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Nothing makes you think more about your own mortality than watching a poor helpless duckling get near pecked to death by a swarm of hungry chickens. As I pulled thistle weed after thistle weed--just grubbing along with my grubber, the "pecking of the duckling," was already fast underway. I started to panic and before I could even process what was going on Owen, or my very own superman as I like to think of him (minus the whole cape, chiseled abs, spandex and widows peak,) swooped down from the upper chicken coop and in one fluid motion rescued the now shaking, ruffled feather black duckling. I am happy to report the little guy is back to his normal mischevious self which entails regularly getting caught sneaking into the hand dug sewers and proudly romping around in the new duck pond.
The mornings here bring mixed emotions for me--the barking of the new zealand cattle dogs at the signs of first light begin my slow wake from my nightly slumber. At around 7, the first sound of volunteer alarms go off, followed by a continual pushing of the snooze button, doors creaking open and the scamper or more like thud of hiking boots against the wooden floors as one after another books it to the bathroom and finally the opening and closing of cabinets and the soft morning mumblings of hellos all around. Now the mixed emotion comes from the fact that with the excitement of what new task each day will bring also comes the dread of what new muscle in my body I will discover for the first time as daily ache and pain have become a typical part of the experience.
I forgot to mention somehow I have been pegged with the nickname Jen of Hope, light and joy whereas the other Jen, a 25 year old self proclaimed asexual hermit, anime enthusiast is Jen of Doom and Darkness. SO you can imagine my surprise when I was first greeted at the bus depot some two weeks ago by that title and yes the first thing that came to my head was dear god what hippie retreat have I accidentally gotten myself into and second boy are these people in for a shocker if they actually think I am to live up to this title.
Another random anecdote took place yesterday while driving back from Hamilton in the Little Miss Sunshine van, sandwiched between Dagmar, the crazy german driver and Jen, the trekie. So, began a discussion of what this whole hush hush pest control project looming in the near future would entail. What I found out can only be described as not so dreamy. The whole setting up traps to catch stoads, rats,possums, etc. I get because these invasive species are causing more damage on the land than good, but what I don't get was Dagmar's response to my followup question of what do you do if while collecting/setting up traps you stumble upon a wild boar. To this she replied the typical make yourself as big as you can--put your hands in the air and start barking like a dog response--but then was quick to say how her last two dogs had been killed and eaten by the pigs--so somehow I don't think I will be howling into the moonlight if I come face to face with miss piggy and all her friends. The last bit of advice this sage of a woman imparted upon me was to run like hell and climb a tree, but most likely there wouldn't be any trees I could climb--so basically long story short not only will I not be having bacon for the next 6 months, but I will be more than likely eaten by a pig--oh joy! stay tuned...

These last three days were spent rockclimbing in Castlerock, a quilted, hilly, landscape of farmland that is rumored to be the best place for rockclimbing in all of new zealand. Driving up the winding roads to Castlerock with cows and sheep on either side,one finds themselves caught completely offguard when out of nowhere interesting volcanic rock formations appear out of the otherwise what can only be described as typical English farmland scenery--although a bit hillier from what I hear. Upon arrival our "lodging" for the night was temporarily unavailable...why you might ask? Well, two words alrighty make that four words--shearing of the sheep. So, the posh place we would be staying for the night was nothing more than a barn...nothing says 4 star accomodations like maggots and random bits of wool. Now, personally the only climbing I have done was in 7th grade at Acadia National Park and even then it was only chimney climbing and nothing "serious." So, to say I was a bit out of my league with the climbing we encountered here would be an understatement--the "easy" climbs of the day were on the American scale 5'10s which are hard moderate to easy difficult--and I have the bloodied blistered hands to prove that they more than lived up to their grades. On the second day of climbing I opted out a little early to go for a walk to Lake Atamaturi and by walk I mean a 30 km stroll. Unlike the rest of my group, something about being in this country makes me never want to sit still--I just constantly want to be on teh go exploring every inch I can by foot--I don't want to just drive by the scenery--I want to know what the grass feels like between my toes, the smellof the fresh wildflowers blowing in the wind, or what it feels like to look eye to eye with a herd of cows and try my best to reclaim the road from them with my fierce intimidation skills. It's funny everytime I asked for directions along my walk I was constantly bombarded with the are you hitchiking question...as outdoorsy of a place New Zealand is I guess walking is unheard of. With the sweltering heat of the summer sun beating down my neck and now overly freckled face taking a swim in the lake was beyond refreshing. Swimming in that lake, without a soul in sight was indescribable. Between finding myself swimming through heaps of seaweed,almost quicksand like dirt lining the lake bottom and the distant sounds of cows in heat echoing off the mountainside I felt completely at peace. Today was spent climbing and further exploring the countryside. It's funny what a couple of days can do for changing one's perspective--if you had asked me to describe the other volunteers I would have probably said it's like living in a bad brady bunch episode where everyone is so overly optimistic and wholesome you might just want to shoot yourself--but then again a climbing trip and being holed up in a barn can make for some interesting stories and people's real personalities start to surface. I've probably bonded the most with this 18 year old girl named Pippa...not to be confused with pepper...which I had made the mistake of calling her for the first week or so. She is taking a year off before Uni and is pretty damn passionate about nature and politics--but not in that free-love, dreadlocks, armpit hair kind of way. Tonight we will be spending a couple of hours in Hamilton to get some real grub and than back to the valley where farmlife resumes...till then all the best!

