What Happened in 2013 - Part 2: Mainland Canada

It would not be much of an exaggeration to say that I work for 11 months so that Eve and I can travel for the 12th month.  This year the destinations were Canada and Hawaii.

We started with a few days in Southern California, where we visited Disneyland and Universal Studios and astonishingly I did not take a single photograph.  We had a wonderful day at Disneyland, enjoying the rides, the music and the atmosphere generally.  We also observed first hand the obesity problem in the USA.  Our favourite ride was Buzz Lightyear Astro Blasters.  "Evil Emperor Zurg is stealing batteries from helpless toys ..." so our mission was to take our laser blasters and zap images of Zurg and his minions as we were trundled round the course.  It is clearly designed for the younger generation - so we sixty-somethings rode this one twice!

From LAX we flew to Vancouver, where cousin Sarah lives with her husband, Tom.  They made us very welcome, even though Sarah's niece, Lily, was also coming to overflow their apartment.  All five of us had an expedition to Granville Island using the ferries that ply False Creek.

L to R: Eve, Bill, Lily, Tom and Sarah

Only a few days after this photo was taken Lily's boyfriend, Thom, proposed to her and was accepted.  Congratulations to you both.

There are market stalls offering just about anything edible, but particularly local produce.  As at home, berries in season are available by the kilo.  You can also get meat, cheese, pastries - you name it.  There are also more permanent shops selling all sorts, from traditional brooms to ship chandlery.

From Vancouver we rented a car and set off for the mountains.  Our route took us along the Crows Nest Highway to the Cascades and Slocan Valley, out onto the plains and northward to Calgary and then back West and more North into the Canadian Rockies.  It is tempting to write a day-by-day account, but I want to get this post finished this year, so you will have to settle for selected highlights.

First wildlife sighted: a chipmunk at Hope Slide

Slocan Lake

Canada is a land of lakes.  We never tired of seeing them.

Nelson, British Columbia

We live in Nelson Province, NZ so we could not miss Nelson, BC.  The beach is not as fine or as large as Tahunanui, but it is nevertheless a good beach.  The water is not salt.  That's an arm of Kootenay Lake.

Prairie wildflowers

These were photographed near Head Smashed in Buffalo Jump.  Yes, that's the place name.  It was where the first plains residents would regularly attempt to stampede the buffalo over a cliff.  The head immortalised in the name was not a buffalo's head, but that of a boy who wanted to watch the falling buffalo from underneath and got too close.

In Calgary we were welcomed by Tony Stewart, the captain of the hockey team we would be part of in Hawaii.  He not only gave us a room for the night, he carefully wrote down all the places in the Rockies that we really should not miss and provided sketch maps of brilliant clarity.

From Calgary we went to Banff where, to Eve's delight, we found Evelyn's Coffee Bar.  This promised, and delivered, excellent coffee.

One of the many very attractive rivers in the Rockies

We saw lots of berries in the woods, but never a bear eating them.

A number of plants produce 'woolly' seed heads.

Just upriver from one of the big waterfalls, whose name I have forgotten.

Moraine Lake (I think)

Who cares what its name is?  It's yet another beautiful piece of scenery.

Takakkaw Falls

None of my photos does justice to these falls.  The picture above only shows the first section.  The main drop is 254m.  Even though I'd been to this part of the Rockies before, I didn't know about this stunning waterfall.  And if the falls weren't enough, the surrounding scenery was extra gorgeous.

Golden mantled ground squirrel

This piratical rodent is scoffing *my* lunch.  We sat on a bench to eat our meal while we admired the view of Mt Edith Cavell when the squirrel appeared.  Playing on its undeniable cuteness it cozened us into feeding it blueberries.  I was trying to get a photo and put my plate down on the bench.  "Where's it gone?"  It had disappeared and by some sleight of paw popped up behind us, stretched up to the plate and carefully selected the largest cracker.  It then hurried well beyond any retribution and daintily but rapidly nibbled away.  "Yes, officer.  I have read the signs.  I did not deliberately feed baked goods to the wildlife."

Arboreal squirrel sp.

This critter has the good sense and manners to eat what the forest provides.  It did not come looking for handouts - in fact it ignored the humans around it while it rapidly extracted seeds from cones.  Note the blurring of the right paw as it removes the unwanted pieces of cone.

The first step of the Athabasca Falls

Some waterfalls are very accessible.  You park your car in a spacious car park and saunter over to where the noise is coming from, covertly scanning the license plates of the other vehicles to see if you can add to your list of state plates seen.  Around the falls there are made paths and fences and, sometimes, signs with sad tales of visitors who have fallen in the water, detailing the date of the incident, the victim's age and how far downstream the body was recovered.

Jasper, which is the nearest town to this and many other sights, has the most expensive accommodation in Canada.  Many of the local residents offer rooms at 'only' around $100 per night.  That does not generally include breakfast, but the one we settled on did provide good, brewed coffee and toast.  Mind you, our hostess insisted that we change to a bigger room after the first night and then charged us $20 extra for complying with her request.

Patricia Lake, near Jasper

Choosing which lake photos to leave out has been difficult.  This is one of the few with a close up of a shore.  We stopped here after admiring and photographing the more well known Pyramid Lake.  It was only a minute or so after we left here that we nearly collided with a deer.  We think it was mule deer, but really it all happened so quickly.  It burst out of the woods to our right and I didn't see anything before it was in the road and about to collect the car amidships.  I did stamp on the brake, but there was no time or room so it was lucky that the animal didn't pause but carried on at the same breakneck speed and vanished into the trees on the other side of the road.

