Keep the Change

I've heard that humans are creatures of habit. We order our lives around the rhythm of the work week, our meals, and the TV schedule, day in and day out. The thing is though, there's no such thing as a constant. Seriously, none – growth, change, skewing, it's all happening to everyone every minute of every day, and if you don't believe me then zoom out a little bit. If yesterday seems strikingly similar to today, just think about where you were this time last year instead, and who was around you. We're all ships built of life experiences that would give Theseus a major headache, except the whole ocean is frothing with new currents.

Fortunately, as much as we're creatures of habit, we're decently adaptable to change. Autumn is coming, and you can really start to feel it in the shifting winds. It's getting time for me to get moving again – there are a bunch of places south of here that I've got to explore, and I don't plan on freezing before I make it to Dunedin. When you work in these temporary backpacker jobs, you see change much more frequently than in a “real job” – the team one day could be totally different in a week's time (and usually is). Right now, two of the four WWOOFers are starting off from scratch. Which is awesome, because each new dynamic brings with it new people to meet and to share with, but also a downer, because of our habit-seeking ways. Just as you get used to someone and become friends with them, the road diverges and you're off on different routes. I told Lynn and Kevin today that I would be finishing this coming Monday, just as I'm getting to know all ten of the llamas' names. I've got some ideas and plans, but an awful lot of what-ifs and white space. Part of me wants to cling to the safe and familiar, but the more sensible part of me knows that even if that were possible, it's not a good idea.

Even the pattern of the farm isn't that neat a pattern, when you really start to look at it. Sure, the animals are always going to eat, and they're always going to poop. But there are so many shapes, sizes, and consistencies that you never know what you're getting yourself in to. Unless it's your turn in the sheep field – those bastards are always a nuisance, no matter what. Screw those guys.

Let's call it an unpredictable routine. Even when you're just hanging around on the farm on a lazy sunny afternoon, you're still hanging out on a farm in New Zealand, and that counts for something. Especially when it's with some new friends, even if they look a bit weird.

Plus, on your afternoons off, it takes less than an hour to walk into Kaikoura along wide farm roads, where you can grab a little spot on the beach, sandwiched between the mountains and the Pacific Ocean, and sit to your heart's content.

Lynn dubbed this Mass Murder week, and when it came time for the afternoon project, we took to the fields to hunt for some birds. Last week's chicken beheading was practice – this was the real thing. Jess and Barney, two border collies, are constantly stalking turkeys and hens around the fields, but I never knew if they had it in them to grab a mouthful of feathers. Turns out they do, and we would have had a much harder go of it if it weren't for them. Myself, Lynn, and Rhys from England's Lake District did our best to corner a little flock, and with the dogs sufficiently riling up the fowls, you had to be quick and make a grab in the squawking mess. I'm not going to pretend that I enjoyed grabbing a terrified duck after a dog had got hold of it, or that I was even very good at it – there's something about not knowing how the animal will move that freaks me out. But I grabbed a few, held tight to their legs, and carried them to a small little pen with a chopping block where they were due to meet their maker.

All told, we caught four chickens and eight ducks, each wriggling like some uncanny animatronic thing after they'd been killed. The ducks were much slower and easier to catch, but tedious as all hell to pluck, what with the layer of down beneath the feathers. That said, when we had peking duck tonight, it didn't matter a whole lot. Six hours from the field to the plate – not bad. Almost as good as the llama steak we had for a barbeque last week (and no, they don't keep llama for eating. If I knew Pegasus was being fed to wind up on a plate, I'd be sneaking out tonight to pull a mass escape, even if I did accidentally punch him in the jaw while throwing bread around today).

What you do keep llama for, other than to have a gawking weirdo for kids to feed sheep nuts to, is to go llama trekking. That's where you put a few on leads, saddle them up with your gear, and go on cross-country treks. To be totally honest, I don't see the appeal. I get that it's something different, but so is swing dancing, and when was the last time you saw me doing that? I'm hoping against hope that the answer to that isn't the office Christmas party. But anyway, at the end of the day today, Lynn had a few geared up, and was going for a walk in preparation for a multi-day trek that she's doing in a few weeks (preparation for the llamas, not her). She asks if you want to go for a walk, and it's not like you've got anything else better to do than walk through the backroads of Kaikoura with half a dozen llamas. So I took hold of Hero's leash, and away we went, down dirt roads through the forest at the foot of the mountains.

Other than that, life on the farm goes on. There's no such thing as a weekend (pigs and donkeys are still going to be hungry and poop on Sunday as much as on Monday), but that doesn't mean that you can't have a life on the side. Team Scoopy-Poo (that part of the job is seeping into my psyche – I swear I dreamt about it the other night) won second place at the Whaler's Quiz Night last week, and we're going to try our luck with a new lineup tomorrow night. And Saturday night is still Saturday night, even if the whole rest of the calendar doesn't play by those rules – a case of Speight's, Thai curry, and a movie on the big screen TV in the living room. Nothing wrong with it.

Nothing wrong with it, and yet there are hundreds of other nothing-wrong-with-its out there. I'm staying a night at a hostel in Kaikoura itself next week, mainly so that I can be close to the water to go swimming with the dusky dolphins at sunrise on Tuesday (Jaysus, there's a sentence I had to reread to make sure it was true). From there, it's south – I don't know how, and I don't rightfully know where (Christchurch is my tentative plan, but a week's a long time and I might end up in Australia yet). Let's just hope a change of scenery is all for the best. I do know that the most unexpected part of this whole trip (so far) has been an invitation to spend St. Paddy's Weekend in Methven – but more on that later.

Cheers,

rb