Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | March 12, 2010

missing Rarotonga

Kia Orana!

There’s an autumn chill in the air in Hawke’s Bay this morning. I miss Rarotonga.

It’s trying to rain and my lawns need mown. I miss Rarotonga.

There are dishes to be washed and housework to be done. I miss Rarotonga.

Work is waiting. I miss Rarotonga.

This past week has marked my first visit into the Pacific Islands – the Cook Islands to be exact. Two Wednesdays in a row on the way over and then no Tuesday on the way back – it’s only a four-hour flight from Auckland to Rarotonga but one that crosses the international date line.

Helped by beautiful weather, sunsets, scrumptious cocktails and a great group of friends, Rarotonga is now on my list of favourite places.

 

Rarotonga is so laid back (omigoodness no helmets on those scooters) and smiley and welcoming – especially the staff at the Edgewater Resort. Shall I mention the mean lady (think bad words) at the departure customs area who took my 12ml pink nail polish? The cow (I know, I know, only doing her job). She snarkily told me that I should have put it in a plastic bag. I mean really, if I have mixed explosives in it, what difference is a *%$” plastic bag going to do?! So I returned the snarky look and proceeded to put a coat of nail polish on my fingers on the counter in front of her before I would let her put it in the rubbish. (It was 3am afterall, I’m not really a morning person at the best of times  🙂 )

At least I wasn’t like my friend Sarah who absent-mindedly put her new bottle of duty-free rum (from the inward journey) in her backpack to take on the plane to save weight in her suitcase. We did contemplate drinking it then and there in the airport, but at 3am with at least another four or five hours in front of us, she made the heartbreaking decision to put it in the rubbish bin (again, think bad words, very bad words).

But don’t let an efficacious customs lady put you off the Cooks (Air NZ was great). Rarotonga is awesome.

A group of about 25 New Zealanders were there for a beach wedding – the groom is a Cook Islander who left for NZ in his late teens so it was very cool to have an extra special meaning in the venue.

What’s this? What does that mean? What’s the word for thank you again? (Meitaki maata.) Very handy having a local on board.

The most amazing thing for me, once I have finished waxing lyrical about the sun, snorkelling, cocktails and wonderful company, was the chance to try so many different things so close to home. (Did I mention the cocktails?)

Fish like wahoo, tuna steak and parrot fish. Fruits like pawpaw, guava, star fruit (my favourite), local bananas, coconut and mango. Speaking of coconut, my son said I had to try coconut milk so I bought one for $2 at the Saturday market and walked around sipping through a straw (like the kids in the photo below). Different, but not worth repeating. Sadly, the wedding was that afternoon and we were busy for the next day or so and I didn’t get a chance to break it open and taste the flesh inside. Next time! 

The hen’s lunch was at The Rarotongan where I couldn’t decide between the chef’s four signature dishes. Luckily for me, they also offered a medley of the four. So I sat and tried, to the amazement of some others: ike matua or raw fish marinated in lime and coconut (least favourite); green curry goat with naan bread and taro (YUM!); lightly curried octopus with fruity bits or something (nice)  and local wild roast pork with green leafy stuff like spinach which I can’t remember the name of (also rates a tick). As an aside, because I’m quite good at getting off topic, the wafting smoke of umu cooking and/or the burning of palm fronds was almost always noticeable around the island.

Here are some pics of my friend, the groom, buying some jakfruit for me in the market then cutting it up and what it looked like inside (you cut it in half and then almost turn it inside out). It was nice. Pungent, but nice. The other one (soursop or guanabana or graviola) looked and felt like a slime-chocker cross between tripe and oysters and had an extremely tangy taste. Tried it.

 

 

 

 

Feel free to look at some more photos of Rarotonga on http://www.flickr.com/photos/rivettingkatetaylor/ 

Some other highlights I forgot to mention were visiting a Cook Islands Church service, seeing not one but two shooting stars while floating on my back in the pool on the first night (and yes, I have a witness) and getting to shake my booty (well, wobble uncontrollably perhaps) during the resort’s Island Night, which doubled as the wedding reception. And one can’t forget the couple of the day – my friends E&D and their kids (my god daughter and Sarah’s god son).