Mt. Robson

After we left Jasper we drove West through Mt. Robson Provincial Park.  I'm not sure if it counts as the Rockies or not.  The mountain itself is very imposing, and the photograph doesn't really convey that well.  But we'd been driving long enough to want a break and a coffee and we got this grand view, too.

Bill and Eve with Okanagan Lake in the background

Even though we were headed back towards Vancouver we had more to see.  Cousin David and his wife, Jane, live in Summerland.  Jane generously played tour guide and between wineries and gardens took us to this prominent hilltop and photographed the tourists.  Thank you, Jane.

Jane and David

From Summerland we continued South to Osoyoos (pronounced as it is spelled - figure it out like we had to) and the Nk'mip Desert Cultural Centre.  Nk'mip is pronounced 'Inkaneep' we think.  The cultural centre was a fountain of information about the tribe's history; particularly their treatment by Europeans, which was strikingly similar to the early Pakeha insensitivity to Maori in New Zealand.

We were lucky enough to be at the centre at the right time for a talk on the local snakes.  The ranger started with small, non-venomous species and worked up to a rattlesnake.  He treated us all like adults and didn't try to make the rattler scary.  He described its habits matter-of-factly, didn't handle it directly, but did take it out of its box with a stick and put it on the table.  The snake seemed to be bored with the whole process and couldn't be bothered to shake its rattle, let alone attempt to bite anyone.  Finally the ranger placed the box, on its side, on the table and the snake immediately glided inside and curled up out of the sun, just as the ranger said he would.

From there we drove to Vancouver and a final night with Sarah and Tom before returning the rental car and heading for Vancouver Island.

What Happened in 2013 - Part 1

I went through the year's photographs and selected just the most interesting ones for this series of posts.  When I'd finished there were 49!  So they had to be even more ruthlessly culled.

Work was slow in January, so the year got off to a fairly relaxed start.  Our first commercial crop of organic garlic ripened.  We had sourced seed from a range of suppliers and found that the local varieties performed significantly better than those purchased from further away.  We sold some to the local supermarket, but kept most of the big bulbs for the next season.

At the end of January I had my hernia operated on.  This has been described in a separate post.

In February we had to move out for a few days so that the concrete floor could have its final coat of sealant.  Not only did most of the furniture have to be moved out, but we had to wait for two days for the chemicals to dry and the nasty fumes to disperse.

At the end of the month my brother, Nigel, visited from England.  The main objective of his visit was to be part of our father's 91st birthday celebrations on 3 March.

Dad had been getting harder to look after.  We were able to access some help in the home, particularly with showering him, but it became clear that he needed professional care.  After the birthday celebrations Nigel and I explained this to Dad and recommended Woodlands Rest Home to him.  Fortunately he took the news philosophically.

Living in the countryside and often leaving the doors open means that from time to time birds fly into the house.  Some of them then panic and cannot find their way back out without the clumsy guidance of waving arms and oaths.  Every now and then we have to actually catch one and carry it outside.  On 14 April a fantail got disoriented and after an exhausting chase I scooped it up and took it outside.  The poor creature was so traumatised that it just sat on my hand.  Eve had time to fetch the camera and take pictures before it flew away.

My "pet" fantail

Where we live snow mostly confines itself to the mountains so that it is tidily available for skiing, but does not disrupt daily life.  But while I was working in Christchurch in May it not only snowed in the city, but settled and prettily coated the cars.

In July we had more bird incidents.  This time it was kea.  NZ's alpine parrot is famously inquisitive.  In fact, they can be right little feathered hooligans.  They took to visiting us in the early morning.  Their investigations reveled that a beak can pull lumps off polystyrene seed boxes.  There seems to have been some rivalry as to who could remove the largest chunk and scatter the debris over the grass.

They are protected and, in the proper place, lively and charming birds.  They are, by bird standards, very intelligent, but their ideas of fun include removing the rubber from around car windscreens.  Eve called DoC for advice.  Apparently it is the adolescent birds (damn teenagers!) that are destructive.  Remove shiny items, which attract them, and a water pistol is a good deterrent.  It doesn't harm the kea but they don't like it!.

Discussing what to chew next

Eve and I briefly got involved in the attempt to save the Joan Whiting Rest Home in Collingwood, Golden Bay.  Government funding was withdrawn in favour of a new and very hospital-like facility in Takaka.  I was even going to be a director of the landlord company if the bid was successful.  However, there were numerous obstacles and in the end the property was purchased by someone who wants to turn it into a backpackers hostel.

Leslie Victor "Bill" Heritage (3 March 1922 - 5 August 2013)

My father died this year.  He was not at home with computer technology and I'm sure he never knew what a 'blog' is, but I'd like to create a public memorial.  So I append the script for his funeral, just as I wrote it for delivery in the funeral home on Friday, 9 August in Motueka.

Funeral Script

Thanks

A brief word of explanation is probably required here. My father chose the music to be played at his funeral. Jazz, of course. He neatly labelled the CDs with the chosen tracks and gave me the title of another one, which I had to track down on the Internet. That's the one we just heard:- I Guess I'll Have to Change My Plan by Jack Teagarden and Bobby Hackett.

