voice loud enough for anyone standing within ten or so meters away to hear. My heart skipped a beat. What followed was an instant one-on-one tutorial on how to properly arrange apples on a tray from the boss himself. With his brows in a knit, he swiftly did the apples--facing the same direction with the reddest part facing up.

     “See? They look nice and red?” he said, and I nodded. But I tell you, when your table is overflowing with apples, you wouldn’t notice which side of the fruit is red. All that you’d be thinking of would be to grab as many as you could and put them all on the tray as quickly as your hands could manage. And you would wish you had at least six more hands to keep the fruits from falling on the ground! With difficulty, I managed to sort out the apples until there was only a few pieces left and the machine stopped directing them to that table. I ventured to leave my lane and moved around. I chanced upon another lane overflowing with apples and nobody in attendance. I grabbed the chance to apply what I just learned and turned the switch on to free the chute (pronounced as shoot)--the entrance of the lane where the fruits roll out that was choking with apples. And then disaster happened--the apples blocking the chute rolled out, but the conveyor belt pushed the stacked trays of apples at the end of the lane (which I did not notice, of course), and spilled a tray of fruits on the ground! Klutz!
        To complete the heartbreak, at least at the start of the season, was when the Quality Control people would inform you that “your box was out of grade,” meaning, a random check was done and they found your box containing more than four apples with any of the defects they didn’t want to see, like, insect bites, bird peck, rot, hail marks and/or with more than the allowed size of bruising. In effect, they were telling you off for not doing your job right.
        Oh well, nothing in this world is so easy and simple after all.

          This adventure to be continued folks! 

 

Another Bite of New Zealand Apples

    Indeed, working as an apple packer for the first time was a humbling experience, but it was a learning process for me too, with the positive experiences outweighing the not-so-             pleasant ones.    

  In this job, I was exposed to an entirely different work situation--my fingers caressed apples instead of computer keyboards, I received wages instead of salary, and worked with other women of different cultures and origins, some of whom were strangers like me in this foreign land.  Noticeably missing (or should I say, I “missed”?) in this kind of workplace were the intrigues, professional jealousies, hierarchy, competition and yes, mental stress! These things, as you know come in abundance in the corporate workplace. In their place was an atmosphere of cooperation and interdependence on each other’s diligence. 

     Anyway, let me describe to you how the “forbidden fruit” is packed and ends in your grocery bags:

    Fresh from the tree, the apples are lowered into the water dump, with a chlorine-like substance added to the water to kill whatever bugs that came with the fruit, and of course, to clean them before processing. 

     A little trivia here, the apple floats in water because 25 percent of its volume is air, and this protects the fruit from knocks and resulting bruises while being washed. 

       Next, the apples are propelled up an elevator into the packing shed where at least four pre-sorters inspect for any rotten and obviously defective ones. Further scrutiny is done next by more pairs of eyes and hands as the fruits roll on to the next sorting tables, where separation of the good from the bad apples is done. Then, on to the computer-driven color sorter machine that color-bands the apples. As the fruit moves down the grader, each apple is scanned for color intensity. The information is then fed into the computer, which then selects the fruit depending on its size to its assigned packing lane. At this point our job as apple-packers start. 

    As the apples come rolling down individual lanes, we grab the fruits, arrange them red side up on blue trays, and stack them into specific boxes. The stackers will then pick up the packed box, weighing an average of 18 kilograms, and shift it to the other machine for sealing.  Finally, these boxes are stacked onto pallets before being moved into refrigerated shipping containers ready for shipping to different countries like Germany, Europe, the United States and also to some Asian countries like the Philippines. And that’s how your apples are delivered to your favorite fruit stands and supermarkets for your picking. 

Meet John and Jamie

    But of course, they were our bosses. John Van Vliet and his wife Jamiee own and run JRs Orchard and Packhouse, located in Greytown. Their business has been in operation since 1984 and is the only remaining packhouse in the area (called the South Wairarapa region), where there used to be seven. There are other apple growers in the Wairarapa, so aside from packing their own produce, John and Jamiee also do it for others.  “Since we are also orchardists, we treat other apple growers’ fruits like we do our own,” said John, when I interviewed him before the apple packing season ended.  

