Anzac Day

It is the end of April (which if I were constantly converting into northern hemisphere monthly equivalents, would be the end of October. But I'm definitely not doing that anymore...). We are well in to fall, and frankly I have been bracing myself strongly for winter. Because every Canterburian insists on telling us how insanely awful it's going to be. But how can it really be THAT bad? I mean, it barely even snows, and sure the wind comes from Antartica (really), but it's got all kinds of miles to warm up between there and here. Right?

Anyway I'm getting off track. So it's the end of April, it's fall, and I keep meaning to take pictures of the amazing foliage. I mistakenly thought that most fauna was evergreen in New Zealand, and that we wouldn't experience the normal color cascades of fall. Man, was I wrong. And I've planned, for at least a week now, on documenting how beautifully wrong I was. But I can never, ever, ever seem to remember my camera. Except when I go on a bike ride. Which is what I did yesterday. And it was beautiful. Not a fall color to be seen. Ocean everywhere.

Yesterday was Anzac Day. I know all of you Americans just thought to yourselves, "Anza-wha?" So did I, until Google helped me out last week. Anyways, Anzac Day is a(nother) New Zealand public holiday. On this day we remember the Australians and New Zealanders "who served and died in all wars, conflicts, and peacekeeping operations" and "the contribution and suffering of all those who have served." (Source: directly plagiarized from Wikipedia). I suppose it's akin to Memorial Day. Everyone wears a red poppy pinned to their shirts to show support and respect for those who served.

Scott got the day off and went off to play in the mountains with the other mountain bikers. I on the other hand, had a work day starting at 3pm (cha-ching! Holiday Pay!) and had to find ways to entertain myself all morning. So instead of remembering to take photos of pretty fall trees, I went for a bike ride. And took lots and lots of pictures of the pretty ocean. A lot like the pretty pictures you've all been subject to before. But this is my blog. So here's my lovely, if not mildly familiar, Anzac Day pre-work bike ride photos:

Maybe I'm having a hard time believing all the winter talk because it looks LIKE THIS outside!!!

A glimpse of a few feet of my 2,600ft climb. Yep, did it to myself people.

View of Christchurch from the south... flat...

"You know you're in Christchurch when..."

Taylor's Mistake. I don't know what mistake Taylor made... cuz I would totally land my ship there too.

A bunch of locals, and one who really wants to know WTH I'm doing so close to her paddock.

Close up of the skeptic.

My trusty steed.

So that was my solo Anzac Day adventure. I admit, as a good Kiwi I should have been at a service at dawn. But I didn't read about that until, well, just now actually... there's always next year! 

Fire in the Sky

"Red sky in the morning, sailor's warning. Red sky at night, sailor's delight."

6:30 am

6:40 am

6:45 am

Ominously fantastic, eh? These are from yesterday morning, and today, as if on cue, the clouds gathered. The rain began sprinkling, no... cascading around 6 this evening. It feels as though fall has fallen (haha, pun!) and like winter is hot on it's heels.

On another note, I just reviewed and acknowledged how terribly awful the pictures from my last post are. No more cell phone photo documentation from this girl. You guys don't deserve that.

Autumn

Last week officially marked the end of summer and the beginning of fall here in California, although you truly wouldn't know it where I'm at. Ninety something degrees of hot post-summer sun is beating down on my little house, continuing to dehydrate my lawn & tempt my finger to flip on the A/C. Hasn't happened yet, I'm holding strong.

I think it goes without saying that this week has been a rough one for me. Although grandpa's passing was no surprise, I still feel the loss so much deeper than I realized I would. Of course I should have the relief of him finally being released from his worn-out body, but the selfish side of me just isn't ready to accept that he's gone. But as I said before, he would see absolutely no reason for all this belly-achin' over an old farm boy who passed away after 98 great years. So I've done my best today to enjoy the loveliness around my cute (if not sweltering hot) little home.

"Feel better" flowers - I do love dahlia season

 These are my three chickens, or as I refer to them: Backyard Terrorists.

Hop, Scramble, and June, who all waddled off 2 seconds later, realizing there were no treats.

The white chicken (June) and the smaller darker red chicken (Hop) are the replacement hens that we bought after our beloved Omelet & Quiche died back in June. I don't care what anyone says, or how miniscule chicken brains must be, these gals have hilarious personalities, and they know where the treats come from. They never cease to make me laugh. A sprinting chicken is a sight to behold- like an over stuffed football held up by toothpick legs- not a creature designed for running. And I know it seems crazy that we bought two new hens just a few months before moving out of the country, but I couldn't bear to see Scramble so lonely... she would just stand in the middle of the lawn squawking at the top of her lungs looking for her old pals. It was enough to melt even Scott's icy chicken-wary heart, and after I read literature about how a hen will die if she's all alone (flock animal mentality), he let me get two more.

Right before June charged the camera, trying to see if the shiny bits were edible.

Scramble looking quite demure, Hop doing what she does best.

The problem with having three chickens, is that you multiply the chicken demolition squad by three. Three beaks pecking your precious garden fruits and vegetables. Six feet scratching apart the lawn and the fresh fruit vines. Three fuzzy butts depositing bare-foot landmines all over the yard. Don't get me wrong, I obviously love having the ladies or we wouldn't have them. But they come with their price.

Massive anti-terrorist fence around tomatoes, watermelon, and peppers.

Our only cantaloupe on the whole vine, demolished by three greedy girls.

Of course, the upside (besides the hilarity of these silly, friendly, curious creatures): fresh eggs - 3 every day! We're lucky to frequently be able to make breakfast together... yes, the original three were aptly named, Scramble, Omelet, & Quiche. Our cholesterol has never been so high!

Hard to believe those silly squawking creatures make such beautiful brown eggs.

In the spirit of enjoying my backyard farm, I also took a picture of my only prize pumpkin. Last year the backyard terrorists annihilated the pumpkin vine before it could grow a decent squash, and they nearly succeeded in all devastation again this year, but one fruit survived and became twice their size.

My homegrown 16 lb. pumpkin, proudly displayed on the porch.

I love autumn, but like most, I'm not particularly looking forward to winter. So with any luck, Scott & I will be in New Zealand by the end of 2012, which should be just around the end of fall. Unfortunately we'll miss springtime in NZ, but I have to say, I'm not too broken-hearted about having a summer-fall-summer-fall pattern this year. Regardless, here's a few pics of what we're currently missing out on, as late September correlates with late March down under.

Meadow among the mountains of the South Island

Mount Cook in the springtime

The best part of spring in NZ- baby lambs! If I got Scott talked into chickens, these should be easy, right???