Dad did not live in NZ for many years and he doesn't have a large family so today's gathering is unexpectedly well attended. Elizabeth, Richard and I are very grateful to the support from our spouses and from so many friends. Thank you all for being here.

Dad's only other descendant, my brother Nigel, is here with us in spirit. He, and the wider Heritage clan, are in the UK. Nigel is organising a memorial gathering there for next month. By the magic of digital recording and the Internet he is also here in audio and will speak later.

Dad was a convinced atheist. A religious ceremony would be quite inappropriate and we are not going to have one. There will be no priest, hymns or other trappings of a church service, but there will be some pauses for more music. You can use these times to remember Dad, submit a prayer to your deity if you wish or just enjoy the jazz.

There is a slot in the programme for anyone who wishes to share a memory or two of Dad to come forward and tell us what is on their mind. There is no written programme, apart from the paper I have in my hand. This is not expected to be a long function. Dad did not want formality and expressly forbade unnecessary expense.

I hope everyone at least has a copy of the directions to the cemetery and to the lunch at Mapua Wharf afterwards.

The only reading I have planned is a very short excerpt from a gardening book.

Nor have I scheduled any organised singing, but if anyone has the impulse to carol an unaccompanied verse or two, please go ahead.

Early Years

Leslie Victor Heritage was born on his parents' farm near Chesterton, Warwickshire on 3 March 1922. The significance of that date is that the 3^rd of the 3^rd '33 was his 11^th birthday.

His early childhood was spent in the country, where a strong interest in nature developed. I remember him teaching me, when I was quite small, how to stamp hard and frighten a sitting bird so that it would fly out of the hedge and you could find its nest. He and his younger brother, Norman, would probably have horrified OSH; cycling without helmets, climbing trees and playing by the canal.

Young Les won a scholarship to Warwick School. What he recalled most often about the school is that it was founded in 914 by Ethelfleda, the daughter of King Alfred the Great, making it the oldest school in England that could prove its date of establishment.

He did well at Warwick academically, particularly in mathematics. He was not an enthusiastic sportsman. Norman tells that he persuaded the doctor to write him a note excusing him from games because of flat feet.

War broke out just about the time he was due to leave school. He witnessed one of the early German air raids on the Midlands; on Coventry. This gave him a desire to get back at the Hun, preferably from the air.

Many young men were volunteering for the RAF in 1940, but Les surprised the selection panel by expressly asking not to be a pilot. With his mathematical ability he was ideally suited to be a navigator and that was what he became.

Most people who met him were treated to the story of how he became re-named “Bill”. On his first day in the RAF he was allocated to room with two other recruits. One was a Les Peacock. The third said, “I can't call you both Les. Tell you what, I'll call you Bill.” And ever afterward he was Bill Heritage.

His flying training was in Canada. He claimed to be responsible for the only WWII attack on New York. He was the senior trainee navigator in a night exercise over Lake Erie. They were supposed to be navigating by the stars, but got lost and flew too far South. As Bill told it, they were spotted as unknown aircraft straying into US airspace, fighters were scrambled at La Guardia Field and the air raid sirens sounded in New York for the first and last time. It must have been hushed up because no account of it has been located in local press records.

By now he was a firm jazz fan. He planned to use some Christmas leave to go to New York where the major jazz clubs were. Then a phone call came, “We're your Canadian relations. Come and spend Christmas with us.” They proved to be very nice relatives, but he never got to the jazz clubs.

He must have been near the top of his class, because he passed out with a commission as Flight Lieutenant and a posting to Coastal Command. “But sir, I wanted a bomber.” Bill never did get his bomber or the chance to repay the Luftwaffe for the Coventry raid. He was shipped to West Africa and ended up more or less hitch-hiking flights to India, where he flew for most of the war.

As a child I was sometimes entertained by his tales of service life, like the night a hedgehog wandered into the officers' mess and was fed cherry brandy by a tipsy CO. This wasn't the kind of heroics I dreamed of in a father and I once asked him if he was ever shot at. “Yes. The landing approach at Imphal Plain was over the Japanese lines. But they didn't have any anti-aircraft guns.” And he did take offensive action at least once. His crew depth charged a whale they mistook for a Japanese submarine. And if they hurt the whale it would have been Bill's fault because the navigator also acted as bomb aimer.

That's not to say he did not contribute positively to the war effort. He was a disc jockey on forces radio. I think it was because he owned the jazz records. A 6ft Sikh sergeant tried to coach him, “Put more feeling in your voice, Flt Lt Heritage.” Bill would later complain, “There was this bloody great wog telling me how to speak my own language.”

The vagaries of war led to a meeting with Norman, now an RAF sergeant. Norman confesses that the brothers painted Delhi a bright crimson.

Marriage and Career

Demob in 1946 led to the start of Bill's career with plants. First it was with the Forestry Commission in Dorset. During this part of his life he met Irene Roblou and they were married in 1948.

From forestry he moved to Stewart's Nursery in Ferndown. In the ensuing years two sons were born, polythene was invented and Bill was invited to write Stewart's catalogue. These were all vital components of his future career:

• Polythene led Bill to experiment with plastics as a means to keep soil waterlogged and grow water plants, especially water lilies;
• Writing the catalogue led to countless magazine articles, many of which he illustrated with his own photographs.
• A chance introduction to Percy Thrower, led on to five or so guest specialist appearances on television gardening shows, dozens of radio broadcasts and lecturing to horticultural societies.

