On the Trail of Civil Rights: Racism of our Grandparents’ Generation

Victoria and I begin the journey to Montgomery today to join a “Civil Rights Conference,” sponsored by Road Scholar. Over 250 will be attending for seven days of lectures, site visits, and reflections on the struggle against racism. I am just beginning to note that the tide of “civil rights”  is opposing a powerful undertow dragging us back toward white supremacy.

In preparation I read a chapter from the revealing critique of history textbooks Lies My Teacher Told Me (James W. Loewen),.  Only two chapters of this book address the growth and resilience of racism in the United States.  I am going to base my observations on one powerful, influential lie: that the United States has followed unbroken progress toward eliminating racism since the Civil War. I am quoting exclusively from Chapter 5 (“Gone with the Wind”) of this very well-documented text, which I recommend to teachers and critical readers of every age from middle school to lifelong learners.

Loewen agrees with Bryan Stevenson that the oppression of African slaves originates in the genocide of Native Americans, which he documents in Chapter 4.  The implicit belief in a sub-species of humanity was a key move to justify the brutality toward non-white peoples of our early history. The transition from genocide to human slavery was very smooth.

First, Loewen looks at the “Gay Nineties.” During this period the United States suffered its second worst depression, as well as numerous strikes, notably the Pullman and Homestead strikes. At best the “Gay Nineties” as a title for this decade is a misnomer. Rayford Logan called 1890-1940 “the nadir of American race relations.” Why should this period be even worse than the century before the Civil War?

In 1890 the Mississippi legislature removed African Americans from citizenship in its state Constitution. Without any federal resistance, all other southern states, including Oklahoma, followed suit.  In 1896 Plessy vs. Ferguson upheld segregation. Loewen suggests this comprehensive definition of segregation for American History textbooks: “a system of racial etiquette that keeps the oppressed group separate from the oppressor when they are doing equal tasks, like learning the multiplication tables, but allows intimate closeness when the tasks are hierarchical, like cooking or cleaning for white employers” (163).  What this reveals is that segregation was pervasive, not confined to schooling, and that it did not prevent the oppressed class from working within the living quarters of their employers. As most of us know, Plessy continued as the law of the land until 1954 (Brown vs the Board of Education), so it frames this period that Logan called “the nadir of American Race Relations.”

In 1892 Grover Cleveland, a Democrat,  won the White House by pointing out the drive of Republicans to guarantee civil rights.  His party identified itself with the racial status quo. “From the Civil War to the end of the century, not single Democrat in Congress representing the North or the South, ever voted in favor of any civil rights legislation” (165). So much for the “Gay Nineties.”

In sports Loewen points out that African Americans played professional baseball with whites until 1889, when they were forced out until Jackie Robinson. Hence Robinson was not the first professional black ball player; he was the first since 1889.  In 1911 the Kentucky Derby eliminated black jockeys after they won fifteen of the first twenty-eight derbies.

Racism experienced a cultural resurgence at the turn of the century. Uncle Tom was the protagonist of Uncle Tom’s Cabin, a socially influential narrative against racism by Harriet Beecher Stowe. In stage productions of early 1900’s he was transformed into a “sentimental dope who was loyal to his kindly master” (164). This turned him into a despised character among blacks, hence the reference “Uncle Tom” to blacks who who were subservient to white people.

In minstrel shows, whites in blackface parodied the intelligence and character of blacks. In the music  of the Old South songs of Stephen Foster (“My Old Kentucky Home” etc.) sentimentalized slavery and inequality as benign institutions. Black men were portrayed as  obsessed with inter-racial sex in the immensely popular movie Birth of a Nation.  All these demonstrate the pervasiveness of racist cultural messages in the early twentieth century.

Another neglected topic in history texts is the spread of “sundown towns” both in north and south before World War I. The majority of communities in Illinois, Indiana, Oregon and other northern states passed ordinances or informal resolutions to keep blacks from overnighting in their towns. This was the tip of the iceberg of neighborhood segregation, which we observe to this day.

Finally the resurgence of the Ku Klux Klan before World War One allowed them to dominate the state legislatures of Georgia, Indiana, Oklahoma and Oregon and engaged in terrorism through public lynchings.  As Loewen points out, lynchings were intended to be public, often accompanied by photos, because they were acts of terror. Based on the authority of Dred Scott (1857) “a Negro had no rights a white man was bound to respect,” and so lynchings went unpunished. As Bryan Stevenson pointed out recently (Fresh Air, Teri Gross, January 20 2020), lynching was frequently the punishment of a “social transgression,” such as a black woman scolding unruly white children, blacks not yielding to whites on the sidewalk, preachers giving freedom sermons, and tenant farmers protesting injustices.  Lynchings succeeded in curtailing non-compliant behavior by sheer terror. The Memorial for Peace Injustice, which we will visit in the next week, arrays large hanging monuments of over 4,000 lynchings in the United States since 1877.