I am looking forward to returning with hubby and sprogs one day (soon I hope) to experience golf, fishing and the mountain walk. Hopefully we will also visit D’s home island of Mauke – alot more primitive than the main islands but more true, perhaps, to the way Rarotonga used to be.

Did I mention the cocktails? 🙂

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | March 3, 2010

what parking fines?!

Laughing this morning at a story on the stuff website about an older Tasman couple who are having to pay court costs and associated fines for some parking tickets issues in Christchurch in 1988.

They say they never received the tickets and were in fact out of the country when two of them were issued (perhaps an old flatmate was at fault for those, they said).

They received a letter last month from the Auckland District Court, saying Trish owed $324 in unpaid fines. No details, just that it was going to take $25 a week out of her benefit until it was paid. Isn’t that crazy. Don’t they have an expiry date or something? The court/council should have to prove they tried to tell her about them for the first five or six years.  Twenty two years isn’t exactly an efficient use of ratepayers money is it?!

A similar thing happened to me a few years ago, although I was at fault (initially).

When I lived in Christchurch and gave up my bike for a car, I used to arrive late to teeline shorthand classes in the morning and squeeze myself into a park on Madras St. Now sometimes, the chrome on the outside of my front bumper might have been ever so slightly over an orange dotted line near a corner and I would get a $40 parking fine. I think this happened twice. Being a broke student and living off the generous pickings of my parents most of the time (only $80 student allowance – but no loans!),  I screwed them up and vowed to pay for them when the reminder notice came.

Which it never did.

Several years later, I was working in Alexandra when Mum rang most perturbed about the bailiff that had arrived on her doorstep to claim several hundred dollars worth of unpaid parking tickets, court fines and association costs. D’oh!

My car’s registration had still been attached to my Gore address and my stunningly attractive and ever-so helpful (not) former landlord had thrown away all the letters.

Fortunately, I had it transferred to Alexandra, wrote the judge a lovely letter explaining what had happened and enclosed a cheque for the original parking tickets and the first lot of fees. Case over. Phew!

I pay my parking tickets the day I get them now.

Apart from the one I received in Palmerston North ($200!) for not displaying a correct registration. My car has been faithfully registered since we bought it in 2000. All the registration card-thingies are faithfully put in the little pocket on the windscreen. And there they sit, until this day, when having fun with the corners in the Manawatu Gorge on my way to Palmy, they all slide out and come across the dashboard and fall on the floor.

I have every intention of putting them back in, but forgot. As I tend to do (someone gave me something to drop off at the school office yesterday as I walked to my car. I brought it all the way home and never gave it another thought until they rang me to see where it was!) But I digress. As I also tend to do.

Anyhoo, to cut a long story short, I wrote to the Palmerston North City Council explaining my plight and enclosing a picture of all nine registration card-thingies displayed on my dashboard. They let me off.

I like them.

Sometimes all people need is a little communication. 🙂

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | March 1, 2010

wherefore art thou tsunami?

Rest assured, no-one in Takapau ws hiding from a tsunami yesterday (I can’t tell you how many times I have typed tsumani in the  past 24 hours – where’s my auto correct?!)

If Takapau gets a wash, the rest of the country is in dire straits.

But it was surprising how many people did heed the warnings – people at CHB beaches returning home early from a weekend of sun and surf – just in case.

If our old crib at Kinloch (yes, that’s crib not bach, because it is at the South Island Kinloch!) was next to the sea instead of the lake we would have been history in the old days – when you went on holiday to the middle of nowhere you were literally cut off from the rest of the world in blissful ignorance of what was going on elsewhere. We were lucky if the old K9 on the bench would give us snowy crackling news at 6pm (a. Mum and Dad couldn’t survive without someone telling them what the weather had been or was going to be; b. back in the day when there was only news at 6pm; c. we were waterskiing – who cares!) The same must apply to those enjoying the solitary crash of the waves up the East Coast or those sitting on the deck at Akitio or Herbertville or Blackhead with their book (or the dude diving for paua at Waimarama who had a fun time with the surge that did arrive that repeatedly swept him over the rocks and then back off again – lucky).