    Their management style is one we can call a “hands-on” style, so it’s not unusual to see them mingling with their workers, at times even helping in the sorting, grading and packing of the apples.

    During the apple picking and packing season, which starts in early March and ends in mid-June of every year, John and Jamie employ around 165 workers from the South Wairarapa area, which of course, includes our town, Featherston. 

    On a good working day, they can turn out an average of 2,800 boxes of packed apples, and only around 1,500 boxes a day when fruits and working conditions are not favorable. That can amount to an average of 200,000 boxes of packed apples per season from the Wairarapa area alone. 

    The biggest buyers of New Zealand apples, according to Mr. Van Vliet are Europe and the United States, but they also export to other small Asian markets. “Only 20 percent of our apples go to the local market,” he added. 

    Worth mentioning is the fact that JRs Orchard and Packhouse, pay their workers more than the minimum hourly rate of NZ$9.50. Beginners and inexperienced start at NZ$10.00 per hour, while experienced ones may receive an hourly rate of NZ$11.00 or more. 

     JR  acknowledged that there is a shortage of workers for orchardists like him and that he would be interested to employ people from other countries who would be willing to work here. “We can give them the work offer in writing, but they have to secure their work permit. The problem is, the government makes it hard for these people to secure a work permit”, he lamented. “We can not employ them even if they have their tax account number from the Internal Revenue Department without the corresponding work permit.” 

    You can visit their website: http://www.jrs.co.nz if you’re interested. 

Hands on Owner/Manager JR

Salt of the earth

Salt from Middle Earth

    Another place worth exploring was Lake Grassmere; a 1,750-hectare-lake where a solar saltwork is located. Lake Grassmere's hot drying, north-westerly winds make it ideal for natural salt production. From this lake, some 60,000 to 70,000 tons of of salt is harvested each year. Passing by the Blenheim-Christchurch highway, the 20-meter-high piles of snowy stacks of salt are something of a landmark, readily visible by day and night. 

    Down the coast from Blenheim, a large shallow lake has ponds that develop a deepening pink colour during the summer months. At the same time, huge white mounds appear on the shore. What on earth is going on here?This fascinating and rather alien landscape is the result of natural salt production. Seawater, fresh from the Pacific Ocean, is pumped into Lake Grassmere. Warm north-west winds blow across the exposed lake, evaporating water and increasing the concentration of salt. The very salty water is pumped into deep holding pens, then into shallow crystallisation ponds. As the water continues to evaporate, salt forms as a crust on the bottom of the ponds. The remaining water is pumped out and the dried salt is harvested, crushed, washed and moved by giant conveyor belts to form huge mounds of sparkling white crystals.The pink to purple colour of the crystallisation ponds is caused by natural microscopic green algae that change to pink in the high salt concentration. The same phenomena gives the Red Sea its name. There are also small pink shrimps in the water that thrive in this salty environment.Other salt works in the world are generally much closer to the equator, but Marlborough's abundance of warm north-westerly winds, long hours of sunshine and low summer rainfall provide the evaporation needed to extract salt from the sea at this latitude.

        
 Looking at the pink salt beds glaring from the noonday sun at Lake Grassmere, I could clearly see nature at work, yet could hardly reconcile the thought that water from the sea, harvesting using a natural process of evaporation by the sun and wind, ends as salt on our dining tables. 

         I remember my primary school teacher who would always stop us from throwing excess salt  on our hands after eating green mangoes and santol. I didn't understand what she meant then, but I remember her telling us to respect salt. "Only God can make that salt, no man can," she would always tell us. I have always kept that in mind and to this day, I still treat salt like something really precious. 

