I am at a place called "Windsong orchard" which I was at last year for a week and had a good time, so I got back in touch to return. They have been a fruit orchard for over 30 years here, in many ways pioneering the organic movement in this district of New Zealand. They also were instrumental in getting the local weekly farmers market established and have been hosting woofers here since like 1990, when they still had to look through the manual and write letters to inquire about possibly doing work exchange here (!)

I wrote a dear friend an email and thought- why reinvent the wheel? So here are some excerpts from it. This blog probably has like 1.7 viewers so it needn't be all wrapped up in a nice bow with a beginning, middle, and end.

I have been thinking a fair bit about the culture with migrant workers/day laborers as that is essentially what I am doing now as I am woofing here picking blueberries- minimum wage basic labor. There is an emphasis on speed and efficiency (not to an unhealthy degree- it is a friendly and warm family fruit orchard - but still) and I am working alongside a girl doing her internship from Denmark and a guy our age from New Caledonia. Who even knew what that was?! It's a close by island that is a French colony. His name is Arnaud and it's pronounced ahhh-no. He is sweet and sentimental and knows very little english so everything we have communicated has been laborious and broken. That said, he has managed to casually drop that his mom was imprisoned for protesting/being an activist against the governmental seizure of ancestral lands (?) and during that jail time his father divorced her. He was 18 at the time and has since had no contact with his father because the fact that he divorced his mom when she was in jail is "not morality" (in the words of Arnaud.) 

There are too many blueberries and not enough pickers! So we ended up with 2 extra hands in the form of  young German guys. They are very different but both needed the work and are just looking for whatever kind of day labor they can do. They have a really strong sense of life being ideal if one has a "job and a girlfriend" which will lead to getting higher in the company your job is in and then starting a family. I recognize I have resistance to that paradigm which is definitely related to the fact that I feel I missed that boat. Veiled in the openness/write your own script thing I profess.  

Here they call a bathroom a "toilet". So people sometimes say weird things like "I got lost in the toilet" or "I banged my head in the toilet". tehehe.

Also flip flops are jandals. And breaks in the middle of the workday are "smokos." 

Chanuka occurred to me to the degree that I googled when it was. But thankfully after about a decade of trying in various times and ways to make any jewish involvement feel right/good/comforting, I've all but given up on that. Like, if I happen to be offered a yummy looking latke I will not turn it down. But that is the extent of it. 

Speaking of Judaism, I had a horrific experience with a hick/NZ Navy family here last week. I was straight up in a fight/flight/freeze state. And upon reflection, I wonder if it wasn't like some genetic/ancestral trauma activations. (I can't help it - I am orienting this way now.) I can't remember if I told you about it or any snippets. But at the very beginning they said "you aren't vegetarian, are you?" in an accusatory tone. I proudly and smugly said "No!" But then I added "But I don't eat pork" (I was careful to say pork rather than pig, because I have learned that saying pig is like saying 'cow'- it is something vegans do to personify and show how uncouth and cruel it is that some people eat cows, etc). Just my luck. "Oh- well! We happen to have a fridge full of ham right now. Not sure if we have much else, actually." She then asks why I don't eat pork. I tried to give her a cavalier yet diplomatic answer: "I was raised in a really religious environment that professed to not eat pork." Keep it short and sweet, no details or identifying factors. She asked which religion, so I said "Judaism." She sneered and said "No. We don't have that here." I was kind of dumbfounded. She repeated "We don't have that here. You mean like...Jewish? No, that's not here." 

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I feel like something got switched on or off in me at that moment. I was vulnerable, at their mercy for my food and lodging, without any kind of vehicle or escape plan, and in a very rural place where there were no buses and it would take hours to walk to the nearest road I could hitchhike. Somehow I spent 2 excruciating days there in isolation, during which I was tasked with weeding and after an hour pulled my lower back. I did end up eating things that weren't pork, thankfully, but every other comment was like a snide thing about Americans, my clothing, the way I washed dishes, everything. That- and inappropriate comments about their 2-yr old daughter like "She was a total surprise. We never wanted kids." and "I would definitely not rush into this (gesturing to the little tot,rolling her eyes.) 

