A treasure from the north.

In the early '90's, while I was off on my company's annual 4th of July plant shut down, I considered what sort of vacation we could manage. Unfortunately, Jeanne was working and could not take the time off just then. Since that was the case, I decided I would do something I had longed to do since I could remember. That is, to travel north. I would have liked to go all the way to the arctic circle, but time and finances precluded such an endeavor.  Instead, I decided I'd drive to Chochrane in Canada and then take the Polar Bear Express (train) up to Moosonee on James Bay.  

Moosonee was fun to see. There are no roads up to it, just the train or a bush plane. I spent a couple of days there, hired a local guy one day to carry me out into James Bay in his freighter canoe, with its square stern and a big outboard and then traveled up the Moosonee River several miles on another to hunt fossils on an island in the stream. I loved it.  

Coming back on the train, I sat near a First Nation family who had brought a meal along with them. They unpacked quite a feast on the table between their seats that featured some unidentifiable, apparently boiled meat. It was unidentifiable only to me you understand. They dug into it with gusto and I wanted so much to ask what sort it was, and more than that, if I could try a bit?  It didn't look like any meat I was familiar with. Could it be seal or walrus I wondered?

I never found out, but that memory has stayed with me and at some point I decided that it was likely to have been walrus.  Why? I guess because I wanted it to be.    

I am telling you this story because I think it points out how I have always been fascinated by the north. At this point in my life, I doubt that I will get there again. I seem to be, and very happily so, settled just about as far from the north as I can get.  

That is why, when I was browsing on Trade Me the other day, and I came across a certain item, I sat up straighter and read all about it.     

I think my days of collecting Kauri gum on Trade Me are about finished. I have enough. I am going to continue to watch the gum auctions that come up though, but just for fun, and to learn more about gum if I can.     

The item I spotted was not gum, and I ran across by accident while looking at a seller's other listings.  It caught my attention. It is a slice of fossil walus tusk ivory with a scrimshaw of a clipper ship on it.  

When I first read the description under the picture on Trade Me, I questioned its authenticity. Then I wondered if it was legal for me to own. I started doing some research. I won't go into all the sites I visited, but the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service had some great photos on how to identify walrus ivory. I also learned that since this piece was obtained at an estate sale years ago, and was at that time over 80 years old, it predates the 1972 ivory trade ban. It was originally on the lid of a sailor's snuff box. (the yellow circle in the middle of the picture below is the old glue.)  

It is called fossil walrus tusk. I learned that the term fossil is actually a misnomer. It has not turned to rock. It is however old, having been dug up by the indigenous people or collected where it was deposited by the action of weathering.  They are the only ones allowed to harvest this from the land and sell it. The color on the surface comes from the minerals in the soil. The color within it has slowly developed over the years as those minerals leached into the ivory. The sources on-line that describe fossil ivory say that most of what the Innuits have found are between 500 and 3,000 years old. It takes a long time apparently for the mineral colors to penetrate.  

This, as you might guess, is a view of the back of the slice. I wonder if the depth to which the color has reached is indicative of the age of the piece? I think it must be. 

The outer layer of ivory is called the primary dentine, the inner layer is the secondary dentine. 

I also enjoyed hearing about where the seller bought this. He found it in the town of New Plymouth, on the North Island. The seller had no proof of exactly where the original owner lived, but two of the suburbs of New Plymouth are named Whaler's Gate and Whaler's Rise.  

This is because in the mid 1800's, New Plymouth was a whaling community and a number of retiring whalers where deeded land within the town for their homes.  I like to think that the owner was a seafaring man. (But he could just as well have been a banker with a taste (or nose) for snuff.) 

My treasure arrived by courier just today and I couldn't be happier with it. I was never interested in history as a kid, but now I hold this and and imagine the years that have passed since this was part of a living creature of the north. Whether or not that family on the Polar Bear Express was actually dining on walrus that day long ago is suddenly less important to me. I have a piece of the very old north of my own that I can now hold, contemplate when I want to, and pass on to my heirs. 

This piece seems to be just the sort of thing a grandfather would pass on, don't you think? Maybe to stay in character I ought to take up pipe smoking (a nautical sort of pipe) and do more rocking on our deck. (I'd have to buy a rocker first)  I'll have to think about that. One thing is for sure, I'm not taking up snuff.  

-djf 

Sparky

This is the picture of the new electric tug that the Ports of Auckland is buying. They recently asked the public to name the tug and I dove in.  You may remember a post I did some time ago about the experiences of some organizations when they opened up the naming of their new purchase to the public. The Ports contest committee was very careful to insure that an innapropriate name did not get in to the list, much less win.  

A couple of posts ago I listed some of the names I had suggested but my entire list ran to about two dozen.  

I was delighted when I found that my 8th suggestion, Sparky, was chosen for the short list of four finalists.  

I also found out that another of my names (Doug) (the tug), was mentioned as an interesting choice, but was not in the running. Pretty good I thought to have two names listed considering that 3,000 people took part in the contest.  

After about a week of public on-line voting, the announcement of the name was made on the Auckland TV show, Breakfast, yesterday. 

Sparky WON!  