It was even more surprising how many people in the likes of Wellington and Auckland (I pick on those places cos that’s where the TV cameras were) who ventured down to the beach to have a look. The woman who blithely told a police officer she had her flippers in her handbag. For goodness sake. These people should have a civil defence equivalent of a medical DNR stamped  on their forehead (do not resuscitate – in times of emergency – leave this person to drown in their own tsunami).

Only a few weeks ago we were talking about the anniversary of the 1931 earthquake that devastated Hawke’s Bay.  Spare a thought for all those people in Concepcion and across Chile who no longer have homes, or even worse, have lost members of their family and community.

Here are some more photos http://www.stuff.co.nz/world/americas/3387185/Tsunami-quake-kill-350-in-Chile-town showing collapsed roadways and bridges, one huge building split in the middle with both sides on a 45deg angle away from each other, people searching the rubble….

 While we look out the window at a beautiful, still, sunny day, remember those who aren’t so lucky (sorry Mum – I know you’re facing a heavy rain warning in Fiordland!)

Added comment: Please don’t think I am being blase about a disaster. I really feel for what the people are going through over there and hope I never have to experience it myself. See what my friend Ele has to say about the disaster being close to home  http://homepaddock.wordpress.com/2010/03/01/degrees-of-separation-from-disaster/

 

  

 

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | February 24, 2010

Yes officer.

It has taken a couple of days to think about the furore going on about our police officers – two aspects: people running away from them and others turning on them.

Why are so many NZ media outlets so quick to jump on the police-bashing bandwagon after a crash during a police chase. The only advice here would be “if a police car turns on the blue and reds – stop your car!” It’s not the police officers’ fault if you crash while you’re trying to get away from them – it is THE LAW to stop for flashing police lights. They are BREAKING THE LAW!

If you want to speed away from a police car, whatever happens is your responsibility. You should be accountable for the decision you made to speed away from police. They have every right to try to apprehend you – obviously you have something to hide if you’re trying to get away from them!

Imagine a world where everyone speed away from the cops when pulled over and the officers just shrugged their shoulders and said “oh well, missed that one”.

Some cops are jerks.  Most are great. All of them are ordinary people – someone’s parent, someone’s spouse, someone’s sibling, someone’s offspring – charged with making our NZ a safer place. If a police officer says jump, we should ask “how high” and worry about the logistics of the jump later (within reason, obviously, we’re not stupid).

And as for the lowlifes who think they should be able to assault police officers. They can take a running jump.

My heart goes out to the Snee family of Takapau/Napier and the Umbers family of Ranfurly, to name but two of many who have died in the line of duty in my lifetime.  There are hundreds more who have been assaulted and pummelled in the  line of duty. And I thank them for it, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, because they are the people pledged with, as I said before, maing our NZ a safer place.

Of course there should be harsher penalties for assaulting police officers (cruelty to an animal probably gets you more time in jail than punching a cop – but that opens up a whole new story!)

We don’t have the potential of putting our lives on the line every time we go to work. They do.

When it came down to the crunch, would you try to step in to help a police officer in trouble? Or anyone in trouble for that matter (with the stabbing of Mark McCutcheon in nearby Ongaonga still firmly in my mind).

I would like to think I would.

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | February 19, 2010

Career Day

Titantic star Leonardo DiCaprio has admitted he had no idea what he wanted to with his life until he went to his school’s Career Day, where he was told he could make a living being an actor.

My career path started much the same. I’d always been into writing and reading and probably would have ended up doing English or history at university, had I gone there.

But in the fifth form English communications module, Mrs K had a few people come and talk to our class from the media, including Graham Avery from 4ZG in Gore (now more famous as Hokonui Gold – or the birthplace for the broadcasting career of The Farming Show’s Jamie Mackay!)

A friend and I decided we quite liked the idea of radio, so we visited for a day’s work experience. Karen never went back to 4ZG (and left school to work in a bank) but I went back at every available opportunity. I wrote school reports that I read out over the phone every Monday afternoon, I went in for the holidays (all voluntary) until school finished.

Having missed out on the radio course at Christchurch Polytech, I was unsure what I was going to do. Suddenly the phone rang. It was Mr Avery. His reporter was leaving. Did I want the job?

