Last weekend we were feeling rather low. We were behind with the bloody cleaning again (we have a resident spider who has been living in her corner above the sliding door so long that we named her), we had a 24-hour long downpour that left everything damp and leaking and humid so we couldn't do any washing (we haven't yet acquired a tumbledryer), we were so behind on the ironing that it wouldn't have helped to wash anything more anyway if it hadn't been for the imminent danger of running out of underwear, we didn't have anyone to invite over for an impromptu tjop en dop (aka kla en baljaar), and - to top it all - we received a couple of emails from SA as well as a lovely letter containing photos of our tearfully-given-up-for-adoption kittens, now grown and so very beautiful and looking decidedly like their father was indeed the Siamese I suspected him of being, all of which left us thoroughly homesick and pining.
I was also feeling particularly dark and bitter since I'd been on a full-day course the previous Thursday and shortened my lifespan by about 6 months with the stress of trying to make the necessary arrangements for child care and school fetching and carrying, only to have my manager inform me late on Friday afternoon that, oh sorry, he forgot to mention that I was booked for another full-day orientation programme on Monday. So I had to repeat the painful exercise of trying to juggle a one-car family and run a household without any friends or family to step in and help out. I also had to consider the frustrating prospect of having to enrol Max in full-time daycare (and pay the hefty full-time fees) just so I can afford to work part-time (and earn a part-time salary, of course) and so save my sanity with the little extra flexibility it would afford me during the day.
But then Maya discovered birdwatching. All by herself. One day she was poring over the bird book because the DVD she was watching was getting boring after the 78th viewing, and the next day (it would be a Sunday), she woke me up at dawn, hopping up and down in excitement, to tell me she had seen a BIRD! And looked it up in the book and FOUND it! And it's such a BEAUTIFUL bird, come and LOOOK, Mommy! Naturally there was nothing for it but to clamber groggily out of bed and hurry through to the deck, where, silhouetted against the sunrise, I beheld the awe-inspiring object of my daughter's rapture. "Mommy, do you know what bird that is?" whispered my shining-eyed child with authoritative zeal. "It's a MYNA!"
Yes, dear friends. New Zealand is full of unique, endemic birds, the likes of which cannot be seen anywhere else on the planet, and my daughter's first discovery is the ubiquitous myna. Although, to be fair, it is a good bird to discover. It is noisy, cheeky, colourful, and doesn't fly away when you are trying to look it up in the book. It proved remarkably more considerate than some of the other birds Maya attempted to identify later that day when she actually asked to go for an afternoon walk in the forest. She geared herself up with binoculars, her nascent bird list and The Book, and we ended up having a delightful conclusion to the weekend all walking through Omana reserve, and rounded off with a delightful dinner at the Maraetai Boating Club, which we've been meaning to visit for ages but not quite got around to. (You're supposed to be a member to go to the restaurant, but they're lenient with signed-in 'visitors', and their excellent menu at ridiculously reasonable prices, their location on the water's edge, as well as the fact that they are almost the only establishment in a 30km radius that is open on a Sunday evening, made them an irresistable proposition.)
And this week started with some acknowledgement that although my daughter's bird-checklist trophies in New Zealand may not be as diverse as they would be in South Africa, her opportunities for rambles through the bush are far more than they would be in the land of her birth. And although even the reasonably-priced restaurants in Maraetai are much more expensive than good ol' Mimmo's, the view here is certainly far superior. The mosquito bites here are without doubt far more vicious and irritating and enduring and itchier than those of any of its African relatives (which was proven once again in the week following the rainy spell); and the spiders, albeit small and harmless, are far more tenacious in their foothold above my curtain rails.
The comparisons could go on, ad nauseum. But instead, I'll just rejoice in my children's ability to lift me from the doldrums of daily toil (alternating, as they do, with putting me there), and hope that this weekend will provide opportunities for equally delightful (re)discoveries - of mynas, affordable coffee- and wine-spots, and family fun.
Omana Regional Reserve. Aren't the tree ferns COOL?
Maya and her bird list
Maya examines some elusive LBJ while Willem checks The Book and Max tries hard not to scare off every living creature in the forest.