Now I will say that I probably took everything a bit too intensely and the way I describe it is probably a strong reading into the facts on the ground. But there was something in the air/environment that made me not feel safe and all parts of my mind and nervous system were aware of it. It's easy enough to say "oh, some uneducated and sheltered rural hicks." and Wave them away and chalk it up to a weird travel experience. But as a sensitive and feeling person, it knocked me down and out. Physically with my seized up lower back, and then when I finally arranged to get out (made contact with a random person with a campervan from a backpacker message board who said he liked meditation) and told them of my plans to leave, they accused me of being a bad communicator, reneging on my agreement, underhanded, and threatened that "it's a small town" and word gets around fast -- this in regard to the fact that I told them my next stop was to woof at this fruit orchard and they said they knew it and would basically smear my name. That was when I started to feel faint. I was standing my the wall in the living room holding my water bottle and I dropped the bottle and sank to the floor. It must have been quite a scene. The dad said "what's going on - you look totally disorientated." I wasn't that far gone to still think a little judgemental snippet about how he mispronounced that word, only to find out later that it is a British pronunciation much like 'aluminium.' Whatever. 

Boy, I'm getting all worked up just typing this out. I am so so grateful though, for the events that transpired once I got out of there. They ended up driving me into the nearest town where I agreed to meet up with this backpacker and I felt so much relief to just be in the podunk grocery store. I wandered numbly through the streets until I found a park and lay down, stretching and breathing. I think 2 hours past as I was efforting into slowing down my exhales and counting each breath, just trying to come down from the last 2 days. Or maybe it was 3 days. I realize it could have been a fool's errand to meet up with this other backpacker who's facebook profile was blank except for the name "Mi Bla." And a picture of a nice landscape. But I needed any kind of escape. And preferably one on my terms. It ended up being a wonderfully like-minded conscientious German who, despite his limited English, we were able to establish a shared resonance, respect, and fondness fairly early on. We walked around town and then drove to a nearby beach. Got in the water, stacked rocks, played in the sand, repeat. I could feel myself unfurling and knew that my back muscles were already on the mend, being around a trustworthy open-hearted peer, with freedom of movement and words. 

After a day with this timely godsend, I met up with a friend I had met last year from the states who's currently 2 years into his time in NZ and in a frustrating battle with immigration for a work visa so he can do a job he is quite qualified for and got offered. Bryce took the ferry from Wellington and I met him at the top of the South Island and we drove 4 hours up to Golden Bay, to a hostel that further uplifted me and has now far and away qualified as my favorite hostel experience. Kiwiana has a ping pong table (!) which was a big pull in me booking it. It is super small and intimate, and probably has room for 15 guests and a few long-term volunteers. The kitchen closes at 10, and everyone was so friendly, welcoming, and helpful. It was a complete 180 degree shift from the industrial hostels where everyone is just on their phones. My fingers are getting sore (actually, they were getting sore from all the blueberry picking) so I will wrap this up. Thanks for hearing me and wow I am so relieved again, to be in a safe place. A place that feels safe. What is it about safety. It is hard to say. But I do wish I weren't so porous and heavily impacted by people around me. I have spent years knowing that I am, and trying to NOT be. To cultivate all that I need to exist within. And then I had this attachment therapist back in Portland who insists that such a feat is fundamentally impossible for humans, as we are governed by our attachment systems and it is in our nature to get 'downloads' from people around us. Hmm. 

Again this is not everything, just a tidbit but I am pleased to say that at the 3-week mark I am feeling more settled than I was at the 1 week and 2 week marks. Thinking a bit more long term, feeling a bit more confident in my ability to spend money, save money, use money, and be wise about it. Also keep balance so now spend all day slaving away in the hot sun and also being engaged in some sort of purposeful routine and surrounded by a healthy and necessary degree of nice nature and quality people.

Next week I will have my first sailing experience (I hope) and also embark on my very first festival on the outskirts of Kahurangi national park, where I will be volunteering with the food prep/meals.