Bill had always been an avid reader and it just came naturally to write his first article, "Come on in - the Water's Fine" in 1955, which was published in the horticultural magazine Amateur Gardening. The demand for articles grew.

The BBC produced a TV gardening programme, hosted by Percy Thrower, from its studio in Birmingham. It was in black and white, live and no recording. Bill was first asked to appear in April 1960. I can't remember which appearance it was when the family was allowed to accompany him. We had to sit well out of the lights in the studio and both boys were suitably cognisant of the imperative of silence.

In 1961 or '62 the family moved from Ferndown and Bill joined a specialist garden centre, Highlands Water Gardens in Rickmansworth.

Growing into my teens I was delightfully unaware that my father was now England's leading expert on garden ponds. A narrow field, I grant you, but it's always nice to be looked up to. I did know that I could earn money by working with him at weekends.

To me, he was 'my Dad'. He didn't get overly involved in child rearing, as was the custom of the day. But he did take me fishing. I remember with great happiness sitting with my Dad by rivers and canals watching for a float to bob. A warm, sunny day at Lacock where, as I recall, we caught nothing and it didn't matter. A bitterly cold, winter day in Norfolk fishing for pike. Catching perch in a Somerset drainage canal while we stayed in a pub, which was then a huge treat.

Best of all was fishing at sea from a boat. This was exciting because it was unpredictable. Off Teignmouth in a dinghy Dad started hauling in the anchor. “Why are we moving?”, I asked. “I'm sick as a dog.” That's when I noticed he had gone a pale green shade. In Ireland we caught BIG fish; a 30lb tope and Dad battled a huge skate for abut 40 minutes before it broke the line. It was in Ireland, too, that a fellow fisherman gaped when I said “Dad.” “Sure, I thought you was fishing buddies.”

Back in Rickmansworth, Highlands Water Gardens was sold. The new owner was difficult to work with. When Dad proudly told him he had written a book about water gardening the instant reaction was, “How much are getting paid for it?” Lawyers were retained in a bitter wrangle, but eventually The Lotus Book of Water Gardening was published in 1973 and sold over 150,000 copies. It was translated into French and Dutch.

The relationship with Highlands Water Gardens did not survive the argument. He was working at Wildwoods when his second book, Ponds and Water Gardens, was published. There has been a second edition and two revised editions after that.

To give you a glimpse of Bill's skill with words, today's reading is from the preface to Ponds and Water Gardens.

Read

And that, I think, is enough of my voice for now.

Dad's second selection is Muggsy Spanier's Ragtime Band playing Relaxin' at the Touro.

Nigel

Here is the recording my brother, Nigel, sent from England. After him, you are all invited to say a few words if you want to.

Play recording.

Invite speakers.

Mike Theilmann

Amongst the many sympathetic words emailed from around the world, the ones I would like to share with you come from Mike Theilmann. The Theilmanns are related through the Roblou side of the family, and have been good friends for a very long time. Mike and his wife, Maren, now live in Ottawa, Canada.

Read

Thank you, Mike.

And now Muggsy Spanier again with Lonesome Road.

Retirement

Charles Thomas of Lilypons Water Gardens formed the International Water Lily Society in 1984. So Bill (always with Irene tagging along) was able to share his love and enthusiasm in person with others from around the world, but particularly the USA. Bill and Irene couldn't make it to the very first IWLS Symposium but after that they were always there until their last visit to Baltimore in 1998.

Bill delivered the keynote address at its 1986 symposium.

At the 1988 symposium, IWLS awarded Bill its highest honour. They inducted him into their Hall of Fame in recognition of his outstanding contributions advancing water gardening.

Visiting the USA rather regularly satisfied a special curiosity of Bill's, the American Civil War. Upon gratifying his water gardening interests in the area he and Irene were visiting, he then reviewed Civil War events of the locality.

It was through an IWLS contact that Bill arranged one of the most romantic gifts ever. American growers had finally rediscovered how to breed new kinds of water lily. For my parents' 40^th wedding anniversary, their 'ruby wedding', he arranged for a new variety of red lily to be named “Irene Heritage”.

My parents were married for 60 years, all but 10 days. After Mum died in 2008 I invited Dad to join me in Nelson for a holiday. He liked it so much he applied for permanent residence.

Nearly all of the credit for Bill's enjoyment of his final years belongs to Eve. She had much the lion's share of the work of caring for Bill as he aged. Thank you, Eve, from the bottom of my heart.

Bill's legs could not carry him so far and his memory became ever more unreliable. But in Mapua and then on the farm in Woodstock he was able to enjoy the Nelson sunshine and the birds and a delightful view.

In March this year, shortly after his 91^st birthday, he moved into Woodlands Rest Home so that he could be provided with round-the-clock professional care. I made sure to take him for a drive and a coffee every weekend. More often than not, Eve came too.

Last Saturday we went to Rabbit Island. Bill stayed in the car while Eve and I had a walk on the beach. Then we all went for a coffee. He tackled a large piece of coffee cake with the enthusiasm of a tiger tucking into its tea-time coolie.