Sure! It could have been his receptionist, an announcer, a sales rep, accounts person, ad writer, coffee maker – I had done a bit of everything during my time as a volunteer.

So useless as I was (and I was), I worked there for the better part of a year as a sole-charge reporter (biggest story was helping out fellow journos in Dunedin covering Aramoana). Then I made it into the broadcast journalism course at Christchurch Polytech (whose radio course I had missed out on the year before) and never looked back.

Canterbury Television (I have a face for radio), Radio Central in Alexandra then Bay City Radio/Newstalk ZB in Napier. A stint overseas then returning to the Hawke’s Bay Herald Tribune/HBToday and freelance since 2000. Self employed in the industry of my choosing for a decade.

You can’t beat the power of a school’s career day.

I have spoken to several classes in the past few years about being a journalist. Mostly I tell them whatever you’re into, you can make a job of it with journalism. So you’re into motorsport but will never be good enough to team up with Greg Murphy – write about it instead. Like rugby but you’re no Dan Carter? Become a sports reporter.

It’s not like the old days where you had a trade and stayed with it for life. People these days can have two or three different careers in their lives and good on them. Change is as good as a holiday!

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | February 16, 2010

Politics bloody politics

Guess who’s just returned from a meeting of a sports organisation. Guess who is sick and tired of people grumbling at people who do the work? In this case, which makes a change, I am not the one doing the work or the one doing the grumbling, but I find it astonishing that struggling country clubs get themselves so worked up about the silliest issues. GET OVER IT!

Have a lovely evening 🙂

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | February 12, 2010

Farmers called Rivett

It’s funny some of the things people search for on the internet.

Millions of searches are done on engines like google every day coming up with millions of suggested sites matching your search criteria in about half a nano second.

I have been interested over the past few months about the favourite searches on my site. Solar panels and redheads have been two of the consistent ones, plus Sarah Ulmer (kiwi cyclist) and Peter Barry (local dairy farmer who died in a stock car accident a year ago today – RIP Pete).

Often there is a search for Kate Taylor, Kate Rivett-Taylor or rivettingkatetaylor, but this morning there was a search for farmers called Rivett. I wonder if I fit the bill? I may answer the phone Kate Taylor and sign my cheques Kate Taylor but my by-line is Kate Rivett-Taylor (just to be different. I like that.) I’m a farmer’s daughter and a farmer’s wife, but not a farmer. Technically. I did help with the haymaking this year Mum.

Today there are two bouquets I would like to deliver.

Good on FMG for expanding its call centre in Palmerston North in a bid to help reduce local unemployment rates, particularly in light of recent redundancies from the Telecom call centre.

Also, there’s a lady on the Lady of the Lake.

The new captain of the 98-year-old TSS Earnslaw (TSS stands for Twin Screw Steamer) is  Lisa McIlroy.

She started working on tourist vessels when she was 17 and her career has included time on tourist boats in Fiordland, up and down both coasts of the South Island and around Australia’s Great Barrier Reef.

(Thank you to the stuff website for giving me these two tidbits this morning – I was reading an article on plagiarism recently!!!)

Well done Lisa. I have a wonderful link to maritime affairs in Queenstown – my great great grandfather was its first Harbour Master. So before the days of the Earnslaw but a nice personal link nevertheless! (And he was a Bryant, not a Rivett.)

So I’m off to write a press release for NZ Young Farmers. The 2010 National Bank Young Farmer Contest was officially launched last night in Gore, where the Grand Final will be held in July. The first regional final is the East Coast being held just down the road in Dannevirke on Feb 27.

Lots of exciting changes this year, particularly with the addition of screening “the road to the grand final” on TV6 in the weeks leading up to the grand finale in Gore. I’m looking forward to that – I’ve never watched TV6 before!

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | February 8, 2010

the old ball and chain

It’s nice to laugh on a Monday morning, well, Monday afternoon (I’ve actually been working today – albeit a MAF fact sheet on deferred grazing…) so I thought I would share this story from the stuff website.

