We are driven down the winding Waimangu Volcanic Valley in a rickety bus. The heavy rainfall from last weekend has flooded out half the walking track to the lake, so temporary transport is required to ferry the tourists through 'stage two' of the valley. A spitting geyser erupts to the left; on the right, boiling… Continue reading Land of the Pink and White Terraces
In 1911, Katherine Mansfield was 23 years old. I have loved her writing ever since I first studied her short stories at the precarious age of seventeen. My English teacher offered us a bite-sized selection to read – Her First Ball, Miss Brill and The Woman at the Store – and enquired afterwards, ‘what do the stories make you feel?’.
During the summer of my first year at Victoria University, I worked alongside my father in the lupin-covered landscape of Ōtūrehua. Home to Brian Turner and little else (population: twenty-seven), the Central Otago ‘so-called middle of nowhere’[i] town had its heyday in the late nineteenth century. Not keen on bringing the populace up to twenty-nine, my father and I rented a cottage in the nearby gold-rush town of Naseby.
I could never draw stars as a child. In fact, I used to be scared of them. How could anyone draw something with five perfect sides? A reflection on my inability to draw stars and overcoming my fear of imperfection.