         She was right. Salt may be considered as one of the humblest commodities, yet, it's amazing how the sodium it contains is essential in the nutrition of both man and animals. Consider this: Salt  is one of the essential elements. In order of importance, oxygen, water, salt (sodium) and potassium rank as the primary elements for survival of the human body. Salt is present in all body fluids. Our blood, sweat and tears even our cells are bathed in a sodium-based extra-cellular fluid. What's more, we are even grown in a salty solution--our mother's amniotic fluid. 
What do you think amniotic fluid is? I did a research and found these facts about it. 
Amniotic acid protects and nourishes the baby in the womb. While the baby is in the womb, it is situated within the amniotic sac--a bag formed of two membranes, the amnion, and the chorion. The fetus grows and develops inside this sac. Initially, the fluid is comprised of water produced by the mother. 

         The human body contains approximately 450 grams of salt, which must be kept replenished in order to maintain our normal health and vigor. 

         Recently, I stumbled upon some interesting trivia about salt, which I would like to share. Some of you may have learned about these earlier, but I am sharing it just the same. Did you know that in ancient times, because of its power to preserve and purify, salt was spilled upon legal documents to symbolize enduring agreement and freedom from deceit? Also, that Roman legionnaire, who guarded the Via Solaria, one of the most famous military roads in history, received part of their pay in salt and called it their 'salarium" from which the modern world "salary" came from. To this day, we refer to a good man as "worth his salt" and we take others' dramatic pronouncements "with a grain of salt".   

         From Lake Grassmere, our next stop would be another town called Kaikoura, where we were booked for the night.  Kaikoura, which is a Maori term, translate to "meal of crayfish" (lobsters to us). Famous for its majestic mountains, which are snow-capped for many months of the year, Kaikoura also boasts of the dusky dolphins and the sperm whales that attract thousands of tourists each year. 

         More next, friends.  Kia Ora!  

Cable Car in Wellington

An Exhilarating Cable Car Ride

For sure, when you hear of cable cars, what immediately comes to mind are overhead cable cars, hanging by and running on cables.

But since you and I were raised at a time and in a country where jeepneys are kings of the road, and tricycles are every street corner's rowdies, cable cars therefore have not become our mode of transport. It is not surprising then that we are, err... a little ignorant about these "hanging cars."

    So, when David said we're driving down the hill to go to Wellington so I could experience a cable car ride, I was of course ecstatic to say the least. I was thrilled no end at the prospect of finally experiencing these much-talked about vehicles, which I used to see only in pictures and occasionally in Hollywood movies. 

    To my surprise though, Wellington's cable cars were not the ones I had in mind. They were not overhead cable cars that hung and run on cables, and they were very much different from those of Singapore and Gibraltar, which I saw in pictures. Pardon my ignorance, but they looked more like the mini-bus to me, or our very own tranvia.The only difference is, they run on rails like trains do. Thanks to the hubby, who is of course, always to the rescue, ever explaining and patient to the wife's limited capacity to comprehend. I learned that what I was seeing were a different type and are the more modern type of cable cars.

Wellington's Kelburn cable cars

The Kelburn Cable Car at 102 years old, is one of Wellington's oldest and most popular tourist attractions. Originally built over a period of four years by Upland Estate Real Estate Company from 1898 to 1902, and utilizing prison labor from the Terrace Goal, the system was aimed at providing means of transport to the farmland in Kelburn. However, upon completion of the system, the area was developed into the suburb as it is today. At present, the cable car provides a unique form of transport to the suburb of Kelburn and the top of the Botanic Garden. There are three immediate stops. First is Clifton, which leads to the Terrace and the Student Accommodation at Everton Hall. Second is at Talavera, which is the mid-point of the track and where the cars pass each other. The third is at Salamanca, which links to the Victoria University and to more student accommodation at Weir House. 

         The ride though, was indeed one exhilarating experience. David made sure I had a good vantage point for the trip, so he suggested not to take a seat but instead to stand on the right-hand side of the driver from my position.     I could see the view of Wellington and beyond in that 612 meter long ride at the speed of 18 kilometers per hour. The sight was breathtaking - seeing how the cable car climbed right up to the sky from under the city high rise buildings. through tunnels and over viaducts to the residential suburbs. How I wish you could all experience what I had because I could not find enough words to explain how I felt. 