A Dunedin man could be in hot water with his fiancee after he ended his stag night in police custody for allegedly smashing a shop window with a ball and chain. The 32-year-old allegedly swung the “seriously heavy” ball and chain at a shop window about 2am on Saturday, after friends attached it to his leg during celebrations, the Otago Daily Times reported. He would appear in court on Thursday facing one charge of wilful damage, just days before his wedding next weekend, Senior Sergeant Mel Aitken said. “I think he’s feeling worried because his wife-to-be took the phone call (from police),” she said.

Not that I have been to a stag party before, but here I was thinking they were a lot tamer than they used to be!  It’s ok, you’re safe, I won’t discuss my own hens night (mainly because I can’t remember most of it).  The best hens do I have been on was a trip out to the gannets at Cape Kidnappers on the tractor trailers (try drinking wine on one of those). But that’s another story.

Stories used to run rife (or was it just in the movies) about grooms turning up with full leg casts (fake ones) or waking up on a train to the other side of the country two hours before they’re supposed to be  at the altar.

I have vague memories of a few with rural twists including dousing the groom in pink gorse dye (try washing that from behind your ears and up your nose just days before the wedding, not to mention more private parts that won’t be seen in the photos.)

Another had super glue applied to  a tender place. Let’s not go there. Removal was probably rather painful. Not a job for the chief bridesmaid 🙂

As the closest neighbour (and formerly a nurse) Mum was roped in to administer assistance to one guy on the night of his stag do in a local woolshed (back in the 80s, we were so classy) after he got covered in tar and they had to put holes for his nose etc so he didn’t croak it (or am I letting my childhood memories go a little too far – Mum, explain please if you wish…)

Any how, if you have read any of my previous blogs about procrastination (please feel free to use the little search engine there!) you will understand me when I say I have to go and find something to do inside to save me from doing any more work.

  

  

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | February 3, 2010

what to talk about

As lunchtime approaches, I am pondering what to talk to Jamie Mackay about on his radio Farming Show today.

The weather? Flooding in Gisborne after months of drought conditions? My hay paddock already looking like a lush green carpet (so much so I couldn’t raise a hug from my pet cow yesterday because she was far too busy consuming it) or the mushrooms popping up around the place (I have seen my neighbours out with their icecream pottles but unfortunately none have popped up here …. yet).

Usually this blog is looking at very light glimpses of life in rural NZ. Bringing up a family on a farm in provincial New Zealand and remembering my childhood on a farm. But people often ask me what I write about for a living (as opposed to blah blah blah on here). So here’s a glimpse.

The next Federated Farmers magazine, National Farming Review, has two very different pieces with my name on them.

One is promoting Farm Day 2010 – when dozens of farmers across the country (including the ones I interviewed in Invercargill, Woodville and Clevedon) open their gates to the hordes of townies keen for a bit of dirt in their high heels and a whiff of manure. I’m not that cynical – I know there are hundreds of people out there who are in need of breathing some fresh air and seeing that milk really doesn’t come straight from the supermarket.

Gone are the days when people living in cities had grandparents, aunts and uncles or family friends with farms. We had family friends who lived in Musselburgh, in Dunedin, with children relatively the same age as us.

The two youngest girls would come and stay with us on the farm and wax lyrical about the cats, the dogs, the cows, the sheep, riding the horse or crashing into fences on the motorbike. We, in turn, would visit them in town and wax lyrical about riding on a bus, going to a movie, wearing good clothes every day, spending our $5 at DIC department store or buying a 50c mixture at the corner dairy.

That is how it used to be. 

I sincerely hope the future of farming is not where the other story points. Licence to farm.  The right to farm. we already have OSH, ACC and the RMA to change the nature of farming as we knew it (that debate is certainly ongoing).

Anyway, “licence to farm” is what many are calling the Farm Strategies in the Horizons Regional Council’s One Plan.

That issue is too technical to get into debate on my little blog, but the side issue that pokes it’s head up just as much is the council’s perceived “big stick” mentality. Thou shalt do. By law, under the RMA, etc, I guess it is more than entitled to do that. But I do alot of work for the Hawke’s Bay Regional Council, particularly with its pest control and land management teams, and education, involvement, communication and some element of respect is more forthcoming.

Read the story. I believe it’s a fair assessment of how farmers are feeling about the One Plan, but Greg Carlyon from Horizons also gets right of reply.