With these and other examples, Loewen describes the historical circumstances of our parents and grandparents (depending on your age). If we think that the United States has consistently resisted racism since the Civil War, we are grossly misinformed, most of all by the American history textbooks written before 1970. Another source of misinformation turns out to be Gone With the Wind, both book and movie, romanticizing the period of Reconstruction.  The narrative of continuous improvement in our history should be dispelled, Loewen declares.

We take this sobering story with us to Montgomery. I will try to report daily about what we are learning, because I think it will be crucial to our understanding of racism.  On Wednesday we will hear from Bryan Stevenson.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Terri Gross interview with Bryan Stevenson, 1/20/2020

https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=796234496&live=1

Where All People Stand and Belong

The Cardboard Cathedral is officially know as the “Transitional Cathedral” from

   

                                                                     

   TO            

Much is made of the “transitional” building being constructed out of recycled materials, making it one of the most earth-friendly cathedrals on the planet.  It was constructed to replace the earthquake-blighted Christchurch Cathedral (above), and designed pro bono by the so-called “disaster architect” Shigeru Ban in 2012. The roof interior consists of 96 cardboard tubesreinforced with laminated wood beams, are “coated with waterproof polyurethane and flame retardants” with two-inch gaps between them so that light can filter inside.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cardboard_Cathedral

                                                                                                                  Construction details; cardboard, wood and glass

Cathedral interior
More significant than the construction materials is the A-frame design, which departs from the gothic upward orientation to adopt the Maori downward and outward reach. The native Maori meeting spaces conceive the roof as extending arms, welcoming reverent visitors into the community. In the Maori tongue: Marae for turangawaewae, “ A place where all people stand and belong,” In a land where the native people are dispossessed, this is a critical welcome. It means a church known as “Anglican” has reached out its arms to all people.

Waipapa maraeUniversity of Auckland, New Zealand.
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tanenuiarangi.jpg#/media/File:Tanenuiarangi.jpg
Is this a transitional space or a new expression of  an earth-friendly and people-friendly house of worship? The diocese has proposed to demolish the old building, while the city considers it an historical landmark.  The future of the original structure remains in doubt.

We attended “Evensong” on Christmas Day and felt the reverence and joy of the people, the space, the choir. The choral singing came from a 10-voice men’s/ boys’ choir, divided antiphonally. They filled the high-ceilinged sanctuary with the “Magnificat,” the “Gloria,” “Puer natus est nobis” (anthem), and responses, celebrating a memorable Christmas Day. Our final carol:

“Omega and Alpha he! /Let the organ thunder, while the choir with peals of glee /now rends the air asunder,”

The joy and reverence of  that final service of Christmas Day confirmed that the Spirit could fill that modern space, “where all peoples belong and stand.”

 

 

Waiting for Nothing

My Lord of Time and Mercy:

I’ve been thinking about wait time lately and whether I can handle waiting in prayer.

In education “wait time” is the time between the teacher’s question and the first student’s answer. Theoretically the more tolerance you have for a wait time, the better your teaching.  Most teachers break down and answer their own questions after just a few awkward moments of silence. This reminds me of my comparable success with silent prayer.

I was not very good at extending wait time as a high school teacher, but I was much better with the students I knew could answer the question than the ones I perceived as deficient. My wait tolerance was highly erratic.

As a college teacher I learned to lengthen my wait time, because I was supposed to be modeling good teaching for prospective secondary teachers. I discovered that their discomfort was far greater than mine as wait time elongated, so I could depend on somebody finally taking a stab at the question. Besides I realized that my willingness to wait was more important than the forthcoming response. New teachers needed a good model of waiting, more than any information about teaching we might stumble upon. Ironically I was their model.

When my wife and I were courting only two years ago, you will recall my awkwardness in waiting. I wrote a poem about it:

Teachers call it

Wait time

Thinking lingers on the question

So they wait. 

Firearms experts call it

Hanging fire

“An unexpected delay in firing,

Which can be several seconds.” 

When the eventual pause

Comes between us on the phone

I rest on the hinge

Between awkward and anticipation

I want to call it “wait time”

But it feels more like . . . .

