Blown through

We are back on holiday on the south island. This holiday is to mark the autumn break (obviously—nothing says May day like autumn break) and we’re actually traveling mostly because it’s our only chance to get away with the Coughlin-Harris family before they leave (argh!). So even though I haven’t quite spent enough time in my own new house in order to feel like leaving it, we have packed our bags, rolled across the strait in post-southerly waves, and now find ourselves in a pair of little cabins at the base of the Abel Tasman national park.

Yesterday was an early start. Because the house Carolyn and Jim and co live in is on the market (still!), they had to clean it for the open house before they left, and they knew they couldn’t do that in time for the pre-dawn start that Thursday morning required. So it was a Wednesday night clean, instead, followed by a massive sleepover at our new house. In the morning, we rolled out of bed in the windy rain and scooted the 5 kids out into the dark—miraculously in time to catch the 7.08 train. We made the lovely crossing, spending most of our time on the blustery deck to admire the views and stomach the swells. And then we were on the South Island, amazed at the long plains of grape vines, leaves stained autumnal yellow against a steely grey sky. This country is beautiful in all weathers, in all seasons.

We wound our way to Nelson, stopping at a lovely winery and taking a magical walk past the tallest, straightest trees I ever saw to a small but roaring waterfall swelled with the recent rains. We couldn’t decide whether to look out for the massive Ents or tiny fairies living in red mushroom houses in the forest.

But then this morning in Nelson we came upon an entirely different kind of magic. A glassblower with a small studio with big windows to watch from the street. And, in case watching from the outside wasn’t good enough, there was a sign: “Make your own bauble, $60.” Now, no one ever actually needs anything called a “bauble” and something I make myself is hardly worth $10, let alone $60. But the idea of getting my hands on molten glass was so exciting that I signed up—with Carolyn—to give it my best shot.

It turns out that blowing glass is the best thing in the world. It was just a little tiny thing we were doing: picking the colours, swirling the clear and the coloured glass on the blowing stick in the “glory hole,” and blowing air into the pipe on the real glass blower’s command. But through the course of it, I saw glass glowing orange and the texture of honey, I saw the way it reacted to heat, to gravity, to air, and then saw it cooling clear and swirled with colour. And with that, I began to see the seduction of this medium—part skill, part artistry, part magic. When we first walked past, the “two day course for absolute beginners” sounded like a chore; when we left, I was trying to figure out how to get back to Nelson for two days to give it a try. I have so little experience making beautiful things in the world. I am hopeless at any number of artistic endeavours. Today I made something beautiful, though, with my lips and breath and hands. And it feels like a magical gift.

And now we are left with the magic of the rest of the trip, with the most beautiful scenery I could imagine, each curve taking my breath away. We’ll walk through Abel Tasman tomorrow, getting an early-morning ride on a water taxi to one cove, and then walking past seals and over swingbridges to find ourselves in another cove in time for the water taxi to bring us home. The biggest danger here is that I’ll die of sheer delight in the beauty of it all.

Pictures from today are of Michael on the ferry and me blowing the bauble. Watch this space for magnificent pictures tomorrow…