It’s that most wonderful time when the streets and hillsides of Auckland light up with the white buds and gold-tipped red brush flowers of the pohutukawa trees.

… for the bounty of the earth by trying to eat everything. Everything!

Here we are at Martha’s Backyard, the funny little American grocery store, posing proudly next to a tower of pumpkin pie filling.

And here’s the turkey, a nice sized bird from the local butcher that came out really good thanks to Lee’s dry brining technique. (We’ve had a few good experiences at the butcher shop, and every time we resolve to shop there more. But then we’re in the supermarket which is open late on Sunday and it’s just easier.)

We were 10 at table, drawn from four different communities: Lee’s former workmates, my ocean swimming buddies , my pool swimming buddies, and a Facebook group for expats. It was the biggest NZ Thanksgiving gathering yet. Mostly American, or at least with ties to the good ol’ USA, we enjoyed a great meal and each other’s company.

The best part was that when the discussion inevitably turned to “American is going to hell in a hand basket because of Trump & Co”, we were mostly in agreement and even on the points of disagreement it didn’t matter so much cause it’s not your actual family.

Our backyard after a recent storm. The locust tree sheds a lot.

Last year at this time, the whiskey barrel planter in our shared driveway played host to Auckland’s weirdest costume contest.

This year, neighbor Claire planted lovely foliage instead.

Sadly, the little phone company protrusion that the barrel protects is still there, because the neighbors at the top of the hill have been unable to get their new optical fibre connection put in. The company that does all that fibre stuff is called Chorus, and even before the pandemic gave them an excuse to say “short staffed” they were one of the most hated businesses in town. It must be tough to be in that kind of business, because despising them seems almost universal.

(Edited following comments from an eagle eyed reader)

Those feet in the middle of the picture are obviously less dainty than those of our friend Leslie who visited from Florida a couple weeks ago. Nonetheless, they are indicative of her hot water beach experience. We were among the last to leave the hot pool as the tide came in.

Hot water beach is a funny little place… just a quirk of nature that “hot springs “ and “beach” come together as they do. In my experience, people at the beach tend to sort of be alone together… you do your sunbathing and I’ll do mine. Hot springs are maybe a little more convivial. But put the two together and it’s a wonderfully social experience. From cooperating on diverting the hot water just enough into everyone’s little sand nest, to the loud Texas tourist lecturing everyone on the Second Amendment, to some subversive ladies telling the Texas tourist’s kids not to listen to their father’s crap (don’t worry, said the kids), we were all in the soup together.

And on the way home the following day, we stopped off at a roadhouse for lunch, and got to see these cute little lambs.

That mosaic along the retaining wall , designed by neighbor Nick and executed by other neighbor Kristie (and little Georgia who mostly likes the bright colors), was originally imagined to be the work of an afternoon.

Not quite!

It will look really cool when it does get finished.

Without the bulwark of Thanksgiving to dampen their appetite, retailers in NZ are free to get the party started right after Halloween.

We already had plans to go out for dinner with our recent friends Emily and Brian when she called and said “what about going to see the rugby?”

It was the semi-finals of the Women’s World Cup, NZ (defending champions) vs France (who beat NZ earlier this year). $20 for upper deck seating that was perfectly fine. We’re in!

For the second time in our quixotic search for good Mexican food here, the supposedly great taco truck we were aiming for was not at its appointed spot. Grrr! We had fried chicken which was ok.

Entering Eden Park was exciting. Even though it’s the biggest and best stadium in the country, it’s also just in a neighborhood a few train stops from home. So it’s like being transported to this magical world of spectacle without any fuss.

Once inside, although we were in the cheap seats, it was fine. The weather held, and even if we couldn’t really see the action at the far end, there’s a giant screen, and we had a closeup on our side.

As a Francophile and a Kiwiphile, it didn’t much matter who won, I’d have something to cheer about either way. I always feel a big stir of pride or patriotism or something when the national anthem is played at sports events… some silly sentimental thing. I still don’t know the words to the NZ national anthem in Te Reo Māori, but it was fun to belt out La Marseillaise.