“Hanging fire.”

Waiting for a gun to fire is less like wait time and more like suspense. You expect the bullet to fire, but when? My words suggest high anxiety about the response, but I think it was more about embarrassment. Victoria and I were comfortable in conversation, but I was worried about not being fluent, about not having anything to say.   Now that we are married and live together with another another year to grow, I think we handle silence better. We even enjoy the silence between us.

Which brings me to our waiting arrangement. I wait; you answer. I always liked how you put it: 

Wait on the Lord;

Be of good courage,

And He shall strengthen your heart;

Wait, I say, on the Lord!

I think my problem is that my wait time is much shorter than yours. I’m thinking minutes, and you’re thinking days, maybe weeks. Apparently you have a lot of time on your hands.

And just recently it was suggested that if I am waiting, I’m not living in the moment. Rather I am living in suspense, waiting for an expected revelation, because who ever waited for nothing?  No one in my church, I’ll have to say.

Yet apparently a host of medieval mystics have mastered waiting for nothing, not to mention Fr. Richard Rohr, a modern contemplative. They are all very keen on waiting for nothing.  They think the answer to impatience is learning patience.  In fact, Rohr is pretty sure our rather contentious society would be improved by patient silence.

If we can see silence as the ground of all words and the birth of all words, then when we speak, our words will be calmer and well-chosen.  Our thoughts will be non-judgmental. Our actions will have greater integrity and impact.

(Center for Action and Contemplation, January 9, 2013)

This is where you remind me how impatient I am, and that all my past accommodations to “wait time” prove nothing about my willingness to wait. I am still waiting for the payoff, the reward for waiting. That’s my bottom line, Lord. You have the patience of the Creator and Sustainer of life, and I have the patience of an early adolescent.

But since you are the Lord of time and mercy I am hoping to speak to the merciful side for a moment. You’ve always been willing to work with me in the past, and maybe, in your mercy, you will shorten my wait time. Or maybe you will teach me how to wait for nothing. Or maybe you will show me why it is not for nothing, but maybe for some of those benefits Richard Rohr mentioned. Or maybe you have a lesson that I can hardly imagine in my results-oriented mind. I’m not trying to tell you how to wait.

So I’m waiting, Lord, but not for results. Just for a bit of courage and that strengthening of the heart, you mentioned.

Did I mention I’m waiting?

Cardboard Cathedral

formally called the Transitional Cathedral, in Christchurch, New Zealand, is the transitional pro-cathedral of the Anglican Diocese of Christchurch, replacing ChristChurch Cathedral, which was significantly damaged in the 2011 Christchurch earthquake.

Fallen, the spired cathedral majesty,

Low-born on earth with kindness;

A cardboard cathedral:

Sloping arms welcoming,

“All people stand and belong”

Marae for turangawaewae,*

A reverential Anglican Maori embrace.

Nesting triangles within the arms

Conceive Christ exalted and humbled.

Just so, the transitional cathedral

Where mass and evensong are sung

Under 90 recycled cardboard tubes

Points up, reaches out

To confirm our deep suspicion:

We are, ourselves, transitional,

Tribes becoming a people.

*https://video.search.yahoo.com/search/video;_ylt=AwrC5rLGTxZetx0AkTX7w8QF?fr=tightropetb&ei=UTF-8&p=How+do+the+maori+pronounce+turangawaewae#id=11&vid=f92d3a67e4ffd6a7a28fa5e5d5985870&action=view

New Zealand Retrospective

Chesterfield MO, January 3

So odd to be back on the ground in the Heartland of USA. December is almost a blur, but before New Zealand becomes a faded memory, a few thoughts.

The country was beautiful, from the Bay of Islands to Milford Sound, blue green water and snow-capped mountains, heat vents and glaciers, and delightfully friendly people. It is a continent in its own right, pushing out of the sea with pressure from active faults and rich volcanic soil for food production. Isolated and welcoming in the same breath.

Traveling was exciting at first, then tiring, then draining. The last three days in Devonport were so refreshing and welcome, breaking the pace that had become a struggle at the end. We began to realize the joys of sitting still or at least browsing without a deadline.

Isolation from the political and economic stress of the U.S. was blissful. We avoided mentioning certain political names on the trip till the very end. Detachment from the melodrama of public life was welcome and liberating. This morning I felt compelled to reconnect with it on MSNBC for an hour. Then I realized I did not miss it that much.

