Business Time

Melting away in the cherry orchards. That's what we're doing these days. I step out nude of the caravan at 5.30 a.m. and barely feel the fresh morning chill as I pee on my favourite tree. 30 degree heat hits at about 10 a.m. and the temperature has nowhere to go but up! I spend the day meandering through the cherry orchard helping pickers sort through their pickings and making stovetop coffees on a gas burner for our Italian workers [the pictured one is Russian and demands no coffee]. JM and I then sort through the days fruit and get it all pretty and packaged to send off to the expeditors. The cherries are juicy and delicious and I try to eat as many aesthetically unappealing ones as I'm obliged to throw away.

Unfortunately, the french fruit market is suffering enormously, partly because of poor quality harvests earlier in the season. Many cherries were damaged after sleeping through a long winter and then confusedly waking in hot climates only to find they were being assaulted by rain, invaded by cold and attacked by hail. Producers then sent their lame, limping cherries to dealers- who then stored them in fridges, mixed them and sent them off to fussy supermarkets who were not pleased to find rotten red weather worn cherry veterans sitting on their shelves. Four weeks down the track and Supermarkets are simply not buying cherries so dealers are just storing them in big fridges and producers are getting nothing for their efforts.

We started picking two Sundays ago as Jean Michel's cherries come later than the rest because of the altitude they grow at (this is his niche in the market). The cherries are lovely, but they aren't really selling so we are mainly doing half days of picking at the moment (6 a.m.-1 p.m.)- about 600kgs worth of fruit. I got a bit of a fright on the first day when we started at 7 a.m. and worked until 11 p.m. sorting through the days plunder- trying to get the bad ones out and putting them in size categories. Thankfully, this system was just a try-out and we managed to get home by 930 p.m. the following evening and then 8 p.m. the day after that.

JM still has to go back up the hill in the evening to water the trees so he usually gets home about two hours later. With the demand at an all time low, the rhythm is actually quite nice this week- but it's always depressing to think that after all the organising, picking, sorting, driving, and packaging the cherries go and rot in some poor expeditors fridge! Might as well do the full day's work and then throw it all into an incinerator! Pity also that the average french person won't experience the nice juicy taste of cherries freshly plucked from the tree. Anyway- not to worry- JM will be one of the few left on the market next week and supermarkets will catch up with the fact that cherries are generally now in good nick.

• I've been milking two goats- Tiki and Tahi- for the last month and a bit. I handle their teats quite well now and get the most out of them. Katy makes nice cheese from the approx. 4 litres they kindly put out.
• Hannah has been having French conversations with a tutor up the road and I love reading the essays she writes for homework.
• It's hot these days. If I'm home in the evenings I usually dream up going for a run and end up having a cigar and reading a book under the big tree by the stream. Going through the book of Judges which is refreshingly action packed. I especially enjoyed this account last weekend:

Ehud

'Once again the Israelites did evil in the eyes of the LORD, and because they did this evil the LORD gave Eglon king of Moab power over Israel. Getting the Ammonites and Amalekites to join him, Eglon came and attacked Israel, and they took possession of the City of Palms. The Israelites were subject to Eglon king of Moab for eighteen years.

Again the Israelites cried out to the LORD, and he gave them a deliverer—Ehud, a left-handed man, the son of Gera the Benjamite. The Israelites sent him with tribute to Eglon king of Moab. Now Ehud had made a double-edged sword about a foot and a half long, which he strapped to his right thigh under his clothing. He presented the tribute to Eglon king of Moab, who was a very fat man. After Ehud had presented the tribute, he sent on their way the men who had carried it. At the idols near Gilgal he himself turned back and said, "I have a secret message for you, O king."

The king said, "Quiet!" And all his attendants left him.

Ehud then approached him while he was sitting alone in the upper room of his summer palace and said, "I have a message from God for you." As the king rose from his seat, Ehud reached with his left hand, drew the sword from his right thigh and plunged it into the king's belly. Even the handle sank in after the blade, which came out his back. Ehud did not pull the sword out, and the fat closed in over it. Then Ehud went out to the porch; he shut the doors of the upper room behind him and locked them.

After he had gone, the servants came and found the doors of the upper room locked. They said, "He must be relieving himself in the inner room of the house." They waited to the point of embarrassment, but when he did not open the doors of the room, they took a key and unlocked them. There they saw their lord fallen to the floor, dead.

While they waited, Ehud got away. He passed by the idols and escaped to Seirah. When he arrived there, he blew a trumpet in the hill country of Ephraim, and the Israelites went down with him from the hills, with him leading them.

"Follow me," he ordered, "for the LORD has given Moab, your enemy, into your hands." So they followed him down and, taking possession of the fords of the Jordan that led to Moab, they allowed no one to cross over. At that time they struck down about ten thousand Moabites, all vigorous and strong; not a man escaped. That day Moab was made subject to Israel, and the land had peace for eighty years’

Great attention to detail in this account. I also love that the next two lines are.