And the game itself was was thrilling, with the lead going back and forth the whole time. The French fans are always out in force, and the shouts of “Allez les bleus!” sometimes drowned out “Let’s go Black Ferns.” It came down to the last few seconds… up by one point, NZ only won because the French team missed a kick. Whew! And admittedly I’m glad the Black Ferns won.

We play England next weekend in the finals… but tickets were already sold out when I went online to look.

At halftime, I took this picture of the sky looking out over the practice field. Beautiful colors.

Wellington’s new electric ferry, the Ika Rere (which means ‘flying fish’ in Te Reo Māori).

I just snapped this picture hurrying by on the way to the pub, oooh look at the cool new boat!

But will the Eileen Duggan poem on the plaque — or at least the sentiments that led to its emplaquification — have a longer-lasting impact on the city than this fancy new catamaran? Is windy Welly a city of writers / readers or a city of fancy green tech? Or maybe a more important question is: can you make the improbably difficult and expensive decision to adopt green tech if you’re NOT a city of writers and readers?

Apart from some chives and herbs, here’s our first garden produce of the year… Artichokes!

From the single plant given to us last year, three sprung up this winter. And there are another 20+ fruits where these came from.

Yay! since this is a food we love but we’ve never seen for sale here.

There’s the buoys that were supposed to guide me (and a couple hundred other swimmers) from Paihia to Russell the following morning. Looks easy enough… you can see all the way across and the water is flat as.

Ah, but weather forecasting has improved over the years. We knew that by morning there would be a stiff breeze blowing directly across our course, with meter-high swells on the far side.

I’ve swum in worse. Luckily my dominant breathing side was away from that wind and the slappy waves. But still, it was a tough slog. You can’t really see those buoys in waves like that without stopping (or I can’t anyway) so I mostly just tried to keep up with someone else and hope they were a better navigator than me.

I finished right in the middle of the pack… good enough! But I was still slower than all three under-14 girl medalists and the lone over-80 man, who cheerfully accepted his medal and shook the imaginary hand of all the competitors he’s outlasted.

And so on to the festivities! Between my pool and open water groups, with family and friends, we made up a table of about 30, great fun. An hour and a half of swimming and a full day’s revelry… just right.

We stayed at the celebrated Duke of Marlborough hotel, which has been there since 1827, when Russell was known as Kororāreka, and also “the hellhole of the north.” Now it’s just a ridiculously relaxing and picturesque holiday spot. I feared the hotel would be a faded flower, trading on its reputation, but our room was really nice, full of thoughtful touches.

Here’s a few pictures from walking around town…

The old cannon.

A sand dollar washed up but not all bleached and dried out yet.

The headlands.

On Sunday the weather was expected to get even worse, so we woke up and left straight away. Let’s beat the traffic! But a tree fell across the road… more or less the only road to get to that part of the world without a massive coastal detour. So we added one more check mark to the trip, sitting in a line of cars on Sunday waiting to get back to Auckland.

Out behind the pétanque terrain is… was… a very fine stand of bamboo. Very invasive bamboo.

And so a bunch of us banded together to get it chopped down, and a few weeks later to haul it behind the maintenance shed where it will decompose in a year or two.

Playing pétanque with people, I suppose like any social activity, teaches you a bit about who they are. Some people take it too seriously, others not so much. Some cheat, others break the rules apparently without meaning to. But I’ll now say that trying to organize a dozen people to haul some bamboo stalks, or even to just be one of the people being organized, is an even more concentrated lesson in personality. Bossy, hero,shirker, shouldn’t be allowed near sharp objects, steady worker, it was all on display.

But, somehow it all worked and we got the job done in time for cocktails!

First a little leak around the window, then another inside the wall. And so… construction! It’s all buttoned up now, just waiting for paint.

One of the members of the Bowling Club (on whose property the pétanque club sits), planted this extraordinarily tidy little garden next to the clubhouse.