We met some stimulating and unselfish people on this trip, and many who had made many similar excursions. Among the Overseas Adventure Travel alumni, we met repeaters of 3 to 20 times on OAT trips. Amazing breadth of travel and diversity of interests. They had the system of packing, laundering, eating and resting down to a science, so the pace seemed to affect them less. I doubt we will reach the expertise of such experienced travelers in the near future.

Our “tour experience leader,” Catherine Hickey, was among the kindest, most efficient, and conversant people I have met. She knew plenty about all things New Zealand, but she was also a logistical genius and a thoughtful leader, taking care for any that could be left behind. She took great pains to recover a cell phone for a certain careless person who had lost it between the seats on the bus.

The overwhelming impression of New Zealand was its engagement with the diversity and the history sharing the Maori culture. The Maori get lots of attention from guides, museums, political parties, rugby teams, and through the public integration of the cultures.  We constantly heard “kio ora,” “hangi,” puku,” and “Aotearoa”reminding us of another language taught in the schools. We heard the story of the Treaty of Waitangi at least three times, once on the property where it was signed. The pride in country swept over us on our trip.

We are often guilty of idealizing other countries at the expense of our own, but I will risk saying New Zealand is exceptionally beautiful, remarkably tolerant of differences, reflectively proud of its heritage, and refreshingly welcoming to its visitors. Emerson says, “Comparisons are odious,” so I will avoid comparing New Zealand to the United States. It is good to be home, yet inspiring to remember the best of Aotearoa, the land of “the long, white cloud,” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aotearoa.

Very Last Day

The weather continues warm and breezy in Devonport, making our departure sad and inevitable. Still we walked into town, had a great breakfast at the Stone Oven, sat in the harborside park with an unidentified black bird, who might actually might be a Black Bird, and browsed leisurely through the Paradox bookshop, unintentionally harvesting five books.

Other photos show restaurants we patronized (Manuka’s and Portofino’s) and the main street looking up toward Mount Victoria, which we ascended on New Year’s Day, a great day to have heightened perspective.

Interior – Stone Oven

 

Stone Oven Cafe

Blackbird?

 

 

 

Breakfast on New Year’s morning

Portofino’s – Dinner New Year’s Eve

Mt. Victoria at the top of the street

The fragrant Jacarinda was blooming and shedding blossoms furiously from the day we arrived. This shot is on the day we departed, as well as the porch garden at Karin’s Garden B & B.

This will be a good place to add the perspective on three week’s of travel, but I am headed for the airport. Will expound later.

 

 

 

 

 

The Eve, the Day, and the Day After

One more New Zealand edition about our 2-3 days in Devonport, most beautiful of tourist lairs in the northern island. We retired here on December 30, following a joyfully frenetic tour of Bay of Islands, Northern Island and Southern Island of the newly-constituted Oceania, the eighth continent. This was our own post-trip in New Zealand

The two full days were well-planned and well-spent decompression. Our first dinner was at The Esplanade, right near the wharf. You can see the Skyline beyond our window seat, but you’ll see a lot of that in Devonport. It is the postcard that puts it on the map.

.

Below you see the sign of our B & B, where we spent more Bed than Breakfast. The two photos of Victoria are each within 0.5 miles of Karin’s Garden Villa. The mountains side view over her shoulder extends toward the Auckland skyline. The one with the fish in the fountain is at the foot of the street that connects the B & B with the downtown. The third photo with some towering species of palm, is the front yard of another B & B  directly on the harbor. You can see that tree from most anywhere in the town.

We spent a lovely New Year’s Eve morning on the hilltop near our B & B and in the souvenir shops of Devonport, not really as vulgar as they sound. Made a good harvest of T-shirts and coasters for the families. I found Shrek: the Story of a Kiwi Icon, which you can see when you visit us. A wonderfully photographed account of the sheep who ran wild for five years and was recovered overgrown with wool– wool-blind, as they call it. Our guide gave us the substance of the story a week earlier. Shrek went on to raise $170,000 dollars for “Cure Kids,” as a world-wide celebrity.

Cure Kids was Shrek's charity of choice. He may have died but the $170,000+ he raised has been invested and will continue to help children with life threatening illnesses.

Posted by Shrek the Sheep – The Official Memorial Book on Wednesday, June 8, 2011

For the rest of the evening we anticipated the New Year at Portofino’s Restaurant. Two photos below feature locally brewed “Tuatara” and Victoria contemplating the scaled neck of the bottle, symbolic of the lizard, its namesake. If you were with me a couple of days back, you learned that “Tuatara” is the name of an ancient lizard endemic to New Zealand and being studied and preserved in Wellington’s “Zeelandia.”  The orange emblem with the vertical black slit represents the sinister lizard eye.