Back at Woodlands he rejected my first farewell hug as not good enough; we had to have a real rib-crushing bear-hug. I count myself very fortunate to have such a positive memory of our last time together.

Dad could not ignore his favourite musician, so, to play us out, it is Benny Goodman with Moonglow.

Hernia Repair is Easy

I was diagnosed with a hernia about a decade ago.  It was a strange, puffy bulge in the lower abdomen that didn't hurt but seemed like it shouldn't be there.  My GP at the time advised that the state health system would not stir itself to fix anything so trivial and referred me to a private surgeon who named a fee that would make Bill Gates think twice.  I chose to live with it.

Mid way through 2012 something behind the bulge started distributing actual pain.  I then realised that it was very low in the abdomen, and I could not possibly rub it for relief in a public place, such as while presenting a seminar, without exciting ribald comment.

My Nelson GP was not optimistic that the taxpayer would now pay for the surgery, but felt it was worth asking anyway and referred me to Nelson Hospital.  In the hospital an astonishing event took place - I was seen at the exact time of my appointment.  The surgeon herself was not available and I was seen by a deputy who must have left school no more than 12 months earlier.  Despite her youth and beauty (I did not stress the latter to Eve) she had a confident, professional manner and, best of all, a kind heart that agreed to put me on the waiting list.

Her expectation that I would be operated on before Christmas 2012 was a little off, but I was awarded a fixture in late January 2013.  With that news came a little card sternly demanding that I submit to a pre-admission check at 9:40 on 25 January.  I telephoned to ask what would be checked and if I needed to bring anything with me.  "It's because you're high risk," the admissions nurse stated flatly.  "Don't be late."  Me?  High risk? I was a 60-year old with hardly any grey in his hair - a picture of healthy, early middle age.

Somewhat perturbed, I presented myself at 9:35.  Again I was seen on time.  What is wrong with Nelson Hospital that they don't keep you waiting?  The nurse who was to check me explained that I was high risk because of my age and because I'd had a stroke.  That was 10 years previously and it seems that no-one but me believes the specialist who said it was a random event and there was no likelihood of a recurrence.  According to the nice young lady who carried out the tests I have "the blood pressure of a 20 year-old".  My pulse was 67 (I understand that is also very good) and my ECG was "text book".  I must avoid being re-tested so these stellar stats are never overshadowed by anything sub-optimal.

The operation itself was a breeze.  I simply lay on a trolly and a smiling anesthetist put me out for the count.  It was keyhole surgery, so I have 3 tiny scars and no puffy bulge in the lower abdomen.

I didn't have any nasty reactions to the anaesthetic.  Indeed, I woke up feeling hungry.  Poor Eve had to suffer me grumbling about wanting something to eat instead of saying how lovely it was that she was there.  It was a nuisance having to go through a routine of a glass of water, wait 15 minutes, cup of weak tea and wait some more before I was brought a plate of sandwiches.

After that, the next rule was that I had to wait until (i) a big bag of saline solution had all dripped into my vein and (ii) I had peed before Eve was allowed to drive me home.  So I did the puzzle page in the Nelson Mail and read a book.

I didn't feel too sore, but I was discharged with prescriptions for 3 kinds of painkiller tablets.  I could spot the hint here that it may hurt before it got fully better.  In fact, it wasn't too painful at all.   Well done, the surgeon.  I foolishly read the information leaflet in one of the boxes of painkillers.  The potential side effects were so unpleasant that I vowed I would rather have any agony than take one.  But the situation didn't arise.

There was a post-operation check.  The surgeon seemed well pleased with her work.  It's a common procedure and she doesn't normally bother but my hernia was "a very large one".  Well it's now wrapped up in plastic mesh and not bulging or giving any other kind of trouble.  And my part was easy.

Highlights of 2012

Looking back on 2012, it has been a very busy year, with plenty of incident. To avoid this summary growing to the size of a novelette, it has been ruthlessly pruned. Honestly!

Garden

The house is on high ground.  The soil is thin, barely crumbled granite, but Eve has made significant progress.  With the application of hard working green fingers and sacks and sacks of compost the garden is slowly developing good soil.

Last summer was not a great growing season.  Everyone in the valley had their tomatoes attacked by blight.  But we did get good quantities of courgettes (zucchini) and strawberries.  Later in the year, in the Southern Spring, we harvested our first crop of asparagus.  Eve had to restrain Bill from taking too much.  The plants are still relatively immature and have to be allowed to grow their fronds.

In the autumn the orchard was visited by deer. They look cute and delightful but they ate the tops off all our fruit trees. This essentially put the orchard back by a year. Retribution finally overtook them, though. Four deer were spotted on our hillside from across the river. Dion Maclean, whose sheep graze our land and do not jump over the orchard fence, telephoned. May he come and have a shot at them? Of course. He came with a friend and his son, Lawson. We are pleased to report that they got two of the cute vandals and we have venison in the freezer in exchange for our damaged trees.

Work

Most of Bill's work continues to be as a practice reviewer for the New Zealand Institute of Chartered Accountants. Changes at the Institute have made this less enjoyable. Reviewing has always been a mix of practitioner education and policing of sub-standard work. Over time this is becoming more stick (policing) and less carrot (education) and generally less fun. However, it pays the bills and will continue, although steps are being taken to generate more consulting and presenting assignments.