For the uninitiated like me 

         But of course, that is not all there is to know about cable cars, so I asked the hubby to find reading materials which I could use as reference to explain to you how these cable cars worked. 

         So he bought me one - Wellington's Kelburn Cable Car by Graham Stewart) from which the following information was culled: 

          How the modern cable car works:

         The cable car, in technical terms, is a standing funicular. which operates on a balanced rope-system. The two cable cars are at the opposite end of a single cable. The movement of the cable is powered by an electric motor under the terminus. As one car moves up the track, the other moves down.
         The cars run on a meter gauge single track with a 300-meter radius passing loop, the midway point on the incline.
         They have double flanged wheels fitted on one side and flat wheels on the other. These enable each car to "steer" with its flanged wheels - to follow the outer rails that ensures each car always takes the opposite side of the passing loop to the other car. 

         The driving control and the breaking systems are controlled by automatic electronic equipment. The cars are equipped with four separate breaks for normal and emergency breaking. The cable car drivers control the starting of the cars and the doors. 

Just in case you want more info:

         In his cable car website, Joe Thompson (http://www.cable-car-guy.com)defines a cable car, as "a public transit vehicle which runs on rails and which moves primarily by gripping an endless cable which runs in a conduit under the street.  They are also called cable tramways."

         This form of public transport flourished briefly, 1880 to 1890.

         The first commercially successful cable car line was the clay street Hill Railroad in San Francisco, California which opened in 1873. The line was promoted by Andrew Smith Hallidie, a wire cable  manufacturer and largely designed by William E Eppelsheimer ]. The first cable car line outside of /san Francisco opened in 1881 in Dunedin, New Zealand. The first US cable car line outside of San Francisco opened in Chicago, Illinois in 1882. 

  

Milk for your coffee

Milk for your morning coffee

    Our town, Featherston, is one of three farming communities that comprise the South Wairarapa. The other two towns are Greytown, and Martinborough where sheep and cattle farms, vineyards, apple and other fruit orchards, tree plantations, forest trees, etc., are found in bounty. Imagine vast, green grassland, valleys and hills against a backdrop of a clear blue sky, and from a distance you can see the green dotted by seemingly wee, white flocks of sheep, or even black and white or brown cattle grazing on a fine day. This is the beautiful South Wairarapa. 

         Since day one of arriving here at "middle earth", I have been wishing to witness for myself how cows are milked in New Zealand. I wished to trace the origin of that milk, which comes to us in the Philippines, already in powdered form and packed in tins and foils. The same milk that feeds and nourishes our infants, helps prevent osteoporosis in women, and most of all--creams our morning coffee. 

         The eventful day of my wish coming true was unexpected. David and I were invited to lunch by our new-found friends, Bob and Felina Curtice, who were from Greytown, to meet with another Filipina and her husband Alma and Ron Bethune, who were from another town called Wainuiomata. By the way, Alma and I speak the same dialect--Pampango. However, we came from different provinces - she is from Concepcion, Tarlac while I am from Santa Rita, Pampanga. That event was a meeting of three Filipino wives--Mel from Pampanga, Alma from Tarlac, and Felina from Isabela--with Kiwi (New Zealanders) husbands respectively, David, Ron, and Bob. 

         Our very hospitable host--Felina, was a very good cook. She served us Filipino foods we sorely missed--paksiw na ulo ng isdang salmon, papaitan, lumpiang prito, pansit guisado, macaroons and kutsinta, complemented with freshly grated coconut meat. Of course, for our Kiwi husbands, she cooked and served shepherd's pie, baked mushrooms, roasted chicken, etc.  

         Imagine our delight when one of the Curtice daughters, Vicky Curtice Fletcher, arrived with her grandson, and announced that her husband, Lex was milking the cows at four o'clock in the afternoon. 

         Guess how my chinky eyes widened upon hearing that. I could hardly hide my excitement that our very gracious hosts, suggested that we all take a trip to the farm. Of course, I didn't pass up that chance of a lifetime! Good that David's 'security blanket' was his camera and that he couldn't go out of the house without it. 