The next photo shows the Sky Tower ready to go off with fireworks, but the footage of the fireworks will not load here, so your memories of New Year’s fireworks will have to stand in for actual documentation.

If you can recall intermittent mid-air explosions of color and position one explosion over the Sky Tower, the other  a mile further down the shore, if you can recall ten-second countdowns and unison cheering, if you can recall at least one pub rumbling with drunken singing and the streets full of kids and families of all ages– then you’ve captured New Years in New Zealand. Pretty much the same as the other side of the International Dateline, but I had to adventure here long enough to make sure it wasn’t more surreal than U.S. Central Time Zone.

So then Victoria negated that whole paragraph by sharing actual fireworks from her camera. (But I like that paragraph, so it stands, redundant).

New Years’ morning, we slept in a little, went out to breakfast, then walked to the head of the street where the path up Mount Victoria welcomed us. Some might claim she is an over-sized hill, but she is steep enough and scenic enough to deserve  mountain status. Below is the view halfway up the trail, enhanced by my personal Victoria and still another skyline view from near the top.

In the afternoon we hiked down to Cheltenham Beach, which was well-populated in windy weather. You could see hundreds of local tourists enjoying the beach ( a handful swimming) or preparing elaborate picnics with plenty of grilled fish and sausage. No parties would be pooped by a little wind and chilled air.

Our final hours in town were at the Victoria Theater, seeing The Good Liar, a better-than-average con game story with Helen Mirren and Ian McKellen.

The Good Liar

Now we are preparing for Thursday, the get-away day from New Zealand.

 

 

 

 

Zeelandia and Gallipoli

Two and a half days in Wellington were hardly enough. From the tour of Weta Studios to Zeelandia to Te Papa, the National Museum, we were merely skimming the cream.  It is  gorgeous seaport with an entertaining waterfront and a sanctuary for natural preserves, such as the Botanical Garden and Zeelandia.

We delighted in Zeelandia on Saturday, the best day outdoors:

 . . . the world’s first fully-fenced urban ecosanctuary, with an extraordinary 500-year vision to restore a Wellington valley’s forest and freshwater ecosystems as closely as possible to their pre-human state. The 225 hectare ecosanctuary is a groundbreaking conservation project that has reintroduced over 20 species of native wildlife back into the area, some of which were previously absent from mainland New Zealand for over 100 years.  https://www.visitzealandia.com/

We ate lunch, then climbed the central Lake Road to the Dam.  There was a fair amount of foot traffic, but the birds displayed themselves with little concern for their safety. Many came to feeding areas, like the Takahe and the Kaka below. The Kaka feeder had a platform that sprung open a cover, so he could grab a bite from inside. Like any parrot he grabbed a bite, took it to the neighboring branch, consumed it, and returned for more

Kaka

Takahe

The Paradise Shelduck was actually in an open area with two chicks and would make assault maneuvers at anyone who approached too closely, but at a respectful four feet was content to have us watch her and the chicks.

Paradise Shelduck

The New Zealand Falcon “(kārearea) . . .  is the country’s most threatened bird of prey, with only around 3000–5000 breeding pairs remaining” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Zealand_falcon.  We encounter this guy calmly roosting over a path on the main Lake Road on our return trip. While we watched, one of the docents radioed a colleague to come see this wonder. Apparently even the resident naturalists are amazed by rare sightings in Zeelandia.

Less surprising was the Tuatara (lizard) sighting in a protected research area. We could view them  from behind a fenced in area, almost invisible in the brown undergrowth. The single species of tuatara is the only surviving member of its order, which flourished around 200 million years ago.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tuatara

Tuatara

Saturday evening Victoria and I dined at the Hotel Bristol with good New Zealand fare and Mac’s beer, probably the best brewery I tasted here. Below a shot of Andy Gartrell, who performed a good version of Gordon Lightfoot at the bar.  We stayed through his first set and applauded enthusiastically, sometimes by ourselves. Probably in a generational time warp.

On Sunday morning we had a selective and fascinating tour of the National Museum with our guide Bruce, including highlights of the Treaty of Waitangi, a rare preserved “collossal squid,” and a frozen room full of confetti. Most noteworthy was the exhibit designed for the commemoration of the soldiers of New Zealand in their skirmishes of World War II.