Hockey

Somehow the Federal Hockey Club was prevailed on to give Bill a regular place in the 'Seniors' side, although it would be true to say that he was probably last choice if the club ever worried about fielding a team based on merit. He turned 60 during the season, but was still not the oldest player in the team. After his birthday he actually scored a goal. Indeed it was a good goal, involving trapping the ball, controlling it and guiding it accurately into the chosen corner of the net. The only time he demonstrated so much skill all season.

Richard & Tansy's Wedding

5 February is now an important date in the Heritage calendar. That's when Bill's son, Richard, and his fiancee, Tansy, tied the knot. The ceremony was outdoors in Kaitoke Regional Park, near Wellington. The locality was used in the filming of Lord of the Rings and is now known as Rivendell. Richard and Tansy wrote the entire, secular 'service' except for readings by the two mothers. We thought it was very suitable, and the setting very attractive.

One very happy couple.

NZ Residence

Shortly after the wedding we received the welcome news that Bill's Dad had been granted permission to reside permanently in New Zealand. The application had been about two years in processing and was never a certainty. However, his passport now bears the vital endorsement that means he can forget about the possibility of being chucked out of the country. He persists in telling people that he is a New Zealander now, but citizenship is another round of forms and cheques and anyway won't be available to him for years yet.

Dad's 90^th

Less than a month later, on 3 March, Dad celebrated his 90^th birthday. Luckily his other son, Nigel, was able to fly out from the UK and join us for the occasion. The party was at a cafe in Mapua right on the estuary shore. Dad was surrounded by both his sons, both his grandchildren (Richard and Elizabeth) and a few select friends. He had consistently said that he didn't want any fuss, but he seemed awfully pleased with the fuss we made.

90 today!  "Gramps" with Elizabeth and Richard

Bob died

The land we have built our house on was purchased from Bob Anderson and Kate Burness, who continued to live next door at Golightly Farm. Bob had recovered once from prostate cancer and was a very fit octogenerian, frequently walking up the hill to visit us. Unfortunately the cancer returned and this time could not be overcome. In March we lost a very good neighbour and friend.

Our Wedding

In contrast to the colourful and well attended ceremonial of Richard and Tansy's wedding, we snuck off to the Registry Office in Nelson. In fact it was a room in the Courthouse building, but court business was slow and we did not share the waiting room with drug pushers, arsonists or hooligans who breach the Road Code. There were just the two of us, with our witnesses and immediate neighbours. The witnesses were Bill's dad and Eve's son, Matthew, representing the previous and next generations. The neighbours were Kate and another couple living at Golightly Farm, Maria Hudnutt and Urs Isenring, who wielded a camera.  No-one else was even notified that the wedding was happening.

The marriage was brief, but the words were very tasteful and appropriate. It was exactly right for us. All seven of us lunched at the Boathouse Restaurant in Nelson (do we see a waterside theme coming through here?) and enjoyed ourselves very much.

A slightly more wrinkled couple, but just as happy!

Then we let the rest of the world know about it!

Sailing

Traditionally a newly wedded couple goes straightaway on a romantic honeymoon. We don't pay convention too much heed and modified this. It's all Peter Bould's fault. Peter is a more-or-less retired accountant in Auckland. He invited Bill to crew his yacht from New Zealand to Tonga. Now, an ocean voyage was high on Bill's list of things to do. What would you do? Bill went sailing, of course.

Peter generously invited Eve to accompany us on the first part of the voyage, from Auckland to the Bay of Islands so she got her first proper on-the-sea sail. The wind direction was inconvenient, so we motor-sailed the whole way, but at least Eve had a chance to see Manawa II in action and to be reassured about the sturdiness of the vessel and her master.

A fleet of yachts assembled in Opua. Eve went back home and the crew was completed by the arrival of Jim Murchison from Sydney, a veteran of several ocean races.

We set off on 1 May and for the second time I sailed out of sight of land. The first occasion was the ill fated voyage that ended in mutiny and the loss of Air Apparent. That ghost is firmly laid to rest now. We had some lumpy seas in the first few days but no cyclones, waterspouts, collisions or kraken attacks. And like most of the fleet we paused at North Minerva Reef. The original atoll has sunk and there is nothing now but a ring of coral with safe anchorage for passing boats. The snorkeling was great.

The skipper watching for the entrance to Minerva Reef's lagoon

After 3 nights we sailed on to Tonga. It was about 10 days sailing time and over far too soon. Thank you, Peter.

Does anyone need experienced crew for some more blue water sailing?

Garlic

We have our first commercial crop. It is organic garlic. The deal is Steve Perry knows about growing garlic and we have land on which garlic may be grown. Steve gets some wages for his labour, but also a share of the crop. Further labour has been supplied by Eve's son, Matthew as a casual employee of the company that owns the land, Shnurg Limited.

Getting organic seed garlic proved to be a major problem. We could not find enough and could only plant about an acre. However, at the time of writing it is growing well and we should harvest sufficient seed to plant the entire paddock next year and still have some to sell.

Norfolk Island

Only about 2 months after getting married, we had a honeymoon on Norfolk Island; a popular destination for the newly wed and the nearly dead. No comments, please.