Unfortunately, at least one other person Also sent in the same name.  A drawing was held therefore to see who would win the $1,000 gift card and a ride on the tug when it arrives here in 2021. I was not selected.  

That's okay. When I saw the notice for the contest, I wanted to take part because of the fun of naming the tug. It was not because they offered an impressive prize.  

This is a picture taken from our TV screen of the Breakfast presenter announcing the winner of the money and ride.  

I'll have the fun when Sparky arrives next year of knowing that I suggested the name painted on her bow. That's a big win.  

                                                                  -djf

  

Olive oil

New Zealand turned out to be, from the first moment I set foot on it, a land of surprises. Our first house here, in the backyard, had guava bushes, a lemon tree and a bay tree.  For a guy who grew up in the snow belt of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, went to N.M.U. in Marquette on the frozen shores of Lake Superior and finally settled in Menominee County, Michigan, where we got only about 70 inches of snow each winter, having, picking and eating such exotic fare, from our backyard, was thrilling.  And there were so many more wonders.   

Our current yard boasts orange, fig and feijoa trees. Those of you who read my posts regularly probably remember when I introduced you to the fruit of the Butia capitata, the jelly palm. I've done posts on acorns, perssimmons, and chestnuts.  

Today's post is all about the olive. Several years ago I tried my hand at making salt-cured dried olives and olives pickled in vinegar. Both were fun to try, both turned out to be edible, but neither was anywhere near as good as those I could buy in stores.  I decided to give up any further experiments along those lines.  

I found that the olive trees around here do not produce fruit every year. Last year, there weren't any available to me and this year, I had found just one tree locally that had any on it. Then Covid-19 came along and prevented me from traveling over to the Te Atatu Peninsula, where I had discovered a small city park with about a dozen olive trees. They weren't loaded either, but I was hoping to get enough for my current attempt at utilizing olives.  

I wanted to make olive oil, and I'm happy to report that I have managed to get a small quantity of olives. My one local tree gave me several handfuls and just today, June 9th, the first day of returning to level one after Covid, I boarded a bus and picked several handfuls at the park. I was too late to get very many. They have all fallen from the trees now and most have been pecked by birds, or squashed by humans, but I found some at least. I have enough to  give it a try. Tomorrow I make oil...  

This is my local tree. You can see that the olives are rather sparse. I read that the best tasting oil is made from ripe olives, so each time I walked past this tree, I plucked the few showing color and put them in my pocket. It was slow going.  

 The olive grove in Te Atatu. When I got there it was raining.

 A short while later, the clouds had moved on and the sun came back. You can see my modest harvest. Lots better than nothing...

(I noticed that this paving was very slippery from squashed olives.) 

Leaving the park. Sun makes all the difference in the mood of a place.  

The process at home.....

 I had thought of heating my olives, and the small amount of water up to aid in removing the oil from the pulp, but decided against it, wanting to have a true cold-pressed product. Squeezing this mass, it was obvious that it was very oily, and I was wishing I could have heated it a little.

 Water, very fine pulp and oil

 The oil starts to come to the top.

After settling/separating for about an hour. 

I did a little reading after the fact about what cold-pressed olive oil really means. To be cold pressed the olives must not be over 80.6 degrees F.  My oil was extracted at room temperature, which on the day and time I did it was probably about about 65 degrees, so I could have legitimately warmed it a bit. I'll keep that in mind for future attempts. I know that had my olives been even slightly warmer, I'd have increased my output. 

Here it is............

 The rest is still in the settling jar. 

Even though this is unfiltered, I'm pleased that it is as clear as it is. It tastes of olives. No bitterness whatsoever. Very acceptable. I pronounce my experiment a success! 

I think I'll try this again next year if the local olive crop cooperates. 

-djf

  

The Season of Rainbows

I've told you in the past about the weather here and how common rainbows sometimes are. Yesterday reminded me of that fact and suggested to me that I try to document what it's like to live here during what I call, 'The Season of Rainbows.' 

Yesterday was as nice a day as I could ever imagine. It felt like a fall day, with just the slightest hint of chill in the air, but with a very comfortable sun. Not a blistering atomic furnace up there, like it can sometimes be in mid summer, but a friend who would throw warming rays around my shoulders whenever I came out of the shadows. The temperature was about 65 F. 

But this is the season of rainbows. And rainbows are a product of rain events, which are, during this time of year, amazingly (to me anyway) frequent. 

When I was a kid, we would generally see a rainbow after it rained. My experience here has been that rainbows generally precede the cloudburst that generates it.  When I'm walking here and spot a rainbow somewhere nearby, I know that I had better get ready to unfurl my mini-umbrella. That it may soon be bucketing down on me.  

Yesterday was June 8th, 2020.  All of the rainbows I'm going to show you are from separate storms. Each of these storms was relatively small, and fast moving and they seem to push a rainbow out ahead of them. I sometimes have imagined the storm as an old-time steam locomotive and the rainbow is the 'cow-catcher' in front.  

I went shopping in the morning and since I was at one point, on the far side of Henderson from where we live, I was able to see rainbows from several different squalls that passed over a wide swath of the area. Each of the following pictures is of a different downpour. 