Guide Bruce Introducing Gallipoli

These larger-than-life images were constructed by the artists of Weta Studios for display in this exhibit, which has been recognized as the outstanding museum exhibit in the world (by somebody, I forget whom).  The first figure (right) of Lt. Spencer Westmacott and figure of Dr. Percival Fenwick, represented the most bloody Battle of Gallipoli. The eight-month campaign with  7,991 New Zealand casualties  “is often considered to be the beginning of Australian and New Zealand national consciousness; 25 April, the anniversary of the landings, is known as ANZAC Day, the most significant commemoration of military casualties and veterans in the two countries, surpassing Remembrance Day (Armistice Day).” wikipedia.org/wiki/Gallipoli_campaign#Casualties.

Westmacott

Fenwick

The Battle for Chunuk represented the later contributions of the Maori regiment, which was refused weapons at first, because the British feared they would turn them on their own troops. After some negotiation the fierce Maori regiment obtained the right to bear arms, as witnessed by the machine gunner below.

Maori warrior

Gunners Asst

 

 

 

 

 

Lottie Le Gallais

 

 

 

 

 

 

Other images include a nurse, Lottie Le Gallais, and an infantryman Cecil Malthus. I am sorry I have less documentation on them, because they show the breadth of the exhibit’s view of the Gallipoli campaign. I will add photos, as I find them.

 

Weta Studios and Mount Victoria

At the Weta Workshop, Peter Jackson’s magicians perform all the special effects for his movies. It is named for the largest grotesque insect in New Zealand, the Weta, which reputedly has a painful bite, if it encounters you (photograph below).  Weta is located near the world-famous Miramar Studios, located in the neighborhood  (Miramar) you see from the city as you look across the bay from Wellington.  As you travel around the city, you begin to see the dramatic impact of this industry on the modest city of 413,970. It is no surprise that the hill across the bay has an inscription “Wellington” as a an homage to the “Hollywood” sign in Los Angeles.

At the arrival gate of the Wellington International Airport, you are dwarfed by this soaring mobile of Gandalf on an eagle, the first sign that you are in Peter Jackson’s town. This is easily thirty feet in wingspread and twenty feet from beak to tail.

Victoria’s troll friend below greets you in front of the Weta Workshop, along with two companions’ not pictured here.

 

In the gift shop you are treated to this flying orc over the checkout desk, while this festive Gollum perches in the middle of the shop.

Here we saw a special movie production about the evolution of Weta Studios from a creator of grotesque monsters in the 1980’s to the center of  special effects for the Lord of the Rings trilogy around the turn of 2000. Weta developed a reputation for ground-breaking special effects and has gone on to earn five Oscars and thirty-eight other production awards (https://www.wetaworkshop.com/about-us/awards/).

SE view of Wellington Harbor

SW View of Wellington Harbor

After Weta, we drove up Mount Victoria for the  best view of Wellington and the harbor.  Our second day in the city was brilliant and warm and afforded the best visibility the mountain offers.

Christmas and Sheep

Christmas Day was our first night in Christchurch. After Evensong, we went to our group’s Christmas dinner at the hotel.  We all agreed it was super-abundant in quantity and variety. At least four courses and each one had 3-4 bowls of differing food groups: peeled carrots, peas and green beens, baked potato– all in one course.  Memory fails me in the transmission of the mighty spread.  

Background, peerless leader, Catherine next to Jock, her partner. Steve (from Dallas) in the foreground right.

 

Foreground, Rosemary, our spunky eldest by ten years at least.

 

 

 

 

Rick, Sporting his Christmas Shirt

On the day after Christmas we visited a demonstration sheep farm about an hour’s drive from Christchurch.. We saw both herding by dogs and sheering, by Chris, the host and

Hunt-away Flynn

I wanted desperately to load the Quicktime video of the dogs herding the sheep, but the blog could not handle the memory, even for 20 seconds. What we saw was the amazing Flynn, a border collie, stare seven sheep across a yard into the counting chute.  In between, Dee, the Hunt-away, practiced barking the sheep the other way across the yard, but her technique was more shotgun, than the laser stare of Flynn.

After that drama, we saw the more methodical sheep-shearing, illustrated above. Chris, our host, used both the electric and the hand shears, making it clear that the electric were about five times as fast.

Chris’s farm produces the “romney” wool that makes wool carpets. He has 3,000 sheep, which are prodigious producers.

The monument to the World War I New Zealander casualties, remembers the specific places where the deployed New Zealand forces died. Gallipoli, the site of modern Istanbul, is particularly remembered for the sacrifice of New Zealand soldiers.