         Vicky and Lex's farm was just a few minutes' ride from the town proper. We were led into a 97-acre property (that's 38+ hectares), subdivided into paddocks and racers leading to the milking shed and enclosed by boundary fences. In some parts of the farm, a 9000-volt electrified wire fence ran in one selected paddock-where they would herd the stock, which they would from time to time, switch on and off to prevent the cows from grazing beyond that enclosure. This was to allow grass to regrow in some of their overgrazed paddocks.

         Quite different from most of our farms in the Philippines, everything in New Zealand farms is mechanized - from sowing, irrigating, harvesting, herding the flock, milking the cows, etc., making it easier for farmers to do the hard task of tending a large farm like this one. 
        Vicky was just too happy to show her curious guests around, explaining everything to satiate our curiosity. She even led us into the milking shed for us to get closer to her cows, which she fondly referred to us as "my girls", which then totaleld 97 heads, plus a number of newborn calves. 

         The cows are milked twice a day, she explained except during the winter season, which is gestation period for the cows. The animals are then due for calving come springtime. They collect an average of 1,600 liters of milk every milking time. Vicky explained that dairy farmers like them are paid in terms of dairy milk solids derived from their milk and not from the quantity of liquid milk they deliver. It was hard work, no doubt, but obviously, a very fulfilling one in terms of financial stability.   

 Lex was in the middle of milking the 'girls' when we entered the milking shed. We did not want to bother him, so it was Bob who did some explaining to us.  A motor bike, Bob pointed out, rounds up the cows from their paddock to the milking shed. It was amazing how even cows were trained to  queue for their turn to be milked. One by one, they would step into an elevated platform divided into what looked like cubicles where individual milking gadgets await. While other 'girls' were waiting, Lex was attaching the milking cups - four tube-like gadgets - to every cow's teats, and then, the sucking of the creamy liquid would start. The milking gadgets were connected to a pulsating vacuum hanging on the wall, which sucked the milk from the cow. Then the milk would go through metal pipes leading to a ten-foot tall, refrigerated milk vat, where all the cows' milk from the vat was stored.  Then on that same day, the milk from the vat is collected and transferred to a milk tanker, towed by a large trailer, which would then bring it to the dairy factory for processing. 

         The final scene showed the cows, after being milked, marching one by one back to the paddocks to go about their chore of masticating their daily grass that could energize and enable them to produce more for the next milking session.  Another milking day for them was done. 

         And that, dear friends is how milk in your coffee is produced.   

Kia Ora from Featherston

         

Kia Ora from New Zealand!

If you're wondering what those two words mean, it's simply, "hello!" in the Maori language. Maori, is one of the three official languages in New Zealand, two others are English, and sign language. 

         Bit by bit, I am learning something new about New Zealand from reading books, magazines and newspapers. Also, by watching their television news broadcast, observing and interacting with people I meet, and not to mention learning from the most credible resource person on hand, my Kiwi hubby. 

         It may interest you to know that this country's livestock outnumbers its people population: NZ sheep, as of June 2003, totals 39.7 million while cattle numbers 9.7 million heads. Cattle are divided into two categories, the beef cattle, 4.6 million and the dairy cattle 5.1 million. (Info from the New Zealand Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry website.)

         In contrast, New Zealanders who, by the way, fondly call themselves Kiwis after the Kiwi bird -- the country's national bird and emblem, managed to reach the population of 4 million in 2003. This number consists of different ethnic groups with the two major ones being the Pakeha--who are of European descent and the New Zealand Maori--who originated from the Pacific. Other groups include the Pacific Islanders--Samoan, Cook Island Maori, Tongan, Niuen, Fijian. The Asians--Chinese, Filipino, Korean, Cambodian, Indian, Sri Lankan, Japane--and several others. 

         These are only some of the few general information I gathered about the country of Peter Jackson, "The Lord of the Rings" director, who incidentally was filming the remake of Kingkong in the Wellington area on my first few months here. 