‘After Ehud came Shamgar son of Anath, who struck down six hundred Philistines with an oxgoad. He too saved Israel’.

Good for Shamgar to get a mention, I thought. Good one. I also came across the Hebrew name ‘Keenaz’ in there somewhere and I thought that would be a great name to give a kid. Totally ligit, dude- it's like- in the Torah. Like that couple who wanted to call their boy ‘4REAL’ (as written). On the subject of names- I've enjoyed seeing Xav&B, Katy&JM, and Lou&Tim's naming of their boys. Names are fascinating and its exciting to be confronted with a name that causes you to meditate on its meaning. Xav made this brilliant picture of the three nephews. Just great.

Left to right: Finlaeic Te Kawaingatoa o te Mana Atua , Thomas Manatoa, Te Kōpū-a-rangi Turanga Reuben Vance

Looking forward to seeing how these fellas turn out!

PS- Pictures from tonight- Manatoa's first barbeque!

There and Back Again

Tripping Through

FRANCE

Hannah and I took a break from sunshine and evening beers by the stream to visit the far north of France where I grew up. We snuck into an old friend's wedding at short notice (great Salmon baked in Champagne at the reception) and saw quite a few people from my old church there. I spent a lot of time trying to remember names and taking messages for mum and dad but it was good fun. Hannah got to experience the 'Chti' accent, particularly when this fish-faced guy, the colour of the inside of an aubergine, pulled out his most obscure northern jargon and splattered it in Hannah’s face. “What noises is he making?” she asked me. Something akin to an enthusiastic duck call is the answer, though the content was pretty ordinary- “You don’t speak French do ya? She’s not from around here, is she?”. Terry Gillam would have happily filmed that scene, I reckon.

The wedding was good fun and seeing all those people reminded me of the life we led in this unique part of the world. It also made me realise the incredible twist of fate that led me to where I am today.

Who knows where/who I’d be if we hadn’t moved to NZ when I was 14. I shudder to imagine. And yet, a decade ago NZ was an unknown place to me. What then seemed odd and impractical (being ripped out of my then known world and social network) turned into the delightful existence that I know today.

----------------------

Now gather around children, as I segue into a magical story. I decided in May to go through the Bible as a narrative from beginning to end (I know- crazy right), and came across:

Joseph: young guy, lots of brothers- they don’t like him too much (he’s getting a bit big for his own boots they reckon)- so they sell him into slavery rather than kill him, which can get messy [notes Reuben, who’s not feeling too good about the whole thing]. Joseph is a great slave. He has some depressing times (prison and the like) but is promoted to the highest office in the land, just under the Pharaoh. A big famine comes to Egypt but they are prepared because yours truly (empowered by the Almighty) interpreted dreams predicting this would happen.

His brothers come to Egypt for food because they’re out (famine and all that). After they meet Joseph a few times he reveals himself as their brother. They get a bit embarrassed and remorseful but Joseph, tears in his eyes, embraces them and offers his perspective on the whole ordeal:

"I am your brother Joseph, the one you sold into Egypt! And now, do not be distressed and do not be angry with yourselves for selling me here, because it was to save lives that God sent me ahead of you. For two years now there has been famine in the land, and for the next five years there will not be ploughing and reaping. But God sent me ahead of you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to save your lives by a great deliverance. So then, it was not you who sent me here, but God" (Genesis)

Now THAT attitude is unbeatable and I do believe, without a hint of fatalism, that God is sovereign over all things; that he has looked after us gracefully and mercifully and that whatever he does with us will be for his good pleasure. That’s good enough for me.

BELGIUM

Stopped for a pee. Cost us 50c each.

GERMANY

We carried on to Germany-a country which I’d heard so much about and yet whose soil I’d never trodden on- to see our friends Ben & Kirk. They live in a cool flat in Mannheim, which as you can see from the map is conveniently on the way to Switzerland. They took us to see Heidelberg- a sexy little fairy-tale town. We waddled under the rain through the medieval cobbled streets, past cabbage scented restaurants, up to the Heidelberg Castle- perched Alhambra-like over the town, then descended back down to the pub to eat schnitzel and drink beer. Interestingly, Asparagus is a big deal while it’s in season and they have whole menus dedicated to it.

I realised- as if this were an odd thing- that I spoke very little German, and quickly evolved from dankes and entschuldigungs into excellent Mr Bean impersonations.

Shop attendant- Halo!

Me- Halo! Tzen bitte.

Shop attendant- SchnifelishnaffenzuggenartVISAoderMASTERCARDneinundziebenartberg

Me- smile, quizzical grunt, 'Ya', broken-English-compromise- 'Here ygo, hohoho'. 'Danke. Danke'. smile, bow, exit.