If you’re in the Hawke’s Bay region, read the issue of The Big Picture newsletter that will be delivered to your mailbox soon. Many of the stories in there are mine too (so of course I think they are a nice council, they give me money).

A pat on the back for a Hill Country Erosion fund that is helping three northern Hawke’s Bay catchments (Whakaki Lake, Nuhaka-Kopuawhara and Ruakituri River). The best thing about writing that story was stopping at Nuhaka (between Wairoa and Gisborne) on a sweltering summer day and climbing (that was the hard part) to the top of a hill to get a photo of the great view over the mouth of the Nuhaka River (Lachlan ran all the way to the top and back again and to the top again before I could get my sneakers on – oh to be young again).

So it has been a busy year already…. from Federated Farmers to regional councils to Ravensdown (I’m doing a piece on EcoN) and MAF (I’m writing a case study about a HB farmer using deferred grazing as a pasture management tool).

Long may it last. I have last year’s building renovations to pay for!

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Posted by: rivettingkatetaylor | February 2, 2010

School’s back!

As much as they love the holidays, kids are always excited for the first day back at school (how long the excitement lasts is a whole other story…)

It is with great delight that my working life is returning to some resemblence of routine this morning after working for a month around walks, cycling, trampoline bouncing, movies, games of Monopoly and SkipBo and cleaning up after marathon pikelet, pancake and muffin-making adventures.

Both my two are in new classrooms with new teachers this year (after two years of the same) so I’m waiting with baited breath for the end of the day to see how it all went.

They were asked this morning what they loved most about the holidays.

Sarah went horseriding in Gisborne while staying with Grandma and judging by the request for more jobs for money for her horse fund, I don’t think we’re going to get out of that one too easily.

Lachlan loved long cycles with his dad, going to the Amazing Maize Maze in Hastings, playing soccer on the front lawn with his cousins from the South Island and seeing kiwi and eels at the Mt Bruce wildlife centre (having McDonalds for lunch that day also warranted a mention).

My favourites included the weather holding out long enough for me to get my beloved long drawn out day at the beach in Gisborne (going after breakfast, swimming til 11ish, going home for lunch to escape the heat of the day and going back at 3ish til the lifeguards knock off at tea time). 

Beating that this year though was the visit of one of my sisters and her family from Dunedin. While they didn’t get treated to the blazing summer sunshine that Hawke’s Bay is usually blessed with at this time of year, it didn’t stop the fun. A thunderstorm put paid to the game of cricket on the front lawn, but the soccer the night before was only interrupted by the man of the house putting a BBQ roast lamb on the table.

We did do a bit of reminiscing though, as you can probably imagine, including summer activities on The Glen in West Otago where we grew up.

I had already had a big trip back in time. For the first time since coming to Hawke’s Bay, I helped with the hay (the other farm wasn’t flat enough and our lifestyle block usually doesn’t have enough grass at this time of year!)

The heat, the smell, the dust… the annoying little dry bits of grass EVERYWHERE……

We used to “stook” the hay into three high (the Boyds next door used to stack four high – bugger that!) Five in a row on their sides, four flat on top then another four on top again. Mum used to drive the rake that swept the hay into rows and Dad was always on the baler.

As I was picking up our bales one by one and putting them on the trailer behind my car to take to the shed (we own a lifestyle block remember – Dad’s hay paddocks would be bigger than our whole property!) I remembered our baler at The Glen had a sled behind it that collected the bales until there was enough for a stook and then Dad would pull a rope and release them.

We used to ride around on the back of that when we could. Don’t tell OSH.

Dad would then pick up the stooks with clamps on the front of the tractor to take them to the stack or hayshed, where, if we were lucky, members of the local fire brigade would be ready to help.

Picking up 150 bales wasn’t nearly as strenuous.

baler at work on the bottom haypaddock at Takapau

Most of my summer holidays at Kinloch on Lake Wakatipu (past Queenstown) or at home on the farm, which probably bored me senseless at the time, have formed fantastic memories.

My kids conversations this morning go to prove that memories aren’t made of big wonderful adventures that cost lots of money – they’re made of the little things that capture our senses in one moment of time.

(Five bucks says Mum will comment that I always buggered off somewhere and didn’t help with the hay nearly as much as I think I did…..)

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