Unlike the rest of the volunteers I made the "smart" decision to walk down the mountain into town...in other words a good 2 hour walk where the steepness of the trail left my brain rattling against my skull, but the views of the stream cutting the canyon walls, the exotic rainforest plants of every shape and color green imaginable lining my walk and the blistering sun beating down on my neck made the trek worthwhile. I got into downtown Thames around 10am and was greeted by the usual hustle and bustle of the saturday morning market place where vendors were selling anything from organic, hippie, tree-hugging soaps, lotions and spices and your typical antique dealers, to your meat pies, lamp chops and mounds of sweets. Inside I was beaming at the thought that as I mindlessly strolled down the colorful awning lined streets that I was blending in with the locals--a real kiwi, yet only to have that dream cut short when I realized the huge LAX to AUCK airport tag I had on my backpack was freely flowing in the wind for all to see. Let me back track a little...I have had two full days of working out in the field. The last couple of days have been filled with "releasing the trees" in other words it's a nice way of tricking innocent volunteers into thinking you are about to engage in some sort of religious rebirthing experience, setting the little trees back into the wild...well, not quite it was more like a bunch of weeding and mulching, but you do have to admit calling it "releasing" does have a nice ring to it, eh? So between weeding and mulching a good hundred chestnut trees in the morning we headed back to the bunkhouse for lunch. Let me just say never in my life have I cooked like I'm cooking here...we're talking two hour meal prep time for both lunch and dinner. Cooking here is a real ordeal...without an oven and only solar power and wind power running the kitchen you have to be rather resourceful and creative when concocting different recipes...and making them completely vegetarian and able to meet the different dietary requirements of 7 other people as well, doesn't help make the job any easier. In the afternoons so far we have been working in the orchards picking fresh zucchini, carrots, cucumbers, apples, oranges, tomatoes, etc. and gathering up eggs from the chickens and clipping their wings, as well as tiding up the general area. Being in the orchards has brought back memories of my days working on the organic farms in Ohio...although these orchards are on a much smaller scale in size, yet somehow manage to have more chicken, geese and duck poop than thought humanely possible. Somehow all of the other volunteers remain fairly clean all things considered yet I continue to come back night after night caked in mud, crap and with random bits of twigs and leaves in my hair and thistle galore all over my clothes--what a gift I have, I know...thanks mom and dad. The supposed gossip or backstory behind the valley is that Jon (the 6'8 bearded founder) and Dagma (Miss Frazzle, the german cofounder) had been a serious item for a good 8 years while they started up the Tararu valley sanctuary only for them to breakup, Jon to start dating a young 20 something volunteer (although Jon's off the market he wasn't jewish anyways, so don't be too sad mom.) While Dagma spent a year travelling met some local kiwi a couple of months ago aka Mike (the buff asian man) who quit his job as a high paying architecht and came to live at the sanctuary...talk about quite the interesting love triangle. After I finish a couple more errands around town I'll be headed back to the valley for dinner. Later this evening we will head back in to Thames where I will get my first real taste of kiwi nightlife, wish me luck or at least a "cheers!"