German motorways are toll free (the French ones added up to over 70 Euros) and have sections where you can speed to infinity if you are so inclined. Infinity meant 140 kph in our little Corsa [whose radiator was hanging with wire from the farm] but it was good fun. Hannah read me the first of C.S.Lewis’ space trilogy “Out of the Silent Planet” while I held the wheel and drowned in my bum sweat.

SWITZERLAND

Switzerland was super-scenic. Mountains, lakes, chalets. Yum. We went to visit Hannah's friends at L'Abri community, near Aigle- which is South-East of lake Geneva. It is a fascinating place set up by an equally fascinating thinker- Francis Schaeffer.

We only spent five days there, but i found it really invigorating. There's a nice balance in the lifestyle and some cool, open-minded people. It's an intellectually satisfying place because there's room to think, critique, and opportunities to digest knowledge through dialogue- which is something I found lacking on my best Uni days. It's a nice neutral Christian-based environment (neutrality is Switzerland's forte) and you find a majority of Americans there who have been disillusioned by this:

and looking for something more real.

I know this has been a long post and we're all busy people. But if it helps, I'm in the mountains in the South of France and you're on a beautiful island in the South Pacific. I think we've done well and deserve a good snooze. I'll leave you with a very funny clip by an ambiguous and witty character- Russell Brand. I read his biography last year and usually enjoy his comedy. He's a bit rude at times, so intermittently cover your ears if you're a bit sensitive [you will have to watch it once through to know when to block your ears so you're already in a bit of a conundrum... I recommend just watching it]. He deals with an incredible amount of issues in this one small segment. Please watch it. It will enrich your life.

This guy would have done well at L'Abri.

Ars Moriendi

THE SWAN (Rilke)

This drudgery of trudging through tasks

yet undone, heavily, as if bound,
is like the swan’s not fully created walking.

And dying, this no longer being able
to hold to the ground we stand on every day,
like the swan’s anxious letting himself down--:

into the waters, which gently accept him
and, as if happy and already in the past,
draw away under him, ripple upon ripple,
while he, now utterly quiet and sure
and ever more mature and regal
and composed, is pleased to glide.

Tragically, choosing the way in which one dies is a rarity. Instead, death seems to creep up on whoever,whenever, as if whimsically claiming any person by right. Death is the most natural thing and yet it feels like the most aberrant intrusion. Here's the story about the dead cyclist we found last weekend and the aforementioned tensions at work.

I’d never seen a dead body before. Not even the ultra-embalmed ones displayed in open-casket funerals. This one was real. Lying there, face down on the side of the road. We had been driving up and down the windy mountainous roads that lead back to Saint-Auban when we spotted him- his bicycle resting neatly at his feet; his helmet by his head. At first glance, Hannah thought he might be having a rest but to me he looked as if he were groaning in pain- the way he was laying on his elbows, face pressed against the ground, as if something were eating him up from within. I immediately pulled over and called out to him: “Monsieur, vous allez bien? Monsieur!” I knelt down by his faced and tapped him on the shoulder and cheek, still calling out, but I could tell he was dead. Blue. Empty. Still warm, but lifeless.

I pushed his shoulder up to turn him around and his zombie-like face let out a drool, then when I’d turned him enough that the pressure came off his lungs his body reacted by drawing in a big breath- which sounded like a violent gasp. I was so surprised I dropped him and his head fell heavily on the ground. His eyes stared up at the sky. I searched in vain for a pulse and called an ambulance from his cell-phone. Then, just as I was about to start CPR on his corpse, the pompiers (firemen/rescue team) arrived [They arrived as I was calling as they had already been dispatched- see next paragraph]. They could tell he was well gone but they started artificial respiration on him with all their gear. Next, a helicopter landed with medical experts who had a look at him but basically just diagnosed him as being dead.

Apparently, this guy in his late 40s had been cycling along when he felt pains and shortness of breath. He rested for 40 minutes before deciding to call a doctor. She suggested that they send the helicopter but the man didn't want to be a bother and decided to rest for a few more minutes. This didn’t feel right to her so she came in the helicopter anyway, but it arrived far too late. He must have been without oxygen for a good 20 minutes by the time I got there. Poor guy- he should have called for help straight away.

We carried on our way after the police finally arrived and asked some questions and for the rest of the evening my thoughts were constantly invaded with flashbacks of his face as I lifted it off the ground and his gasp as he looked up into the sky [I say ‘gasp; look; let out’ etc out of reverence for him but also because I don’t know how to talk about him as an inanimate object- lifeless as he was]. It was as if his soul were parting, upward into the void, as his body lay there, in those beautiful mountains. It felt natural in some way, but also wrong and perverse. I hated it.