         Glad to tell you that finally, the sun is shining! Well, at least these past few days after weeks and weeks of missing the warmth of the great energizer. David says this is so because wintertime is at its end and springtime has just made its entry felt. I still don't know what to expect from spring, although early mornings now are a cacophony of joyful sounds from tuis and fantails, both native New Zealand birds, and several other birds I only hear in the morning. 

           Trees stripped of leaves in  winter, and as such seemed lifeless to me (well, that was this "promdi's" first impression), when I first arrived here, are now beginning to show signs of life with new leaves sprouting. Also, dormant plants that slept during the winter are now emerging with new growths and buds in the countryside, farms are bustling with activities, and everywhere we see tiny lambs leaping on the grass tailing their moms, while calves explore the paddocks. 

         I don't know what else to expect from springtime as it is yet to disclose itself to me, but what I do know and can tell you now are my winter experiences, which, as a whole are not really that unpleasant. 

 

Featherston

Featherston

Home to us is a 120-year-old cottage-type house located in a small town called Featherston, one of the town in the region known as the Wairarapa.  An hour away by car from the capital city of Wellington, Featherston has around 2,500 residents, ten of which are Filipinas. You guessed it right, I just recently made it a perfect 10. 

To get to Wellington from Featherston and back, we have to take a twisty road (mentioned earlier) called the Remutaka Hill Road which as the name implies, runs through several hills, the highest of which is 550 meters above sea level. This winding road is much like our zigzag road going to Baguio City, only probably longer, and as hills are wont, are also prone to landslides (which they call "slips" here), during really heavy rains.   
Featherston is close to Lake Wairarapa, the biggest wetland area in the lower North island (New Zealand is divided into two major islands - the North and the South, plus several other islets), which also offers picnic areas and a venue for yachting bird watching fishing and game shooting. The area is also significant for native and migratory birds. 

         Our town is home to two museums that have no counterparts anywhere in New Zealand. One is the Fell Engine Museum, which houses the only fell engine in the world, the sole survivor of the rolling stock of the Remutaka incline and the only rail route into Wairarapa until 1955. The museum also contains an incline Brake Van working models and items of railway memorabilia. The other museum is called The Featherston Heritage Museum., which commemorate the Featherston military camp from World War ll.     

         No doubt, this Kiwi country is peaceful and beautiful not to mention bountiful, but still, nothing compares to waking up to the smell of freshly baked pandesal or fried dilis, fresh tomatoes and steaming sinangag for almuchaw. Yum! 

Wintertime

It's as cold as can be! Especially during the early mornings when there was frost on the ground and the temperature dropped to as low as negative three, which almost always happened if the sky was a clear blue and the atmosphere was peaceful, meaning; no wind, no rain the afternoon and night before. 

A rain of hailstones was a different wonder. You'd hear noise on the roof as though there was a heavy downpour, but instead of rainwater, there were stones the size of mung beans bouncing on the roof, on the pavement and everywhere. After which rock salt-like hailstones covered the ground. 

And then there was the gale force wind. Gale, I learned are a common occurrence here as evidenced by trees growing only in one and the same direction, that is, the wind's direction. The last one that blew in some parts of New Zealand last August, was at least 155 to 180 kph. I imagine, if one day, nature gets really freaked out with us Pinoys, because of our consistent bickering and just blows wind of this magnitude at our directions, we would all wake up sans roof over our heads, but that would be if our houses are still standing and in one piece by then. 

         Then of course, that white, flaky magic snow! Thank God it didn't fall on our area. But it did on the Remutaka Hill Road several times, so thick, that it became dangerous at one point for motorists to take that route, so for a time, it was closed to traffic. David made it a point that promdie me would  experience snow for the first time by driving me over the hill, one snowy morning. Indeed, the cold was biting, but the novelty of the experience of touching snow and making a snow ball for the first time was incomparable. Just wonderful! 

    If it's any consolation, the Philippines is not alone when it comes to experiencing natural calamities. In recent weeks, NZ was pounded by heavy rains, landslides and flood, causing damages to infrastructures, properties, livestock, and worse, claiming people's lives including that of our kababayan who had been living in New Zealand for 16 years.