I was greeted by a 6'8 bearded man claiming to be Jon, the lovely bloke who was incharge of the whole program. Now, in describing Jon I see it is only fit to describe the "vehicle" he picked me up in...the van was straight out of Little Miss Sunshine except it was white splattered in dirt and adorned with more tree-hugging stickers than known to man. Now back to Jon...a late 30's beanpole of a man with the attention span of a 6 year old and the hyperactivity of the dog from 'there's something about mary' tripping on speed...in other words he definitely makes things interesting. Within the first five minutes of knowing him he grabbed my hand and started running madly through the downtown of auckland hiding behind street corners and than breaking out into random bursts of skipping...and yes this is the man my life will be entrusted in for the next 5 months. Anyways after being picked up we headed to Circus Du Solei (or however you spell it) which I either was way too jetlagged or just not bright enough to understand what was going on...basically all I can remember was men in tights, some sort of jesus resurrection thing going on...oh and some tumbling. After the circus myself and the other 7 volunteers headed to dinner and a bar because we were trying to waste time before we headed to the campsite (where we would be illegally staying for the night.) The next morning we woke up at around 5 am in an attempt to leave the site before we were ticketed (and to think some of you thought this whole program wouldn't be legitimate? ha!) We ended up kayaking across the open sea to the Tiritiri island, a bird sanctuary where we would end up spending the next 4 days or so relaxing, hiking throughout the uninhabited island and swimming. There are no words to describe sitting atop of a rugged mountain surrounded by trees, all different sorts of exotic birds calling in the background, water surrounding you and the beautiful coastline of Auckland and some remote islands in the distance.
...to be continued...

Admist a constant stream of backpackers and friendly faces my almost lack of culture shock astounds me. After a seemingless quick flight on a journey that seems to have taken a lifetime to get to--I find myself unable to fully process the fact that I am finally here in New Zealand. The differences between NZ and the US are very apparent right off the bat, whether it's the "give way" signs instead of "yield" or the one dimensional storefronts that lack the sleek and modern day sophistication of most US Cities. But what really seems strikingly different to me is that at 8 am there is an almost surreal sereness that seems to permeate the morning city streets with only the occasional tetris, almost gameboy like noise signaling pedestrians to walk/not walk that jars the silence. I don't know exactly where I am in the scope of the city, but from where I sit the infamous sky tower sits behind me, a calm waterfront ahead and an earie, yet captivating coast line of jagged cliffs, exotic greens and occasional skyscrapers lies ahead. I feel like I'm sitting in tourist central with the sounds of luggage being wheeled over littered sidewalks and hoards of senior citizens toting fannypacks and adorned in wannabe outdoorsy attire that to the real outdoor enthusiast appears just a little too camoflauge and a little too overly pocketed. I am nervous about what's to come--I almost have to laugh when I think about just hw little I know about what I'm getting myself into--constantly finding myself spewing the overly vague "environmental conservation" answer in response to my constnat bombardment about what a young 21 year old girl is doing alone in New Zealand for 6 months. The smell of throwup wafting in the air--not so attractive, time to move spots! After perusing the storefronts along Queen St. I have found myself sitting on a bench in a quiet park tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the city--where seagulls flock, unidentifiable birds aimlessly hop around and a cool breeze whips through the intricately bent branches. But alas, let me digress--yesterday or January 31, I spetn the night in what my mom described as the lap of luxury hotel--or at least that's what the oevrly staged picture online of the Hacienda hotel would have you believe. Between the 1970s vending machines, the 12 channel television selection and air conditioning that must have been stuck at 50 degrees--it was definitely a night to remember. The next day after a marathon of quality daytime television I booked it to the airport and with a backpack totaling near 60 pounds and twoc arryons a good 20pounds each--let's just say I gave new meaning to the idea of taking one's time. After going to the wrong Qantas terminal and having to wait until 5pm before I could check my bads--I was pretty beat. I'm not sure what it is abotu me, but old people tend to flock to me--in the chaos of going to the wrong terminal I somehow managed to become fast friensd with a group of 15 deserted Wichita, Kansas senior citizens (who had missed their earlier flight and wouldn't be taking off until the next day.) In between mindless chatter about past travels about why Africa isn't the slight bit appealing to a born again Southern Woman--I made a friend out of Ruby--or at elast that's what her tag said--she alter allerted me to the fact that her real name was Lucinda--talk about starting a friendship off on the right foot--honesty my ass! Then there was the late 20s something kiwi I befriended while waiting for the plane. She singlehandedly make me fall in love with the NZ accent--and although we spent a good 4.5 hours hanging out I can't remember her name, but I do know we both had ungodly awful passport photos and shared a common love and deep admiration for "intouch" "star" and "us weekly." On the flight I sat next to a middleaged English couple whose constant doting on one another and playful demeanors got me to thinking would I ever find a guy who could love me and actually enjoy spending 15+ hours on a plane next to me and act like there was nowhere else he'd rather be? Oh and side note--sitting in the aidle seat blows if you havea solid bladder--6 times count it 6 times, I was awaken from my blissful slumbers by the two bloked squirming to use the bathroom--and to that I say pure rubbish! Thankfully there was quality reality tv to sooth my irritations and distract me from the fact that for the next 6 months I will be sans the hills, eral world and girls next door. Already, off to go kill 4.5 hours before I meet up with my group and go to Circus Olay?