New Zealand

Yvonne Brown was the English and drama teacher at Inglewood High School. Her short brown hair curled around a sun-tanned face and her eyes crinkled when she smiled, which was most of the time. She learned that Alan liked to fish, and her husband Bill was an avid fisherman.

“Bring Cynthia and the children out to the farm this Sunday,” she invited Alan soon after we’d arrived in New Zealand. “You and Bill can go fishing in one of the nearby streams, and the boys can get a taste of what dairy farming is all about.”

Yvonne’s husband Bill was tall, fair and husky. His weather-beaten face harbored friendly blue eyes. He took an instant liking to Alan and was always ready to take time off from his farm duties so they could enjoy a day outwitting the elusive brown trout in the nearby Maketawa River and other streams that cascaded down from Mt. Egmont.

We spent many Sundays with the Browns, but one I remember in particular. As soon as we drove up to the house, Bill and Yvonne rushed out to greet us. Willie, Stuart and Tracy (ages 16, 12 and 9) were usually home on Sunday. Mark and Eric always looked forward to spending the day with them. Today they weren’t around.

“Ya ready to test your wits against those trout?” Bill challenged Alan.

“Sure am, and I think today’s gonna be my lucky day.”

“Well, let’s not waste time,” and they were off to a nearby river.

“Mrs. Brown, where are Willie and Stuart?” Mark asked.

“We’ll see them in a minute,” she answered. “First, we have to say hello to Auntie Vi.”

Yvonne led the boys and me into the house. Many of the farmhouses were over a hundred years old, but this one was new and well designed. Yvonne took pride in the fact that she’d planned the kitchen; it was a well-thought arrangement and efficient for the large family. My favorite place came to be the living room where I could sit near the window and look out over the green paddock at the stunning Mt. Egmont.

“Come in and say ‘good morning’ to Auntie Vi, then we’ll have a walk about the farm.”

Auntie Vi was Bill’s mother. She lived with the Browns and was a feisty old lady with white hair pulled back in a knot, rounded shoulders and rosy cheeks. She read the paper every day and kept up on the news.

“When’s your president going to get those young men out of Vietnam?” she’d demand. “You think the schools are better here than back home? When I heard you were coming here from the U.S. of A., I thought you’d be a big-busted floozy blond smoking cigarettes. Isn’t that what all women are like in the U.S. of A.?”

I’d smile shyly, give what I thought were proper answers, and wait to be rescued by Yvonne.

“We’ve got something special to show you,” Yvonne told the boys. “Let’s go out to the barn.”

The three Brown children were standing outside the barn in a penned area. They waved as we approached, yelling “Hurry up, hurry up.”

Mark and Eric ran as fast as they could, and were excited to see a golden brown and white baby calf, so new it was still wet. It was trying to stand up and Willie was holding on to it to prevent it from falling down. With each attempt its legs became a little stronger, until finally it was able to stagger around the pen. The mother cow stood by, ignoring us and her new baby.

“Too bad you didn’t get here earlier,” Stuart exclaimed. “You would’ve seen it born. It’s only ‘bout fifteen minutes old.”

My boys were wide-eyed with curiosity. “Why is it all wet?” Eric asked. “Why can’t it stand up? How much does it weigh?”

“What’s it going to eat? How come it’s not with the other cows?” asked Mark.

“We have to get it to nurse from the mother. It needs to drink about three pints of the mother’s milk within the first twelve hours,” answered Willie. “We have to keep the mother and the new calf separated from the herd at first so we can see that she gets enough of her mother’s milk.”

Yvonne and I walked away, leaving the Brown children to entertain Mark and Eric. We sat under the giant walnut tree in front of the house, shaded from the warm sun.

“This tree is 110 years old,” Yvonne informed me. “We made sure when we built the house that it would fit in with the tree. The first thing Bill did after we moved in was make the swing for the children.”

“I know the house is new, Yvonne, but how long have you had the farm?”

“The farm’s been in the family for four generations. Bill’s the oldest of the clan, so the farm went to him. When we married in 1945, it was a bankrupt, uncleared piece of bush. We’ve worked hard over the last twenty years to make it into the top farm in the area. Cousins and other extended family members farm on either side of our property.

“We have 115 acres and milk 180 cows every day. It’s easier now since we put in the new milking shed. We can milk forty cows at a time in the efficient herringbone pattern. One person can handle the entire herd during the process, but it goes quicker with two people.”

“It’s nice to have family close by. Your house is always full of friends and relatives.”

“Yes, the door is always open. All of Auntie Vi’s children and grandchildren love to visit and many of Lee and Jane’s friends from university drop in from time to time.”

She looked up. “Here come the children. They must have tired of the new calf.”

“We’re going down to the creek,” shouted Stuart. “We want to show Mark and Eric the rowboat Willie and I built.”

“Cynthia will want to see it too. We’ll come with you,” Yvonne answered as we left the shade of the tree.

To get to the creek we had to walk across the paddocks among the cows. Electric fences were strung up in some areas to contain the herd. Smart animals, they quickly learned to avoid the electric wires. Stuart took great delight in introducing them to his younger guests.

“Here ya go, Mark,” Stuart said. “Touch this wire and see what it feels like. It’ll give you a bit of a shock, but it doesn’t hurt.”

Mark believed him, touched the wire, and learned that it wasn’t a pleasant sensation.

A few minutes later, Stuart said, “Go ahead, you can touch the wire. The electricity’s been turned off.”

Trusting again, Mark and Eric touched the wire. After two or three times, they decided that like the cows, they should avoid the electric fence.

Yvonne was comfortable walking among the golden brown Jersey milking cows, but their big, staring eyes made me nervous, and I stayed close to her.

“Not to worry, Cynthia. They’re just curious. They won’t bother you,” she assured me.

“What happens to the milk after the cows are milked?” I asked as we neared the creek, trying to take my mind off the nearby animals.

“It goes directly from the cows to the vats you saw by the milking shed, where it’s immediately cooled, then picked up by truck to be taken to the cheese processing plant in Eltham. None of the milk is bottled for drinking except for our own personal use. It’s all used to make cheese.”

At the creek, Willie maneuvered the boat away from the shore and hopped in.

“Come on Mark,” he hollered. “We have to take turns, just two at a time.”

Mark hurried to jump in, grinning at Eric because he’d been chosen first. The boat was a funny little wooden thing. It was clumsy and hard to row, still the children were having a great time. The water was crystal clear and icy cold. Those on shore waited their turn while splashing the cold water on each other and on the boat whenever it came near.

Nearing four o’clock, Yvonne hollered, “Time to head back to the house. Auntie Vi will be putting the kettle on the stove for afternoon tea and it’s time to start the milking.”

The children raced back while Yvonne and I followed. The cows had already started their way to the milking shed. We found Bill showing Alan the process of washing the udders of the cows and attaching the suction cups. The animals’ heads fit into spaces for feeding, and the milker worked from behind the cow, standing in a pit. The cement floors were spotless and everything was sterile.

Back at the house the tea was ready and there were fresh-baked scones with strawberries and clotted cream. When Bill and Alan joined us, Yvonne asked,

“How was the fishing today? Will we be having trout for evening tea?”

“Not today,” Bill replied, “but we’ll tell you about the big one that got away.”

Those Sundays were some of my favorite memories of our year in New Zealand. Being so far away from family, I di have a few moments of homesickness. The Brown family’s warmth and welcoming manners always brightened me. They were our family away from home.