It was a great place to unwind and just be lazy. Our package included a rental car so we could get around all 30-odd km of the island's roads. We did most of the touristy things, like a murder mystery dinner (Eve correctly guessed the villain), a progressive dinner and reading the history of the island in its headstones.

Bill usually makes a list of the birds seen when we go overseas. He is very pleased with this list because we saw all the island's endemic bird species except the two silvereyes, which are in any case very difficult to tell apart from the common one found in Australia and NZ. We did particularly well to see the island's rare 'green parrots'.

Norfolk Island's inhospitable coastline

Bill's 60^th

He spent it working in Invercargill.  No big party.

Irrigation System

Developing farmland is an expensive business. The garlic thrives best with a reliable supply of water. More reliable than the random cascades from the sky. The irrigation system includes two large water tanks. These were delivered from the factory in Christchurch. For a full account of how the truck got stuck and one of the tanks made a bid for freedom see 'Fun and Games on the Farm' posted in July.

The runaway tank at rest.  It was unloaded a little to the left of the shed in the background.  Our house is the slightly higher building to the right.

The ever reliable Dion Maclean brought his big tractor over and sorted out the muddle.

Steve and Matthew made a start on making a 'basin' in the stream from which we could pump water up to the tanks, but that stalled and eventually we did the sensible thing and recruited the experts at Thinkwater to install pump & piping and get the water tanks filled. It's simple. All I had to do was write cheques.

Now I have to remember to go down and switch the pump off when the sun doesn't shine. On a sunny day we have enough power to run the water pump, but not on a cloudy day. In theory, it will rain on cloudy days, the garlic will grow and we won't need the tank water.

Richard's Prize

Bill's son Richard is a geotechnical engineer. That's an engineer who is concerned with foundations, retaining walls and whatever else my be needed where the structure meets the planet.

In July he attended an Australasian Young Geotechnical Professional Conference in Melbourne. For accounting conferences you just decide to go and send a cheque. Engineers who want to confer must submit a paper and, if it is accepted, stand up and present it. Richard estimates that about one paper in five of those submitted was accepted.

Briefly, Richard's paper was judged the most outstanding presented from NZ. His prize is to present a paper at a World Young Geotechnical Professional Conference in Paris next year. Bill couldn't be prouder if he had presented the paper himself.

Holiday

November was devoted to travel. It was India's turn this year, with a stopover in Kuala Lumpur (KL) on the way North. The hotel in KL was the first time we had used the web site Booking.com and it was brilliant. See the posts in November for details of our Malaysia visit.

India was certainly memorable. We were warned that it would be a shock – and it was. We arrived in Delhi at night, but you could still see the smog, it was so thick. And of course you can smell it and even taste it on bad days.

We did not enjoy Delhi, but that may have been simply our introduction to what we later learned was the commonplace in India. Rubbish is everywhere. Unwanted items are simply discarded on the spot. Plastic accumulates in huge drifts in some places. In one town we did see a woman sweeping the street. She tidied the rubbish into a neat pile and set a match to it, plastic and all.

The driving is terrifying to the uninitiated. All drivers use their horn frequently. If there is any right-of-way rule we could not detect it. Every driver just barges ahead to where s/he wants to go. There are occasional traffic lights in the cities, but obeying their signals seems to be optional. Blue-jerseyed traffic police are found on some intersections. They glare and blow their whistle, but we could not detect any attention being paid. All the major cities' roads are packed with trucks, buses, cars, large numbers of motorcycles, bicycles and auto-rickshaws or 'tuk-tuks'. These are 3-wheelers with a motorcycle engine and handlebars that act as cheap taxis.

A lightly laden tuk-tuk.  It is common for extra passengers to squeeze in beside the driver.

In our pathetic, Western way we had thought that a motor bike was for no more than 2 people. Ridiculous. Although helmets are generally worn in the cities, they are expensive, effete extravagances in the villages, where the average load is three people. Several times we saw four adults on one bike and with children we definitely saw six-up and Bill spotted a seven, but it was gone too quickly to double check.

The expression “lane discipline” has no translation in Hindi. The only vehicle that reliably keeps to left in India is an elephant. Camel carts are pretty good, too. Others will use the centre or the right if it suits them. Major roads are 4 or 6 lanes with a median strip. Most traffic does use the left lane, but we also encountered examples of 2-way traffic in both lanes. But we saw no more accident debris than elsewhere in the world. Somehow the system works. Indian drivers must have terrific all-round awareness.

It's just as well, because we had pre-booked a car plus driver for the major part of our tour. The driver, Satish Sharma, was very quiet and an excellent driver.

Our itinerary was Delhi – train to Jaipur – circuit of Rajasthan by car and driver - end up at Agra to see the Taj Mahal – fly home from Delhi.

We could easily write a thousand words per day, but we will spare you that.

The highlights were:

1. The Taj Mahal. Seeing the famous memorial was Bill's 60^th birthday treat. It truly is a beautiful building. We went before breakfast. Some reckon that it is most gorgeous at dawn. The air was too hazy to tell, but we suspect that at least we avoided the worst crowds. If you've never been there and it's not on your life list, then it should be.
   

   

   
   
2. The Diwali lights. We happened to be in India at the time of this major festival, with many buildings festooned in lights, similar to the Western Christmas, and several consecutive nights of firework parties.
   