In the afternoon, I stayed home and watched the skies over the Waitakere Range.  That's to the west of us and is the direction from which all these storms come.  

These next shots are of a couple of storms that came through between about 1 and 3:30 pm.

I took all these shots from in front of our house. What doesn't show in the photos is how quickly they come and go.  

 There's a little shower passing by. You get rainbow before, during and after this little baby storm. 

 Here comes a much bigger one. This is looking south west.

 This is looking west, north west. Same storm as the last photo. This one is going to DUMP. 

This is a photo of a tower in the Waitakere Range that is about 5 miles due west from our house. I'll show you the same tower when the squalls hit...

 Just a little bit of rainbow is ahead of this big one.

And there is a picture of the tower during the rain. It's really coming down, but the rain is not quite to us yet. You can see the foliage in the foreground has sun on it yet and is not obscured by rain. I'm going inside before my camera gets wet.  


And then it's gone and the skies are blue until......

...another one appears right on the heels of the last.

This one has a little more rainbow. It's getting closer fast. Can you imagine that as a speeding steam locomative?

 Again, I use the tower as a gauge of how much rain is falling. This downpour is not quite as intense.

 Here's one more shot of it coming over. Sun is evident on the fence across the street. This squall is smaller than the last one and dumps it's rain more to my left. 

 It's the next morning and I'm in Te Atatu North picking olives. (more about that in the next post) 
It's the first morning of unrestricted travel after Covid. Looks like we are going to have a day much like yesterday.  
I hope you have enjoyed this short look at our season of rainbows. 

-djf

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Update on Name the Tug Contest.

My name of Sparky WON!  However, because at least one other person also submitted the name, a drawing was held to choose the recipient of the $1,000 gift card, and I was not selected.  I'm pleased that when I eventually see the tug with Sparky painted on it, I'll know that I helped name it.  That's a big win.  Who'd have thought?

In Sandringham I am, I am. (pre Covid)

The roads are old in Sandringham,
The restaurants there all favor lamb,
Or beef or chicken; seldom ham. 
I'll tell you more 'bout Sandringham....

Sandringham is an interesting place. I first visited it when Allie took us there not long after Jeane and I first arrived in New Zealand, and we bought takeaway Indian food. If you ever have the chance to try Chicken 65, go for it. It is one of Allie's favorites, and became one of ours when we tried it for the first time that day.  

There are probably more South Asian cafes, restaurants and groceries along the main road that runs through it than any other one place that I have come across around Auckland. Every now and then, Allie and the boys still jump in the car and head off to their favorite place to get the 'real thing' from Sandringham.  We've never been disappointed.  

It was at that favorite place that they saw something you don't see very often from a food vendor. Just inside the door was a glass fronted cooler that had assorted drinks for sale in it. On the bottom shelf though, were several single serving-sized plastic containers containing a combination of rice and a curry that were available to anyone who could not afford to buy food. That was impressive. The sign said simply, "Please help yourself if you need it." 

It reminded me of the time Jeanne and I sat down to lunch back in 1998 in a buffet place on Calle de  Atocha in Madrid. An old woman, clearly a street person, came in as we ate. She was shown to a place at the very back of the room by a waiter. He then brought her an individual loaf of bread on a plate, which he covered liberally with a sauce that he took from a pan of stewed meat. It's nice to see kindness being shown to the unfortunate. Think of how few restaurants would do such a thing. 

She was very dirty and probably smelled, and yet, they let her eat in the restuarant. Yes, it was in the back and yes, this was during a slow time of day, but nevertheless, it was a real kindness. I don't think the poor old lady had any teeth. She cut her bread into very small pieces that she coated with the sauce. And she was clearly very hungry.

I think of her and that waiter and restaurant and am reminded to be generous when I am on K' Road here in Auckland and stop in at Merge Cafe, or when I see any homeless person around the city.  And I applaude the people at that Sandringham takeaway. They are doing what they can to help. 

The road from Sandringham to Kingsland is about a mile long. Here are some shots.

(That is not the Sri Lankan cafe I featured in an earlier post.)

There is a park along the way.

The road into the park. You may ask yourself, "I thought he said we were in Sandringham. How come the sign says Mt. Albert?"

The road in this park leads up the back of Mt. Albert. 

An old nemisis of mine, the magpie. One had once pooped on my shoulder, and liberally, as Jeanne and I walked through Madrid's botanical garden in 1999. 

Since then, I have always looked askance at this very intelligent member of the crow family. (I still think it did it on purpose, and was up there in the branches laughing with its friends at the direct hit and my reaction.) 

We are getting closer to Kingsland now.

This house shows a style of archetecture that was very common here at one time. 

Well, you can't eat Sri Lankan and Indian food all the time, now can you? 

I've made it to Kingsland and there is New Zealand's largest Rugby Stadium.

Tawhirimatea, the Maori god of wind and weather, stands out front, looking fierce. 

 -djf

Update on the Ports of Auckland, Name the Tug contest.

My name of Sparky was selected as one of four finalists.  Voting will take place until next week sometime. My fingers are crossed.