I never thought I would pray for a dead man’s fate- but I prayed for God’s mercy on him that evening. In that moment, it still felt possible, as if he was still within the bounds of our space and time. They zipped up his corpse in a body bag but I couldn’t help but wonder where he was. And I imagined him, standing in front of his maker, and I wanted to defend him. I prayed for God to have mercy on him and grant him something solid, real and eternal; something to counter the abrupt and absurd end to his earthly existence.

I have no conclusion apart from- please, dear friend/whanau, whilst living in a healthy awareness of your own mortality, don't die (if you reach 90, i grant you permission). Thank you. Also, if you feel like something is fishy, call an ambulance (or fire services- as they arrive faster).

[+ buy some barriers (e.g. mouth piece). Hard work wanting to give mouth to mouth when their face is covered with blood or saliva]

Hurricanes

Being overseas has its advantages. Out of the reach of Sky Sport's tentacles, I was able, for a small fee, to watch the Super 14 online. This meant I got to watch most of the games played and all of the Hurricanes and Blues matches. I found the Hurricanes' season pretty exciting and I think they could've made it to the finals if a couple more things had gone their way. Here are some highlights I made to pay tribute to the joy they gave me as I watched them, drinking coffee after coffee on those quiet, relaxing Sunday mornings.

One Year Anniversary

At my 19th birthday party (in the 70s)

One sweet year of marriage. Ah, what can I say. Hannah has been my rudder, my joy, my passion. She is my love guru, my gracious ear. She knows me, laughs at me, teaches me and carves me into a more authentic myself. She is a wondrously intelligent and strong person.

She pulls me away from my useless distractions

Back into the now- the present reality to be savoured, the little things to be enjoyed.

............................

One of the most profound texts I've ever come across is Hannah's vows. Her words haunt me to this day with their depth of thought, realism and utter Hannahness. Here they are (with her permission).

"I promise to trust God and seek to live in the life that Jesus gives to us- from that place I want to serve you; to honour, trust, respect and cherish you as a gift from God for however long he decides. It is a privilege to become your wife.

I want our marriage to be one that is steeped in grace. Because of this I will seek to live humbly before God, asking Him to guide me.

I desire to see you for yourself - not as an extension of myself or as an object that orbits around me.

I desire to listen to you when you speak; to hear what you are saying, not what i think you are saying.

I know our differences will sometimes drive us crazy, so I promise to remember how these differences endeared you to me and seek to celebrate them, not try to change you.

I want you to pursue your dreams, your goals, and your hopes. I promise to support you in these and your decisions and to challenge you at times if I don't agree.

I want to love you in the hard times and seek not to control you when life is difficult, but let those situations grow us.

I promise to stay true to myself and in doing so, be true to you.

I promise to work at staying open and honest with you; to let you in to the places within myself that I am scared to show.

I want to learn to see myself honestly, to listen to God and be defined by who I am in Him.

I desire to not demand or expect more from you than you can give, and to seek to find my wholeness in God.

I promise to hold you to what you promise me, and let you do the same - I promise to own when I am wrong and seek to live in an atmosphere of forgiveness with you.

I promise to keep laughing with you and at you, to keep having fun and going on adventures with you.

I promise to not become an adult who can't see a boa constrictor eating an elephant.

I look forward to making love with you and having children with you.

I desire to never leave you or betray you - you are the most important person in the world to me.

I promise to make my home with you wherever we are.

I know I will not live this perfectly but I seek for Christ to live this through me.

I want to grow in loving you and knowing you for the rest of our lives together,

Sam, I love you, and I give myself to you".

Yia!

The Power of Nightmares

Greetings loved ones,

Below is a three-part BBC documentary written and produced by Adam Curtis. Here's the abstract from our dearly beloved and highly unreliable source of information- wikiwiki:

'The films compare the rise of the Neo-Conservative movement in the United States and the radical Islamist movement, making comparisons on their origins and claiming similarities between the two. More controversially, it argues that the threat of radical Islamism as a massive, sinister organised force of destruction, specifically in the form of al-Qaeda, is a myth perpetrated by politicians in many countries—and particularly American Neo-Conservatives—in an attempt to unite and inspire their people following the failure of earlier, more utopian ideologies'. Tada!

So! If you're twiddling your thumbs, seeking to blossom into a knee-jerking lefty or simply looking for creative and instructional ways to spend the upcoming winter evenings, I recommend taking a peak at this compelling series from the man who gave us great docos such as The Century of the Self and The Trap.

Part 1: Baby it's Cold Outside

Part 2: The Phantom Victory

Part 3: The Shadows in the Cave

Thomas Manatoa Toulouse

On this day, 10 May 2010, Mr T. for Toulouse burst forth from the womb onto French soil. With a weight of over 4 kilograms and a height reaching 52.5 cm, it's safe to say we've witnessed the birth of a giant. A man-baby with Whiley genes who will probably develop Fordian themes but who was and is-born Toulouse.