   

   
   
3. Keoladeo Bird Sanctuary. We must have seen 70 species of bird in one day.
   

   

   A lesser whistling duck has a satisfying scratch.

   
   
4. Ranthambhore National Park. Everyone goes for the chance to see tigers, but we were well satisfied with crocodiles, deer, boar and birds, including the cheeky treepies. And a scene at the ticket window that came straight out of a comedy film. Satish was buying our park entrance permits for us and was surrounded by drivers of the special tour vehicles all shouting and gesticulating excitedly at once, while the clerk behind the desk quietly completed his forms and took no notice at all.
   
   

   

   A spotted deer and her faun.

   
   
5. The people we met. There are Indians who are just friendly and do not try to sell you anything. And we encountered some very agreeable fellow travellers.
6. The food. Although many waiters were careful to make sure our feeble foreign stomachs did not get anything too spicy, Rajasthani food does not use much chili and none of the dishes we tried was very 'hot'. The local cuisine was certainly tasty and outside the hotels a good meal can be remarkably cheap. Most dishes are vegetarian, and many restaurants serve only vegetarian food. If they do serve meat, the menu will have separate lists for “Veg” and “Non-veg”. Best meal – ker sangri (desert beans) at the Hotel Pleasant Haveli in Jaisalmer.
7. Decorated camels at the Pushkar Camel Fair.
   

   

   
   
8. The observatory in Jaipur. Shah Jahan, who built the Taj Mahal, constructed a very fine observatory, long before anyone had invented a telescope, when he was a young man.
   

   

   
   
9. Forts, palaces and temples. Some of these were very fine indeed, but there are a lot of them in Rajasthan and we fear we overdosed a bit.
10. Best hotel: Pleasant Haveli in Jaisalmer, with Vimal Heritage in Jaipur close behind.

The major frustrations were:

1. The “priests” in Pushkar who have a slick scam that starts with a 'friendly' local giving you a flower “for the holy lake” and ends with a demand for a huge, by Indian standards, amount of money. This is not for the temple but goes into the individual's pocket.
2. The commission system, whereby shops pay up to 35% of your purchases to the guide, driver or other individual who brought you to the emporium. The worst example was the tuk-tuk driver who didn't even take us near the place we wanted to go.
3. Incessant attempts to sell us something we did not want.
4. Demands for tips that ranged from annoying to outrageous.
5. A mild attack of 'Delhi belly'. The travel doctor had us prepared with a small pharmacy so it was dealt with before it could get serious.
6. Worst meal: The buffet dinner after our camel ride in the desert was the only disappointing food we encountered. Even the samosas on the train were much better than this.
7. Worst hotel: Taj Heritage in Agra. They denied all knowledge of our booking. They did nothing to find us alternative accommodation and we ended up in a pretty rough hotel with no hot water.

We were in India for 24 days and by the end of it we were both ready to come home. Stepping on the plane seemed to release a good deal of built-up tension. Now that we have had a spell of 'normality' we are both willing, even eager, to see some more of India, particularly Kerala in the South. We think we might limit a future visit to 2 weeks. But if we're in the South we've heard that Pondicherry is nice – and we can't go back and not visit Abhishek and Smitha who live in Mumbai – and ...

Chooks go feral

If you read the October post, 'We Have Livestock', you will know that we have taken to keeping chickens. We put some photos of them on Bill's Facebook page.

While we were holidaying the house sitters, Ted and Susan, carefully cared for them and the chicks grew to be bigger than their foster mum, Beryl the bantam. On our return we decided that they were big enough to be allowed to wander through the orchard. They had been living in the run for 8 weeks and would associate the run and the coop with security and thus would return at dusk and sleep there. Anyone who has kept chickens will confirm that they are creatures of habit.

All except ours. At dusk we went down to top up their food and water. “Chook, chook, chook” we called, “Chook, chook, chook”, but there was no answering cluck. Indeed there was no sign of them. Eventually we spotted the chicks dutifully clustering around Beryl under some pine trees on the neighbour's property.

After a couple of days we found they could be tempted by a scattering of wheat, but actually catching them was much more difficult. They were wary and very quick to jump and dodge. We'd managed to recapture three when we were advised to go after them at night. Once they start roosting they would be dozy and easy to capture.

And they were. The difficulty was finding where they were roosting. When there were only 3 escapees remaining, Eve carefully watched where they were settling in the late evening. When it was fully dark we returned with torches and a sack. We expected to be able to nab the last two chicks, but Beryl had been perching rather high up. In the event, they had moved. Luckily one of the chicks was a white one, and Eve's torch picked her out. She was roosting much higher than we could reach next to ringleader, Beryl.

Bill tried to reach the branch where it grew out of the tree's trunk and shake them down, but all we got was a couple of groggy clucks. He then went back to the shed for a rake, hooked it over the branch and pulled it down. Both birds were clucking, but neither made any attempt to jump or fly away.

That left a single well-grown chick, whom we christened Betty. She was now exceedingly wary of us and since she had black feathers she was impossible to find at night. However, Betty was not finding much wild food and getting very hungry. We did feed her (we didn't want to starve our chook) but we couldn't catch her. Eventually she found her way back to the run, but was still much too leery of us to catch. Eve found the solution. She herded the main flock into the coop, folded back the wire roof of the run and put Betty's food down inside. Betty hopped into the run, Eve folded down the roof and we had the full complement under control.